Page 29

Corey

“I’D APPRECIATE IT IF YOU PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY, COREY.”

Corey looks up at his dad, who sits across the table. “You’re looking at your iPad.”

“I was reading, not texting. Texting around company is rude.”

Corey almost says they’re not “company”; they’re family. But why bother? Corey’s dad only sees him as an investment, not as his kid. Corey isn’t even allowed to have lunch with him without putting on a button-down shirt.

Warren brings in a giant plate of pan-seared chicken swimming in sundried tomatoes and olive oil. Corey fist bumps him as he walks by. “Thanks.”

“So,” his father says, not looking up from the article he’s reading, “how are things with Dylan?”

“Fine. Normal.”

“Anything we should be aware of?”

Corey has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The Barrions treat romantic feelings more like a medical problem than the complex, mysterious, terrifying thing Corey has always imagined them to be. “If there was a problem, you’d already know about it.”

“We can never be too careful. Especially considering the Anita Emberly situation.”

The “situation.” As if Mrs. Emberly’s impending death is a mishap to be swept under a rug. The brush-off makes Corey’s mood turn dark, and he says, “I would never do that to someone.”

His implication is plain: Not like you did.

James drums his fingers on the table. Corey starts to sweat and before he knows it, he’s searching for a way to walk this back. But it’s his dad who changes the subject.

“I’ve been looking into internship opportunities for next summer. I have some connections in Chicago and Atlanta, so I’ve set up informational interviews for you.”

“For next summer? But I’m going to Cameroon to visit Mom’s family.”

James gives him a knowing look. “You need to think about your future, Corey.”

“That’s all I think about.”

James starts scrolling through his iPad again. “Cameroon isn’t a priority. You’ll see your grandparents when they fly here for Christmas.”

Corey doesn’t make a habit of fighting with his dad because he always loses. James argues with people for a living, whether it’s about investments or mergers or “rightsizing.” But this time, Corey can’t stop himself.

“Mom wanted me to spend time in Cameroon. You promised her, right?”

The iPad falls to the table, and James’s hand curls into a fist. “You really think I forgot?”

“No, but that place is a part of me, and I barely get to—”

“If your mother was here to take you, I’d be fine with it. But she’s not.”

The silence that follows these words is painful. Warren reappears with a tray of water and coffee, but no sooner does he set down the glasses than James stands up, tucking his iPad under his arm. “Warren, I need to leave for the airport.”

Warren glances at James’s uneaten food, but he doesn’t argue.

“I’ll be back next weekend,” James says, not even looking at Corey as he leaves the room. Warren puts a hand briefly on Corey’s shoulder before he follows.

Corey tries to eat, but his mouth is dry and he can barely swallow. He has a weird urge to text the Cozy Mystery Book Club chat to distract himself. He already wrote a few lines for the curse-breaker, which Alonso reluctantly said were “good enough.” Maybe Corey should volunteer to take Alonso’s shift at the café today. That way, he could see how Penny is doing after what they witnessed at Second World Emporium.

Except Alonso would never switch shifts with him. And really, Corey shouldn’t invade Penny’s space. They’re barely friends, anyway. They’re just trauma bonded.

The thought sends Corey to the far corner of the library, where his dad’s liquor cabinet lives. He pours himself a glass of whiskey and takes a long swig. It burns going down, and it makes the world fuzzy around the edges. He sighs gratefully, dropping into the armchair and staring at the ceiling.

Did Corey’s dad really love his mom? The fact that she’s dead is proof enough, but Corey has a hard time imagining his dad loving anyone. He remembers watching a movie where the main character’s father couldn’t look at her because she looked like her dead mother. Is that why James treats Corey this way? Maybe Corey’s dad doesn’t see him as his son; maybe Corey is a reminder of what he lost.

Corey presses the whiskey glass to his forehead, and the cold brings him back to himself. He needs to focus on what he can control. He can try to break this curse with Penny and Alonso. He can try to save Mrs. Emberly. He can make sure Penny never loses someone the way he did. That she never has to live with that fear and anger.

If Corey never accomplishes anything else in his life, helping Penny Emberly break this curse would be enough. Maybe then, his dad will see him as more than an investment.

“Hey.”

Corey starts. Julian leans against the doorway, his brow furrowed.

“Mind if I sit?” Julian asks.

“Go for it.”

Julian slides into an armchair, propping his ankle on his knee. “Let me guess. You had lunch with your dad?”

Corey almost laughs. “I’m that easy to read?”

“I’ve known you your whole life, remember?” Julian’s smirk fades. “You okay?”

“I’m always okay.”

Julian rubs his chin. The dark circles under his eyes are pronounced today. “I get why your dad is so closed off. Taking care of this family and the company isn’t easy.”

“I’m not sure that’s it,” Corey says. “Working all the time gives him an excuse to keep us at a distance.”

“Maybe that’s why I want it so bad. So I can be left alone.” Julian is trying to joke, but his words are strained.

“How’s Grandpa?” Corey asks.

“Fine, I guess.”

“See?” Corey says, swirling his drink. “I told you he’d get over it.”

“Something feels off, though.”

“You’re being paranoid. Grandpa knows what he’s doing.”

A new voice echoes from the doorway. “My, my. I’ve arrived just in time for you to give me a compliment.”

