Chapter 1

Chapter

One

P ortia

The air in the fabric store hums with the energy of sewing machines and unrestrained curiosity.

I've arrived to pick up the final pieces of my costume. And to deliver the bad news about my dating life, apparently.

Five pairs of owlish eyes glance up from their cutting tables, needlework

and quilting, spying me through the tops of their bifocals. The fabric store squad—Birdie, Amaryllis, Sirena, Adele and Zena—have been expecting me.

Squaring my shoulders in fake confidence, I approach the counter and address Birdie. "I got the text that my order is in."

As if I needed a text to know that. But I like to preserve my psychic energy whenever possible.

Birdie gets up from her sewing and goes to the cubby where she keeps the special orders.

Everyone else watches me, but no one speaks. They don't have to. They know I know what they want: an update.

My social interactions are like this a lot of the time among certain members of the population. Specifically, the ones who know I'm clairvoyant.

I'm not a mind reader, per se, but my particular type of gift does make me notice things everywhere I go.

This gift is heightened when I'm in a craft store full of gossipy witches dying for news about me. The eagerness pours off them in equal measure to their glittering magic.

"Here it is," Birdie says, first to break the silence, clomping back to the front counter in her chunky-heeled witchy shoes, a cardboard box in hand. She slides the box over to me, and I open it up to examine it. The sateen material glows. It is buttery to the touch.

"Perfect," I say with a smile. I can't wait to get home to finish the overdress. The gold cord trim I ordered is there, too, and it shines in the light when I pick it up to examine it.

"It's going to be so gorgeous," I say, bouncing on the balls of my feet, excited to get home.

No one here but me cares about my costume.

Birdie rings me up while the rest of the witches cluck impatiently. Sadly, none of them have the same gift as me. If they did, maybe they could tell me where I went wrong in interpreting my vision.

The truth is, I never should have blabbed in the first place when I saw myself with a date on Halloween night. But how could I hold it in? The man in my vision was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen.

He had compassion in his eyes. I knew he would be my first, and that he would be gentle. That's the extremely personal part I don't share.

I complete the transaction with Birdie then swallow my pride, facing the music. "He didn't come."

My body cannot take the outpouring of sympathy that follows. "Oh honey," says Adele, her shoulders slumped at her sewing machine. Amaryllis and Sirena sigh over the cutting table and shake their heads sadly. In a fierce little snit, Zena drops her cross-stitch hoop and utters a curse under her breath. She plucks up a needle from a nearby tomato pincushion and stabs it into a small cloth poppet nearby. I don't bother to remind her that effigies don't work if she doesn't know who the victim is. The much older witch already knows that. I love her spirit. Today, all men can get a twinge in the testicles, for all I care.

"Don't you dare cry over him, Portia. You're going to look like a queen in that dress, and whoever he is will be sorry he messed with destiny," Birdie says, her deep brown hand squeezing my pale one.

"Destiny" is a big word for a simple vision of a one-and-done date. All I ever wanted was someone to be nice to me. Someone fun and silly, who would play along with my couple's costume idea: me as Princess Lily, and my date as Tim Curry's Lord Darkness from the movie Legend. And then, at the end of our perfect Halloween date, find a private place to be together, so I could have sex for the first time and not regret it.

I was so excited about my vision that my dad let me use his 3-D printer to make the horns for the male counterpart of my costume.

I won't cry, even though Birdie has that effect on people. She's one of those witches who can get you to tell the truth, and it sometimes makes people admit feelings before they're ready. The Barbara Walters of witches. She reminds me a lot of the late high priestess Magda, who was like a grandmother to me.

I thank Birdie and give everyone a quick wave, then I'm outta there. I don't care if they can tell I'm hurting; I don't want to start blubbering in front of everyone. I'm 22 and I don't cry over getting stood up. Not anymore.

I wind through the crowds at the downtown Birchdale fall festival, taking a shortcut to my dad's truck. My feet move quickly, trying not to be reminded that here was the spot where my parents fell in love, thanks to a rogue demon spell that made them switch bodies for a day. I also don't need to pause long enough to think about the wishing well over there, where Dane broke up with me a few months ago when he found out I was a virgin and I wasn't going to "give it up" for him.

It was like reliving the days leading up to my would-be prom night: my date canceling when I clarified that I wasn't going to put out just because it was prom night. What's worse, he'd mocked the hand-sewn bow tie I made for him from the same fabric as my prom dress.

It's a wonder I never turned to black magic to hex each and every man I ever met.

Thank god my big sister, Georgia, married Dawn and got the hell out of this town. I've considered whether I should pursue women, but alas, I'm not attracted to them.

The only human male who gives me hope is my dad, Hollis. He treats my mother like a queen and me like his princess.

I hurry through the festival grounds, hoping to reach my dad's truck before anyone spots me in my emotional state.

"Hey, Portia!"

Spoke too soon. Sigh.

My friend Esther holds up a freshly carved jack-o'-lantern cut into Beetlejuice's face.

"Excellent knife work," I tell her with a smile. She smiles back at me and runs her hand over her new pixie cut. I add, "And with all sorts of blades, I see."

"I think I finally got the hang of this whole psychokinesis thing," Esther says.

I look around self-consciously to make sure no one heard that. The town is pretty tolerant of the witch population here, but they don't know we do real magic—as in spells, curses and hexes that go against their perceived laws of nature.

"Oh, no one is listening," Esther says, seeing my wary look. She waves a dismissive hand. "Besides, it's Halloween."

I relax only a little. "Well, the hair looks fabulous and so does the pumpkin. I admit, I don't understand why your power seems to work best on sharp objects, but you'll make a powerful ally one day."

This makes her laugh, which gratifies me.

"Blessed Samhain," I say quickly, thinking I've made my escape.

"Speaking of Halloween," she says. I pause my retreat, wincing as I turn back around.

"Yeah?"

"You're coming to the house party, right?"

"Um…I don't think so."

Her eyes bug out. "You have to! I need someone there to rein me in so I don't get all drunk and stupid around Aaron!"

Aaron is the witch from Salem she just started dating. She's been worried that he's too sophisticated and thinks we're a bunch of hicks down here in Birchdale.

"You'll be fine. He's super into you. You just have to relax," I say, which is the complete truth. The man is besotted with my friend.

"What about your date?" Esther asks.

I have to say it again, and it pains me. "He's not coming. No one showed up. I must have interpreted the vision wrong."

Esther pouts. "Come anyway. I'll be your DD and you can drink your sorrows away."

"Yeah, no thanks." This feels like pity, and the last thing I want to do is be the drunk single gal who no one is looking out for on the horniest night of the year.

Esther peeks into the box I'm carrying and then gives me a skeptical look. "So, you're telling me you're going through with your Princess Lily costume but not going to the party? Come on."

A party with a deejay, dancing, a bonfire, and general debauchery at an abandoned house would be perfect for a date. The perfect night for a ready virgin witch to get her V-card punched.

Alas, it's just not happening.

"I'll probably just stay home this year and hand out candy. We always get tons of trick-or-treaters up at Colony Hill."

She winks. "Sure. Kids won't know that a medieval dress doesn't blend in with the other witches' colonial outfits."

This is a bit of a dig on the fact that I'm making up a story to dodge the party. Kids in Birchdale know their witch history from a young age. Esther wants me to feel welcome at the party, but I've already seen her future. What she doesn't know is that she and Aaron will have a fabulous time tonight. They'll be blissfully happy together in Salem in a few years. At least, I think that's what will happen. Who knows, though. My visions seem to be tricky lately.

"So, I'm gonna go now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait!"

I disappear into the crowd before my friend can talk me into anything I don't want to do.