Page 2 of Practically Magic

I could choke on my jealousy.

But then I notice where Laney is pointing. On the counter sits an orange envelope. Even from here, I can see Zara’s flowing script: Colton Croft <3.

Laney mouths at me, “Invite?”

My stomach swoops. What if Zara Patel is having a Halloween party too? And if she invites Colton? And he says yes to her—and not to me?

It’ll all be for nothing. My month of handcrafting decorations. All the times I’ve tried to convince my mom that I can safely host a party at our house. I even already sent all the invitations, personalized to every kid in my grade. This is the one year when I’m not in Harry’s shadow, when my parents are going to be out of town.

I have to get Colton to my Halloween party.

I need to make sure Colton doesn’t get that invitation.

Across the room, Laney is mouthing something I can’t quite pick up on. Her lab partner gives her a strange look as she starts gesturing over her head, forming a tall triangle from her temples up, hands meeting two feet above her crown. As if she’s wearing a giant pointy hat.

Right.

I may not be Harry Hadley, but I am a Hadley. And every Hadley girl is a witch. I can spell my way out of this. I gather my long red hair and use the hair tie on my wrist to pull it into a messy bun so I can focus. Of course I didn’t get Harry’s sleek blond locks.

Spell casting requires two things: intention and sacrifice. Spells work best if you sacrifice something that represents the target—in this case, it’s easy, since the target is just a note. I rip a piece of paper from Zach’s binder—he squawks at me, but I ignore him—and scribble my intention. Destroy Zara’s note.

“We should work as a team,” Zach is saying, cranking up his Bunsen burner. When he turns to double-check his chemicals—boric acid and alcohol, so he’s going for a green flame, which is annoyingly clever—I lunge forward for the fire.

Sacrifice. If I burn this paper imbued with my meaning, the spell should work.

Emphasis on should. Because even though I’m a teenage witch from twenty generations of the most powerful witches, my spells rarely work as intended. To put it mildly.

Laney gives me a thumbs-up as I jerk my note toward the fire.

“Kat! Watch out!” Zach cuts in, trying to yank my hand away from the Bunsen burner. His obnoxiously large hand clamps over mine, hot and rough, but I shove my way forward. Rage burns through me at the way he manhandles me, but I try to focus on my intention. Destroy, I think, pushing the note into the flames.

The fire catches, and the little scrap of lined paper blackens, curls, and smokes.

Zach swears under his breath, knocking the ashes onto the black tabletop.

I ignore him and hold my breath, glancing over at Zara.

As Colton ducks down to dig through his bag, Zara perches on the lab stool, whisks her hair down her back, and opens her lab notebook with a flourish.

As the marbled black-and-white cover falls open, the pages glow, and my hands suddenly go numb and tingly. A split second and my stomach sinks with a realization. Zach lurches forward, tackling Zara to the floor, as the paper explodes in flames that shoot up five feet, a column of fire to the ceiling.

I yelp and reach for the fire extinguisher, coating the entire bench—and Zara and Zach—in foam. As my hands shake, my brain catches up.

Destroy Zara’s note.

I wasn’t clear enough. Apparently, I was enthusiastic about the destroy part, but maybe I hadn’t thought clearly about which note—or notebook. My heart leaps into my throat. Does that mean the spell worked?

Then we hear a ghostly moan.

I scan the table and floor. Because as the smoke billows, I can’t see Colton.

A figure staggers through the haze, hands out, and I follow the broad shoulders, hoping to see Colton’s golden hair, his bright smile, his blue eyes.

Instead, I see nothing. Because this figure doesn’t have a head.

“Oh my god! It’s the Headless Horseman!” someone shouts. Lab stools clatter to the linoleum as people scatter. Tom Callabra, the biggest football player on the team, yelps and tries to use Laney as a human shield.

“Hey, man!” she complains, knocking him aside, but he’s already sprinting toward the door, as Mr. Ruth tries to urge students to evacuate in a calm and orderly process.