Spellbound: A magical sequel to Bewitched (3 page)

I don’t give her more opportunity to spin into doubt.

Using the tip of my finger, I lift her chin and brush my lips from the corner of her jaw to the shadow below her full bottom lip. She sighs against my cheek as I kiss the edge of her mouth and then lightly press my lips against hers.

As the kiss intensifies, our bodies move closer together. Her arms sneak behind my back. I cup her cheek with one hand and the other rests between her shoulder blades. Cursing the layers between us, I pull her scarf away to touch her neck. I tower over her, but our bodies fit together perfectly. Like we were made for each other.

If I believe in my mother’s prophecy, maybe we are.

Three

Monday morning my phone buzzes with a call. Glancing down as I walk across campus, I see my father’s name. I think about sending the call to voicemail, but it will only delay the inevitable.

“Andrew.” He answers like I’m bothering him although he’s the one who called me.

“Hello, Father.”

“Good,” he replies like I’ve asked him how he’s doing, “and you?”

“Fine. I’m on my way to the lab. Do you need something specific?”

“No, can’t I call my son and catch up?”

He’s never called to chat. Ever.

“How’s the dating life?”

This conversation is speeding toward bizarre. We don’t talk about my social life. Other than grades and graduate programs, we don’t talk about me. Or much at all. Occasionally he’ll summon me back to Boston for dinner. I’ll take the train and spend more time in transit than bonding with him. I always leave feeling like he’s keeping tabs on me and my mother rather than genuinely curious about my life or interests.

Feeling defensive, I decide to be honest. “I had a date last night in fact.”

His sharp inhale surprises me. “Good, good. Is she from Salem?”

“No, Central Mass. Small town.” I resist telling him more about Madison. His sudden interest in my life doesn’t sit right with me.
 

“Wonderful. She sounds like a nice girl.”

Based on the location of her hometown?
“She is.”

“Excellent. Bring her to Boston for dinner sometime. I’m late for a meeting. Nice catching up with you. Keep out of trouble.”
 

The meaning between his words is to keep away from magic. He’s drilled his warnings into my head for years. “Okay. You too—”
 

The call ends. I stare at my phone in disbelief as I climb the stairs in the middle of the quad. “Asshole.”
 

Because I’m not looking where I’m going, I run into someone.
 

“Whoa, who you calling an asshole?”

Hamilton.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you,” I mumble

He does the head-bob hello. “Wildes. How’s it going, dude?”
 

On the list of all the people in the world I don’t want to speak to this morning Luke Hamilton only trails behind my father. Unlike the famous Broadway musical, no one wants to see this Hamilton. The two of them have shattered the happy haze I’ve been walking around in since last night’s date with Madison. We’d probably still be kissing outside her dorm if the rain hadn’t returned and soaked us. Turns out, I’m not very good at multi-tasking and focusing on a spell while kissing Madison. Things to work on. We’ll have to practice next time it rains.

“Hamilton.” I attempt to move around him, but he doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even do the sidestep most people would do. He’s the worst kind of guy on campus. Arrogant and cocky, he’s so full of himself he usually sucks the air out of any room he occupies while simultaneously lowering the collective IQ. He’s a walking black hole of testosterone filled dudeness. He’s a guyhole. I’m not even sure what he’s doing at this small college. He seems better suited for running in large packs of similar guys at big state schools. Or so I imagine.

Instead of moving along, he stops right in front of me, blocking my path on the stairs.

He’s still speaking. “Hey man. Wicked cool Halloween party.”

“Um, thanks? You should tell Tate. His house, his party.”

“Oh, I will. So many sweet Betties there.” He nods and slaps my shoulder as if I’ve agreed with him.
 

I assume “Betties” is some cool slang I don’t know. I don’t bother asking.

He’s doing nothing for my bad mood after speaking with my father.

“Something I can do for you?” I’m about to walk away from this fascinating exchange when something red on his wrist catches my eye. Reaching out to grab his sleeve, I point at the exposed skin. “Where did you get that?”

He lifts his hand and pulls at the red ribbon, twisting it to show me the familiar silver heart. “Madison gave it to me.”

