Page 8 of Witch You Would

And we hadn’t even started spell-casting yet.

After a hundred years of staring past the camera at the entrance, then at camera guy Nate’s shoulder, attempting to emit positive

energy while the giant lights around us shifted miniscule amounts, Isaac came back and pronounced us ready.

“Get the talent in here,” he told Tori, slurping a green smoothie through a giant straw.

The drink reminded me of Rosy, dancing as she made batidos, humming along with the restaurant music. I wouldn’t get to see

her as much now that I was fired, not unless I got another job in that shopping center. Maybe at the daycare? Or the gym?

Or the Vaquita up the street?

It hit me that I had never really expected to win this competi tion.

Sure, I’d daydreamed about money and time to work on my abuela’s spellbook, about meeting famous people and impressing them enough that they’d hire me.

But I’d never thought through how much my life might change, because I didn’t really believe it would.

Every step of the audition process, I waited to get the call or email telling me I was out.

Every time I made it to the next stage, the only person I could celebrate with was Emelia, so none of it felt real.

But it was. It so was. And I could win, damn it. If I was good enough to be here, I was good enough to go all the way.

If only I could make myself believe that.

Rachel reappeared, followed by the host of Cast Judgment , Syd Hart. They were tall and thin, with pale skin and long black hair, and tiny crow’s-feet around their blue eyes that

told you they smiled a lot. They wore a leopard-print shirt under a black leather jacket, a look I could never pull off. On

the show and in interviews, they were goofy and told a lot of jokes, but maybe they were more serious in real life?

“Syd will start with their usual thing,” Isaac said. “Contestant intros, then judges, then we’ll do the celebrity pairs. Any

questions?”

“One question,” Syd said. Isaac made a get on with it circular motion with his hand.

“What is a witch’s favorite subject in school?” Syd asked.

Everyone stared at them. Nate snickered.

I raised my hand. “Spelling?”

“Correct!” Syd grinned and tossed something at me.

A lemon candy. I felt like I was in third grade again, getting a treat from the teacher. And suddenly, I wasn’t as nervous

anymore.

Isaac looked like that meme of the guy with the smiling mask over the angry crying face. “No more questions? Good, great. Tori, take over.” He stalked out, and Syd winked at us.

“I can’t believe he hasn’t hexed my mouth shut,” Syd said in a stage whisper.

Rachel vanished back into the hallway. Tori started issuing orders—I guess she was the director? Assistant director? I didn’t

understand all the show titles. Someone else brought in one of those things with an arm that clapped shut and made a loud

noise, with digital numbers on the front.

“Remember,” Tori said, a calm breeze compared to Isaac’s thunderstorm. “One camera will be on you while Syd talks about you,

but other cameras will always be rolling on everyone together. Don’t stop looking at Syd, don’t fidget, don’t pick your nose.

When the judges are introduced, wait for Syd to finish, then clap and get excited, but not too much. This isn’t a concert

or football game. When your celebrity is brought out, same deal. Big smiles; you’re hyped to partner with them. Got it? Good.

Let’s roll.”

The butterflies in my stomach caught fire. I wanted to work with Charlotte Sharp, but the other options were probably great.

Just... not as great. I wished I’d practiced reacting in a mirror. I didn’t want to look unhappy if I ended up with someone

else.

The person with the clapper thingy stood in front of the camera on wheels and rattled off something fast, then opened the

arm and snapped it shut. The noise was so loud I jumped.

Syd moved smoothly into the same spot the person had been standing in and looked straight into the camera for a count of five,

then began.

“Some people cast spells for work,” Syd said.

“Others cast them for pleasure. These five competitors will be casting for the chance to win a yearlong residency at the Desgraves Studio and a hundred thousand dollars in cash. And our panel of experts will cast the most difficult thing of all.” They paused dramatically. “They’re going to cast judgment.”

I knew from watching the show that it would cut to the title and play a little theme song now, but editing would add that

stuff later.

Syd continued. “Our contestants have come from all over the country to beautiful Miami, Florida, for a very special season

of Cast Judgment . Instead of competing alone, they’ll each be partnered with a Spellebrity caster to push their creations to even greater

magical heights. But before we introduce those special guests, let’s meet our lucky five.”

They turned around to face the camera at the back of the room while Nate walked slowly in front of us. “Amy Song is a studio

musician from Jersey City who sells handmade charms online in her Mirage shop. Dylan Williams is a grocery store baker from

Baltimore who experiments with magical pastries in his spare time. Quentin Adams is an auto mechanic from Minneapolis who

tinkers with antique enchantments. Felicia Rivera is a real estate broker and interior designer from Los Angeles with a flair

for fashion spells.”

