Page 15 of Witch You Would

The warehouse was pitch-black with the lights out since they’d boarded up all the windows. Outside the soundstage, people

yelled, and random flashlight beams appeared and disappeared. Something rattled; glass shattered. Someone shouted a nasty

phrase in Spanish that would have made my dad’s eyes get big, and he cussed like it was his job.

Leandro wrapped his arms around me. Thunder cracked again, and I flinched, grabbing his forearms. He squeezed me tighter,

his chest pressed against my back. He was definitely smuggling muscles under his loose shirt. Rosy would love that bit of

cheese.

What I wouldn’t tell her was how nice it felt, this emergency hug. Kind of... cozy? Safe? Which was weird, considering

his entire career revolved around hecking up spells. Bro was spinning a knife around a minute ago like nothing. I should have

been flipping out, but I wasn’t. And his smell... Sweeter than most guys went for. I liked it.

Something brushed my hair. His nose? Was he sniffing me? No way. My brain was all like, you smelled him first! But one, shut

up, and two, I was smelling the air, and it wasn’t my fault he was in it.

The lights flickered on. Either the power was back, or this building had a generator.

“Check your spells, everyone,” Syd said, their voice raised to be heard over Isaac shouting at the crew from the other side

of the wall. Tori listened to something through her earpiece that must have pissed her off, because her face went through

like fifty microexpressions before she stomped out.

I stayed where I was for a few more seconds, then squirmed. Leandro let go, but he moved his hands to my shoulders and turned

me around.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Totally,” I lied. I was shooketh. But that was a problem for future Penelope.

The fridge hadn’t lost power long enough to affect our spell, but we peeked at it anyway. Yup, still there.

Around us, everyone else was dealing with their own issues. Dylan and Zeke had apparently been mid-incantation, and had to

dismantle some of what they’d done and start over. Amy smiled sadly and threw something in the trash. Quentin and Tanner weren’t

around; maybe they got stuck in the supply room? The judges had stopped near their area, just across from us, waiting for

them to come back. Doris Twist leaned in for a closer look at some mechanism they’d assembled, while Fabienne Desgraves checked

her watch and Hugh Burbank, arms crossed, tapped a finger against his forearm.

Felicia nearly ran into Quentin as he came back through the hallway, carrying a big box. He said, “Ope!” and apologized, and

she ignored him. I looked at Charlotte to see if she’d noticed, but she was busy pouring a casting circle with flour.

I had to do that, too. Except I needed salt.

I grabbed the bag I’d brought from the supply room and checked the drawers for a funnel.

Nope. I bent down to check the cabinets and found one in a basket in the back.

When I pulled it out, I caught Quentin grinning at me from the other side of the aisle.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Quentin replied innocently. “Just noticed someone enjoying the view.”

I reached for the scissors and tried to figure out what Quentin was talking about. The view? What view? What was there to

see while I was looking for a funnel? Bending over to check inside cabinets... oh my god.

Had Leandro been looking at my butt? I glanced at him, but he was reading the spell recipe.

Fake flirting, right. I should remember to check him out, too. Not that I could see his butt; his shirt was too long, and

his pants were too loose. His forearms, though...

I cut open the corner of the bag, held the funnel so my thumb covered the narrow opening, then filled the top with salt. I

plopped the bag back on the counter and moved to the chalk-painted floor area, carefully drawing the salt circle on it, then

adding the sigils we’d agreed on in the appropriate places. What next? Leandro had the spell. All I had to do was ask for

it. Instead, I tried to remember what I’d written down. Candles? No, one candle, and... a swift feather? Yes! Mierda, in

which order did I need to place these reagents...

Why did Quentin have to tell me a thing that might not even be a thing but now I was making it a thing? This was ridiculous.

Leandro put the spell down and wandered off to crack jokes with Syd. I tried to look chill as I practically jumped over to

grab the recipe before he came back.

Glass bowl of rainwater, then candle, then moonstone, then feather. Okay.

“Ms. Delmar,” a deep voice said from my right.

I managed not to jump this time. The judges stood next to me, Nate and his camera behind them, checking out the sigils and

reagents. If eyes could shoot lasers, Hugh Burbank would have burned a hole through my head. Customer service smile: on.

“Hey!” I said cheerfully.

“And what do you have for us today, Penelope?” Fabienne Desgraves asked.

Okay, I had to stop calling these people by their full names in my head. I was an adult. First names, go.

