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Shielding, however, is another popular technique, and since it’s something Avery has recommended, I figure it’s safe for me to try this afternoon.

I choose a “cloak shield” meditation from her book and cleanse for myself a space on the floor.

Once I’m seated and still, grounded and centered, I set out to visualize a thick, hooded cape that covers me from head to toe.

With my breath slow and steady, and my intuition stirring in the darkness behind my closed eyes, I evoke the sensation of a plush, warm velvet draped on my shoulders.

Only, to my surprise, it’s a damp—no, dripping —fabric that I feel.

Heavy but not crushing, wet but not cold.

It’s a strange sort of armor, but wearing it, I feel as safe as if I were encased in steel.

With no more than a few deep breaths and a stretch, I pull myself out of the light meditation. I don’t know why I envisioned such a cloak—me, who hates water, or who at least hates to swim—but Leo or Avery might have some theories.

With all my witchcraft tools out, I figure it’s as good a time as any to cleanse my amethyst. It may be all in my mind, but since Friday night when I siphoned all my friends’ energy, it’s felt warmer and heavier than usual.

I hold it up close, studying the purple swirls.

Which of Avery and Aaron’s emotions are trapped in there?

Which of Leo’s? When I drew from him, did all his energy go into me, or did the amethyst absorb just enough to keep me from getting too overwhelmed?

I press the stone to my heart and cover it completely with my hand.

Maybe I can read it in the same way I read the Tarot cards.

Since I’m still relaxed from my shielding meditation, it takes me no time at all to center and focus.

I close my eyes and concentrate as I draw the crystal’s energy into my center, letting it fill me. Then I just feel .

There may be some of Avery and Aaron’s emotions in there, but it’s Leo’s contradictory ones that dominate.

All of his angst and worry and indecision.

Soon they’re crowding out the others, elbowing their way into my every crevice and corner.

Heart pounding, I scramble to retrieve them, but it’s like trying to herd spilled marbles on a hardwood floor.

I corral one and two roll away. I scoop a handful into the pile and they knock ten more across the room.

In a panic, I gather as much turbulent energy as I can and shoot it back into the amethyst.

Shuddering, I snap my eyes open and set the necklace on the floor, distancing myself from the storm raging inside it.

I light the lavender bundle once again, blowing on it until fragrant smoke curls upwards from the glowing embers.

Then, taking the necklace by the chain, I pass the amethyst through the smoke at least a dozen times.

I don’t need to be carrying around my friends’ emotions.

Especially not Leo’s.

After stamping out the herb bundle, I put the necklace back on, confident that it’s now cleansed. Only a few minutes later, while I’m still cleaning up, Liv gets back from her class.

She sniffs as she tosses her backpack onto her bed. “It smells good in here. Did you get a new scented candle?”

“No.” I hold up the bundled herbs. “I was burning this.”

“Oh, is that sage?”

“Lavender.”

“Jenna uses sage in Trevor’s room, like, every week. It smells sooo good.”

I joke, “Anything would smell better than Trevor.”

Liv takes the bundle from me and draws in a long inhale. “Hmm. I should use that in Braden’s room. Isn’t it supposed to fix bad vibes or something like that?”

“I think it depends on which herbs you use.” I’m no expert on plant correspondences, but I’m learning. “Sage and lavender both cleanse, but lavender’s also supposed to be relaxing.”

Liv grins. “What about an aphrodisiac?”

“ Braden needs an aphrodisiac?” When does that man ever not want sex?

Liv slumps into her desk chair. “Frequency’s not a problem, but he could use a little help in the variety department.”

I suppose Braden’s so used to switching women when the sex gets rote, that he’s never had to advance past entry-level. And poor Liv is so desperate to hold on to him, she’s afraid to rock the boat by complaining.

“I don’t think herbs are the answer then,” I tease. “Try the Kama Sutra.”

She stares into space for a moment, seriously considering it. Then she hands the lavender bundle back to me. “Since when are you an herbalist?”

“Herbalist?”

“Yeah. There was that bag of herbs on my desk the other day. And a candle. ”

Leo’s candle. I was hoping Liv hadn’t really noticed it, or that she’d forgotten about it.

“And you’re always wearing that amethyst,” she says, gesturing to her own chest while looking at mine. “So what’s with all this New Age stuff?”

I recall my resolve to stop sneaking and lying to Liv.

