Bewitched (6 page)

However, he lifts his hand to my cheek to stop me.
 

“Madison …” he whispers, inching closer to my lips. His eyes remain locked with mine until they began to blur.
 

Once again, I close my eyes. This time I feel his breath brush lightly across my lips. It’s a split second that contains an infinity before his mouth finally establishes contact with mine.

I press against him. My lips, my chest, my hips are magnets seeking connection. I gasp at the sensation of his hand wrapping around my neck, tilting my head back. He accepts my open parted lips as invitation to explore, claiming my mouth with his tongue. My own hands grip his shoulders before winding their way into the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft, so soft. I want to bury my nose in it.
 

All too soon he pauses and then breaks off the kiss, letting his hand drop away from my skin.

I stand for a moment with my eyes closed, waiting for him to kiss me again. The cool air replaces the warmth between our bodies, forcing me to open my eyes and accept the kiss is over.

He slowly comes back into focus. My brain feels fuzzy from kissing him. I’m a little blissed out and my body wants more. However, I don’t think he’s feeling the same. His expression is torn between joy and uncertainty; both emotions flickering across his face.

“I, um …” He pauses. “I’ll see you in class.” He spins and swiftly strides away from me.

I guess he isn’t visiting Tate after all.

I know one thing for certain: the love spell seems to be working.

Andrew totally kissed me. With tongue. He’s an amazing kisser. Kissing should be his sport, but only one on one, not a team sport. I want to be the only girl he kisses. As an only child, I never learned to share my toys. Same applies for boys. After all of our conversation today, I still don’t know his relationship status. I assume he’s single, since he asked me out, but then again he took me to a secret rendezvous place where no one would see us.
 

It’s a week before Halloween and my head is spinning with magic and mysterious boys. Well, one boy. Runes, magic spells, smudging … oh boy.
 

I shake my head to clear my brain. I should stick with sci-fi. All this hocus-pocus is too confusing. I should have double-checked for a guaranteed outcome on the love spell. Do spells even have guarantees? They should.
 

Seven

I stare at my yellow and black reflection in the full-length mirror on my closet door.

“This? Why?” I pluck at the black tutu barely covering my ass. “Sexy bee? Sexy insect?” I shriek. “If I was going as a sexy insect, shouldn’t I be a praying mantis?”

Sam glares at me. It’s kind of scary. “No, they eat their males after sex. Not the message you want to be sending tonight.” She snort-laughs. “Bee sending,” she repeats.

“Help. I can’t be a bee. The puns will kill me.”

“Hold on and quit your moaning. I’m not finished with the costume.” She places a headband with a tiny, black witch’s hat on my head.

“I don’t get it.”
 

“Think about it.”

“I am! I look ridiculous.” My costume includes neon-colored diamond-patterned tights, the aforementioned microscopic tutu, and a yellow and black striped top. “Don’t forget these.” I spin to show her my wings.

“You’re bee-witched!” She claps her hands together with glee. “Get it? It’s brilliant.”

“If you do say so yourself.” I fight a smile. “Fine. It’s clever.”

“Andrew’s going to love it!”
 

“Does he have a bee fetish I’m not aware of? A passion for all things honey?” I attempt to tug my nonexistent skirt lower only to have my hands swatted away by Sam.

“Not that I know of, but you look super- hot. He won’t be able to resist.”

The last part is true. The love spell is clearly working. Our chocolate date and the kiss proved it, right? He sat next to me in class again. We exchanged numbers, and have texted a bunch of times.
 

Which is all great, but it isn’t. He hasn’t even tried to kiss me again or ask me out on another date.
 

Does he really like me, or is it the spell?

There’s only one way to find out. I lift the heart charm from my jewelry dish and tie it around my neck.

“Red doesn’t really go with the bee thing, Maddy.” Sam wrinkles her nose. “Do you have to wear it tonight?”

“Listen, I’ve given in and let you dress me up as a bee, I mean a bee-witch. Let me wear the necklace.”

“If you insist.” She adjusts her corset and top hat. “Do you think Tate will like this?”

“I have no idea, but he’s a guy, with eyes, so I think he’ll love it.”
 

