Page 18 of Witch You Would

Zeke grinned and tossed a ball at me. I caught it, and the light in my hands cast rainbows all over my shirt and our table.

I took a bite. Holy shit, it was good.

“You wanna try it?” I asked Penelope, holding up the ball.

Penelope hesitated, then leaned in. I expected her to take it from me, but instead she ate it out of my hand. Her eyes got

big like she was surprised, and she gave a throaty little moan that went straight to my cock.

Down, boy. “Awesome, right?”

“It’s super good.”

“Here.” I handed it to her. “I’ll steal another one.”

She grinned. “Don’t cry at me later if they run out.”

Not a problem. Her smile was worth giving it up.

Now it was Felicia and Charlotte’s turn. The spell was cool enough, I guess, a swirling mass of tiny crystals that moved up

and down and around a central spoke. The casting circle must have been incredibly complicated to handle the motion path and

the looping. It also made a rushing, tinkling sound, somewhere between a waterfall and a wind chime.

Honestly, I zoned out because I didn’t give a shit about those two witches, and also I kept sneaking looks at Penelope while

she ate the rest of the disco ball. She seemed to be having a religious experience. I hoped Liam wasn’t hating all the chewing

sounds coming from her mic. When she finished, she had a tiny dab of mascarpone on her nose; I indulged in a fantasy of licking

it off, then kissing the flavor out of her mouth. Thank goodness I was wearing boxer briefs and loose pants.

Fabienne thought the light was good, Doris thought it was great, Hugh thought it was technically impressive but lacking creativity. Seriously, did they plan that in advance, or did it come naturally to them?

No time to think about it now. It was our turn.

I let Penelope carry the teapot to the table. Our sigil decorations weren’t as nice as Amy and Jaya’s piano, but they were

solid. Hopefully the spell itself would be impressive enough that we wouldn’t get kicked in this round.

Syd gestured at the table. “Tell us about your spell, yellow team.”

Penelope looked at me, and I stuck out my chin at her. Talk!

“We call it ‘Tempest in a Teapot,’” she said.

“Leandro’s idea, I presume?” Hugh asked.

“Only the name!” I grinned and wagged my head from side to side.

“It activates when you put on the lid and turn it.” Penelope demonstrated, then stepped back. The lights went out and we waited.

A trickle of smoky light drifted out of the teapot’s spout. It took longer than I expected to thicken into a cloud. Probably

needed more time in the fridge. Smelled good, though, just like Penelope planned, a mix of that earthy scent after it rained,

a fresh ocean breeze and a hint of night-blooming jasmine. Once it reached critical mass, covering the whole area inside the

containment circle, the glow was nice and bright—like night during a full moon, but the clouds were doing all the shining.

Then the sparks started, bursting inside the floating mass like tiny fireworks, lightning without thunder.

“Does this conclude your spell?” Syd asked.

“One more phase,” Penelope said. “Then it loops.”

I had just enough time to worry the next part wouldn’t trigger, when finally it did.

Streams of color shot down from the clouds, greens and pinks and violets that shimmered and shifted like thin shafts of vertical aurora borealis.

When Penelope had described her idea to me, it sounded nice, but this was great.

Like a magical laser show, but softer, more natural.

The cycle ended, and the colored lights stopped, then the sparkles, leaving just the glowing clouds. That was my cue.

“Presto!” I said, and took a bow. I gestured at Penelope, who fake smiled and curtseyed, fingers pinching her imaginary skirt.

The judges came for us now, checking out the spell from underneath, circling the teapot like sharks sniffing for blood. The

questions started biting: What did we use to form the clouds? And the lightning effects? How were the scents added? How long

would it persist before dissipation? What if it needed to be dissolved prematurely? Were any of the components toxic if inhaled

or ingested? Was it flammable?

Penelope answered most of the questions, which I was totally good with. Leandro Presto was supposed to be a himbo; rule number

two, stay in character.

Maybe more importantly, if Penelope was going to have a chance at getting hired after this, she had to prove she could hang.

She couldn’t do that if everyone thought I was coming up with the spell ideas or the techniques to implement them, himbo or

not.

Eventually the questions stopped, the judges retreated for final comments, and the spotlights came back on. I wanted to grab

Penelope’s hand, but I settled for a quick arm bump and a smile. She smiled back, her usual fake one, barely hiding the face

twitches trying to break through like lightning.

“This is an interesting variation on fog or smoke effects,” Fabienne said. “The cycling works well to keep the spell from becoming static too quickly. Some minor sound element might have been a welcome addition, though it could easily annoy depending on what is chosen.”

“I almost wanted to get out my umbrella and rain boots,” Doris joked. “The color portion was just delightful, and the clouds

themselves cast a lovely light. Quite soothing for a tempest.”

Now Hugh. I sucked in my breath, and I think Penelope did, too.

“It’s a bit unimpressive to me,” Hugh said. “Most of this can be reproduced using mundane, mechanical means and a little creativity.

It did emit enough light to see by, at least.”

The air hissed out of me like I was a balloon deflating. Wow, that was rough.

“Thank you, judges,” Penelope said. I repeated it, and this time I carried the teapot back to our station.

Shit. Double shit. That had not gone well.

Honestly, it would probably take a miracle to save us, given what the judges had said about the other spells. I hadn’t joined

the show expecting to win, but every episode I stayed on would be another chance to talk about Grandpa Fred’s charity. I needed

more time, more chances. And Penelope needed the money, because exposure wouldn’t pay her bills. I glanced sideways at her;

she seemed to be doing the same math. Her smile was slipping.

