Page 30 of A Witch’s Guide to Surviving Halloween

Chapter Twenty-One

Bzzz bzzz.

Bzzz bzzz.

I give the notifications lighting up my phone a cursory glance before flipping it over to lay face down on the granite coffee bar.

“She’s not going to stop,” Lucy warns me, topping a latte with some quick foam art and handing it off to the customer waiting nearby.

I sigh through my nose, resting my chin in my palm as I flip through my book of shadows laid open on the counter. “I know.”

I’ve almost gone through the entire book searching for any small hint at another way to break the curse.

After hours of searching, I’m down to the last few pages and the last dregs of my hope.

I woke up this morning with a refreshed determination to figure this out, to find the answer that felt so close and yet so far, but now I’m running out of ideas and time.

Today is Halloween. If we can’t figure this out today, there’s a good chance we won’t have another chance until next year, and by then, it might be too late.

It only took a year to run Oliver’s grandfather out of town, despite having an established family business with roots as deep as the oak behind the gazebo.

Oliver just got here. The magic could drive him out of town in record time, and our chance at resolving this could be gone forever.

Bzzz bzzz.

Bzzz bzzz.

I run my hands through my hair, suppressing the desire to pull it out by the roots, and groan instead.

I don’t even have to look to know it’s Stacy with a list of reminders, and several questions about when I plan to arrive, so I can give the commencement speech to indicate the start of Halloween.

Tonight will be a night of downtown-wide trick-or-treating, costume contests, and more.

Normally, I’d be giddy with excitement, waiting to see everyone—from babies in strollers to full-grown adults all dressed in creative costumes, both homemade and store-bought.

Our usual bowl of candy is already sitting on the counter by the register, waiting to be filled with the stockpile of candy I’ve been hoarding for weeks. I check the time, and there’s only an hour until I’m supposed to step on stage yet again. I’m already nauseous at the prospect.

Thankfully, the store has been slow today with everyone preparing for tonight. I’m not sure how much longer I can maintain my pleasant demeanor without breaking down yet again.

“Maybe we need to lean into the chaos,” Lucy suggests, sipping on an iced pumpkin spice latte. I glance up at her from beneath my lashes, trying to decide if she’s serious or not.

“What?”

She shrugs, her oversized flannel sliding further off her shoulder. “Things are already crazy. Maybe we should just embrace it. Go have a night of fun with Oliver and let the magic have its hissy fit and call it Halloween fun.”

I stare at her. I know she’s trying to be funny, but I’m struggling to find the humor.

“The magic almost traumatized an entire audience just two nights ago by siccing Saw on Disney characters.”

Lucy grunts, stirring her drink with her straw. “Yeah, that was kind of a bummer”—a smile splits her face—“but you have to admit that would be such a funny crossover concept.”

My hands fall to the counter with a thump. “You’re sick.”

“Oh, come on. Tell me you wouldn’t pay good money to watch Saw try to trap the princesses, only for Mulan to kick his ass? Now that would be quality entertainment.”

I shake my head, refusing to engage in this conversation any further, and flip to the last page of the book.

Through The Veil

A temporary ritual to speak with a loved one on the night the veil between here and the other side is at its thinnest.

“Oh my . . .” My head whips up, and for a moment, I can’t even speak. I stare at Lucy with wide eyes.

How could I have forgotten about this?

“What? Did you find something?”

I spin the book around, pointing at the nearly translucent page. “The ‘Through The Veil’ ritual. This is it, this is how we ask Grandma what the lies were. This is how we fix everything.”

Lucy shakes her head, watching me with concern. “Amelia, you can’t. Absolutely not. Don’t you remember Grandma telling us to never do this? She didn’t even want us to know this existed.”

I scoff. “Of course I remember, but what other options are there?”

Lucy pushes the book back toward me with a harsh glare. “We figure out a way to solve the riddle on our own.”

My frustration rises by the second, because this is what we’ve been looking for. This is how we can get all the answers we need.

“We’ve tried that already, Luce. Not only have we tried that, but we’ve tried two different tried-and-true methods to break it, and it’s only managed to backfire spectacularly.

Tonight is our only chance. ‘On the night the veil between here and the other side is at its thinnest.’ That’s tonight, that’s right now. ”

I run to the front door and flip the sign to CLOSED, making sure there’s no customers still in the store before grabbing the book off the counter and storming toward the back room.

Lucy is right on my heel. “Amelia, stop!”

I whirl on her, holding the book close to my chest. Tears are already starting to well once again, and I have to choke them down.

“No!” I yell at her, voice rising loud enough to stop her in her tracks. “I’m so tired of everyone telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. Of everyone thinking they know what’s best for me.”

“And you think this is what’s best for you?” She points an accusatory finger at the book still clutched tight in my arms. “Sacrificing a piece of your future? When the magic is already going crazy? You really think that is the right thing to do?”

I close my eyes, and I can hear Grandma’s voice reach out to me from the past.

“Girls, I usually believe in enjoying magic and honoring everything our ancestors fought for and passed down to us. But you must listen: Never, ever touch this spell. Do you understand? Magic requires balance, and to reach into the past, you must first sacrifice a piece of your future, and I promise you, it’s not worth it. ”

A tear tracks down my cheek, dripping from my chin in a single salty drop.

