Rise of the Wadjet Witch - By Juliet C. Obodo Page 0,26

of her face. She cleared her throat.

“No, I just wanted to get back to the party.”

“I don’t blame you. Everyone is having a blast. Boss lady knows how to throw quite a bash.”

They both looked out at the sea of gyrating hips.

“Boss lady? You work with Jill?” If he worked for the newspaper, she would definitely be able to find out who this masked man was. He must have read her mind, because he quickly backtracked.

“No, that’s just what I heard everyone else calling her, so I followed suit.”

“Oh.” Of course she didn’t believe him. She wanted to question him a bit more, but he distracted her by dragging her toward the dance floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, since you seem to be in a hurry to get back to the party, I thought I would oblige.”

They stopped right in the middle of the floor and he rested his hands on her hips. His face was close to hers and his stubble occasionally brushed her cheek. Neither of them spoke. They simply moved to the beat, which was a good thing because Memphis wouldn’t have been able to hear him anyway. All she heard was the blood rushing to her head. She couldn’t believe she was dancing with a real live boy!

The music switched to a more upbeat, Latin-inspired tempo, and he kept up with her salsa. They kicked it old school to a few late 90s hits, bursting into laughter when they successfully completed the Kid ‘n Play. Just when she was getting comfortable dancing with her handsome partner, the music changed to slow jams —the sexiest slow jams from the 90s the DJ could play.

She wanted to call it quits and get a drink, but he took her hand and pulled her in close. For this stretch his stubble applied for a full-time position against her cheekbone. Memphis tried to keep her movements small. She moved carefully, not wanting to break the spell. She didn’t go to her high school prom; her foster parents had stolen the money she saved up to buy a dress. Rent, they told her, and slammed their bedroom door in her tear-streaked face. Unlike Cinderella, the mice in their home did not know how to sew. No fairy tale ending for her, but that was then and this is now.

She looked up at her dance partner. She wanted to memorize every feature of his face so she could recall every detail of this moment whenever she needed to. He looked down at her, but it seemed more like he was looking through her. She felt a familiar pressure in her temples, and her body hummed. She knew he felt it, too. They hadn’t made any formal introductions, but she knew him. The knowledge was lodges somewhere deeper than in her mind’s memories. Her body reacted to his; it was magnetic. Their eyes were locked during the entire song; neither of them moved their heads or even seemed to blink. He slowly began to tilt his face toward her, and for a moment it felt like he was going to kiss her. Then someone tapped him on the shoulder.

It was a woman. She was slight but looked strong, and she was very beautiful, from what Memphis could tell. She also wore a purple mask—they must have come as a set.

“Hello,” she greeted them brusquely. “Sorry, but we have to leave.”

She tugged Memphis’s mystery man’s arm to show that “we” was actually the two of them. He looked at the woman and then at Memphis. He gave her a wistful smile before apologizing and walking away with the woman. She watched the purple strings, tied at the back of their heads, disappear into the crowd. She never felt more alone.

“Memphis, is that you?” she heard someone call out.

She turned in the direction of the voice and spotted a flame-haired woman on her right. “Gemma?”

“Yes, it’s me. I saw you out there! Who was that gorgeous lad?”

“I don’t know; I didn’t get his name. He just left with that woman. I think that was his girlfriend.”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry. Maybe you shall meet again. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. Isn’t that right, Gregoire?” She turned to the tall man next to her.

“Yes, my love. Que sera, sera.”

Great. Any more overused phrases you’d like to throw at me? Memphis suppressed the need to roll her eyes.

“Memphis, I’d like to introduce you to Gregoire. He’s the one who has been keeping me away from our