She definitely looked like she had strong clothing opinions.

I was, embarrassingly, “Last but not least, Penelope Delmar is a spell technician from right here in Miami. If you need help

with your magic, just ask her.” Syd grinned, and we all chuckled politely.

Syd gestured at a PA, who ran over and handed them a bottle of water. They took a quick swig, made some weird noises, then

turned back around to the camera in front of us and stared silently at it for a few seconds before continuing.

“Now, let’s bring out our judges,” Syd said, launching into introductions that I already knew from watching the show.

Fabienne Desgraves, founder and owner of Desgraves Studio.

Dark brown skin and eyes, black hair almost shaved on the sides but longer on top.

Coral jumpsuit cut like a suit jacket in front, a short cape draped over her bare arms. Deep red lips curled in a mysterious smile.

Her comments usually focused on style, flair, and cool factor.

Doris Twist—not her real name—started in the 1980s with her show Witching with a Twist . Pale and as old as my abuela, hazel eyes watery but still sharp. Cream-and-purple dress with lavender sweater, gray hair

pulled back in a tight bun. Very politician’s wife–meets–church lady. Super nice; whenever she said something even a little

critical, she sounded really sorry.

Hugh Burbank—surprisingly his real name—owner of Burbank’s Boutique. Dark green shirt and gray slacks that matched his eyes

and hair respectively. Fashionably tan skin like Felicia’s. Permanently sneering. Also shorter than I expected; he seemed

to loom over everyone on the show. Camera tricks, I guess. His compliment sandwiches were bunless shit burgers.

What if I messed up so badly that he hit me with a burn epic enough to turn me into a meme? Oh my god! Shut up, brain. Smile.

Clap. Catastrophize later.

Syd took another quick water break, but this time they called Tori over and held a muttered meeting. At one point they both

looked at me, which totally didn’t make my anxiety worse, nope.

Eventually Syd nodded and faced us again.

“Now,” Syd said, “it’s time for our fabulous competitors to meet their celebrity partners.”

“Stop,” Tori called. “‘Spellebrity,’ Syd. You have to use the trademark.”

Syd grinned sheepishly at us and repeated the phrase correctly. They continued. “First, we have Jaya Kamath, host of Jaya’s Charm ing Charms and author of the CIY Charms spellbooks. Jaya will be paired with...” Dramatic pause. “Amy Song!”

We all clapped as Jaya walked over to Amy. She wasn’t quite at Amy’s level of cottagecore, but they looked like they shopped

in the same store. Both seemed happy.

The other intros went the same way. Tanner Byrne, host of Spell Rehab , did reproductions and restorations of old enchantments. He was sent over to a delighted Quentin. Zeke Murphy owned a famous

magical candy shop in the Strip District in Pittsburgh, Zeke’s Sweets N’at, same name as his show. Dylan was his partner.

Just me and Felicia left. Oh my god. Was I sweating in this freezing warehouse? Had I put on deodorant this morning?

“Charlotte Sharp is the owner of Athame Arts—”

My blood thumped in my ears like bass at a club. Charlotte wore a pale blue knit top with navy pants. Her blond-highlighted

hair was styled in a bun with loose strands framing her face that probably took her stylist forever to get perfect. Her honey-tan

skin was—

Wait. Her sweater. Was blue. Not yellow.

“Charlotte will be working with... Felicia!”

I really hoped the camera wasn’t pointed at me, because I had no clue what my face was doing. Hopefully still smiling. My

cheeks definitely hurt. I forced myself to clap for Felicia, who didn’t look as delighted as she should after stealing my

partner.

Okay, she hadn’t actually stolen my partner. I was still salty, though.

“We’re especially excited to be able to pair our local competitor, Penelope, with another Miami caster.”

What? Who? I stared at the hallway entrance.

“You may have seen his work on his popular Jinxd channel—”

No! No. No no no. Please no.

“—star of Mage You Look —”

Kill me.

“Leandro Presto!”

Leandro turned the corner, waving and grinning at nobody in particular. His safety glasses were on, hair slicked back, mustache

waxed and curled, and he wore a vintage yellow shirt covered in drawings of, I kid you not, hamburgers and French fries. He

froze the instant he saw me, and we stared at each other across the room like stunned telenovela characters.

“Stop!” Tori shouted. “Let’s do that again. Penelope, Leandro, we need more enthusiasm, please.”

Leandro turned around and marched back into the hallway, shoulders up to his ears. Felicia chuckled. I wanted to stab her

with my pencil. Instead, I dug deep for excitement, some shred of satisfaction. All I could find was a sinkhole of despair.

With Leandro as my partner, I was totally fucked.