Page 18 of These Witches Don't Burn
“It depends on how you define ‘new.’ I just finished my first year at Salem State. I’m from Boston initially, but I decided to stick around and earn some extra cash while I get ahead in my courses.” Cal gestures to the register. “Mind if I try?”
“Sure.” I return the ancient register to the cheesy early 2000s home screen and watch as Cal brings up the clock-in function. “Why do you have to get ahead?”
“College isn’t cheap,” Cal says, like it’s an obvious answer. “If I can finish my computer science degree in three years, I’ll save an entire year of tuition and housing costs. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What are you studying in college?”
My cheeks warm, but there’s something so earnest about how Cal asks that I don’t mind telling him the truth. “I’ll actually be a senior at the high school this fall. Veronica’s going tocollege this year, though. She’s going to study journalism at Ithaca College in New York.”
“Who’s Veronica?”
My heart skips a beat when I realize what I’ve done. I thought this stupid reflex, this subconscious need to include Veronica in every part of my life, was broken. Dead. Gone.
“She’s my ex,” I whisper, my stomach clenching as I wait to see how Cal responds. Coming out is always nerve-wracking, no matter how many times I do it. And now that Veronica and I are broken up, there’s an added sting of loss along with the rest of the anxious emotions.
Cal pauses a moment, considering me. Then he lets out a knowing sigh. “My first boyfriend broke up with me a few months before he went to college, too.”
“Yeah?” I ask, instantly feeling a tighter kinship with my new coworker, like seeing a familiar face in a crowd of strangers. “What happened?”
“Some of it was the usual stuff, like not wanting to juggle a relationship while we went to separate colleges. Mostly, though, I don’t think he wanted to date a guy.” When Cal sees my confused expression, he clarifies. “I’m trans. I came out senior year.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to hide my surprise. “I’m sorry he dumped you.”
“It’s fine.” Cal smiles wide, his pale cheeks flushing. “My new boyfriend is a much better match. He’s home in Brooklyn for the summer though.”
I offer my condolences on the long distance and walk Cal through the most common functions on the register. As we work, we swap stories about our exes. Cal groans sympathetically when I tell him about the public shouting match that ended myrelationship, and I pester him for details about how he met his current boyfriend.
“This is the least intuitive register system I’ve ever seen. How old is this thing?” Cal asks, interrupting his own story. We’re in the middle of a practice return, and the register keeps making angry beeps at him.
“You’ll get the hang of it. Sometimes it helps if you smack it.”
“That doesn’t actually—”
I hit the register with the heel of my hand, and Cal cringes at the shuddering clang the old machine makes. “Try now.”
Cal eyes me suspiciously and runs through the steps again, glancing at the notebook where he wrote the instructions. This time, the return goes through fine.
“Told you.” I grin, and Cal smiles back. It’s nice having some fresh blood around here. Lauren is cool and all, but she’s still the boss.
The bell above the door rings, announcing a new customer. Cal plasters on a smile so wide it rivals Lauren’s best customer service grin and offers a hearty, “Welcome to the Fly by Night Cauldron!”
His enthusiasm is infectious. I turn to greet the newcomer, too, but I freeze when I see who it is.
Evan.
I hardly recognize him at first. Gone is the goth kid who came into the shop before the bonfire. This new Evan’s face is free from makeup. He’s wearing dress pants, a white collared shirt, and a name tag with the Witch Museum logo.
What is he doing here?
“You good?” I ask. When Cal nods, I follow Evan down the candle aisle. I cross my arms, all my customer service trainingforgotten. “Can I help you?” I snap, my tone more hostile than my words.
Evan raises a brow. “Uh, hello to you, too, Hannah. And I’m fine. I know what I need.” He disappears down another row, and the clinking of glass tells me he’s looking through our vials of magical herbs.
A war rages inside, leaving me frozen in place. Evan’s a Reg. His actions shouldn’t concern me. Lady Ariana’s words echo in my head:It’s not our place to save them from themselves.If Evan wants to sacrifice another animal and risk the consequences of that kind of magic, that’s on him.
And yet...
