Page 19 of These Witches Don't Burn
By the time I glance back at the register, Cal is cautiously ringing up the first of Evan’s supplies. Crystals and candles, most of them black. Evan isn’t by the counter, probably searching for something else. I peek down the herb aisle, but it’s like he’s disappeared. He’s not in the book aisle either. I turn to help Cal at the register and smash into someone.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” I look up. Evan. He’s carrying vials of blood root and hemlock. I’m suddenly feeling much less apologetic. “What are you doing?”
He stiffens under my stare, and his expression becomes guarded. “That’s none of your business,” he snaps, and shoves past me to the register, where Lauren has appeared to help Cal. She shoots me a look as she rings up the rest of Evan’s purchase, but I can’t tell whether she’s upset by his collection of supplies or my lackluster customer service skills.
With her, it could really go either way.
Evan pays and heads for the door. As he draws near, I step in his way. “What’ll it be this time?” I ask, hands clenchinginto fists. “Another raccoon? Or are you going after something bigger?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Evan says, holding my gaze like he’s daring me to accuse him again. “Get the hell out of my way.”
“Or what?”
Anger flashes through Evan’s eyes. “Or you’ll be next.” He stalks around me, his arm jostling my shoulder, and he’s out the door a second later, the chime a discordant crashing in my ears.
“What was that about?” Cal asks, coming around the counter when Lauren heads back to her office. “You okay?”
I nod, too busy fighting the angry thrum of magic in my veins to speak. Evan does not get to threaten me and walk away feeling smug. He’s aReg. Whatever power he feels, whatever rush he got from his ritual—and given his reaction, I’m almost certain it was his—that’s nothing compared to what I can do. Less than nothing.
•••
“Tell Lauren I’m taking my break,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
Locals and tourists mix and mingle along the narrow sidewalks as I slip out of the shop. I spot the crisp white of Evan’s shirt as he turns the corner and hurry after him, weaving through pedestrians with a string of apologies in my wake.
A pack of middle schoolers clog the sidewalk, and I step into the street to hurry around them. A car horn blares behind me, and I jolt, pushing back onto the sidewalk and knocking into the gaggle of sixth graders.
“Hey!”
“Watch it, weirdo!”
“Out of the way, loser!”
When did preteens get so rude?I was terrified of seniors when I was their age. I consider tripping them with a crack in the sidewalk, but I shake the thought away. Elementals don’t interfere with the lives of Regs; only Blood Witches do that. Besides, Lady Ariana would skin me alive if she found traces of magic someplace with such a heavy Reg presence. I’m not letting my training get pushed back another second, especially not because of some snotty middle schoolers.
Up ahead, Evan crosses the intersection and heads for the Witch Museum—the one with those creepy wax figures that explain the witch trials—and I hurry after him. On second thought, maybe preteens have always been little shits. Abigail Williams was only eleven when she turned an entire town on its head.
Thankfully, the light is red as I race through the intersection at top speed. I ignore the people who give me strange looks and reach for Evan before he passes the small crowd in line for tickets. “Evan, wait.”
Evan jumps, startled, and pulls away from my touch. The Cauldron bag swings from his hand as he spins to face me. “What do you want?”
“You—” I suck in a lungful of air, my chest heaving. I amsonot a runner. I press my hands into my thighs and double over, which totally ruins the fierce vibe I was going for. “You donotget to threaten me and walk away like it’s nothing,” I say when I finally catch my breath.
“Whatever.” Evan rolls his eyes, dismissing me.
“I’m serious,” I hiss. “You don’t get to hurl curses as threats.” My magic flares with my temper, kicking up a breeze in the cramped square. I press the reflex down.
“I told you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He glances at the tourists around us and leads me away from the line by the elbow. His thumb digs painfully into my bicep.
“Get your hands off me,” I snap, but I catch myself keeping my voice low, like I’m afraid to cause a scene. I tear my arm from his grip and shove a finger toward his purchase. “That bag is full of cursing supplies. Whatever you’re doing, it has to stop. And you’re sure as shit not going to curse me or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll do what?” Evan raises an eyebrow at me, and Ihatethat I can’t show him the magic I could unleash if he tried to hurt me.
I force myself to take a deep breath and switch tactics. “I’ve worked at the Cauldron since I turned sixteen.” I pause as a woman drags two young children past us. Only when they’re out of range do I continue. “I know the beginnings of a hex when I see one. Hurting people is not the way to get what you want.”
“Some people deserve to be punished.” His eyes flash, glimmering in the sunlight. His voice is thick with hurt. “Some people deserve to watch their lives fall apart. Why shouldn’t I be the one to make that happen?”
His question catches me off guard, and I don’t have an immediate answer beyondthat’s not how life works, and somehow I doubt that will suffice. I search for a Wiccan explanation, hoping all his time in the Cauldron means he gives a shit about more than the magic. “Whatever evil you conjure, the Law of Return will send it back three times worse. Are you willing to risk that?”