I arch my left eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“She handed it to you and told you it was a present? From her to you?”

“No.” He manages to look more confused than usual. “She pulled a total Cinderella move. Dropped it and disappeared. At least it’s not her shoe. I’m not one of those weirdo guys who are into wearing girls’ shoes.”

His fairy tale logic surprises me. I’ve never pegged him for a princess fan. Or a guy with a foot fetish. Then again, I’ve never given him much thought at all.
 

“Right. Does she know you have it?”
 

“She told me to keep it.” He flattens his tongue inside his lower lip. It makes him look like a frog, a lying frog.

“How’d you explain it to your girlfriend?”
 

“No chain on these balls.” He unnecessarily gestures to his crotch. “Between us, after Halloween I realized that Madison is the one for me.”

“No she isn’t. Most definitely not.” I realize I’ve taken a step forward into his personal space.

“Not really for you to say, is it? She gave me her heart.” He shakes his wrist in my face.
 

I want to rip off the ribbon and then punch him with his own fist.

I swear I’m not a violent guy, but right now I’m seeing nothing but the red of Hamilton’s blood.

Of course the knot could untie itself and slip from his wrist with a little help from me. Then what? The cheap, fake silver heart and penny’s worth of ribbon aren’t the issue.

Hamilton believes she’s choosing him. He thinks she wants him again.

Wrong.

She’s mine now.

My Madison.
 

The word
mine
begins to loop through my mind like a caveman.
 

“Dude, you’re kind of invading my Luke Zone right now. Can you step back?”

I’m inches from his face. I don’t remember moving.

Still thinking about punching him, I step away and mumble, “Sorry.”

“You’re acting weird, Wildes. I mean, weirder than usual.” He pulls his jacket sleeve over his wrist.
 

I brush my hair off my forehead. “I don’t think she’s interested in you.”

“Who?”

“Madison.”

“My wrist says otherwise.”

“It’s been days since Halloween. Have you spoken with her?” My stomach clenches at the idea. I know she’s not interested in Hamilton. When would she have time to go out with him?

“No need to rush these things. She gave me the sign and now I’m playing it cool.”

Idiot.

At least I have the advantage of common sense over my rival.

The fact that I’m even considering Luke to be a rival startles me.

I’m not the jealous, possessive sort. Never have been.

My life is structured around logic, hypotheses, research, problems, and solutions. Jealousy and anger have little value in my life. Pointless emotions.

Then why am I feeling them now and aimed at this doofus?

I wish he were sitting in a chair I could knock out from under him.
 

Something harmless, but embarrassing for him and amusing for me.

Like him tripping over his own feet.

That’ll work.

“It’s been fascinating. I’m late for lab. May the best man win the girl.” As I move past him, I bump his shoulder with mine. Okay, it’s more of a shove, enough to tilt his balance a little.
 

When he overcorrects, I imagine his feet near the edge of the step.

Without turning around, the squawk and sound of shoes slapping on concrete tell me the vision in my head is playing out behind me.

With a loud grunt, he lands on his ass. “What the fu—”

“Mr. Wildes?” Professor Philips steps in front of my path.
 

I know from his expression he witnessed my encounter and Hamilton’s fall. “Hello, sir.”

“Perhaps you could visit during my office hours this week. I think we’re long overdue for a chat.”

I know I’m not failing his seminar. In fact, he’s told me I should be his TA, despite being a chemistry major in an upper level literature class. “I’ll make sure to come by.”

“Bring Miss Bradbury with you.” He continues walking down the stairs where Hamilton still sits cursing and complaining. “Mister Luke, pick yourself up before someone mistakes you for a vagrant.”

I chuckle at the professorial version of a burn as I cross campus to make my lab.

Four

“It’s an act of mercy to smash pumpkins after Halloween. Saves them from the long, slow death of rotting from the inside out.” I glare at a slumping pile of jack-o’-lanterns outside an otherwise respectable colonial-style house. Other than leaving decaying vegetables on their porch, I’m sure the people who live there are perfectly nice.