“Yes,” I decide. Even though the words are quiet, they don’t invite any more questions; my mind is made up. “Yes, this is what I need to do.”

Lucy’s face falls, and after a long, unbearably loud pause, she nods. “Okay. What do you need?”

“What do you mean?”

She swallows hard. “The spell. What do you need? What do I need to grab?”

It takes me a moment to process what she’s saying, but the moment I do, I jump into action. I lay out the book on one of the cluttered counters and run a finger down the page, truly reading the spell for the first time.

“First, we need something of Grandma’s. Something personal. Something we can burn.”

Fingers tapping against the counter, Lucy and I glance around in turn before she jumps up and runs out to the sales floor and returns in the blink of an eye. In her hand is Grandma’s old diary.

She throws it down on the counter. “Nothing more personal than this, and I think we can both agree it’ll feel good to watch it burn. What else?”

“Five candles, a burning bowl of cedar chips and moon-soaked salt, matches, and a piece of paper to . . .” My finger hovers beneath the words on the page, but I can’t bring myself to say them around the lump in my throat.

The written name of the future willingly sacrificed.

Lucy nods, a determined glint in her green eyes. “Okay. I’ll grab the candles and the paper if you get the rest?”

Silently, I agree.

It takes us a few minutes to gather everything. Before my phone can blow up with more texts from Stacy, we’ve arranged the candles in the shape of a pentagram and placed the burning bowl in the center, filled with the cedar chips and salt.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt, looking over the setup one more time, ensuring everything’s in place.

“I think that’s everything. I guess . . . all that’s left is to start. Do you have the paper?”

Lucy refuses to meet my gaze as she pulls the folded piece of paper from her pocket and hands it to me with shaky fingers.

When I take it, she crosses her arms tightly across her torso, holding her middle tight.

Her eyes never leave the paper as I pull out a pen and unfold it to write my name down, only to realize it isn’t blank.

I freeze, reading the name over and over again until it blurs together.

Lucy Graves

My mouth falls open, and it takes several thunderous heartbeats for me to find anything to say. “No,” I whisper with disbelief. “Luce, you can’t.”

She shifts on her feet, rolling on the edges of her boots as she stares at the floor. “It’s willingly given.”

“But, it’s your future. You have no idea what this is going to take from you.”

“Look, just . . . take it, okay?” When I open my mouth to argue, she keeps talking over me.

“You’re right, we have no idea what it’s going to take.

Which means I should be the one to do it.

You have so much going for you. You’ve got a guy who’s clearly falling for you, a town that loves you, and a successful business.

What do I have to lose? A job as a barista?

A reputation as the town screwup? My family moved away years ago, and I barely talk to my mom anymore.

You and Grandma were all I had, so I’m not going to let you take on one more thing when I can do this.

Let me do this for you. You deserve to be happy. ”

“So do you,” I whisper, tears burning my eyes.

Lucy gives a small, half-hearted shrug before she forces a smirk that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh please, I’m never happy.”

I stare down at her shakily scrawled name one more time, tempted to tear the paper to pieces. But I know Lucy, and I know that once she’s set her mind to something, there’s nothing that can stop her. Either I accept her sacrifice or she’ll continue to fight me on this whole idea.

So with a heavy breath, I fold the paper back into a small rectangle, deliberately running a nail over the creases as I do, then I throw my arms around Lucy’s neck and pull her close. Her arms tighten around me, holding me in a rib-crushing embrace.

“Thank you,” I rasp, fighting down the lump in my throat that won’t go away.

She pulls away, swiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her flannel, smudging liner and mascara across her cheek. “Yeah, yeah. I’m a good friend and all that crap. Let’s get this over with.”

I nod frantically, turning toward the circle we’ve created, the paper and diary held tight between my shaking fingers. Eyeing it all, my heartbeat starts to hammer in my ears, drowning out Lucy’s fidgeting and my buzzing phone. One last chance to turn back. To change my mind.

I step into the circle.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, muttering under my breath until the candles flicker to life one by one.

All around me, I can sense the magic coming alive with a rush of energy.

Though I can feel it there, the magic never passes over the bounds of my circle.

Instead, it stalks around the edges, watching like a hungry mountain lion waiting to pounce.

I kneel before the burn bowl, and as I place the paper in it and light a match, I say the words of the ritual. They’re thick and heavy on my tongue, sticking to my teeth and making it hard to speak at all.

“By willing heart a future sworn, a thread of fate is freely mourned.” The flame of the match touches the paper, and the fire begins to consume wood, salt, and paper.

“For love and soul, strong and vast . . .” I pause, watching the paper burn, and force the last words through my teeth, barely audible above my racing heart. “We trade tomorrow for the past.”

The flames flare, growing in size as they’re fueled by magic. I open the diary, which automatically opens to the October 31st, 1967 entry. The one with the curse scrawled across the bottom. I tear out the page and hold it to the flame.

“By bond and bone, by flame and thread, I call the spirit of one long dead.”

A bone-deep cold washes through me, and I have to bite back the urge to shiver. Because when I look up, I’m met with familiar brown eyes that sparkle with mischief and love.

“Grandma?”