Page 87 of How to Flirt with a Witch

“Sky, quick!” I shout, holding out the scuba diver.

“Yup.” Sky pops the cork off the vial—and at the same moment, a dark shape detaches itself from the shelf over her head.

Before either of us can react, a black cat lands on Sky’s head, claws out, hissing furiously. Sky roars and flings her arms upward.

“D-don’t spill it!” I splutter, reaching for the vial.

A pop rings out at the far end of the aisle, pulling my attention. A crack opens in a fish tank, spilling water onto the beige floor. The guppies inside swim in frantic circles.

“The fish!” I cry.

Sky is busy. Yelling in pain, she grabs the attacking cat with her free hand and throws it aside. It lands on its feet and bolts, leaving Sky gasping with lines of blood oozing down her cheeks. “Motherf…”

Shouts and footsteps come from the front of the store. “Oy! What’s going on back there?”

Shit.We’re about to have a lot of explaining to do.

“Quick, fix the tank!” I tell Sky.

“What? Oh?” She wipes her bloody face, looking stunned, and extends a trembling hand toward it.

Immediately, the waterfall slows. The glass welds back together, sealing the crack from bottom to top as if her palm is a soldering iron.

But another crack rings out. A jagged line runs down the tank beside it, sending more water onto the floor.

I’m powerless to help, standing there with a tight hold on the tiny scuba diver.

The footsteps get closer. I check over my shoulder, and my stomach drops. A horde of mice and hamsters bounds toward us. They scurry up the shelves to escape the river of aquarium water, getting unsettlingly close to face-level.

I whimper, stepping back so I don’t get a pile of rodents on my head.

“Brad, the lizards are out!” someone shouts from the next aisle over.

Okay, this stopsnow.I dash to Sky, panic constricting my throat. “Sky,the vial—”

A strange sensation freezes me in place. My throat keeps tightening, as if the muscles and tendons are swelling. I inhale—and not enough air passes through.

My heart lurches, a tingle running through my head and neck.

No.

I try to gulp down air but can’t get any. My chest spasms, a jolt of pain shooting through my ribs. Spots erupt in my vision, blackness obscuring everything but a few patches of vinyl floor and swirling fish.

The scuba diver clatters to the ground.

I reach for my throat, my fingers working as if to massage my airway back open.

Can’t breathe.

Dizziness overcomes me, making me sway. The Bee Gees keep singing “Stayin’ Alive,” the words warping as if coming from underwater.

Glass shatters. Birds squawk.

“Katie!” Sky’s voice mingles with everything else, faint and distorted.

Pain shoots up my legs from my knees. I’m on the ground, clutching my throat, trying to pull air into my lungs in short, desperate gasps. Sharp little claws dig into my thighs through my jeans.

There’s a distant fizzing sound. Smoke obscures what little patches of light remain.