Page 33 of A Witch’s Guide to Surviving Halloween

Chapter Twenty-Three

LUCY

Istand frozen in the back room of Moonlit Pages, shivers racking my body .

. . as if not moving will keep the consequences of my choices from catching up to me.

Maybe curses are like dinosaurs; they can’t see me if I stand perfectly still.

At least that’s my logic, until a massive pulse of magic ripples through the town, pushing me back, and I’m given no choice but to stumble to catch my balance.

The burst of magic doesn’t seem to touch anything but me and the ashes of the burn bowl I still haven’t cleaned up. The ashes lift in a spiral, floating through the air before gently drifting to the floor in a scatter of gray and white.

That little push is what I need to start moving again, something like a weighted blanket settling around my shoulders.

I start by gathering the candles in my arms, carefully balancing them as I reach for the stone bowl.

As soon as I get closer, I notice something poking out from the charred wood and ashy paper.

I drop the candles to the floor with a clatter and reach for whatever is protruding from the remnants of the ritual that very well might have ruined my life.

From the ashes, I pull out a perfectly folded piece of paper, untouched by the flames that devoured the other contents of the bowl.

It looks identical to the one I wrote my name on, and when I unfold it, there are ten lines written in my own handwriting.

My stomach sinks like a rock as I read the words of my newly decided fate.

From silent doubt, the fracture grows,

Where love once bloomed, now shadow sows.

A glance, a touch—yet none shall stay,

Their hearts like ash, blown far away.

The fault lies not in fate or flame,

But in the weight you dare not name.

’Til worth is claimed, not begged or sold,

And lies unlearned, no longer hold—

Then, the curse shall break,

And love may bloom for its own sake.