Sam’s costume is some sort of time-traveling, Steampunk, corset wearing hottie. She’s a badass milkmaid with her braids and the vintage style revolver strapped to her waist.

I look like a bee. Wearing a hat. And a tutu. At least my legs look great. I should be happy I’m not a sexy praying mantis.

* * *

Jack-o’-lanterns and luminaries line the long driveway to the enormous stone mansion the Winthrops call a summer house. It’s a far cry from the two-bedroom bungalow my grandparents have on Cape Cod. Ghostly white forms hang in the trees and sway in the breeze. Shadowy figures spill out of the house onto the lawn and driveway. It’s impossible to identify anyone, given the non-existent light, fake smoke, and costumes. A pair of sexy black cats dash past us, squealing and holding their tails. Sam’s gaze meets mine, and even in the dark I can see her roll her eyes.

“Where do you think Tate and Andrew are?” I ask as we approach the stone staircase leading up to the front door. “We’ll never find them.”

“We just got here, don’t lose faith yet.” She takes my hand and leads me inside, where the crowd fills the dark, paneled grand foyer with a double staircase. Loud hip hop pulses from multiple speakers.
 

“Let’s find the bar,” she shouts over the throbbing bassline.

I allow myself to be led deeper into the maze of hallways, feeling the urge to leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind me to find my way out again. We pass open doors into rooms that might be called studies or dens, each filled with a random assortment of costumed partygoers. Sexy bunnies chat up rotting zombies while vampire doctors flirt with sexy nurses.
 

I spy Hamilton dressed as a pimp, complete with hideous purple zebra pimp hat. Gross. If this love spell and magic thing does really work, I plan to buy a spell to give him boils. Or make his dick shrivel up smaller, if that’s even possible. He definitely doesn’t have the cock to back up his cocky attitude.

After asking a hobbit about the bar, we step outside on a large back terrace overlooking the dark beach and black water beyond. A huge bar—filled with bizarre looking jars of smoking potions—stands off to the left. The crowd is only a few people deep when we join the line. I scan the space for a familiar tall, lanky form while Sam chats up a sexy Tardis in line behind us. Still no sign of our hosts.

“What’s your potion tonight?” a familiar voice asks me.

My head whips around so fast my witch’s hat almost flies off. Andrew stands behind the bar in a suit and trench coat.

“Maddy?”
 

“Andrew? Or should I say, Dr. Who?”

“Who?” Sam asks.

“He’s Doctor Who.” The sexy Tardis scoffs at us while tilting her cleavage in Andrew’s direction. The fact she has cleavage while dressed as a blue British telephone booth earns her bonus points for costume execution.

Andrew’s eyes widen before he averts his gaze as fast as possible.

“I heard you the first time and that’s why I asked who?” Sam says.

“He’s Who,” I reply.

“Who?”
 

“I’m Who.” Andrew laughs.

Sam grumbles about inside jokes.

“Sam, his costume is Doctor Who, from the show of the same name,” I explain.

Sam’s eyes ping-pong between us like she’s watching a tennis match. “Oh, one of those geeky shows Maddy watches. Explains the tweed coat.”

Andrew scowls at her. He focuses on me with a perplexed tilt of his head. “And what are you? A sexy bee?” His lips curl with a smile.

“Ugh, no. I’m—”

“She’s bewitched!” Sam blurts out, still extremely pleased with her idea.

Andrew grins and leans across the bar. I mirror him, stepping closer so he can speak directly in my ear. I may have hip-checked the Tardis out of the way on accident. Oops.

“You’ve bewitched me, heart and soul.” He quotes Mr. Darcy.
 

I nearly swoon, and in fact do sway on my ridiculously high heels. I slowly blink a few times.
 

He grins at my reaction, sharing our secret moment, before standing to his full height. Bells tinkle and my eyes seek out their source, but I can’t find it.
 

Instead, I say the first thing that comes to mind, “Your eyes are different. They’re blue. Or gray.” They remind me of someone else’s eyes, but in my “ohmygod he quoted Darcy stupor” I can’t figure out whose.

He stares at me for a few seconds. “They’re contacts. You like?” He bats his ridiculously long, dark lashes, rendering me speechless again for a moment.

