Page 67 of The Neighborhood Witch

He tried to scream, but there was nothing. There was only the void. His eternal fate.

“Hugo,” a familiar voice cried out.

He recognized that voice. Alice. Her voice felt like an anchor in this whirlwind of bleakness. He wasn’t in a bleak void. He was seated at his usual table in Antonio’s Italian Ristorante with his dinner date, Alice Primrose. Everything rushed back to him. Streaks of light fought back against the darkness.

“Hugo,” Alice said.

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. He shook his head, gasping for air as the world—the real world—came back to him.

“Are you okay? You kind of zoned out there for a moment.”

He still held onto the wineglass they had toasted moments before. Sweat dripped down his back. He breathed heavily in and out. He set the drink down and rubbed his temples, trying to calm his nerves.

“I’m sorry,” Hugo said in a dizzying attempt to gather his thoughts. “I… I don’t know what happened. We were… We were toasting and then, all of a sudden, it was like I had a living nightmare. Everyone was gone. You were gone. Elizabeth was there, but it was like she was some sort of ghoul. She tried to claw at me and… and I couldn’t escape. Everything went dark. And then I heard your voice. And I snapped out of it.”

Alice set her glass down on the table far away from her. “I think we’ve had enough of thisRed-Hearted Queen.”

“It was so real and terrifying.” Hugo gazed numbly at a spot on the table.

Alice grabbed Hugo’s hands across the table. She locked onto his eyes. “It’s okay. Breathe with me,” Alice assured him.

She breathed in deeply, and he matched her. She held it for a moment before letting out a drawn-out breath. He followed. They repeated it a few more times.

“Do you feel better?”

He nodded.

“How’s the wine tasting tonight?” the waitress asked as she returned to the table. “Are we ready to order?”

Alice broke her gaze with Hugo. “There’s a funny taste to this wine.” Alice pointed to the bottle. “I think we’re done with it.”

“Oh! I can get you another bottle,” the waitress replied.

“No!” Hugo piped up. “Water. Water would be fine.”

“I’ll be right back.” The waitress grabbed the bottle and walked away from the table.

“We can leave if you want,” Alice said.

Hugo shook his head. “No. I promised you the best Italian food in Newbury Grove. We’re going to have the best Italian food in Newbury Grove. I’m not going to let one nightmare ruin the whole evening.”

“Don’t you mean the world-famous Italian food of Newbury Grove?” Alice asked.

They let out a chuckle. They found each other’s eyes once more.Hugo became lost in her emerald greens. Alice gazed into his icy blues. They smiled before picking up their menus.

“So,” Alice said. “What do you recommend?”

“The meatballs are excellent,” Hugo said with a wink. “They’re world famous.”

“Back at your usual table?” a shrill voice interrupted.

Alice cringed and buried herself behind the menu. Hugo closed his eyes, dropped the menu, and soothed an imaginary headache. They both turned to see Johanna wrapping a burnt orange scarf around her neck.

“Good evening, Johanna,” Hugo replied. “How was your meal?”

“Adequate,” she answered. Johanna neatly tucked the burnt orange scarf into the black overcoat that accentuated her tall, lanky frame. She removed a pair of black leather gloves from her pockets. She slipped them on and gave two taps to the cloak clasp pinned to her coat lapel.

“You should have tried the meatballs,” Alice retorted.

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