And why the hell is my nana performing a spell on her?
“She’s a young witch. Ali.” Nana sighs tiredly, moving to take the photograph from my hand. Her features soften as she stares at the young girl’s face. “She went missing last night.”
Understanding dawns on me with the force of a freight train barreling me over at one hundred miles per hour.
“And they think the Bloods took her,” I surmise, and she offers me a barely perceptible nod.
“The witch’s council asked me to do a tracking spell to find her,” she confesses, and I just barely rein in my grimace. Because that type of magic? It’s powerful. And though Nana is immensely powerful in her own right, to garner that much magic as a sex witch would mean…
Things I don’t want to think about. Ever. Bleach from mind.
“But this spell would only work if she’s—”
“Still alive, yes.” Nana nods sadly as she lowers the picture once more onto the table. “And unfortunately, the spell failed. Again. This is my fifth time trying.”
My heart hurts at the realization that this girl, this witch, is probably dead. No, not probably. The only reason Nana’s magic wouldn’t find her would be because she’s already dead. Poor Ali.
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask meekly, swallowing the tennis ball-sized lump in my throat.
“Stay safe.” A wide smile suddenly blossoms on her face as she gives me a once-over, the morose expression disappearing completely. “And you look adorable! Is today really your first game?”
“Yeah.” I tug self-consciously on the hem of my shirt. Is it too tight? Too thin? Does it make me look fat? All of my insecurities play on repeat in my mind as I shift awkwardly from foot to foot. “We’re playing the Hawks tonight.”
“Oh! We’ll be there!” She raises her voice to be heard upstairs. “Christian! Grab my camera! I want to get a picture of Peony!”
“God, Nana, no…” My protests fall on deaf ears when Christian enters the kitchen a minute later, smiling brightly and carrying a camera.
“Don’t you look cute!” he practically coos, like one would when staring at an adorable dog. He continues to offer me that infectious smile, one that even the grumpiest person in the world can’t resist. “Smile for the camera!”
I awkwardly flash my teeth, cheeks burning one thousand degrees, before I grab my packed lunch from the fridge.
“Stop it,” I murmur, blushing.
“Another one?” Christian asks Nana seriously. “Maybe this time a photo of the two of you?”
“Oh my god. I’m leaving. Bye.” Still keeping my head lowered, I hurry towards the foyer to grab my light jacket. The weather in Michigan ranges from sweltering hot to miserably cold. There is no in between, and you never know what the bipolar weather will do next.
“Perfect timing,” Gabriel says, just as I slip my hands into the sleeves of my coat. A cigarette dangles lazily from his mouth, and he removes it to blow a puff of smoke out the opened window. “Your stalker is here.”
“My stalk—Oh fuck.”
Sure enough, when I glance out the window, Elias’s Jeep is idling in the driveway. His features are shadowed, but I can see his fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
“Ugh.” Groaning, I rub a hand down my face, grab my backpack from where I discarded it on the floor the night before, and hurry out the door. “Bye, Nana!” I call out as I exit, hurrying away before I can hear her reply.
Like it’s becoming our new routine, I ignore Elias and begin my trek down the long, curving driveway. And like before, he slows his Jeep to a crawl as he keeps pace with me.
“My stalker returns,” I deadpan, and his lips twitch ever so slightly.
“Stalker is such a strong word,” he muses as he puts on his hazards, allowing a car to pass him.
“Is creeper a better description?” I quirk a brow at the stunning man, malice lacing my tone. But instead of being offended, Elias throws his head back in laughter. The sound does strange things to my body, things I refuse to look at too closely. I remind myself that this is the same man who laughed when I was completely and utterly humiliated in front of the school, and some of my lust abates.
But not all.
He doesn’t respond to my inquiry. Instead, he taps his fingers against the steering wheel, his eyes flickering to me every few seconds. Elias and silence…they go together. He doesn’t usually have