Page 11

Chapter 11

Auld Lang Syne

O n New Year’s Eve, I meet Clayton and my other university friends to celebrate, still bitter about Natalie’s rejection.

The group chose a restaurant that serves pitchers of beer and sangria, which means the others who are nineteen can order alcohol, and those of us who are eighteen can pour some into our cups when the servers aren’t looking. It’s terrible and probably a flaw that’ll end in the restaurant being shut down, but nobody cares. They’re all just happy to be allowed to drink together in a place that isn’t a dorm.

I haven’t texted Natalie since our thrift shopping day, and she hasn’t texted me either. She doesn’t want to be involved with me, so fine. I won’t force my company onto her—and I guess she doesn’t care that my ability to sense curses could be useful. Totally her loss.

Instead, I’m seated at the end of a long row of four tables pushed together, bristling as Clayton leans too close, trying to avert my gaze from Mo and a girl named Laura groping each other in the booth seat across from us.

It’s not even nine. Can I make it to midnight?

“Those two need to get a room,” Clayton shouts in my ear .

“Yeah,” I say automatically. I sip my sangria, the bittersweet taste prickling my tongue.

“They were talking about kissing at midnight.” He looks at me as if hoping this will suddenly give me an idea.

“I guess that is a thing,” I say. I’ve never done it because my relationship with Crystal only lasted the fall of Grade 10, and my relationship with Mansplainy Matt spanned from last February until June—basically from when he asked me to grad until grad was over and we both realized we didn’t like each other all that much. “I normally just sing Auld Lang Syne and call it a night.”

“What’s that?”

“Auld Lang Syne? The song to bid farewell to the old year?”

“Oh.” He gives a lopsided smile. “Well, both traditions are good.”

I tug my cardigan closed over my top, which is low cut, tight, and mostly black lace. If I’d known Clayton’s flirting would become more shameless with each drink, I would’ve dressed frumpy tonight.

I pretend to focus on the conversation Johnny, Andrea, and the rest of the group are having. Clayton stays in my periphery, his expression soft, like he’s trying to look sweet and romantic.

“So, Laura, what are you studying?” I ask. The restaurant is so loud that I have to yell.

She peels away from Mo. She’s pale and curvy with raven hair and goth makeup, wearing a tiny black corset that pushes up her breasts so they brush the table. A turquoise pendant catches the light in her cleavage. “It’s Aura, actually.”

Heat burns in my cheeks. Why can’t I make it through the most basic conversation without doing something awkward? “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re not the first. And I’m studying Wicca.”

Any standard response dies on my lips. “What?”

Even Clayton pries his gaze away from me to look at her. “Isn’t that witchcraft? ”

Aura’s blue eyes dart between us, taking in our reactions, and a smile spreads across her face. “Yes. I own a shop.”

I try to picture Mo with his preppy polo shirt and well-groomed facial hair walking into a Wiccan shop. “How did you two meet?”

“At a rave,” Mo says, making gooey eyes at her. I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve watched girls flirt with him several times since we met, but he’s never shown interest in anyone until now. Apparently, goths are his type.

“What do you sell at the shop?” I ask.

“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 a potion ? 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 a bad 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 ?

Humiliation burns inside me.

As Clayton sits back, looking suddenly sober, I slide my chair back and stand. “Back in a sec. I just have to call home. It’s past midnight there.”

I grab my coat and speed-walk to the door, leaving behind Clayton’s palpable disappointment, Mo and Aura’s makeout session—they really should get a room—and all the other people we came with, who are getting drunker and noisier by the minute.

Outside, the sirens are louder. It’s threatening to snow, and I dodge a frozen puddle before I can slip. I put on my coat, leaving it unbuttoned so I can cool off from that stuffy restaurant.

It wasn’t a lie when I said midnight has already struck in Toronto, so I pull out my phone. I text Hazel first—New Year’s is a huge deal on the Japanese side of her family, so they’ll be partying all night—and then I send an obnoxious confetti gif to my family’s group chat.

I pause, staring at Natalie’s name. I want to ask her if the vial was a potion.

But her rejection was clear, and the fact she hasn’t reached out since that night is even clearer. I’m acting no better than Clayton, refusing to take a hint.

It’s time to let her go.

Tapping the screen aggressively, I delete our text exchange.

Next, her contact. It’ll be easier if there’s no temptation to message her again. Like she said, I should move on and pretend none of this happened.

Holding my breath, I tap Delete, watching her disappear from my phone completely.

A sinking, deflating feeling pulls my shoulders toward the ground. I liked having her in my life, however strange and temporary our connection was. But the mystery will go unsolved, my questions left unanswered .

I put my phone away, a hollow ache behind my ribs. Going home and crawling into bed would be really good right now. Home home—not the basement suite.

