Teen Witch's Survival Guide: Chapter 3

This entry is part 3 of 9 in the series Teen Witch's Survival Guide

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The knife comes loose with a tug as I inspect the wall. There isn’t much damage, but it will need to be refinished. I’ll need to have dad cleanse the house when he gets back.

Another chore. Another day.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the poorly wrapped cake mix sits on the counter.

I shove it in a pan and halfheartedly toss strawberries over it. Then I light the oven and put it inside.

My groceries are low, but I can’t face the village. Not until I figure out what happened to me yesterday.

The strawberries are a good enough breakfast as I pick at them. They’re sweet as candy and refreshing as water on a hot day. When I get to the bottom, I find a flower.

Oleander.

The pink petals are soft as silk as I run my fingers over them. It’s a bad omen, but I can’t bring myself to toss it.

The pastry comes out dry. It smells slightly sour, and I don’t wait long enough for it to cool, so the frosting melts off the sides.

By the time I sit down with a slice on a plate, I’m no longer hungry. It’s some sort of rule not to eat cake alone.

A knock interrupts the thought that I should throw the whole thing away.

I stand and pat my shirt smooth.

Hawthorn has her curly hair tied into a bun, revealing her perfect face. She smiles at the sight of me.

“Good afternoon,” she says.

“It’s afternoon?”

She laughs, and it reminds me of wind chimes. “I’d ask if you slept well, but I think that’s answer enough.”

“Suppose it is.” I smile back at her. “You want some cake?”

“That sounds lovely.”

I finally notice the thermos clutched in her left hand. Is she trying to hide it?

“What’s that?”

“Tea. My boss, Laria, gave it to me. A rare blend, but it’s delicious.”

I rarely have tea. Dad always told me how dangerous messing with herbs is.

“Would it go well with cake?” I ask.

“Absolutely.”

I cut her a slice of the strawberry cake, and try not to react to how sad it looks. Inviting her over may have been bad idea. Maybe I’m not meant to have friends.

When I place it in front of her, I see she’s found the mugs and is pouring me a cup of the herb.

“Thanks,” I say as she hands it to me.

“Thank you,” she says back. “What’s the occasion?”

“I turned fifteen and a half yesterday.”

Her smile fades, and she tilts her head.

“I mean, I just wanted cake. All the girls in town celebrate their half birthdays, and I thought it was a good excuse.” The words tumble from my mouth.

My hand inches towards the canister for something to hide behind, but I stop myself. I look over at her cup. She hasn’t taken a sip. Could it be poison?

“Where are your parents?” she asks.

I freeze. Oh.

“My dad’s on…” I pause and consider the wording. The truth would either scare her off or convince her to kill me.

Her eyebrows furrow at me. I remind myself there’s no proof she’s a witch. “He’s on a business trip.”

Her face relaxes, and she takes a sip from her mug. “Of course.”

Seeing her drink, I sigh, more at myself than her. I take a sip from my own, the warmth flooding my veins. She’s someone who wants to be my friend, who brings me a gift. She’s not a witch. If I keep finding any reason to accuse her, I’ll scare her away.

“Is he on his discovery path?”

A discovery path is a ritual that older witches do to gain power and steal the youth of children.

I meet her eyes. There’s no sign of humor on her face. Her head is slanted in genuine curiosity. I look at the cup in my hands.

It glimmers with something unnatural.

In seconds, I pull my knife loose from my waistband. I stand abruptly, and my teacup shatters on the floor.

She stands as sharply as me with surprise on her face.

“You’re a witch!” I cry.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero