Page 21 of How to Flirt with a Witch

“It’s a doll.” I try not to panic as I keep both Rebecca and the spider in view. How am I going to get that thing outside? I don’t have a cup big enough to trap it, nor do I want to step anywhere near it.

“Explain,” Natalie says.

“I was at a flea market, and I had the same feeling as when I saw Lucy in the shelter. I knew it had the same… problem.” I don’t know what to call it, because it’s definitely not an infectious disease.

Natalie’s breath hitches. “So you bought it?”

“Tell me where Lucy is,” I retort. I can’t lose sight of why I brought this doll home in the first place.

Hollow footsteps thump in the background, like she’s pacing or maybe walking somewhere. What’s she thinking during all these long silences?

Finally, she huffs. “What’s your address?”

Nothing like a hot girl coming over to abruptly shift your priorities. In the twenty minutes before Natalie arrives, I frantically shove dirty dishes into drawers and laundry into the closet, make the bed, wipe dust off every surface, and wave candles around to mask the musty basement smell. I give the spider a wide berth, still unsure how to get rid of it.

Out of breath, I glance out the dark window, seeing only my reflected silhouette. My hair is a mess, falling loose from its clip. I tame it with shaking hands.

The solar floodlight illuminates the path. A pair of brown Blundstones strides past.

Oh God. She’s here.

I grab Not-Lucy and take her with me, speed-walking down the hallway and through the kitchen.

Doctor Natalie Zacharias isat my place.

She knocks twice, the sound piercing the quiet.

I stop, take a half a second to try and look composed, and open the door.

My greeting comes out like a breathy, “Hi-i…”

Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, loose strands framing her face. She’s wearing an oversized black blazer over a tiny white bralet and straight-leg jeans, showing off her toned abs. Behind her familiar shade of copper eyeshadow, her gaze is hard and serious. “Where’s the doll?”

I point down the hall, where candlelight flickers from my room. “On my bed.”

She kicks off her boots in a rush and strides past me. Her warm, herbal scent hits my nostrils, rooting me in place for a second before I slam the door and trot after her. Those little braids with hints of green and yellow peek through her ponytail, which comes halfway down her back.

Heat floods my cheeks. Doctor Natalie Zacharias isin my bedroom.

She puts an arm out to stop me from passing, staring at the doll on the bed. “You touched her?”

A jolt runs through me as her arm brushes my chest. I step back. “I mean, to buy her—”

She spins, scanning me up and down. I suddenly feel underdressed in my flannel, ripped jeans, and moccasins.

“Are you okay?” Her tone is soft, but her eyes are blazing and her jaw is tight.

I shift. Am I itchy? Nauseous? I can’t tell what’s real and what’s in my head. “I think I’m fine.”

She rummages in an inner pocket of her blazer, the swaying material wafting her scent at me. “I’ll take the doll with me. Are there any, uh, side effects I need to take care of while I’m here?”

Catching her meaning, I point. “There’s a spider in the corner.”

Not-Lucy hisses and leaps from my grasp, her needle-sharp claws digging into my forearms.

“Ow! Hey, no!” I cry, trying to catch her.

She hits the floor with a thump and zooms from the room in a white blur. My eyes water in pain, my skin burning where her claws sliced me open.