Page 53 of Bewitched & Bewildered
“I didn’t say that.Youdid.”
Juniper is the most intelligent person I know—she always has been. When I ran for class president, she was the only one who could potentially get in my way.
I won, of course—and that’s why she looks at me like dirt on her shoe. She still impressed me in the debates. I never wanted to go up against her again, and I didn’t. That doesn’t stop her from going up againstmeat every opportunity.
I smile, pretending she doesn’t look like she hopes I’ll disappear into a pile of dust.
Her nose and cheeks are pink from the cold—and it’s not eventhatcold in here. She shoves her hands into her jacket pockets and looks away, the frown still firmly on her lips. I want to help her. How could anyone see her like this andnotwant to help out?
“Can you help me or not?” she asks.
“I’m trying.” I take a few steps into the building, peering at the walls. “Can I see the thermostat?”
“It’s this way.”
We meander through the empty shop. The wooden floorboards creak under my heavy gait. She leads me to the back room, and I follow, letting the divider curtain slide over my face.
The thermostat is straight out of the 90s. It’s still on a wheel, unlike the one I had installed in my shop.
“Why is this thing set to seventy-seven?” I turn to her with wide eyes. “Do you seriously run it that high?”
“No!” she snaps. “I was trying to see if turning it up would fix it.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how it works…”
“Fine. I’m turning it down to sixty-nine.”
“Well… other than that, there’s nothing wrong here,” I say. “I’ll check the breaker and heater next. I’m guessing they’re in the basement.”
She points at the door. “It’s down there, but…”
I lift a brow, smirking. “What? You’re still afraid?”
She always hated the basement. When we were younger, I taunted her with it.
“Maybe!” she hisses. “It’s haunted. I swear by it.”
“You’re a witch. You can’t be afraid of ghosts.”
But she is. And I guess I would be, too, if I recently lost my mom.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I say. “I need someone to hold the flashlight in case I have to get my hands dirty.”
Her gaze drifts down to my hands, and I swear, her cheeks blaze.
“Fine.” She turns her back on me.
I grab my toolbox, and we descend the creaky staircase. The only light is a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. I can see why she’s not a fan of the space. It’s dank, dusty, musty, and otherwise empty.
They don’t even use it to hold supplies.
“Look at all this wasted space,” I say. “All because you’re afraid of ghosts.”
“Hush.”
“Tell me something...” I move behind the bulky heater and check the plug, tugging it. It’s secure enough. I unplug it all the way.
Sometimes, turning something on and off is the best plan.
