Page 32 of How to Flirt with a Witch

Hazel gasps. “What?”

“A doll at a flea market,” I say like it was no big deal, even as my brain replays my screams of terror as a thousand spiders scuttled across my bedroom. “Weird, right? A toy showing the same symptoms as Lucy?”

Hazel’s mouth opens and closes as she processes the news. “Do you think she’s even a vet?”

“I think being a vet is a small part of her job, and she deals with anything carrying a curse.” We continue to the next table, which has knitted scarves, mittens, and toques. I poke at a mound of wool, relishing its softness. “What would you do if you were me?”

Hazel tries on a pair of red mittens with reindeer on the backs, wiggling her fingers as if to test them out. “I see two options. One, you can drop it and move on with life.”

I deflate, gazing blankly at a white scarf as I consider abandoning this mystery and never talking to Natalie again.

Hazel searches my face. “Do you really have to figure this out? What if it’s better for your sanity if you let it go?”

Letting it go would be easier, sure. But how can I? “I need to know the truth about her,” I say easily.

She keeps watching me, her brow furrowed, as if reading the meaning beneath my words. My fierce desire to understand people has always beenmy guiding force in life—the whole reason I’m here studying psychology on a scholarship. I just think if everyone took the time to understand each other a little better, the world would be a kinder place. Like, I would’ve had an easier time making friends—and I wouldn’t have been called weird in Grade 7 for being quiet when I was really just shy. And then there’s Pearl, who wouldn’t struggle so much with being neurodivergent if people took the time to understand what that means. And more people in Nicky’s life would empathize with her anxiety instead of getting frustrated. This is about more than just solving a mystery. Learning about people, fully understanding them, is who I am.

Hazel smiles, knowing this without my needing to say it. “I would expect nothing less from you, Katie.”

I smile back.

“Plus, you like Natalie, right?” she adds.

Heat rises in my face, her bluntness catching me off-guard. I could deny it, but what’s the point? “A little.”

She thinks for a long moment, returning the mittens to their rack. “What if…”

“What?” I press.

“No, it’s a bad idea.”

“Tell me!”

She faces me, uncertainty crossing her expression. “You know how Sean kept coming to my cafe to buy cinnamon buns? It gave us a chance to talk and get to know each other, and it kind of… showed me he was interested.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to follow. “Okay…”

“What if you did a version of that? She obviously works with curses, so what if you bring her another one?”

“What, like a penguin bringing a pebble to its mate?”

A smirk plays on her lips. “It’s a way to see her again,andit’ll make her realize you’re not going to give up on figuring out what’s going on.”

My pulse quickens at the thought of finding another cursed object. Is it a coincidence that a second one fell into my lap, or is it easy now that I’ve opened a door into this world? Maybe curses are everywhere, and it just takes awareness in order to see them.

But do Iwantto touch another one? The risk of unleashing hell sends a shiver down my spine—and at the same time, a thrill races through me at the prospect of seeing Natalie again.

“It’s a ridiculous idea,” Hazel says, walking on. “It’s one thing to show up at your crush’s work to buy a cinnamon bun. It’s a whole other thing to search for a potentially dangerous object because your crush happens to be… whatever she is.”

“That is the question,” I murmur. What’s the name for someone who explodes cursed objects?

We stop at a table of wooden nutcrackers. They range from the size of my hand to several feet tall—the one standing beside the table is my height. They gaze at me with sad, dead eyes, tufts of clown-like white hair poking out from under their hats, their toothy grins ajar as they wait to be given something to crunch.

They’re super creepy. Like, Rebecca creepy.

As I focus on a particularly sad-looking one with his mouth open unnaturally wide, something twists inside me.

Was this the same sensation as when I set eyes on Rebecca? Or am I just feeling it because I’m thinking about the way the doll contorted on my bed?