Spellcaster. Cara Shultz Lynn

from everyone for a minute.”

       “Still, Emma. And I have another question. Did it ever even cross your mind to, oh, I don’t know, call 911?” I flinched at his harsh tone.

       “Um, maybe you missed the part where I kicked his ass?” I retorted angrily.

       “So? Emma, I don’t care how you disarm someone—with a few self-defense moves I taught you, or with magic, or with Mace, or they somehow get burned to a crisp by fireballs you summoned from the sky—if someone attacks you, you call the police,” he said through his teeth.

       “Brendan, I didn’t even have a description,” I protested, and he cut me off.

       “I don’t care. You should have—”

       “Okay, Brendan, I call the police. And say what, exactly?” I fired back, throwing the bag of frozen broccoli on the nightstand angrily. “‘Hey, someone—a guy, I’m assuming—in a blackout mask clearly bought on the clearance shelf at Ricky’s the day after Halloween, pushed me into a tree. So I used these self-defense moves my semi-notorious boyfriend taught me, I punched him in the face, then he asked to cut me, so I used a repulsion spell to kick him, through the air, about twenty feet away. And I think he stole Ashley’s hair clip.’

       “One more thing,” I continued, annoyed. “Don’t forget that I would have had to turn over that evil-looking knife before Angelique could get a good look at it.”

       I pushed myself up on my elbows and pointed at the knife, which sat across the room on top of Brendan’s desk, and shuddered as if it could somehow fly across the room and stab me. For all I knew, that’s what it was designed to do.

       “That knife is just more of a reason why you should have called the cops. Someone comes at you with a knife, you call the people with guns,” Brendan demanded, his eyes narrowing.

       “Did you get a look at that thing? It’s clearly a ritual knife—they’re called athames,” I explained, still irritated. “And that one looks like it was designed with a very clear purpose.”

       “The police deal with the occult all the time, Emma. Assault is assault, no matter what sorcery this guy might worship at home.”

       “And how would I explain how I got away? I couldn’t exactly tell them about the spell I used to disarm this psycho! They’d think I was insane,” I argued, slamming my fist down and wincing when my sore knuckles struck the pillow-topped mattress. I dropped my elbows and let my head fall back against his pillow. “Think about it. I’d be the one locked up in a padded room. They’d think I was making it up for attention or something. I mean, who gets attacked twice in four months? We have to figure this out on our own. Besides, could you imagine if people knew spells worked? That’s why Angelique is always telling me that real witchcraft isn’t something we want to go around advertising.”

       “Then maybe she shouldn’t dress like she fell out of a Tim Burton movie,” Brendan said sarcastically. He looked away, exhaling sharply before biting his lip. I wondered what words he was swallowing. But when he faced me again, his expression was calmer.

       “Since you seem so sure that she holds the answer to everything, me, you and Angelique need to have a little meeting. The sooner, the better.”

       I mentally cringed at the thought. I did not want to deal with Angelique and Brendan in the same room for longer than a few minutes. I doubted I could focus on anything other than trying to keep them from snapping at each other—and clearly, keeping my magical focus was crucial.

       “I was already planning on calling her,” I said. “I texted her from the bus that I had a pretty big tale to tell her. She’s at work until six, though.” Angelique worked at Vince A as part of her scholarship deal, but she worked in the front office, home to cuddle bear Casey and her assistant, Mrs. Gary, a steely woman who always seemed to be wearing gray. I thought I saw her in pink once and almost had a heart attack.

       “I have to know if Angelique sensed anything. I told you about her empath abilities, right?”

       He nodded, looking unimpressed. “And you also told me that she had no idea what the spell she did only yesterday meant—and today you get attacked.”

       “Stop nitpicking.” I sighed, shutting my eyes. “Angelique really does know her stuff—she’ll know what’s going on. Or at least know how to find out what’s behind it,” I insisted, opening one eye. “You don’t have to be there, I’ll tell you what she says. Everything, I swear it.”

       “You’re joking, right? Just try to stop me from going with you to talk to Angelique about this.”

       “So I keep one little thing from you, and now you don’t trust me?” I asked, my voice rising in pitch. I couldn’t help it, I was a little insulted.