Page 3 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

She pauses, then glances at me over her shoulder. “The truth. Finally. Was that so painful?”

“I am in a lot of existential anguish, I’ll have you know.”

She snorts. “Is there anything more you can tell me?” she asks, while attempting to evil eye me into submission.

I wave a hand at her. “Hey, quit with the stink eye. I will tell you as soon as I have anything to share.”

“What does that even?—?”

“You only won because you cheated!” Jackie shuffles into the kitchen, glaring at Kevin.

“I didn’t cheat. I’m just better than you,” Kevin declares, flexing one of his scrawny arms like a bodybuilder.

Jackie tosses her messy dark hair back. “Yeah, right. You wish.”

I pull out a chair for her. “Let me fix your hair. What was it this time?” They’re always in a competition about something or other.

She sinks into the seat, and I start smoothing her hair into a braid. Her arms have gotten too weak to manage it herself lately. Small things like this hit the hardest.

Kevin plops into the chair beside her. “We did five rounds of rock-paper-scissors and I won every time.”

“You used magic.”

He gives her a pointed glare. “My magic doesn’t work that way. What’s a ghost gonna do? Read your mind and flash me the answer? They’re dead, not psychic.”

“Help Mimi with the food,” I tell him, jerking my chin toward the counter.

He hops up and grabs an oven mitt.

Jackie tilts her head toward him without turning. “How do you know they aren’t psychic? They could be sticking their ghost hands in my head or something.”

“There are no ghosts here,” Kevin insists. “Richard’s hex bags took care of it.”

The lights flicker.

We all freeze, eyes on the ceiling.

Then . . . nothing. The bulbs steady.

I blow out a breath, more worried about the ancient electrical system than a haunting, honestly.

The cabinet next to the fridge creaks open and slams shut.

Jackie points. “No ghosts, huh? That was basically a confession.”

Mimi sets cornbread on the table.

Kevin’s face goes slack for a few seconds. “No. He’s just letting us know he’s here.”

“What does he want?” Jackie asks.

I tie off the braid with a hair tie from my wrist.

Kevin grabs the pot of rice and beans, placing it next to the cornbread. “What everyone wants. To be heard.”

He’s only eleven, but he’s already carried more than most adults. He grew up fast when Jackie got sick, and faster still when Mom and Dad disappeared.

He’ll always be my baby brother, no matter how wise he gets or how fast he grows. He’s already taller than me, which is like a personal betrayal.

Our parents had me young—twenty and wild-hearted—so by the time I hit high school, they were still young enough to start over. Jackie came when I was fifteen. Kevin the year after.

I grab the serving spoons and we dig in, taking turns ladling beans and rice into our bowls.

“How was school today?” Mimi asks.

“Boring.” Jackie stabs at her food. “I hate online school.”

“Sucks to suck,” Kevin grins.

She shoves his shoulder.

“Hey. Hands to yourself.” I point at her with my fork. “Did you get your work done?”

“Yes.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

Jackie rolls her eyes. “Yes, I ate half my sandwich and a whole yogurt. Ask Mimi. And before you go down your checklist, I drank water, I took my vitamins, I even did my breathing exercises. Can we not do the inquisition tonight?”

Am I that predictable? “Fine. Kevin.” I turn to him. “How was your day?”

He launches into a play-by-play of his latest baseball triumph. I pay attention, sort of, but keep half an eye on Jackie, making sure she eats more than a spoonful.

And I try very, very hard not to think about the lamp hidden upstairs. It’s waiting, humming, calling, even from three stories over my head.

We finish eating, and I help Kevin boil water and carry it upstairs for a lukewarm bath. Then it’s homework, getting ready for bed, and making sure the house is locked once everyone is tucked away.

By the time I escape and shut myself in my office, it’s almost nine and I’m so exhausted my bones are aching. I don’t think I’ve had a full night’s sleep since Mom and Dad disappeared. I’m always half awake, all night long, waiting for another catastrophe.

And now I can’t possibly sleep until I get my hands on the lamp and at least attempt to figure out what’s in it.

I stumble over Kevin’s bat on my way around the desk—again—and mutter a curse as I prop it back up and then reach down, yanking the bag from Ernie’s out from beneath.

Electricity zings up my arm the moment my fingers connect with the smooth yellow surface.

I set it in front of me, one hand gripping either side of the bronze base. Then I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, weaving my magic around it and pushing it through the gap at the top.

Why is it so compelling?

It can’t possibly be a person, but the sensation won’t stop. My magic circles and pools around it, trying to determine the shape and substance.

It’s a condensed ball of pure bright energy. A dense, seething knot of life, coiled tight like a spring, waiting to unspool.

I shake my head. I must be losing it. Lack of sleep. Stress. Stress does crazy things to your body. I had a weird rash on my arm last month and I’ve skipped my period twice this year. Maybe my magic is broken.

I take another deep breath, draw on my magic again, and poke at the circle.

It crackles and then blazes out of the lamp, rushing through the top and exploding like a firecracker above my head.

I fall back in the chair, blinking through the remnants of the flash, a silhouette outlined against the glow in front of me.

“What the?—?”

My heart drops into my toes.

There’s a man standing on the other side of my desk.