Page 13 of The Secret Life of a Witch

“Yeah, I know.” He sets the container down, keeping ahold of the scraper as he walks to the trash bin that’s beside the large brewing pot. “And while I love sarcastic jokester Eva, I worry she doesn’t always fully see the consequences of making bad choices.”

“I promise I do,” I attempt to assure him. “Joking is just how I deal with nerve-racking shit.”That and getting flustered over touching you.

“I know. I just want to make sure that all jokes aside, you’re careful. I couldn’t handle it if you got hurt.” He tosses the scraper into the trash then tears a few paper towels off a roll sitting on a shelf. “No one’s going to come down here, right? I’d hate for Opal”—his lip twitches in annoyance—“or even Peyton, to come down here and get into this stuff before it’s finished dissolving.”

“I put some charms up, but maybe you should double-check them, considering I suck.”

“You don’t suck,” he assures, but then tacts on, “I’ll check on the charms, though, just to be sure.”

“Thanks,” I say, wishing I didn’t need to ask him to double-check.

No, what I wish for is that I was a kick-ass witch with badass charm-setting skills. But hey, at least I can talk to the dead, so yeah, there’s that. Right now, though, that little gift is utterly useless. That is, unless I end up interrogating bodies to find my sister.

The thought makes me laugh out loud, which causes Hunter to give me a curious look. I nervously smile back.Yes, Hunter, your friend is mental and laughs at completely inappropriate times.

“What? You chose to be my friend,” I remind him with a nonchalant shrug.

He crooks a brow as he draws out his wand. “Did I now?” When I scowl at him, he chuckles. “I’m just kidding.” He faces the stairway, putting his back toward me, and runs his hand along the bottom step to check the potency of my charms. “And I’m glad I made that choice. My life would be way less interesting if I hadn’t.”

My shoulders slump, and my head bobbles back as I suffocate a frustrated groan. I make his life more interesting? That’s it? Man, talk about the makings of a not-so-love story. I guess that doesn’t matter. I’ve known since the beginning of high school, when I first developed a crush on Hunter, that he’d probably never reciprocate my feelings. That’s why he can never, ever know that I go all lovey-dovey, cracked-out hummingbird wings heartbeats every time I’m around him. Otherwise, I might lose our friendship.

Collecting myself, I start for the stairs, but instantly backtrack when I catch sight of a shimmering piece of paper lying on the cement floor beneath the steel table.

Crouching down, I examine it without touching it to make sure it isn’t anything harmful. From what I can tell, it appearsto be a square, bedazzled business card. To be extra careful, I stretch my arm out and let my palm hover above the paper to check for a magical current. Only when I’m absolutely positive that the air around the card is magically charged free do I pluck up the card.

Straightening my legs, I stand back up and read over the swirly cursive on the front. “The Illuminating Horror House of Truth. Come and see what you truly want, if you dare.”

“Huh?” Hunter asks as he twirls his magic wand in the air, preparing to reset my charms.

I hold up the card. “I found this under the table. It’s a card for The Illuminating Horror House of Truth. Have you ever heard of it?”

He wavers, lowering his magic wand. “I have.”

“Why do you seem so hesitant that you do?”

“Because it’s not a place most people like to admit they’ve been to.”

“Why? What is it?”

He plops down on the bottom step and tensely massages the back of his neck. “It’s a place where you can go to see the truth.”

“The truth about what?” I motion for him to embellish. “Come on, Hunter; you have to give me more deets than that. I’m thinking the person who stole Ry may have dropped the card.”

“That might not be right.”

“Then who else could’ve dropped it?”

Another maddening pause before he reluctantly says, “Ryleigh.”

“No. There’s no way this could’ve been hidden in her pocket since she died. She wasn’t even buried in the same clothes as when the police”—I swallow the lump wedged in my throat—“found her body.”

Hunter’s hand falls from his neck to his lap. “I don’t think it was in her pocket.”

“Then where else would she keep …?” My lips form an O as realization smacks me in the forehead. “You think my sister had a secrets box hidden on her?” I’m not sure how I feel about the idea of my sister carrying around an invisible box that she crammed all her dirty secrets into. And the Ryleigh I knew didn’t seem like the sort of person to have a lot of dirty secrets.

“She could have. I mean, I doubt your parents checked her for one after she … passed away. People rarely do.”

“Yeah, because no one wants to find out all the dirty secrets their deceased loved one was hiding while they were alive.” Sighing, I cross the room and take a seat beside him on the bottom step. “Maybe my sister did have a secrets box, but that doesn’t explain why you’d automatically assume the card is hers.”

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