Page 12 of Practically Witches

I give a yelp that’s part scream, part squeal, and a quick jump-step. “What the fuck?”

I look around and find the janitor, who seems to have materialized from the nothingness of the hallway. “No worries, Miss Baum. Just a light bulb.”

I don’t remember having a conversation with this guy in all the years I’ve been here until today, so I haven’t the vaguest idea how he knows my name, but this is the second time today that he’s used it. I don’t ask how he knows me because he gives me the creeps and I just want to get away.

“Right.” I hurry toward the door. The guy seems friendly enough, looks like every average guy I’ve ever seen. There’s nothing about how he looks that should give me the creeps. It’s the way he keeps showing up. And that he knows my name.

The silence and emptiness are unnerving. When I step outside, the sun hits my face and I wish the day hadn’t been shot by my ridiculous expectations to somehow climb the social ladder, that Zane was more than being nice—hell maybe he lost a bet and that’s why he walked me to class.

The fronts of the four buildings take up almost two cityblocks and are located across the street from the parking lot. I try not to look for Zane’s Jeep, but he always parks in front, and it’s hard to miss the bright blue paint job and the oversized off-road tires. No one else drives one like it here.

His crowd—Aurora Deville, Finnick Strain, Circe Dupree, Dylan Tempest, Isador Murick, and Piper Steros—are all standing around a coffee cart that always sits near the statue of Marlena Steros and is manned by a guy named Noah.

Marlena Steros was the first witch to ever graduate from the Institute when it was only one building and a single teacher who taught all the subjects and aspects of magic to the students.

This space on the lawn at almost the center between the buildings is a hangout between classes and after school. Not for me, but sometimes Aimee is out here with her friends when I come out at the end of the day.

I try not to look at Zane’s crowd because I have some pride, but I can’t help it. And there he is. Zane is standing between Piper and Dylan. He takes a sip of his coffee and like he knows I’m watching him, looks up. But he smiles and waves me over.

Again, I look behind me because I won’t survive walking over if he means to wave to someone else. But there’s no one behind me and I smile. He means me. I smile to myself and begin the walk across the lawn.

Before I make it halfway, he jogs over to me. “Hey.”

“Hey.” And now my stomach tumbles again. I don’t know if it’s the smile or the man responsible for the effect, but it happens just the same. “Can you hang out for a while? I can buy you that coffee now.”

Oh. So there won’t be a date. I cover my disappointment with a smile. “Sure.”

“That way we don’t have to waste a good first date at the coffee shop.” The grin widens, and it’s powerful, makes mine genuine.

Of course, mine is genuine. He’s mentioned a real date and what’s not to like about that? Stopping the grin would be a whole hell of a lot more than I could manage. “Okay.”

He takes my backpack off my arm and slings it onto his then guides me toward the vendor with a light hand at the small of my back. The heat against my skin is intoxicating and I want to lean into him, want to explore the fantasy that’s in my head right now, but I don’t have that kind of confidence. Instead, I’m rigid. Awkward.

“Caramel latte, right?” Without waiting for me to answer he tells the coffee cart guy. Then he turns and I turn with him. His friends are silent, looking at us. “Everybody, this is RJ Baum. RJ, these are my friends.”

He takes a few seconds to introduce them one by one as if we haven’t all been in school together for the last five years. I wave like I’m some kind of adolescent dork who hasn’t yet learned to use her words. I hate myself for it. This isn’t me. I’m brazen. I say what I think and do what I want. I don’t know this version of me.

“Did you hear about Rowen?” Piper presses her shoulder against the tree beside me and leans her head in to ask me like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to be talking to me. But she’s never been so inclined before, and I weigh whether or not I want to bring that up. I don’t. Not now anyway.

Instead, I nod. “Yeah. A detective came to one of my classes today.” I pause and tell the story, along with all the things the detective said, and add, “It was a witch who went to school here.”

Apparently, that isn’t all that interesting since there area lot of witches in the area that went to school here, and they all start talking about what they know over top of one another so it’s hard to focus on any one of them.

Circe, who is talking to Dylan, turns to join the conversation Piper and I are having. “I heard she got a red warning.” She means Rowen.

At the Institute when we act outside our agreements and the Institute discovers, we’re given warning. I personally have never had one, although I’ve done my share of acting outside our agreements. But certainly not outside enough for a red warning. I’m more of a blue warning kind of girl. Red is the most severe we can get.

I don’t even know anyone who’s gotten a red warning, so I don’t know how to respond. It’s better to sit back and listen to them discuss.

Piper nods at Circe. “I saw the warning. It was for attempting to summon.” Piper lowers her voice as if simply saying the kind of offense makes her equally guilty.

Summon, in our world, only has one connotation, and it isn’t a good one. It references demons or the dead which means that Rowen was into something dark. Dangerous. A red-warning offense.

“I heard she was trying a reactivation spell in one of the transport rooms and her power was already waning.” Special rooms inside the Institute have walls infused by magic. Only fifth-year students are allowed to use the rooms. “And that’s when she got the red warning.”

Dylan looks at us and shakes his head. “She just lost her little brother.”

Oh shit. Well, if ever there was a time to try a reactivation spell, that’s it. I don’t care how much of my power it took to cast a reactivation spell. I would die without Aimee, I would break every rule in the book, throw every spell Icould to bring her back. I would never judge Rowen for what she was trying to do, so I sip my coffee—the one Zane handed me—as they talk.

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