Page 115 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

I obviously don’t mention that part.

“Apparently, sometimes when you try to reverse a spell, it can backfire.”

That gets Veronica to look up.

Not with any concern aimed at me or about me. But with this wild expression I can only describe as resignation.

“There were at least three different posts on the witchcraft forum talking about it,” I continue. They’re doing their silent communication thing, looking at each other with, well, concern. “Sometimes when you’re trying to reverse romantic energy, you can accidentally amplify it instead. Like the energy has nowhere to go, so it rebounds.”

Dani’s fork stops halfway to her mouth. “Rebounds?”

“That’s what the woman called it.”

“What woman?”

“I don’t know, Dani. MoonChild333. That’s not the point.”

Veronica closes her eyes.

“The point is, I think I might have accidentally turned myself into some kind of magnet.”

“For what?”

I lean closer across the table, even though nobody around us is listening. It’s prime lunchtime at a corporate office and there is chili on the menu today, so everyone is busy eating their food and enjoying their very corporate conversations.

“Lesbians, apparently.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything. Then Dani puts her fork down.

“Pardon me,” she says. She crosses her arms over her chest and turns her body slightly in my direction. Her whole attention is now on me, and I should be intimidated by her posture, but I can see the amusement all over her face. “What the fuck are you talking about, Merryweather?”

“Nothing happened, not really,” I try to defend.

They both stare at me.

“Okay, nothing new happened,” I amend. “Things with Flora are good.”

Veronica waits. And they still say nothing.

I hate when they do this.

“She came over Tuesday.”

That finally gets a reaction from Dani, although only because she knows enough about Tuesday to know Flora had supposedly been coming over to pick up her forgotten property.

“And?”

“And we had dinner.”

“And?” Veronica says, gesturing with your hand as if saying, Get on with it.

The Briarwood cafeteria is too bright, too loud, and always smells faintly of whatever the least appealing hot entrée is that day. I usually eat at my desk or with them in one of the little break rooms upstairs. Today, I needed neutral territory.

“I think I have a tiny crush on the witch.”

Silence, and then they look at each other again.

“Stop communicating silently about me while I’m sitting here, please!”