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Hugo.

His icy blue eyes. His coifed hair. She remembered the first time she had ever laid eyes on him. Flying on Galahad. Peering over the fence as he chased Max around his backyard. The seriousness in her voice as she offered to get her blood ritual tools to seal their sacred oath to never ask each other how they were doing. She would have done it, and she was still slightly disappointed they settled on a spit swear.

Alice smiled. She only wanted good thoughts entering her mind as she focused on her ritual work.

Alice glanced at Max. “This will work. I’m sure of it.”

Max moaned, her head resting on her front paws.

Alice took one last breath and held it. She placed Hugo’s hockey stick in the center of the star and circle drawing sprawled out on her floor. She leaned forward, both hands grasping the graphite shaft. She started her ritual, calling forth the words of the dark arcane language.

The candlelight flickered. Their ghostly shadows danced across the wall and surfaces of her bookcases. A breeze moved through the room low against the floor. The incense smoke wafted in serpentine movements as it was whipped around by the ghostly presence moving throughout the room.

Max let out a whimper, no doubt frightened from the commotion in the living room.

Alice never wavered. She held tightly to the hockey stick. She recited the words to summon her fiancé back from the dead. Her unwavering emerald green eyes remained fixed on the black and gray hockey stick.

Hugo completely consumed her mind, leaving no space for other thoughts. Images played like scenes from a movie. She focused on one scene—Hugo’s wet hair when he came over to apologize after the night she introduced him to broomstick flying. He never needed to apologize for wanting to wait, but the gesture and the way his wet hair clung to his head made him irresistible and so sexy. She desired him right there in her entryway.

The songs from hisWORK MY MAGIC ON ALICEplaylist rotated in her mind. Pieces of “I Put a Spell on You” morphed into “Wicked Game,” along with pieces of “Love Song” and “Witchcraft.” Vivid images came to her mind of the two of them sloshing and slow dancing through the grape musk as they crushed the grapes between their feet.

She recreated the playlist on her phone, listening to the songs over and over. Four simple songs, but they meant so much more. Alice knew he was the one right then and there, standing in the vat of grapes. Dancing to a playlist like a pair of teenagers making out to a mix tape. No one cared for her like Hugo. No one.

The breeze picked up and swirled around the summoning circle. Max stood up and leaped onto the red Victorian couch. Her moans were muffled behind what Alice thought was one of her pillows. Alice never relented her gaze. Her mindful intention focused on Hugo’s hockey stick. Her mind’s recreation of him nearly complete.

“I call forth the spirit of Hugo Dodds,” she yelled out.

The breeze intensified. A few candles blew out and knocked over onto the hardwood floor from the mantle. The incense swirled around, caught up in the vortex forming around the circle.

“I call forth the spirt of Hugo Dodds to return to the material realm,” Alice yelled out once more.

Her witch’s hat blew off and flew down her back.

“I call forth Hugo Dodds to enter the material realm once again,” she shouted. “I call him forth now!”

The wind dissipated, swirling the ghastly white smoke around. Despite the strong breeze, the incense still burned and provided the needed protection. The room was quiet.

Alice scanned the living room. There was no sign of Hugo or anything else. Nothing appeared inside the summoning circle. No body. No wraith. No spirit. No Hugo. She was alone.

Alice gulped. Her chin trembled and shook. She turned an ear, listening for any signs of Hugo manifesting elsewhere in the house. Maybe he appeared upstairs.

There were no footsteps. No commotion. No shouting for joy as he came running down the steps.

“Hugo!” Alice shouted. “Hugo, are you here?”

Silence.

Alice leaned back on her heels. She waited . . . waited for any sign he was home.

There was only silence.

“Hugo, this isn’t funny,” she yelled.

No response.

Alice sprung to her feet. She left the living room and went for the basement door, flinging it open. The stairwell was dark. She rumbled down the steps. The wood planks creaked with every forceful and purposeful step. When she reached the bottom, she yanked on the pull chain to illuminate the basement.

She was only greeted with the empty grape boxes. No signs of life. The basement was empty.