Page 12 of How to Flirt with a Witch

Any way I spin it, it’s hot.

I dip my chin to hide my smile. She might be unwilling to tell me anything, but I’m as determined as ever to unravel who she is and why she’s keeping secrets. And now I have one more piece of information I can use.Natalie.

Chapter 4

Midterms and Impostors

Lucy pounces, a ballof fur and energy as I move my hand beneath the duvet. I’m cross-legged on the bed, my laptop casting a pale glow through the dark room, Hazel on a video chat. A swarm of tabs is open, each one a fruitless search.

“I’ve hit a wall,” I tell her after catching her up on what happened. “I might never know what I was exposed to. Should I be worried?”

“You’re not in quarantine, so I’d say no.” Hazel pauses as she washes her face. She’s bringing me with her as she gets ready for bed. “The vet would be monitoring you or would have scheduled a checkup if there was something to be concerned about, right?”

The uncertainty in her tone does little to soothe my nerves. “I guess.”

I swish my hand under the blanket, and Lucy’s tiny body makes athwapas she pounces on it.

Something I can’t decipher tingles in the back of my mind. Unease. A warning.

Maybe it’s the trauma of what happened to Lucy—and nothing to reassure me she’s cured except the word of a woman who’s definitely hiding something.

I move my hand again.Swish.She pounces.Thwap.

“Do you have any other info to go on?” Hazel’s background shifts as she takes me out of the bathroom. She’s home with her family tonight. Framed photos of her and her sister decorate the hallway, and her dad’s massiveGreat Wave off Kanagawaprint makes a brief appearance behind her before she plunks down in front of the familiar red brick of their fireplace. A pang goes through my chest. I’d give anything to be able to randomly drive home for a night or two.

“Just her first name.”Swish. “Natalie.”

Thwap.

I let her name linger on my tongue. I like saying it, even though it’s attached to a woman wrapped in an infuriating mystery.

“Natalie,” she repeats, sounding like a detective on a case. “I’ll look her up. I want a picture.”

“Don’t bother. She’s nowhere.” Defeat weighs heavily over me. I was so sure I could find something.Anything. All I found was a Reddit post from three years ago where someone asked about an excellent piano tuner in Vancouver named Natalie Zacharias, who seemed to have disappeared overnight. A local news article from two years ago also named her as an employee in a thrift shop that got robbed.

But what does this tell me? Maybe she had part-time jobs while completing her degree. Or these were different people with the same name.

“Ugh, that’s so weird.” Hazel puckers her lips, a deep crease between her eyebrows.

I know that look. It’s the one she makes when she’s trying to solve a tough problem. And Doctor Natalie Zacharias is a tough problem.

Lucy crouches and wiggles her butt, then does the most ferocious pounce yet. Hazel and I both laugh, and the sense of dread thaws a little.

Is it safe to trust that she’s been cured? She’s acting like a normal kitten and is definitely more playful now.

“I think I need to give up and accept that I’ll never know what happened to us.” Resigned, I drag the laptop closer and open my class notes. “Anyway, I’ve got midterms to cram for. I can’t believe I have four next week. This sucks.”

“I know.” Hazel’s voice is muffled behind her hands. “It feels like term just started.”

Exhaustion pulls me down, and I lean back against my pillows with my laptop on my thighs. My motivation is at an all-time low after the chaos of the last few days. How am I supposed to buckle down? As much as I want to follow my own advice and give up, I can’t force my mind away from Natalie—or the image of Lucy’s blazing purple eyes.

She flops around on the duvet, having the time of her life while I move my foot. Still, the nagging worry is there, a sense that I’m missing something important.

“I’ve started a study group with a bunch of other CompSci students,” Hazel says. “One of them is literally the smartest person I’ve ever met in my life. He’s been helping me with assignments.” The determined edge in her voice is all too familiar. We’re both overachievers who deal with pressure from our parents, but she tends to take it to the next level. She wants to start her own tech company that helps the environment in some way.

“Good to hear you’re making friends so you can use them for their brains,” I tease.

“It’s a fair trade.” She fidgets with something off-screen, a flush in her cheeks. “I give him free cinnamon buns from work.”