Page 33 of How to Flirt with a Witch

Ugh, this situation has me questioning everything lately, including my own senses.

Footsteps and festive jingling rush up behind us, and all three sisters appear wearing antlers with bells. They’re holding two more.

“We bought these for pictures!” Pearl wrestles one onto my head. The jingling beside me tells me Alyssa is doing the same to Hazel.

Although I laugh, frustration cinches around my stomach. I can’t decipher what I’m feeling when I look at this nutcracker. Is this another item worth telling Natalie about, or am I imagining it?

As my sisters tug us over to the five-foot tall one and tell us to smile for a selfie, Hazel glances from me to the creepy one I was staring at, her eyebrows raised.

“I’m gonna do it,” I whisper to her. “I’ll be a penguin bringing pebbles.”

Very dangerous pebbles.

Chapter 9

Becoming a Penguin

Iput the creepynutcracker on my bed, my heart thudding as I wait for something bad to happen. Ethel purrs loudly in Hazel’s arms, nuzzling under her chin.

“You’re so cute I could eat you,” Hazel says through her teeth, looking at Ethel like she’s really thinking about it.

I told my family I’d meet them at the vacation rental in an hour—I just have to get Ethel and shove a week’s worth of clothes into a bag. Hazel came to help.

Away from them, this gives us a chance to check out the nutcracker.

“What do you think?” I ask Ethel, studying her for a reaction. “Cursed?”

She ignores it, batting Hazel’s braid. At nearly five months old, she has the energy of a kitten but the confidence of a fully grown cat, making her a sassy menace.

Disappointment trickles through me—followed by shame for feeling disappointed. Ishouldbe relieved I haven’t found another curse. But I can only think about what this means for our become-a-penguin idea.

“Would a curse have made weird stuff happen by now?” Hazel asks.

“Maybe.” I scowl, arms crossed, then point to it like a cop in an interrogation. “Let’s see if you’re really who you say you are,Mr. Nutcracker.”

I go search the pantry for nuts—but I don’t buy whole nuts and my roommate doesn’t keep food here, so I don’t know why I bother. The most nut-shaped things I find are peanut-butter stuffed pretzels. I grab one and return to the bedroom.

I put it in the nutcracker’s mouth and press the cold wooden lever on its back. Nothing happens. I push harder, the flimsy wood straining under the pressure, until the pretzel pops out and rolls across the floor. Ethel leaps off the bed to chase it.

“What kind of nutcracker can’t even crush a pretzel?” Hazel asks.

“Exactly,” I say suspiciously, tossing it back onto the bed.

We study it with crossed arms while Ethel bats the pretzel like it’s a toy.

I sigh. “Let’s pack my stuff. Give it a minute to see if we get attacked by spiders.”

“Um—” Hazel starts.

I wave a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

I’m piling clothes into my suitcase when there’s apopbehind me, and Hazel screams.

I spin, dropping the sweater I was holding. “What happened?”

“All good.” She shakes her head. “I unplugged your laptop and it sparked.”

I snap my gaze to the charging cord stretched across the bed. The wire is exposed. “Weird,” I say pointedly. “Maybe a stroke ofbad luck?”