Someone swears, and I look up. A shift in the atmosphere surges to my attention. The street buzzes with nervous energy, so palpable that it prickles my skin. I rub my arms, surprised I didn’t notice it the second I stepped out of the restaurant. Car doors slam. People shout and talk urgently, leaning out the open doors of nearby establishments. Everybody faces the same direction, looking down the block, clutching each other.

Something serious is going on.

The police cruisers that blew past are parked a block away, forming a barricade to wall off a section of the street. Their sirens are off, but the lights flash, staining the inky sky red and blue.

“…think it’s a bomb,” a woman behind me tells her friends. “Maybe a gas leak. There was an explosion.”

I whirl around. “An explosion?”

She meets my eye, fear tightening her expression, and nods.

My skin tingles. As I face forward again, a hook sinks into my core, tugging.

Maybe it’s because I was thinking about Natalie, but my brain jumps to the doll and the crater in my bed.

She said curses could be anywhere.

I may be wrong… but even if I’m right— especially if I’m right—the smart thing would be to walk away.

My feet stay rooted, questions swarming in my mind like bees. What if this is another curse? What if Natalie is here?

I shift my weight from foot to foot, curiosity burning. I just want to check. I’ll be thirty seconds, tops.

I walk toward the barricade of police cars, the red and blue lights leaving spots in my vision. People are being ushered out the doors of a nightclub, most of them drunk and swaying, some shouting at those trying to get them to safety.

Smoke curls inside my nostrils and dries the back of my throat. A haze drifts out the open doors—I can’t tell if it’s from the explosion or smoke machines from the club.

I edge as close as I can to the scene, trying to stay inconspicuous. I step over a dead rat and onto the sidewalk, my pulse accelerating.

Something small perches on the hood of a cop car, illuminated by the flashing lights. My breath hitches. My imagination could just be desperately trying to fit pieces together… but it looks like one of the purple butterflies that appeared when Natalie melted the doll.

“Hey, do you know what’s going on?” a gentle voice asks behind me.

I startle, spinning around, and I have to look up to meet his eyes. He’s in his twenties, fair-skinned with blue eyes and blond hair. His cheeks and ears are rosy from the cold, and he shuffles his feet and ducks his chin into the collar of his black down jacket.

I motion back to where I came from. “Someone said something about a bomb threat.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You heard that and decided to come closer?”

“I’m a curious person?” I say hesitantly.

His lips curve into a handsome smile. Between his tousled golden hair, ice-blue eyes, and his broad chest filling out his fur-lined jacket, he looks like he just stepped off a Viking longship.

“Sit,” he murmurs, and I follow his gaze to the German Shepherd at his side. The dog was so quiet that I didn’t even notice him. He sits obediently at the end of a short black leash, looking up and waiting for the next command.

I melt a little. “Oh, cute! What’s his name?”

“Wyatt,” the guy says, and the animal perks up on hearing his name. “Working dog. Don’t pet him. ”

It’s my turn to perk up. I love learning about working dogs. It’s my dream to have a therapy dog at my practice when I start my career as a psychologist. “What does he do?”

“He’s got a nose for dangerous items.”

“Sounds like they could use him in there.” I nod toward the nightclub.

“Maybe one day.” He studies me, a crease between his thick eyebrows. “You look familiar. Hey, were you at the thrift store the other day with Nat?”

“Nat?” Something clicks into place, and my heart flips over. “Oh, Natalie—yeah. That was you in the shop! I saw you in the mirror when I was paying.”

He casts me a crooked smile. “Sorry if I was staring.” He looks down, the color in his rosy cheeks deepening.

“All good.” I tug my jacket closed and cross my arms, hunching against the wintry wind. “How do you know Natalie?”

He tilts his head. “We’re in similar lines of work.”

A bolt of excitement zaps through me. Wait, this mysterious Viking man knows about curses and everything?

I try not to look too excited, offering what I hope is a casual smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Katie.”

“Freddie. Freddie Madsen.” He takes a step closer. Wyatt inches over to stay heeling, still watching his handler. That is a very well trained dog

“Is this what I think it is?” I ask, jerking my chin toward the building.

Freddie smiles. “I’m sure you know the answer. Nat’s got you on the hunt, huh?”

Disappointment and frustration twist in my gut again. “If you can call it that. It was only once.”

“Any luck?”

“No,” I say tightly.

He leans in, giving me a playful nudge. “But it wasn’t your first rodeo? ”

I hesitate. Should I be talking to him about this? He seems to already know everything, but Natalie did ask me not to tell anyone what happened.

A spark of defiance flares in me. If Natalie had given me a proper explanation, I wouldn’t be standing here in confusion, wondering how much to say.

Letting spite win, I nod. “Twice.”

Freddie searches me curiously, a sort of hunger passing over his expression and parting his lips.

