Page 39 of Death Card

“Relax,” she says. “I’m teasing you. Yeah, I’m from a little town in Massachusetts, not nearly as exciting as New Orleans.”

“You said near Salem, right?”

“Pretty close to it. The witch capital of the world.”

I lift an eyebrow. “I’d argue that New Orleans should take the top spot.”

Joelle shrugs. “I think there are several scholars who would argue that, too. From what I’ve gathered, there are a few American cities with a deep history of magic.” A dreamy look passes over her expression. “I want to study them all.”

My walls come flying back up brick by brick. No matter how much I like her, I can never let myself forget how dangerous she is. Vision or not, a mortal who craves magic will always be a threat to those who have it.

“What’s up with that, anyway?” I ask. “Why do you want to be a witch so bad?”

She takes a moment to think before answering. “I want to preface this by saying that my life is great. I’m really blessed to have been born into the family that I was. But there are some things I’ve always wished I could change.” She unrolls hersilverware and fiddles with the knife. I stiffen until she sets it back down on the napkin.

“There were times in middle school when I wished I could wave a wand and make all the bullies disappear. Like the ones who teased me for being biracial or for being tall for my age.”

“Magic doesn’t work that way. Or at least, I don’t think it would if it was real,” I hastily add. “I think it would serve as more of a crutch than a cure. It wouldn’t fix everything.”

After all, it can’t resurrect the dead.

“Too bad we can’t test that theory,” she mutters ruefully.

That same thought from earlier returns. If Joelle knew I was a witch, would she resent me? Would her jealousy manifest itself as murderous rage? Honestly, it’s the only way I can see her resorting to murder. Envy does strange things to mortals when faced with a power they can never attain.

“What about you?” Her frown disappears, replaced with a gentle smile. “Have you lived here all your life?”

“I’ve never lived anywhere else.” And I’ll likely never get the chance to go anywhere. “My family tree is rooted in Louisiana, for the most part, with a small branch in South Carolina.”

“Oh!” Joelle says. “My mom’s family was originally from South Carolina. Some tiny town I can never remember the name of.”

“Small world.”

“That it is.”

A sudden thought occurs to me. Could it be possible that the world is smaller than I think?

“Do you happen to know anyone by the last name Hightower?” I ask, careful to keep my voice even.

It’s a long shot, but maybe Joelle has been put up to this by the Hightowers. It would be an attack on multiple fronts. Weaken the coven’s resolve with mysterious illness and death and destabilize us by ending the current line of Witch Queens. The title has been passed through my family from the very beginning, but with me gone, the Council would be forced to consider other options.

She tilts her head. “Hmm, I don’t think I’ve heard the name before.” A playful smile appears. “Unless you count Alicent Hightower, but I’m guessing you don’t mean someone fictional.”

I shake my head. All my momentum whooshes out of me. Of course, she could be lying, but if she is, then she’s a damn good one. I can spot the signs of a liar from a mile away—shifty eyes, tense muscles—but her expression is open and warm as she takes a sip of her drink.

Not for the first time, I wonder if the vision was wrong or if I’m missing something. Joelle has been nothing but nice to me. I can’t imagine what could possibly send her down such a dark path.

Our waitress breezes in with a tray of food. She sets down a plate of steaming catfish in front of Joelle and my mouthwatering po’boy. Without asking, she snatches up our cups and disappears to grab refills.

We waste no time digging in and filling our faces. Joelle lets out a moan of delight as soon as the catfish lands on her tongue. “Oh, that’s the best fish I’ve had yet,” she says. “And these fries are hot and crispy. Thank you for this, Mikaela.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, prodding my coleslaw with my fork. Our waitress returns with refilled drinks, and I wash downmy disappointment with a mouthful of sweet tea. So far, I’m getting nowhere with questioning Joelle. It might be time for more magical alternatives.

I arrange my face into a pleasant expression. “Everyone says the food is one of the top reasons to visit the city.”

“Tulane takes the top spot for me, but the food is a close second,” Joelle agrees. “But I wouldn’t call myself a visitor.”

“No?”