Page 15 of A Heart On A Sleeve

Logically, I can’t be changed, right? Like, what would that even mean?

Am I going to be more open to possibilities?

Yes, but that’s because I’m choosing to be.

It had to all be fake, a hoax to get the new girl acclimated to town.

Ari and Meg undoubtedly put the woman up to it.

They wouldn’t drop the Sam thing all night.

This is probably just their attempt at forcing my hand.

I figure I’ll just swing by and let them have their big laugh.

Ari knows I’ll be running, I can picture her standing there with “Irina” coffee in hand, giggling.

I turn the corner, taking my usual route into Mage without a thought.

I pass by Union Tavern and glance up ahead toward Eerie, but something’s not right.

Last night, the psychic’s shop was in between the two.

I wasn’t drunk enough to have forgotten where it was—except it’s not there.

Slowing to a walk, I spin carefully, eyeing every shop lining the street.

My eyes are desperate to find that glowing purple sign, not so I can revisit the shop, but so I know where my enemies lie, and that I haven’t absolutely lost it.

It’s gone. How can it be gone? Surely someone has seen it.

I must’ve been worse off than I remember.

Maybe I made a turn somewhere or went around back?

It must have looked different with all the festival tents.

I’m too chicken to go searching alone right now.

Ignoring the unsettling ache churning low in my belly, I turn around and what do you know, there’s Ari heading into the Brewhouse.

Swiftly making my way down the block, I grab the door and hightail it to where she’s waiting in line.

“What are you doing?” I shout, grabbing her arm tightly.

“Getting coffee. What the hell’s wrong with you?” Her face transforms from pissed off to confused faster than I can get the words out. I have never in our entire friendship been this rough with her. But it’s coming out of left field for good reason.

“You can tell me the truth. How much did you pay the old bat?” My words are laced with anger, fear taking over again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re making a scene. Take it down a notch,” she whisper-shouts as her eyes shift toward the onlookers. They might be more afraid of the way I look than the words coming out of my mouth. A mirror purposefully wasn’t one of my stops this morning.

Guilt over making things awkward seeps in and I relent. “Fine. Get me a PSL, I’ll find a table.” I walk away, spotting a pair of comfortable high-back chairs next to the picture window.

Ari grabs our drinks and makes her way over to me cautiously. She’s looking at me funny, like I have something on my face. Shit, is there something on my face?

“When did you get that?” Ari points a finger at my shoulder. My hand shifts to the spot where my collarbone ends at the front of my shoulder.

“G-get what?” I ask, my eyes moving to the bare spot that’s . . . that’s not bare at all. A small black outline of a heart is inked into my porcelain skin. Oh my gosh! This can’t be happening.

Abandoning my chair, I race toward the bathroom with Ari nipping at my heels.

Flinging open the door to the one-room stall, I all but trip over my own feet clawing to get to the mirror.

The heart is small and jagged, as if the old woman drew it herself.

Not unsightly, but definitely out of character for me.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are we going to stand here and pretend you didn’t just accuse me of something whilst forgetting you got a tattoo last night?” Ari’s words come out laced with annoyance.

“I-I don’t know.” I cover my face with my hands, hoping if I don’t look it’ll disappear.

“How do you not know? Tattoos hurt like a bitch. Don’t tell me you don’t remember getting it.” She slurps her coffee while clutching mine so tightly the top is almost popping off.

“I didn’t get a tattoo. I mean . . . it looks like I have one, but I didn’t get it. I swear. This has to be Irina.” My confession tumbles from my mouth before I can rein it in.

“What the fuck? Did you hit your head or something? Drink this coffee.” She pushes my drink to my lips as if this problem can be solved with caffeine. I oblige because . . . well, because it’s pumpkin spice and that has to be nice.

“We need to talk.”

Four words that always come before something bad.

It’s all I can muster to get her moving.

We exit the bathroom, then the coffee shop, turning to walk toward my cottage.

My steps quicken, my stomach twists and turns, rioting at this—I don’t know.

This situation. We make it to the porch before I empty my stomach’s contents onto a bush at the edge of the wraparound.

“Jesus, you’re freaking me out. Let’s get inside.” Ari gently steadies me as we unlock the door and make our way to the couch. She grabs a glass of water then sits down, silently waiting.

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy.” She raises an eyebrow as if to say what about this morning hasn’t been weird.

“When I left you and Meg last night, I met a tarot card reader.” I can’t bring myself to say witch, even though I know in my soul that’s what she was.

“She seemed kind, like a grandma of sorts, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer when she asked me to tell her what was wrong.

I know it sounds bizarre, but at the time I just couldn’t refuse her.

I went into her shop, and she knew things.

She told me my heart was locked away. I told her why I don’t open up, and well . . . she told me she could help.”

Ari’s eyes are about to pop out of her head. “How? How did she say she could help?”

“She told me to ask her for something. She said she couldn’t deal in love or fate but that she could do something.” I glance at Ari from beneath my eyelashes. I know I’m going to admit what I wished for, but it doesn’t make it less embarrassing. “I said I wished I could wear my heart on my sleeve.”

The silence hangs between us. There’s no laughing or saying gotcha. I don’t need to ask her to know Ari wasn’t behind this. Her face is stark white, as if she saw a ghost.

“Say something,” I whisper.

“I—okay, so you went with a witch, asked to wear your heart on your sleeve, and today you wake up with an actual heart tattoo. There has to be an explanation. Are you sure it’s not henna? Maybe she roofied you. Did you eat or drink anything when you were there?” Logic, there it is.

“Yes! Actually, yes. She made tea, and I drank some. I did feel dizzy afterward. Maybe she drugged me.” The thought of it shouldn’t excite me, but it’s better than believing that I was actually cursed by a witch.

“Okay . . . you drank tea. I bet it’s fake.

Let’s go scrub it off.” We make our way to the bathroom, turning the faucet on high and slathering a rag with soap.

As I sit on the porcelain throne, Ari mercilessly rubs my skin to remove the tattoo.

After twenty minutes, ten of which were spent thoroughly covering every detail of my interaction with Irina, we succumb to the fact that this isn’t going away.

After giving up, we curl up on the couch to make a game plan.

“So, all we need to do is keep it hidden until we can go back and see her. All the shops open at noon on Sundays. We won’t leave this house until right before, and you can wear a sweater when we do.

” Ari’s confidence in the plan is reassuring, except I haven’t told her yet that the shop isn’t there anymore.

“About that . . . I was running this morning, before I saw you, and the shop was gone. Like nowhere to be seen.” I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. I can’t watch her reaction.

“Excuse me, what?” she shouts.

“I said it’s gone.”

“I heard you. B-but what are we going to do? It can’t just be gone. We have to find it.” My heart fills with warmth at her use of the word we . At least I’m not alone in this. I mean, aside from the fact that it’s happening to my body.

“Go shower and get dressed. We’ve got a witch to find.” She snaps her fingers, the sound reminding me of Irina and inducing another tremor through my body. But instead of hesitating, I move. Off to the shower and to find the damn witch.