October 3, Thursday

THE LATE afternoon sun slanted through the kitchen windows as I waited for my tea to steep. On the counter, my phone buzzed, and Frida's smiling face lit up the screen. I answered, grateful for a dose of normalcy.

"Hi, Frida."

"Girl. You are not going to believe what happened!"

I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder as I added a splash of milk to my tea. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"It's Curtis," she said, her voice a mix of glee and disbelief. "He's been in an accident."

My hand froze midway to grabbing a cookie. "Is he okay?"

"Physically, he'll live. His ego, on the other hand..."

I sank into a kitchen chair, my tea forgotten. "Frida, what happened?"

"Okay, picture this," she began, barely containing her excitement. "Curtis was at some bougie rooftop party, probably trying to schmooze his way into another get-rich-quick scheme. Apparently, he'd had a few too many of whatever overpriced cocktail they were serving and decided to demonstrate his superior 'core strength' by doing a handstand on the edge of the roof."

"He didn't."

"He did. Long story short, a pigeon—a pigeon!—flew right into his face mid-handstand."

I gripped the phone, suddenly terrified. "Did he fall off the roof?"

"Thankfully, no. But he did manage to break both arms trying to catch himself."

I winced, torn between sympathy and a perverse sense of satisfaction. "That's... wow."

"And here's the best part—he can't type!"

"Really?"

"Both arms in casts. He's physically incapable of updating his Instagram. His girlfriend posted the photos on her feed. His entire social media presence has gone radio silent."

I sat there, stunned.

"Jo? You still there?"

"Yeah, sorry. It's just... a lot to process."

"It's the curse! It actually worked!"

"Or it was just a coincidence," I countered as I carried my tea upstairs to my bedroom.

"Wait—I thought you believed in this witchy stuff."

"I was just… blowing off steam when I did… what I did."

"Blame it on witchcraft or karma or the weather, but the guy got what was coming to him."

"Yeah, I'm not shedding any tears," I admitted.

"How are things in Witch City? Any more spooky graveyard drama?"

I walked to the window and glanced in the direction of the Whisper Graveyard, remembering yesterday's new moon ritual. "The usual—Wiccan ceremonies, secret feuds… oh, and a tree fell over and pushed up an empty grave vault."

"What the hell? Somebody robbed a grave?"

"It's unclear," I murmured. "The police are looking into it."

"Ugh," Frida said with a shudder in her voice. "Quick, tell me something good. How's the hardbody stone mason?"

My cheeks warmed. "He's… fine."

"Girl, I can hear you blushing through the phone. Spill!"

As I regaled Frida with a heavily edited version of recent events, my eyes kept drifting to the graveyard. I set down my tea and picked up the binoculars. The sun was setting now, casting long shadows across the headstones.

A movement caught my eye—a flash of white among the graves. I squinted, trying to make out what it was. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw a figure in a white dress ducking behind a monument.

"Josie? Hello? Did I lose you?"

"Sorry, Frida. Bad reception out here in the boonies. I'll call you later, okay?"

"You were just getting to the good part!"

"Bye, Frida."

I ended the call, then used both hands to focus the binoculars. But the white figure was gone.

If it had ever been there.

Chastising myself, I set down the binoculars and reclaimed my tea. As I brought the cup to my mouth, I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Curtis with both arms in casts.

A sense of wonder filled my chest… I guess I did believe in witchcraft.