Page 48 of Death Card

I nod. “I’m bi.”

Her smile stirs up a flutter in my chest.

She jerks her thumb toward herself. “Lesbian.” The corners of her lips quirk up. “Two sapphics walk into a room. They either end up together or become best friends.”

“Who says they can’t do both?” I murmur.

Without responding, she turns away to grab two sodas from the fridge. We park ourselves in front of the living room TV and Joelle turns on an episode ofThe Vampire Diaries.

“Really?” I ask, licking raspberry jam off my fingers as I finish off a doughnut. “Do you only watch shows with witches in them?”

She shrugs and rests her legs on a plastic storage bin that she’s using as a coffee table. “Guilty as charged.”

Joelle’s thigh is pressed against mine, but I make no move to shift away and neither does she. We end up watching an episode from season four set in New Orleans. A smile spreads across Joelle’s face when Bonnie appears on-screen.

“She’s one of my favorite witches,” Joelle says. “I love that she’ll do anything for the people she loves. I like to think that I’m the same way.”

I stiffen, thinking of my vision. “So, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do?” I ask. “Even kill?”

She turns to face me, and we stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment. When she finally speaks, her voice is low. “If that was the only option, then I would in a heartbeat.”

“For your mom?”

“Of course,” she whispers. “I’m afraid that I’ll lose her. She’s my everything.”

Now it’s my turn to bare my inner wounds.

“My grandmother was mine,” I murmur. “She left us last year, and none of us have been the same since. Part of me is embarrassed to carry this grief with me because she was my grandmother, and that’s what old people do. They die. But still, she wasmy grandmother—one of the most important people in my life. I’ve got this giant hole in my heart that she once filled. Meanwhile, the world keeps turning and life goes on.”

Joelle places a hand on my cheek. The room is warm, but a cold shiver runs down my spine like I’ve been dunked in a frigid pool. I can’t help but lean into her touch.

“Do you ever think you were meant to cross paths with someone?” she asks. “Like there was some guiding force that drew me into your shop last week?”

“I think the beginning of our stories was written long before we ever existed,” I say. “But the end is still in flux.”

Joelle’s phone beeps with a text. She swipes it open before standing. “I’ve gotta go call my aunt really quick. I’ll be back.”

Once I hear her bedroom door close behind her, I jump to my feet and creep into the kitchen. I chuck my soda into the trash and grab another one as an excuse before opening up every single drawer. The only blades in sight are butter knives and two ceramic kitchen knives. Even though I didn’t get a clear look at the dagger in my vision, I can tell none of these are the one.

I head back into the living room and kneel down before the short bookcase beneath the window. It’s mostly empty; another cardboard box rests on the floor nearby stuffed to the brim with more books. I reach inside and root around. There are a few fiction books, but I’m more interested in her collection of magic books.

I recognize some of the titles from the store, but one of them in particular catches my eye.The Complete Book of Witchcraft.It’s a thick tome with yellowed pages and a pentagram etched into the leather cover. As I flip through it, my breath hitches. It’s clearly written with a mortal audience in mind.

The beginning of the first chapter saysMagic is more than a state of being. It is a display of strength. One must take it by force; siphon it from the energy displayed in the elements around you and channel it into your own body.

Joelle’s laugh echoes down the hall, and I’m reminded that I’m on borrowed time. I flip through a few more pages and stop when I see a sentence that chills me to the core.

Sometimes blood must be shed in the pursuit of power. Magic is notowed to any of us. Even the witches of old had their sacrificial lambs. Use this spell when confronted by a witch who will not be tamed.

The so-called spell goes on to instruct the reader to use a small sample of blood to channel the other person’s energy into magic.

I’m disgusted by this pure mortal trash. None of this is real. I’m not sure the author even believed what they wrote.

I jump at the sound of Joelle’s voice behind me. “Hey! You found my collection.”

“Oh, uh…”

She joins me on the floor and takes the book from my hands, only glancing at it briefly before tossing it back into the box. “I got some of these from estate sales and thrift stores,” she says. “If there was even a hint of magic, then I bought it. No questions asked.”