Page 1 of Spell Ya Later

Chapter 1

Four Witches Walk Into A Dinner

My lungs scream as I fight the overwhelming urge to take a breath. My little sister’s eyes are like saucers as she stares at me, cutting off the circulation in my hands with her death grip. We have our orders.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t move.

Don’t make a sound.

Or you will die. We will all die.

The edges of my vision are dark; a gray veil lies over everything else.

My mother’s back is to us, shielding us, so I can’t see her face. I can only make out the tension in her shoulders as she holds herself still. Still as a tree in the dead of night. My unanswered question rings in my head...

Where is Daddy?

She didn’t answer me—just told me to protect Laura and stay quiet.

Shuffling draws my attention, the slow drag of an injured leg along a wooden floor. The echo reverberates against the walls. I don’t even know where we are.

“Where are they?” a scratchy voice asks from only a few feet away.

“They must have escapedwhile you were...preoccupied.” That’s a voice I haven’t heard before. Has this man been here the whole time?

“You’re blaming me?”

“There’s no one else here to blame, is there? Come. They can’t hide forever.”

Are they gone? There is no sound, but the heaviness in the air has somehow lightened. I open my mouth to speak, to question, but my mother’s hand lands on my forehead.

“Forget.”

My eyes close.

“It’s almostfive at night, Hazel. Are you seriously napping?”

My eyes blink open to find my sister, Laura, staring at me. If the hardness of her gaze is any indication, waking me up was a chore.

I’ve had the same nightmare almost every night for the past thirteen years. Ever since my dad died, I’ve been plagued by a memory that doesn’t exist. A memory that never happened. My sister and I were at home the night my father died. I can still smell the buttery popcorn Grandma made for us as we watched some silly cartoon. I can feel the slip of the freshly washed sheets that Laura and I shared because she didn’t want to sleep alone after such a fun night.

But tell all that to my subconscious.

That part of my brain apparently hasn’t gotten the message.

“How can I help you?”

Laura opens her mouth and closes it as her eyes snap to the open sketchbook I fell asleep next to. I hastily close the book on a pair of eyes that have captivated my attention for the past few weeks. I can draw them despite not knowing their owner. Eyes of the darkest brown, almost black. With a little fleck of green in the corner of the right one in the shape of a star.

“Homework from class?” she asks, a half grin lifting the side of her mouth.

I narrow my eyes. “No. I’m the instructor, I don’t have homework.” Granted, I’m an unpaid volunteer, but the access to decent supplies and fresh inspiration is too good to pass up on. Plus, it’s pretty much the only time Mom lets me out of the house. It’s also the only time she leaves the house. Sunday morning brunch with the few friends she has left.

She scoffs, allowing me to move on from the subject for now. “I’ve come to brainstorm ideas on how to get out of dinner tonight. I don’t know about you, but I really don’t feel like dealing with Mom and Grandma.” She flops on my bed beside me. The vintage wooden frame groans under the added weight. The only thing holding it together is magic and my mother’s determination.

“Good luck with that. You don’t show up and Grandma will hex your hair puke green. Again.”