I grabbed a paper and pencil and scribbled a note: Hang in there, kitten. I slid it down the table toward her, tapping her arm so she’d see it.

She rolled her eyes at me and wrote back: Motivational poster? Really?

I thought it was purrfect for you.

Stop!

Meow :)

She tried to take the paper away, but I crumpled it up and palmed it, pretending to eat it. The corner of her mouth turned up like she was trying not to smile and couldn’t help it. I glowed a little inside.

Quentin and Tanner had moved their spell to the table while we passed notes. From the back, it looked like some kind of doll

holding a ball and a ladder. The doll wore an old-fashioned top hat and coat with baggy pants, somewhere between stage magician

and vaudeville clown. Everything was either made of scraps of metal or painted to look like it—very antique shop vibe.

Quentin rubbed his hands together. “This spell is called ‘Hanging the Moon,’ and it’s inspired by automatons Tanner and I

have worked on back at home. Our separate homes, I mean.”

I laughed.

“My husband always said he’d hang the moon for me,” Quentin continued. “So I wanted to do it for him.”

Penelope awwed. I think Amy did, too.

Quentin pressed a button on the back of the automaton and stepped away. The doll-man started to move, surprisingly smooth

and realistic. It set up the ladder as if it were propped against something, even though it was only touching air. Then it

climbed the ladder, still holding the ball. When it got to the top, it lifted the ball above its head with its tiny metal

hand.

And then nothing happened. We all waited, but there was no light, no other movement.

“Is your spell complete?” Syd asked.

“No, it’s not,” Tanner said. He and Quentin moved toward it, not touching but looking from different angles.

The doll-man dropped the ball. It bounced on the table, then rolled off and hit the floor with a loud clank. The ladder fell, tak ing the doll with it. The whole thing collapsed, and a bunch of the component metal bits broke apart and scattered in all directions.

Holy shit. Massive fail. When I’d said it would take a miracle for us to stay in the competition, this was not the miracle

I ordered.

Quentin’s face fell to pieces just like the spell. Tanner shook his head, but he also seemed... confused?

“I assume that was not meant to happen,” Hugh said.

“No,” Quentin said sadly. “I don’t know why it didn’t work.”

Syd stepped in then. “Unfortunately there are no second chances on Cast Judgment . You’ll be judged based on the spell as it was presented. Judges, questions?”

I was pleasantly surprised that the judges didn’t skip the question portion just because the spell went wrong. They asked

the same kinds of things they had for the rest of us. I listened more carefully than I had to the others, wondering if I could

figure out what might have happened. I had a lot of experience making spells fail on purpose, after all.

Penelope seemed to be doing the same. She got that squinty, poochy-lipped face she made when she was thinking hard.

The judges all said more or less the same thing in their own ways: “Nice idea; too bad it didn’t work.” And that was it for

the round.

I thought we might get shoved back into our greenrooms, but instead we waited at our stations for the judges to finish scoring.

They didn’t leave, just moved to a corner of the room. Each of them seemed to be working separately, then they got together

to figure out who would be the winner of the round, who would be bottom two, and who was leaving.

Nobody talked. Quentin looked like he was trying not to cry. Tanner seemed resigned. Everyone else was somewhere between bored and relieved.

I twirled a pencil in my fingers and thought about trying to distract everyone with a trick. I read the room and closed that

book fast.

Finally the judges finished and presented the results to Syd, who took them with a more serious face than usual. Tori started

yelling orders. The camera people grabbed their gear, the main lights turned on overhead, and the rest of us came out of our

collective dream-space and back to reality.

“Now it’s time to reveal the results of round one of Cast Judgment ,” Syd intoned. They made eye contact with all of us, one by one. Very dramatic.

“First, it’s my pleasure to announce the winners of this round,” Syd continued. “Their spell was not only a novel lighting

method, it was also, dare we say, light on the tongue? Dylan and Zeke, congratulations!”

Dylan and Zeke smiled and fist-bumped as we all clapped. I couldn’t argue with the judges’ choice; those disco balls were

great.

“Now, unfortunately,” Syd said, “I must announce our bottom two teams. One of them will be leaving us today, while the other

will have a chance to redeem themselves in round two.”

Penelope tensed next to me. She expected the same thing I did. And it still sucked when it happened.

“Penelope and Leandro, your lighting method was functional but relatively mundane compared to the others,” Syd said.

I shrugged and grinned while Penelope nodded.

“Quentin and Tanner, your lighting method was interesting, but ultimately didn’t function at all.”

The pair wore nearly identical expressions, like they’d chewed on aspirin.

“The team that will not be moving forward to the next round is . . .” Syd paused for dramatic effect. “Quentin and Tanner. I’m sorry.”

I wished I could be glad about it, but instead I just felt sad. Quentin accepted hugs from the other contestants, while Tanner

shook hands. Syd finished their outro-slash-lead-in to the next episode, and that was it.

Tori clapped. “Okay, time for confessionals!”

Right. This wasn’t over yet. In more ways than one. Penelope sighed, and I gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. It didn’t seem

to help. Grandpa Fred’s rule number three came to me: commit to the bit. It was worth a try.

“Meow you doing, kitten?” I asked.

“Oh my god, do not,” she said. “No more cat puns.”

“I’m just kitten around.”

Her lips struggled not to smile. “Stop!”

“With the right cattitude, anything is pawsible.”

That one got a snort-laugh she covered with her hands. Mission accomplished.

For now, anyway. One round down, but how many more would we get?