Page 82 of How to Flirt with a Witch

“It’s hard to pick a career path when you’re only seventeen,” I say sympathetically.

Pearl huffs. “I took an online quiz to figure it out, and the website crashed.”

I purse my lips. “Why don’t you take general studies and see what subjects you like best?”

“But every career sucks.”

I don’t blame her for saying so, but agreeing wouldn’t be helpful. “They’ve all got pros and cons.”

Mom and Dad nod.

An idea sparks—a way I can ask some questions without telling the whole truth. “Even a dream job has crappy parts, right?”

“Of course,” Mom says. “Nothing in life is perfect.”

Dad squints. “Why?”

“I’m learning about the different fields I can study within psychology.” I stretch out a leg and rock the hammock again. “Some fields are more… intense than others.”

Dad nods knowingly. “Forensic psychology?”

Pearl draws back, her gaze darting between our parents and the camera. “You want to work with serial killers?”

A decent metaphor for curses. I’ll roll with it. “Maybe. It’s important to do whatever it takes to help, right?”

Mom and Dad exchange a look.

“You’ve always been compassionate,” Mom says. “I think you’re meant to go down the path of altruism.”

I stop rocking the hammock. “So you believe it’s worth taking risks for the greater good.”

Dad chuckles and rubs a hand over his thinning hair. “Your mom and I both built our careers on doing just that, so you might be asking the wrong people.”

Or the right people. They get it. If they knew the truth about why I’m asking, they would probably agree that helping to prevent curses from getting into innocent hands—or dangerous hands—is important.

“I don’t think you should get into forensic psychology,” Pearl says matter-of-factly. “Working with criminals would affect you. You’re so in tune with other people’s energy that you’d pick up on all the darkness.”

My heart leaps. It’s exactly what I said to Natalie about being an empath. Far from dissuading me, her comment makes certainty trickle through my veins.

“True,” I say. “Thanks.”

Between this and my parents’ belief that I’m destined to help people, what more do I need? I’m meant to stay in CSAMM and use my ability—even if it’s dangerous.

Nicky comes over with a sandwich and peers down between Pearl and Mom, her brow pinched. “Where are you?”

“Um—” Before I can come up with an answer, activity stirs around me. People get up and walk toward one of the courtyard exits, their movements purposeful, like they’ve been called.

I sit up, rigid. Something’s going on.

“I have to go,” I say quickly. “I’m studying with… people.”

“Oh, are these yourfriends?” Nicky makes air quotes. “Can we see them?”

“Bye! Love you all!” I end the call and shut the laptop, looking for some indication as to what’s happening.

Ahead, a woman in her thirties rushes to a group of people at a picnic table, her urgent words drifting toward me. “The Shadows are back.”

Chapter 20