“This is our ‘Tempest in a Teapot’ spell,” I explained.

“And what will it do?”

How much did they want me to say? “It should create a small cloud that glows, with sparkling effects inside, like lightning.”

“That sounds absolutely charming,” Doris said, smiling at me like everyone’s favorite grandmother. She was always so nice.

“How bright do you expect it to be?” Fabienne asked.

“Basically, like, moonlight during a full moon. Bright enough to see, but not too bright to look at.”

“How large an area should it fill?” Hugh asked.

I bit my lip as I did the math in my head. “A couple hundred square feet?”

“Seems a bit simplistic.” He looked away from me. “Hmm.”

Simplistic? Oh no. I had to figure out how to up our game.

Wait, what did “hmm” mean?

I turned my head just in time to catch Leandro dropping a lit match into a bowl. A column of flame burst upward like a blowtorch,

at least four feet high, inches from his face.

Adrenaline hit me like a truck. I froze.

My heart pounded, and my mouth tasted like I’d licked a nine-volt battery.

As I watched this fire shrink and sputter out, memories burned through my mind.

Billowing smoke, the shrill beeping of the alarm, the extinguisher sending a useless stream of liquid onto the floor, the smell of burnt skin, the sirens—

“Oops,” Leandro said. “A little too much mineral oil.” He sounded like he was far away, like I was trying to hear him over

the sound of ocean waves crashing in my ears.

Breathe, I told myself. The fire is gone. Everything is okay. Inhale, count to four, exhale. Nothing was damaged, no one was

hurt. Inhale, count to four, exhale. Where’s the camera? Smile.

My lips wouldn’t move.

“I hope the rest of your spell is more successful,” Hugh said. Leandro grinned at him, and the judges moved on to Amy and

Jaya’s station.

Leandro came up next to me, still grinning. “Talk about las llamas de mi amor, huh?”

He could have . . . the fire could have . . . My ability to form coherent thoughts stayed wrecked. Everything tilted sideways,

and I barely caught myself on the table as my legs tried to stop holding me up.

“Hey!” Leandro grabbed me, his face too close to mine. “Penelope, holy shit, you’re shaking.”

My jaw stayed clenched, but I managed to choke out, “Bathroom.” He started to walk with me, until I got control of my body

again and pushed him away. I didn’t look back as I hugged the wall until I got to the exit, then managed to get lost even

though there were two directions to pick from. A PA took pity on me and led me the rest of the way.

The contestant bathroom was a few steps up from basic, with framed mirrors and granite counters and even a chair and table in case I needed to, I don’t know, wait for a stall? Hide and read a book like when I lived with my family? Ride out the tail end of my panic attack?

Yeah, that one. I sat down and put my head between my legs.

Don’t think about the past, I told myself.

Me cago en la hora que tu naciste, Penelope!

It’s over.

She could have died!

What happened can’t be changed.

You think you’re going to get a degree in this? No me diga!

Shut up, Mom! Shut up shut up shut up.

A quieter, calmer voice said: You can’t let one accident stop you from casting forever, mi vida. We all make mistakes. That’s how we learn.

Abuela always trusted me, believed in me. If she knew what I was doing now, she’d be so proud. Even if I didn’t deserve it.

I’d make myself deserve it. For her.

The room didn’t have a clock, so I had no idea how long I stayed there, remembering how to breathe. Eventually my anxiety

about needing to finish the spell won the wrestling match with my low-grade PTSD. I checked my makeup for battle damage, swallowed

the nasty-tasting pill of my feelings, and power walked back to the soundstage.

I expected to find either a mess at our station or everything exactly as I’d left it. Instead, the magic circle was ready

to go, with each reagent in the appropriate location, and Leandro was quietly mixing something in a tall pot using precise

clockwise motions.

What the hell was up with this guy? One minute he was all chill and competent and smart, and the next he was blowing stuff up. I thought about pro wrestling again, about fake drama and choreography mixed up with real skills, and wondered what ratio of PhD to fuckup I was dealing with here.

Did it even matter? Anger grabbed the steering wheel from anxiety and started driving me. If he was screwing up by accident,

he needed to stop messing around and follow instructions. If he was doing it on purpose, he needed to warn me so I wouldn’t

freak out again.

Later. Focus. The wandering camera crew stood next to Dylan and Zeke, but I kept my fake smile on for any other cameras that

might be watching.

I checked the recipe to see where we were in the steps. He must have been brewing the potion that would react with the stuff