“Aperi, aperi, aperi.”
The lock clicks heavily in my hands, and a satisfied smile blooms across my face.
“What’s going on?”
I gasp, spinning around to find Jessie with her arms crossed over her chest, an orange hall pass slung around her neck.
Dammit to hell.
“I—I was just…”
“That’s Paige’s locker,” she says.
Heat courses to my cheeks. “I know that. I was…getting something for her.”
She arches an eyebrow, challenging me. Could she have seen me do my little trick?
I push my shoulders back. “She gave me her combination.”
She looks down at my hands, I guess to confirm I’m not hiding a hacksaw up my sleeve. “So then why’d you sneak out to do it?”
“Who says I snuck out? I had to use the bathroom, then I remembered the thing Paige wanted and dropped by here.”
We engage in a staring contest for a few seconds, before Jessie gestures to the locker as if giving me permission to open it.
I pull the metal door open, and have to stop myself from crying out with relief when I see the black violin case propped up on a stack of books.
“There it is,” I say, pulling out the case.
“She went to music school without her violin?” Jessie asks.
Crap.
“Yep. Funny, huh? She was in a really big hurry, and school was closed when she left. I’m giving it to Mrs. Abernathy so she can send it to Paige.”
Jessie stares at me while I hike the case onto my back.
“Well,” I say. “Love to chat, but I need to get back to class.”
I paste on a smile, then make a quick escape down the hallway. I don’t know how I’m going to explain the violin to Mrs. Davies, but in the grand scheme of my problems, it doesn’t even rate.
4
The bell above the door jangles as I enter the Black Cat. I expected to be sad coming to Mom’s beloved occult shop after so long away, but it’s so much worse than that: walking inside strikes me like a baseball bat straight to the gut. If Aunt Penny wasn’t ringing up some goth kid at the till, I might lunge at her.
The big oak bookcase that took up the entire back wall until the night The Witch Hunter’s Bible was stolen and the bookcase destroyed has been replaced with a new, more modern dark wood shelf. It’s still filled with the same explosion of occult books, but Aunt Penny has them all stacked perfectly instead of in the pattern Mom preferred, with some lying horizontally now and then “for variety.” The same pentagrams hang from the low ceiling, the same old Turkish rug is spread across the hardwood floor, but the black cauldron that used to be on display in the center of the store is now in front of the window, and racks of bath salts have taken its place. The shop even smells different somehow.
I hate it.
While Aunt Penny counts out change, I shove the violin case behind a shelf before she sees it and starts asking questions I don’t want to answer. When the customer leaves with his ceremonial dagger or whatever, I sulk over to the counter.
“Like what you’ve done with the place,” I say. “Might have waited for Mom’s body to cool before redecorating, though.”
Aunt Penny chews the corners of her fingernails and looks around the store anxiously. “You hate it. I’ll move it back. I just thought I’d try something new. The cauldron took up so much space in the middle of the room.”
Mom always said that too. I say nothing, though, plopping heavily into the chair behind the till.
“Listen, thanks for doing this,” Aunt Penny continues. “I really need to sort this house stuff out. It’s been such a pain trying to get the mortgage moved over to my name. I mean, I don’t exactly have the most solid credit history and—”
“Yep, no problem,” I interrupt.
Aunt Penny visibly deflates. I feel a pang in my gut about being such a jerk after she poured her heart out to me yesterday, and briefly consider apologizing, but she’s already grabbing her purse.
The door jangles on her way out, and I’m alone in the shop. I pull out my cell and text Bishop.
The wicked witch is gone.
“You don’t say.”
I shriek, practically leaping off the chair.
Bishop leans against the bookcase, his hands jammed in the pockets of his slim black pants and his lace-up army boots crossed casually at the ankles. He gives me a brazenly sexy smile that makes laugh lines sprout up around his eyes, and his dark hair falls in tangled waves around his chin, almost concealing the naked Betty Boop tattoo that snakes out from the collar of his faded leather jacket. My mouth goes dry at the sight of my boyfriend. The guy could wear footie pajamas and still look sexy.
“You scared me, you know.” Which is so not convincing when I’m smiling like an idiot.
He pushes off the bookcase, laughing as he approaches.
“Couldn’t help myself. Been thinking about you in your old cheerleading uniform all day. It was torture.”
“God, you’re such a perv,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
He hooks his fingers in the belt loops of my jeans and tugs me against his chest, so I have to crane my neck to see his face (being the six-three giant of a boy that he is). My heartbeat quickens at his nearness and the sight of his brown eyes winking with mischief.
He moves a hand from my jeans and tips my chin up. My stomach warms as his lips brush mine, and this time it has nothing to do with my magic. He pulls his fingers through my hair, sending a tingle down my spine. Then he cradles my head in his hands to take the kiss deeper. When his tongue finds mine, a moan involuntarily slips out of my mouth. My cheeks flame, and he chuckles against my lips.
Huffing, I push against his chest until there’s a big space between us. “Laugh it up, asshole.”
“Hey, come back here,” he says, grinning.