If we’re going to stay best friends, then it has to be on honest terms. I breathe deeply for composure and fortitude.

Here goes nothing. “It’s not really New Age, it’s more—well—” I don’t want to use the word witchcraft , or ritual either; they’ll freak Liv out.

I rewind and try again, opting to start small.

“That candle was from a meditation we did at Avery’s. ”

“Meditation?” Liv is looking at me like I’m a bad shrimp she just ate. “Like some sort of yoga thing? Who does that on a Friday night?”

“We weren’t doing yoga,” I say. “It wasn’t that kind of meditation. We were trying to see if we could talk to our ancestors.” There, I said it.

And judging from Liv’s expression, there’s going to be hell to pay.

“Your ancestors? What the actual fuck, Betts?”

My heart sinks and I bumble, “It didn’t really work for me. I mean, I wanted to talk to my grandmother, but?—”

Liv cuts me off with a look of horror. “Are you in some kind of cult?”

“What? No!”

“Is that really the kind of shit you and your new friends do?”

I wish she didn’t look so appalled. What she’s envisioning can’t be anywhere close to the truth, but how do I get her to understand? “Listen. Avery’s a witch and she’s been teaching us stuff. Like Tarot. And protection magick.”

“A witch?” Liv’s nose wrinkles. “Oh, I get it now. You’re gonna go all goth on me like those Witchtok girls.”

“No, it’s not like that.” I’m already in up to my knees so I may as well go all the way under.

I remind her of how I reacted to the overdose at O-Chi last fall and explain how I felt her fight with her parents all the way down our dormitory hallway.

But I don’t use the word psychic and I don’t tell her about the incident at the sawmill town.

“Learning stuff like protection magick and meditation are really helping me. I’m finally figuring out how to control all this empathy and do something with it. ”

Throughout my speech, Liv’s skeptical frown deepens. “But how often does that kind of thing actually happen to you?”

“All the time.”

“Okay, so whatever,” she huffs, taking books out of her backpack. “But why do you need to change your whole life just because you’re sensitive?” She won’t even say empathic .

“I’m not changing my whole life,” I say. Only certain parts of it . “I’m just trying to make it more compatible with who I really am.”

She lets her books drop onto her desk with a slam and turns sharply to face me. “Why won’t you just admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“Oh please, Betts.” She gives me a smug eye-roll. “This is me you’re talking to. I know what this is all about.”

“What?”

“Leo.”

Of course she’d think that. It’s always about a guy. Liv wants to believe what she wants to believe. To her, my whole identity crisis can be boiled down to a simple black-and-white choice between two men.

“It’s not about Leo.”

Another eye-roll, this time with a snort. “Please. Like you’re not going out with him now.”

“I’m not.” Not technically. But if I tell her what happened between Leo and me the other night, she would take it as proof that she’s right.

I steel myself and muster up some patience. I know that the new things I’m doing—and especially my new friends—are radical compared to what she’s used to. She needs time, not arguments and lectures. I have to prove to her that no matter what my other interests are, she’ll still be my best friend.

I force a smile as I stand and stretch. “Are you hungry?”

“Hungry?”

“Yeah, hungry. Like, as in needing to eat food.” I mimic gnawing on a burger.

She begrudges me a laugh. “I guess so.”

“Then come on. Let’s go get some dinner.”

“Fine.” She rises and grabs her coat. “But we’re not done talking about this.”

“We can talk about it whenever you want.”

We both snatch our keys off our desks and head for the dining hall. There we eat chewy, stale corn chips with our burrito bowls and talk about everything but Leo and the Clairs.

It’s not until the next morning, as we’re getting ready for classes, that she apologizes.

“Sorry I flipped out on you yesterday. This is all so weird though, you know? You’ve never been into witch stuff or anything like that.

And Leo, I mean sure he’s hot, but how much do you really know about him?

It just seems like he came out of nowhere. ”

I laugh. It does seem like Leo just appeared out of the ether. “Actually, I met him at an O-Chi party.”

“I know, but still. I mean, do you even know his last name?”

“Yes. It’s Hawthorn.” So there. I stick my tongue out at her.

“Okay, fine.” She shoots me a raspberry back. “But I’m still gonna worry about you.”

I give her a quick hug. “I’m fine.”

I can’t fault her for worrying. I’ve spent months fretting over her—about Braden, her grades, sororities, and now this Sweetheart thing. Seems we’re both in over our heads, and neither of us wants to be rescued.