had told anyone about Joe, he would have had to do that.”
“A potato.” I can’t help but laugh. “This gets better and better.”
“It’s actually pretty serious. Transmogrification is nothing to fool around with.”
“Is… that what Joe meant when he said my life could be at risk?”
“Yeah.” He holds my gaze.
Good Lord. A shiver runs down my back.
“How does he know my mother never told anyone about him?”
“The Board of Elders would know. They give the potato decree. It’s not something undertaken lightly.”
“Oh.” Fucking nuts.
“Would you like to try some magic?”
I gape at him. “Like what? I’m not turning anyone into a spud!”
His lips twitch. “You could…” He looks around. “What would you like to do?”
“I would like to conjure up a million dollars.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Of course not.” I roll my eyes.
“Seriously, that’s against the laws. Money and currency aren’t allowed to be conjured. If you did it, there would have to be a great equalization, which would not be good.”
“What good is magic if I can’t conjure up a fortune?”
Trace shakes his head, smiling. “Magic must never be abused.”
“Okay. So, if I wanted to…” I pause. I look around, seeking inspiration. I have no idea what to ask for. “I like white flowers.” Ugh. Whatever.
“Hold out your hand.”
Shaking my head, I do it. He turns it and closes my fingers, holding them there.
“Repeat after me…
I have the power
Here this night
To bring a flower
The color white.”
I say the words, feeling like an idiot.
Trace releases my hand. I open my eyes. And stare at the white peony I’m holding.
I can’t move. I stare at it. Peony season is over. Oh my god! That doesn’t even matter. How did he…? “How did you do that?”
“You did it.” He leans closer and whispers near my ear, “Magic.”
“Oh God.” I feel the warmth of his breath, and a shiver runs down my spine. Not a bad shiver. A hot, sexy shiver.
“Open your mind, Romy. Are you brave enough?”
I stare into his eyes. I’m close enough to see the flecks of gold and emerald in the moss green of his irises.
“Nothing’s ever perfect,” he says. “No family is perfect. And sometimes love is painful. But I can tell you that the Candlers are good witches. They want you to be part of their family. You just have to have the courage to open your mind and your heart to the possibilities.”
I don’t know what to say. I have no words. I feel dazed. Dazzled. Hypnotized.
“Are you putting a spell on me?” I whisper.
The corners of his sculpted lips lift into a smile. “No.” He brushes hair off my cheek. “Think about it, Romy. Promise me?”
I nod. I wish he would kiss me. Instead, he stands, lays money on the bar to more than cover his drink, and walks out.
I turn back to the peony and touch the soft petals to my nose.
Who else do I have to turn to but Kesha and Hannah?
But… I don’t want to be turned into a potato.
I pace my apartment, twisting my hands together the evening after the witchy bombshell was dropped on me.
I love potatoes. They’re a very versatile vegetable. You can make everything from vodka to french fries from potatoes. But I don’t want to be one.
I’ve lost my fucking mind.
No, wait. If I’m a witch and I tell them I’m a witch, they’ll be turned into a potato if they tell someone. I can’t ask them to keep a secret from each other. Okay, this is easy—I just tell them both at the same time!
With that settled in my mind, I send a group text and ask them to come over.
Then I start second-guessing myself. I think the Candlers are literally of unsound mind. My friends are going to think that about me. Maybe it’s better if I keep this to myself.
I don’t want to risk any incidents involving tuberous vegetables.
It’s nonsense. Bullshit. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about this.
I keep seeing Trace’s eyes—serious, earnest, intense. He doesn’t seem like a nutbar.
Courage.
I keep thinking about his challenge to me. To have the courage to open my mind. I don’t like to think of myself as narrow-minded. I’m pretty liberal when it comes to a lot of things. But witchcraft? Yikes.
My friends arrive together, each of them carrying a bottle of Moscato and wearing a worried look on their face.
“What’s going on?” Kesha asks, heading straight to my kitchen.
“This one’s cold.” Hannah holds up her wine bottle.