Page 2 of The Secret Life of a Witch

“No, you weren’t.” I place my hand over her clammy one and offer a smile. “But that’s okay. Death is a legit reason to be a little bitchy.”

“Maybe. That doesn’t mean I need to be bitchy to you. Not when you’re trying to bring me back to life.” Hope sparkles in her lifeless eyes.

I force a smile, but my stomach knots with nerves. While I have been trying to bring my sister back to life, I’m far from completing the spell. A spell that’s extremely complicated for a powerful witch, let alone someone like me who’s been cursed since birth with weak, uncontrollable powers.

Yep, on top of being the only witch and paranormal creature in all of Mystic Willow Bay—that I know of—who can chat it up with dead bodies, I’m also known as the town’s magic klutz because of my sucky skills at casting spells, brewing potions, and dancing naked under the full moon.

Just kidding on the last part. I don’t really dance under the full moon naked. Well, unless I’ve had a few too many drinks and decide to play a game of truth or dare.

“What’s with the frown?” My sister’s fingers twitch beneath mine, a sign she’s probably trying to put her hand over mine to comfort me. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tries, she won’t be able to move anything except her eyes and mouth, and only I can witness that. To everyone else, she looks exactly as she is—a dead body lying on a cold steel table with my half-eaten breakfast and a book about removing parts of the human brain.

“I was just thinking about some of the ingredients I need for the spell,” I lie, turning back to my book to avoid eye contact. Maple takes off out of the room, knocking a broom down on her way. “There’s some really weird stuff required.”

“Like what?” she asks. When I don’t respond, mostly because I don’t want to worry her, she adds, “If you tell me, maybe I can help you.”

She may be right. After all, my sister was what a lot of townspeople considered a witch genius.

“I need a bottle of moonlight, which I have no clue how to get since no supply store has it.” I pace the table, counting down on my fingers. “A demon scale, which I have no clue how I’m going to get that one. A mermaid’s scale, and every mermaid I’ve asked so far has told me no in a very not-so-nice way. Seriously, mermaids have dirty, potty, pee mouths.”

She chuckles, life fleetingly sparkling in her eyes. “Dirty, potty, pee mouths? What are you, like, seven years old?”

“No, but it got you to laugh.” Smiling, I stop beside her head. “I haven’t heard you laugh since I brought you down here.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, I’ve been having a pity party. It’s been a long three weeks.”

“I’ve been told that while you’re dead time moves a lot slower.” I bite on my thumbnail, debating whether or not to ask the question that’s been tickling at the tip of my tongue all morning. “I know you told me a few days ago that you haven’t, but I wanted to check and see if, by chance, you remembered how you died … Mom called me this morning and told me that the police declared your death accidental—that you accidentally cast the spell on yourself.”

Her gaze returns to the ceiling, the spark of life in her eyes extinguishing. “I’m sure if they declared it, then that’s what happened. The police aren’t morons.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” And not my opinion, or anyone else who pays attention to the abundance of accidental deaths that have happened in Mystic Willow Bay over the last seven to eight months.

Sure, we’ve always had a higher death rate than any human town, but that death rate has frequently spiked way, way up lately. And many of the deaths have been super strange, like my sister who was found petrified to death beside her car. There are only two known ways that a person can die of petrification. One being from a spell, and the other from ingesting bark from the ancient aurora tree growing in the center of Mystic Willow Bay Forest.

At first, the police thought perhaps someone snuck up on my sister and attacked her with the spell. After looking into the details of her death, though, they decided she unintentionally disarmed her wand and blasted herself with the spell. I’m not buying into that theory, and anyone who knew Ryleigh would agree with me.

“You’re way too smart and talented to accidentally blast yourself with a spell,” I tell her. “That sounds more like something I’d do.”

Her gaze darts to me. “How many times have I told you to stop being so hard on yourself?”

“I’m not being hard on myself. I just know what I am and don’t like pretending I’m anything different.”

“You’re not what you think you are. You just have a warped self-perception because of all those years of specialists and kids lying to you, telling you how weird you are. They don’t get that you are just a little different, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Just a little different?” I question, motioning at the basement. “I’m standing in a basement, eating cereal and staringat photos of people with their heads cut open while talking to my dead sister’s body. I am a total weirdo.”

The edges of her lips droop. “No, you’re not. And I know a ton of people who’d agree with me.”

“You little liar.” I flash her a teasing smile. “But that’s okay. I love you for lying and trying to cheer me up.”

“I’m not lying,” she insists. “You’re not a weirdo.”

“Yes, I am. And I already accepted that a long time ago.” I lean over, resting my arms on the edge of the table. “I am who I am, and that will never change. Honestly, I kind of don’t want to. At least with some things.”

“I don’t want you to change. I just want you to realize how amazing you are.” Her gaze strays toward her feet and the corners of her lips tug into a ghost smile. “And here’s someone who will back me up.”

My cat named Penny meows as she creeps from the corner, staring at something over my shoulder.

I whirl around while reaching for my wand, worried one of my roommates got past my illusion spell and found the basement. But my fear goespoofat the sight of the lean, tall, and ridiculously sexy wizard standing in front of me, who knows about my weird little gift and me digging up my sister’s dead body from the grave.

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