“You’re morbid today,” Tate says. “Even more than usual.”

“What’s worse? Smashing a pumpkin or leaving it to mold and rot on your porch steps until it collapses into a pool of its own putrid death?”

“Definitely more. What’s up with you?” He steps away from me.

“I don’t know. I don’t get people. Halloween is over. Done. Finished. Last week’s rotten squash isn’t going to turn back time.”

“Are you and Madison having a fight or something? Did she realize what a sad sack you are and break up with you already?”
 

“No.”

“You should sound happier about that.” He steps into the street to avoid a maple tree planted at the edge of the sidewalk.

Tate’s right. I’m a miserable asshole. For a guy who finally has the girl of his dreams, I should be happier. This doesn’t make sense.

“I am happy about Madison.” I kick a pumpkin off a low step and into the gutter where it lands with a soft splat.
 

“Destroying property definitely shouts happiness.”

“I’m doing a public service.” I glower at him. He’s too tall and too smiley for my mood today. With his blond dreadlocks, he looks like he’s on a permanent tropical vacation. The smug grin he insists on continually plastering on his stupid symmetrical face only adds to my annoyance. I need an uglier friend who doesn’t whistle when he’s trying to hold his tongue.

I kick another pumpkin. This one is carved like a one-eyed minion and deserves to die. The pumpkin projectile startles a black cat who leaps on the hood of a parked car and glares at me.

“Okay then.” Tate holds up his long, monkey arms like he’s afraid of me. “Maybe you should go back to bed.”

“Maybe—” I cut myself off before I tell him where he can stick his advice. I’m in a bad mood. A black mood. I roll my head back to confirm there isn’t a dark cloud above me. Surprisingly, there isn’t.

When I glance at Tate, he’s scrunched up his face waiting for me to curse at him.
 

“Maybe I am in a bad mood.” I toss a sidelong look at three white pumpkins stacked and carved to resemble Olaf from Frozen. It takes all my restraint to not stomp on them. I change course, crossing the street mid-block. The stone walls of Hawthorne come into view.
 

“If this is a bad mood, I’d hate to see you angry.” He readjusts his backpack. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you angry. Or in this big of a snit ever. Not in all the years we’ve known each other. That’s a long time.”

“Why don’t you use your soothing powers on me?”

“Trust me. I’ve been trying. Everything’s bouncing off of you and fizzling. Did you figure out how to create your own personal force field?”

“Huh.” Stretching my arms above my head, I try to shake off the negativity. “I’m not sure what’s going on with me.”

“Everything good with Madison?”
 

As we pass through the ancient wrought iron gates of campus, a small smile cracks my frown. “It’s only been a week since Halloween, but yeah, really good.”

Madison is my girlfriend. At least I consider her my girlfriend. Although, I’m not sure if at twenty-one I need to ask her to go steady. I don’t really know how these things work as adults. I’ve had a crush on her since her freshman year, although she didn’t know I existed until this semester. Sometimes my ability to be invisible in plain sight works too well.
 

I’m not about to ask Tate about the finer details of dating. He’s the last person I’d ever accept advice from on matters of the heart. I’m not saying he’s heartless, but he keeps his emotions protected behind a wall topped with barbed wire. Ironic for a guy with the gift of empathy.

“You better snap out of your sour-puss state, your woman is waiting for you.” He points to the library steps in the near distance. Students and faculty mill around between classes. Everyone seems to be on the move and heading in a different direction.
 

I spot Madison’s dark bob right away in the crowd. In her red coat, she stands out amongst the hoodies and fleece. My smile grows into a grin.
 

Tate bumps my shoulder with his. “I’m thinking you need to stick close to her and keep your bad mood away.”

Madison brushes a hand through her hair and turns to face us, happy surprise lighting up her face.
 

My mood brightens at the sight of her and I wave like a little kid.

Flipping off Tate behind me for his laughter, I shoulder my way through a small group of students in my way.

I climb the steps, skipping every other one to get to her quicker. When I scoop her into my arms, her eyes widen. Today’s cold snap reddens her skin but my bold move adds another layer of pink blush.