“Maddy?” he asks.

I give him a shy smile. “I do, they’re very pretty, but I miss your glasses.”
 

“Good to know.” He nods at me, another smile playing at his lips. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, what’s your potion?” He points at the labels on a row of enormous glass jars.

Number nine is pink and much less scary than the black number thirteen or the milky-green number six. “Number nine, please.”

“Excellent choice.” Tate appears from out of nowhere. He’s dressed in all black with a long black cape; his dreads are pulled back and tucked under a tall top hat. “The love potion.”

My mouth drops open. Sam snickers beside me before ordering the same thing. Tate hands us both smoking glasses of pink liquid, which tastes like strawberries.

While Sam and Tate chat, Andrew serves drinks to a teen wolf and a fairy. I watch him and play with my heart charm.
If I take it off now and dropped it, would it seal my fate with Andrew? Do I want him to fall in love with me because of a spell or potion? Will it even count as real love?
 

Before I can dwell, Sam tugs me away to the dance floor. I wave to Andrew before the crowd swallows us. The music is louder inside and I lose myself to the beat. We dance our way into the center of the crowded dance floor in what looks like a dining room without its furniture. I grab Sam’s hands and raise our arms in the air, giggling together as we bump hips. People jostle us, causing us to break apart. A monkey man spins Sam around, and then gives her his banana. I laugh so hard at his antics, I bend to catch my breath … and feel the ribbon at my neck loosen and give way before it falls to the floor.
 

Oh, no.

The heart.

I freeze and search the crowd, holding my breath, wishing Andrew would be standing in front of me. Instead, my worst fear walks toward me. A purple zebra pimp hat moves through the crowd in our direction. Blond hair and brown eyes come into focus. Hamilton winks at me, licking his lips in what I assume is supposed to be a sexy gesture. It’s not.

No. No. No.

I close my eyes and spin around, stumbling when I meet with the solid wall of someone’s chest. A pair of hands wrap around my hips, steadying me.
 

I gasp and open my eyes to meet pale blue ones, and a lopsided smile.

“Hi.” I exhale in relief.

Andrew grabs my hand, pulling me away from the dance floor and Hamilton. Outside he keeps walking past the terrace, leading me down a stone path to the beach.

“My heart!” I exclaim, stopping in the middle of the path.

“What?”

“I lost my heart pendant on the dance floor. I should go find it.”

“You’ll never find it in the crowd.”

I frown as tears wet my eyes. I can’t believe I’m this upset over dropping the heart in front of Hamilton.
 

He presses his index finger to my bottom lip. “It’s not important, is it?”

The charm itself isn’t worth anything, but how can I confess to him how important it is to find it—or even more important, he find it, for the love spell to be completed.

He studies me for a minute before cupping my cheek.
 

I want to kiss him again—more than I want to find the heart, even more than I care about superstitious hocus-pocus magic. I lean forward and press my lips to his.

He responds by wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer. With my heels, the height difference is much less and I can easily reach my hands into his hair. His open coat forms a cocoon around us when he brushes his lips against mine. I exhale a soft sigh.
 

We kiss like no one can see us, like we are the last two people alive, or the first people ever to fall in love. We kiss like we’re falling in love.

My head spins as the earth shifts beneath my feet. Strong arms steady me. Unable to catch my breath, I break off the kiss, nuzzling my nose in his neck.
 

This is falling in love.
 

“Madison,” he whispers into my hair.
 

“Mmm.”
 

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.” I lift my head to meet his gaze.

His thumbs stroke my cheeks while he searches my eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “I know about the love spell.”

Eight

“What?” I try to pull away from him, but he drops his arm around my waist to hold me in place. Therefore, all I achieve is bending backward and grinding my hips against him.
 

Oh. Spell or no spell, Andrew likes me. Really likes me.
 

I have hard evidence … against my stomach. When he moans and pulls his hips away, I pout a little.
 

“The spell?” he reminds me.

Oh, right. The spell.

“I don’t even believe in magic. It was kind of a joke, and I lost the heart pendant. My true love was supposed to find it when it dropped, but you didn’t. Then I saw Hamilton first. So it didn’t work,” I babble.