Hexed

“I told you to trust me. Devon is going to shit when he sees how hot you look.”

 

 

I roll my eyes. “I told you, I don’t care what Devon thinks. We’re just friends. Not even, really. I’m just going with him because everyone else already has a date.”

 

She cocks her head, a hand on her hip. “So you’re telling me not the tiniest part of you wants him to regret cheating on you?”

 

“Of course she wants that,” Paige says, poking her head around the open bathroom door. “What girl doesn’t want their cheating boyfriend to grovel and beg for forgiveness on hands and knees?”

 

“If even just to have better access to kick him in the teeth,” Aunt Penny adds, and they both nod.

 

“No, actually, I really and truly don’t care,” I say. “I mean, of course I want him to regret it, but no, I don’t care about him. … Ugh!” My cheeks flame. What I really regret is telling Aunt Penny that Devon cheated in the first place. And not just because I had to convince her that the whole ex-UFC-fighter thing was totally unnecessary.

 

Aunt Penny pats my shoulder, as if to say, “See, I know you better than you know yourself.”

 

“All right,” Paige says. “Let’s get you into your dress.”

 

A better plan has not been hatched.

 

It takes Paige under three minutes from the time we enter my bedroom to get me into the dress Mom helped me pick out months ago—a strapless, corset-back gown that fits tight around my bust, then billows out in a puff of navy-blue, crystal-embellished taffeta that reaches just past my knees (optimal dress length for running, thankfully)—buckle the clasps on my strappy heels (Paige insisted I wear flats, but I argued I can run just as well in heels), and hook my sequined clutch onto my arm. All just in time for the doorbell to ring.

 

My heart races, and I take a measured breath so that I don’t hyperventilate.

 

It’s really happening. After days of slapdash training, of Bishop begging his uncle to use whatever influence he has to turn down our plan, of Jezebel pleading with the Family until they miraculously agreed to our plan, of Bishop caving once he realized we really were going to do it with or without him, homecoming night is finally here.

 

“I’ll get it,” Aunt Penny says, a blur in the hallway.

 

“Devon’s right on time,” I say. “Now, there’s a shocker.” Especially considering Bianca is hosting a pre-homecoming party the whole universe except me is invited to. Not that I’d go even if I were invited. But Paige doesn’t laugh at my joke, just twists her hands together.

 

“Wish me luck,” I say, my traitorous voice cracking.

 

“I still don’t see why I can’t help,” Paige blurts out. Behind her glasses tears well up, which she doesn’t even try to wipe away.

 

I sigh and swallow my own tears, because one of us has to be the strong one.

 

“I know, I know,” Paige says. “You never thought you’d see the day when I was begging you to go to homecoming. But I just can’t stand sitting on the sidelines while you’re in danger.”

 

“Potentially in danger,” I correct her. “They might not even show up. It’s not like they didn’t have plenty of opportunities at the game today.”

 

“I know,” she says. “It’s just …” She shakes her head, mumbling something under her breath. Not for the first time, I worry that she’s just pretending she’s going over to Jessie’s for an anti-homecoming Jeopardy! party. That she’s going to follow me the minute I leave the house. I take her by the forearms and shake her until she looks up at me.

 

“Seriously, Paige. If the Priory knows anything about me, they’ll know you’re my closest friend. They could take you hostage. It’s hugely unsafe for you to be there.”

 

“I don’t care about that,” she says, pushing her chin up.

 

“But I do,” I tell her. “Yeah, my magic has improved, but I’m nothing compared with the Priory. The last thing I need is to have to look after you on top of myself. I won’t even have a chance then. Promise me you’re not going to follow me.”

 

She’s quiet a moment, her lips pressed into a line as a rogue tear slips down her cheek. Finally, she lets out a slow breath. “Fine. I don’t like it, but fine.”

 

She twines her fingers with mine and squeezes so hard it hurts, giving me a weak smile that I translate to “Good luck, stay safe, and in case you die, I love you.” It’s a complicated smile.

 

And then I walk downstairs.