A sharp whistle sounds beside us, and an officer waves to catch our attention. She’s unrolling a line of yellow tape. “Move away, please! This is a crime scene.”

“Sorry,” I call back, the guilt of being caught snooping heating up my face.

“Let’s step over here.” Freddie motions behind me toward an alley. We walk further from the commotion and into the quiet darkness, until the flashing lights and shouts fade around the corner of a brick building. Wyatt heels with his snout pointed upward, his gaze never leaving his handler’s face.

When we’re two steps into the alley, Freddie faces me. “You working with Nat now?”

The twisting inside me intensifies, hot and acidic. “No.”

His mouth falls open. “She’s letting that kind of talent go to waste?”

I lift a shoulder, my teeth clenched. Freddie’s incredulity sparks my anger all over again.

Around the corner, shouts erupt. It sounds like someone tried to cross the yellow tape and is getting yelled at for it. The argument spikes my pulse, making me want to back away.

Freddie doesn’t seem to notice the chaos. His wide eyes are on me, half his face cast into shadow, the other half lit by the distant red-and-blue lights. “You know, a person with your gift shouldn’t be sitting on the sidelines. We could use you.”

My heart skips, his offer catching me by surprise. I glance around, the alley’s shadows clinging thickly, the pulsing lights failing to penetrate the darkness. Between the chaotic scene we left behind and the smothering isolation of the alley, it’s hard to think. “Um…”

He steps closer. “Your ability is unique, Katie. I’m sure you know that.”

A warning bell goes off in the back of my mind, telling me to say no. I don’t know why, and maybe it’s this whole situation making me uneasy, but something feels off.

“I’ll think about it. I’m going to school and don’t really have time for much else.” I shuffle sideways, nearer to the street we came from.

“I get it. Totally.” He moves with me. “Can I give you my business card so you can call me when you come to a decision?”

Relief trickles through me as this conversation heads toward a close. I should go back to the restaurant and away from here. “Sure.”

He pats his pockets. “Shoot. I left them in the car. Come with me and I’ll get one for you. I’m just at the other end of this alley.”

The warning bell gets louder. I don’t care how nice this guy is or what he claims about knowing Natalie. He’s a stranger inviting me down a dark alley to his car.

I pull out my phone. “It’s okay. Why don’t you tell me your number and I’ll type it in?”

He waves a hand. “It’s our office number. Family business—I run it with my parents and little sister. I can’t remember it off the top of my head. Come on, we’ll be fast.”

I back up. No, this is definitely weird. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.”

He tilts his head, his smile less warm. “Katie.”

An iciness fills me, threatening to freeze me in place .

The dog turns his focus away from Freddie for the first time, his sharp eyes piercing through me. And while I’ve always loved dogs… something about this one sends a shiver right down to my toes.

I glance at the street, hoping to spot an officer who I can edge toward for safety. But we’ve turned the corner, and we’re out of sight of the nightclub and cop cars.

As I step away, Freddie follows, Wyatt heeling so closely that he’s leaning against his thigh. Claws click on the pavement.

Freddie’s lips curve upward again, but it’s not a friendly smile anymore. “Katie, stop.”

Wyatt snarls at me, exposing a glint of deadly canines.

My muscles freeze, the fear of being bitten by a hundred-pound dog bringing me to a halt. Cold sweat prickles under my jacket.

“Good.” Freddie grabs my arm, his grip as firm as an iron shackle. “Come with me, and we’ll keep this simple.”

Pain jolts through me. I gasp, panic surging. “No!”

The dog looks from me to Freddie, tense, his teeth chattering—waiting for the release command.

Freddie leans his head down to search my face. “I can see why Nat likes you. You’re smart. Intuitive.”

Adrenaline shoots through me. I grit my teeth, jerking back. “What do you want?”

His grip burns. How hard do I fight? Do I kick and scream despite the risk of being bitten?

“To get you to change your mind,” he says evenly, forcing me closer.

My heart is beating out of my chest, trying to escape while the rest of me is trapped.

I pull back. “I said I’m not interested!”

Freddie stumbles. Hisses in frustration. Shakes his hair back from his face and keeps holding tightly. “You’re causing a scene—”

“Let go!” My lungs constrict. I can’t breathe. Can’ t think.

The dog growls, the noise vibrating through the air and crawling under my skin.

My arm tingles, my fingers going numb.

“Katie—” Freddie says through his teeth.

“Help!” My voice tears through the haze closing in around me.

I’m trapped. Suffocating. He’s on me like a leech, refusing to let go until I follow him to wherever he wants to take me.

“Madsen!” someone roars from the far end of the alley, the sound slicing through the haze.

Freddie and I freeze, and he snaps his head around, keeping a painful hold.

A dark figure storms toward us, backlit by the distant street lamps. Her tall frame is an impressive sight, her ankle-length trench coat billowing open, her hair lifting in the wintry wind.

Natalie.