Corey sits up, and then he remembers he’s holding a glass of whiskey. “Grandpa, I—this—”

Charles Barrion laughs. Slowly, he walks into the library, his cane making soft taps on the wooden floor. Between his thin fingers, the cane’s grip is barely visible: a carved hawk’s head. “Believe it or not, I used to sneak into my father’s bourbon collection when I was your age. Your secret is safe with me. Actually…” Their grandpa looks to Julian. “A drink would be nice.”

Julian stands up, gesturing to his chair. “Old-fashioned on the rocks?”

“Yes, thank you.” He sits in Julian’s chair slowly, gently, minding his knees. “I’m glad you’re both here. There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

Julian peels an orange. “Is it about my second-quarter analysis? I sent it to you this morning, but I had a question about our liabilities—”

“I’m afraid I haven’t looked at it.”

“Oh,” Julian says. “That’s fine. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Actually, I won’t be providing any comments.”

Corey’s brow furrows. Behind him, Julian was mixing the drink, the bar spoon tinkling against a glass. But at their grandpa’s words, he stops.

“Why not?” Julian says.

“Because, after some discussions with Corey’s dad, we’ve decided it would be more appropriate for Corey to be trained as the company’s next CEO.”

Glass shatters. By the bar cart, Julian stands with his hands out, as if he’s still holding the drink. But the glass is in a million pieces, the amber liquid streaked across the wood floor.

Corey is frozen. This is a misunderstanding. Or maybe their grandpa is testing Julian, seeing how he’ll handle the bad news. Corey needs to step in, to save Julian from himself before he overreacts. “Grandpa, that’s—that’s funny, but—”

“You think I’m joking?” Grandpa Charles hasn’t moved. He’s relaxed in his chair, fingers interlaced, a serene smile on his face. “I never joke about what’s best for our family. You have the people skills and the analytical mind we need, Corey. And I’m sure Julian will be right there every step of the way, assisting you. He’ll be the one bringing you up to speed. Isn’t that right, Julian?”

Julian’s shoulders are hunched, his face hidden from view. “How long have you known you were going to do this?”

“I’ve thought about it for some years now, but my decision became clear the night we found out about that poor woman. The café owner.” Charles clucks his tongue. “Such a tragedy. But even in moments like that, we need someone who is even-keeled. Someone who is thinking ahead, who doesn’t let his emotions get the best of him.” Charles smiles warmly at Corey. “We’re very proud of you, Corey. We think you’ll do an excellent job.”

“But…” Corey loses his train of thought. What does he even want to say? That Julian wants this more than anything in his life? That maybe their grandpa should’ve asked Corey if he wanted this? That Corey only keeps his emotions under control so his family won’t jump to conclusions about him being loud or angry just because he’s Black?

You need to think about your future, Corey.

James knew. That’s why he canceled Corey’s trip to Cameroon. Corey should’ve seen this coming.

Their grandpa turns his even expression on Julian. “It’s not personal, you understand. It’s business.”

Julian lets out a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob. Without even glancing at Corey, he runs from the room.

“Julian!” Corey says, leaping to his feet and running after him.

Too late. The door to the basement slams, the lock clicking. Corey bangs on it with his fist. “Julian? Come on, open up. We’ll figure this out.”

Nothing.

“Back to the screening room he goes,” their grandpa says.

Corey jumps. He didn’t even hear his grandpa walk up behind him.

“I never understood why he enjoys watching those horror movies so much,” Charles says, considering the door. “Aren’t our lives terrifying enough?”

Corey’s throat burns. He can’t cry. He manages to hold it back, but he can’t hold back his words. “Grandpa, with all due respect, please reconsider.”

His grandpa puts a hand on Corey’s shoulder. “I’ve made up my mind. This is what’s best. I know it will be awkward for a while, but you and Julian are family. You’ll get through it.”

It’s as though Corey is teetering on the edge of a cliff. Terror numbs him, narrowing his thoughts to one sentiment: survive.

“Okay. Thank you,” Corey says, the words bitter on his tongue.

His grandpa’s smile returns. His cane taps the ground again as he moves past him. “I’ll email you Julian’s report. You’ll need to critique it and get me your notes by tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

When his grandpa is gone, Corey’s hands won’t stop shaking. Even though none of this was his fault, he feels like he betrayed Julian. He wants to pound the basement door until it breaks. He wants to turn back time. He wants things to be the way they were.

Except he can’t. He’s no witch. And for the first time, he wishes he was.

Corey’s phone starts to vibrate. It’s an unknown number, and he almost sends the call to voice mail until he sees the area code.

Bloomington.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Corey, it’s Milton Pierre. We met yesterday?”

Corey’s mouth goes dry. “Yeah, of course.”

“I’m calling because I looked through our records, and there’s a real old coven in Idlewood that hasn’t been active for a long time. Still might be worth looking into.”

“Really? Who is it?”

“The surname was Barnhardt.”

Barnhardt. That’s the coven that gave the De Lucas all their old books. “Didn’t they leave town a hundred years ago?”

“That’s what I thought at first. But I did more research, and it looks like they married into a different family and changed their name. They’re still in Idlewood.”

“They changed their name? To what?”

“Mayberry.”

Corey’s vision tunnels.

“Corey?” Milton says. “You there?”

“Thanks, Milton, I… thanks for doing that.” Corey hangs up before Milton has a chance to say goodbye.

Mayberry. Of course he knows that last name. Here he thought being with Dylan was a way to protect himself.

He never considered that, for the past three years, he might’ve been dating a witch.