Page 62 of Forbidden Mischief
“Awww, thanks, Alice,” I snort and carry my treats upstairs. Halfway up the stairs a weird tightness coils in my chest, something sharp and unfamiliar. I brush it off as post-workout dehydration or too much sun.
Probably both.
I finish eating in my room, scrolling through my phone absentmindedly, waiting for a text from Asher. Nothing. I check the timestamp on his last message—hours ago. Weird. He’s usually all over texting me about everything. He saw things. Smelled things. Some weird squirrel even tried to square up with him on his run.
I take a quick shower, hoping it’ll settle the creeping unease that’s starting to slither beneath my skin. Hot Water. Good smelling soap. Steam so thick I can’t see my hands in front of me. But the minute I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around me, it slams into me.
My heart.
It tightens—hard–like I’ve been shocked by a car battery. I stumble into my room, catching myself on the edge of the bed, and stare at my reflection in the mirror on the back of the door.
My chest rises and falls too fast. Sweat beads at my temple, and my ribs ache like something is inside of me and trying to claw its way out.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. Again and again. It doesn’t help. It’s like someone has hooked those little paddles at hospitals to me and keeps hitting the zap button over and over.
Panic runs through me and I drop the towel, throw on a shirt and some sweatpants, and flop onto my bed. Maybe I just to need to sleep. Maybe it’s just?—
Another kick to the chest.
My whole body flinches.
This is not normal.
“Asher,” I whisper, grabbing my phone. I call him. Straight to voicemail. I text him three times.
Me: Where are you?
Me: Call me NOW!
Me: Something is wrong with me.
Nothing.
I pace. Back and forth. Fingers tangling in my dark hair. The feeling only gets worse.
I’m dying.
I’m not crazy. But this…this isn’t right.
I don’t think. I move.
Downstairs, the lights flicker as I hit the last step, my magic reacting to whatever is happening inside of me.
“Dad!”
He’s in the den, a book hovering midair in front of him, his reading glasses sitting low on his nose even though he doesn’tneed them. Old habits die hard, especially for old warlocks who grew up pretending to be human.
He looks up and sees my face. Immediately setting his book down.
“What’s wrong, son?”
“I think I need to go to the hospital.”
He blinks. “What?”
“My heart’s been racing for the last hour or so, and it’s feels like—like I’m being defibrillated, over and over again. I can’t breathe. It hurts. I think—think I’m having a heart attack. I’m only a fucking senior in high school.”
