Page 43 of How to Flirt with a Witch

“Crystals, candles, herbs, books, potions…”

“Ouija Boards,” Mo says darkly, shooting her a glare. “Never—fucking—again.”

She cackles, leaning into him. “I had it under control.”

“I think my soul left my body.”

I smile. Not only is Aura a welcome distraction from Clayton, but her words spark a deep curiosity. “What are the potions?”

She leans closer, resting her chin on her hand. “They serve different purposes. Luck, love, health, prosperity—” She pauses while a police siren whips past the restaurant and drowns out her voice. “They’re infused teas and juices. All safe to drink.” Her smile falters as she glances at each of us, making me wonder how often people question her potions.

“That’s so cool!” I say.

Her smile returns. “You should come by for a sample. I’ll give you a vial of good luck.”

Her words swirl in my head.Luck. Love. Vials.

A cog shifts in the back of my mind, creaking as it struggles to click into place.

Another siren passes. Several people in the restaurant turn their heads.

“We could go together,” Clayton says, taking the opportunity to look at me again.

I ignore him, my heart pounding. Was the vial in Natalie’s blazer apotion? Not an infused tea, but an actual, real potion created by an actual, real—

My belly swoops.

Is she an alchemist?

No. But did I witness magic?

No, that’s ridiculous. Magic is performed by wizards, who are fictional bearded men with wands.

I’m so close, teetering on the edge of figuring her out.

Three more police cars whip past us, yanking me out of my thoughts. Everyone in the restaurant turns toward the windows.

“Something crazy’s going on,” Mo says.

Aura grabs his collar and presses her breasts into him. “They’re coming after abad boy.”

They kiss. Mo slides a hand around her corset, and hers come up to his face, and we’ve lost them.

I avert my gaze from their making out only to meet Clayton’s eyes.

“So, where were we?” He leans closer, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “What are your midnight plans?”

God, this guy doesn’t take a hint.

“Sorry, Clayton, I’m not…” I don’t know how to end that sentence. How do you let someone down lightly?

As Clayton stares at me, waiting, Natalie’s voice echoes in my memory, telling me she finds me intriguing only to follow up by saying I don’t want to be involved with her.

I won’t do the same thing and give mixed messages. I have to be direct.

“I—I’m not interested.” The words feel terrible as they pass my lips. I hate this. I don’t like being the cause of that sad-puppy expression on Clayton’s face.

Did Natalie have the same guilt as she let me down? Did she look pityingly at my reaction?