Page 48 of Practically Witches

I shrug. Obviously not. He doesn’t have magic. Or if so, only in the most limited sense of the word.

For a moment as I sit beside him, I wish this was all a dream and I was just a normal girl falling—and I really am—for a regular guy. A small, immature part of me thinks that if we don’t get their magic back, we can pretend this part is all a dream, something that we made up in our minds. But I’ll always be what I am, and they will always know what they had and lost.

Damn.

“I guess I owe you one.” There are worse things than to be owed a favor by Zane Bradbury.

“No, you don’t.” On the other hand, I don’t want it to even be thought that he’s only with me when this is all over—and I really hope he is—because he owes me.

He turns so he’s facing me and leans in, or maybe we both do, I can’t tell. But we meet in the middle, his mouth on mine. And there are sparks zinging between us. Relief and longing surge through me in equal portions. It wasn’t just the magic. Not that made the sparks between us anyway.

When he pulls back, he smiles, ducks his head, and pulls his lips between his teeth. I’ve never seen anything more adorable; nothing has made me want him more.

“Was that okay?”

God yesis too strong an answer and a simpleyesprobably isn’t strong enough. I settle on a nod because even if I wanted to sayGod yesright now, I don’t know that I could.

My skin is burning and my lips are still tingling. I want to act normal, but I’m not sure what’s normal for this situation.

“I went to the Institute tonight.” My voice still sounds shaky and breathy.

He looks up. “What happened?”

“When I got there, the scepter wasn’t there, but the syphoner was. And the janitor.” I look down because he’s picked up my hand and is holding it in his. I like seeing us connected like this. “The janitor was wearing a glamour. He’s actually my dad.”

“Wow.” His eyes widen. “No shit.”

I nod. “My dad is Viktor Hadley.” There. I said it.

To his credit he doesn’t jerk his hand away because my father is a reputed syphoner. He doesn’t even pull away. His thumb strokes the soft space between my thumb and forefinger. The touch is intoxicating and I breathe in slow and deep.

“Are you sure that guy is your dad?” His voice is soft, and I understand the question. If I’m not sure, maybe it isn’t true. Maybe I’m not the syphoner’s daughter. This is the moment I should tell him the truth, but as soon as I do, everything will change. He’s going to turn away from me. I’m not really ready for this all to end. Even if my being a liar is going to make it worse for both of us when he finally calls it quits.

And then like it’s been sitting at the edge of my subconscious waiting to make its way to the front of my mind, I wonder if the glamour was my dad being the janitor or the janitor as my dad. I don’t know that I can trust anything from these people. What if the janitor knows things from being around a magical school for so long? There are witches who learn magic. Maybe he’s one. Maybe the man in our house isn’t Viktor Hadley but is just a janitor who wants to be a part of this.

How would I know?

I’m probably just making myself crazy. But until I know for certain, I’m not trusting anything anymore.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

After the damage done last night at the Institute, they’ve called off classes again today and I wish this was one of those lazy days I could spend with Aimee practicing magic or with Zane, but instead, I’m home, in my room alone, already dressed in a pair of tight jeans that I borrowed from Aimee’s clean laundry basket and a white crop top with cap sleeves. I put on eyeliner in case I run into Zane downstairs. Is it still shallow if I admit it?

Of course it is. Especially at the moment, considering my sister has spent the night in her room crying over her lost magic. On a normal night, I would have gone in and consoled her, but I’m the thing that took from her. Not me exactly, but someonelikeme, and I was and still am afraid that seeing me would only remind her of what she’s lost.

She hasn’t said it, but she’s never going to be able to look at me the same again. And I can’t blame her. She’s the one without the magic she was born with, and seeing me will remind her of what she lost in more ways than one.

On the other hand, I might also be the only one who cangive her back what was taken from her. I hope that I can get it back for her. The alternative is that I fail, which also means I’m probably dead.

When I walk downstairs, my mother is in the kitchen, humming while she’s cutting fresh fruit, and my father is arranging pastries on a platter. I watch them for a second and it looks like they’ve been doing this for years, maneuvering around one another without disrupting the flow of activity, sharing space.

I don’t know how to feel about it, so I turn and walk into the dining room. They have a whole drink station set up on a tray in the corner. One of their daughters is missing her magic, the second is a syphoner and is probably about to be voted out of the Institute for the crimes of others, and they’re here planning some sort of breakfast to-do, and judging by the amount of food and the number of pitchers of OJ and coffee, they’ve invited a lot of people.

I glance into the living room and try to see over the back of the couch, I can’t see if Zane is still lying there. I thought that once I went to bed last night, I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he was on my sofa, in my house. But as soon as I laid my head on my pillow, as cliché as it sounds, I fell asleep. I don’t even remember dreaming, which I suppose is better than sleepwalking myself down the stairs and crawling onto the couch next to him.

Thank heavens that didn’t happen. I don’t know if I would be able to survive that kind of humiliation. Although considering what I’m likely facing, I probably should’ve taken the chance.

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