Free Season of the Witch by Mariah Fredericks

wasn’t exactly the whole truth and nothing but.”
    “And?”
    “He acted like he didn’t even believe she’s doing it.”
    “So he’s keeping his mouth shut.”
    “Yep.”
    “So he’s a gutless barstid.”
    “Basically.”
    “What a jerk. You got some bad taste, lady.”
    “Blaming the victim,” I joke.
    “Don’t
be
the victim,” she says seriously. “So, sounds like Oliver’s a good target.”
    I hesitate. I’m mad at Oliver, but I don’t hate him. Not like I hate Chloe.
    “You’re thinking he’s cute and it’s Chloe who’s the super-bitch,” says Cassandra.
    “Yeah,” I say sheepishly. “Sort of. I mean, he’s … nervous. Like, he has this big interview coming up and he’s already freaking out.…”
    “I got you.” Her voice is easy. “It’s always easier to blame the other chick. That’s how guys get away with their crap.”
    Like Chloe blames me, while Oliver gets forgiven, I think. Cassandra has a point.
    “But,” Cassandra says cheerfully, “if you’re not feeling in revenge mode, we can do a safety spell. See if we can get some protection going for you against Chloe.”
    “That sounds good.”
    Cassandra flips through the pages. “One Spell for Banishing a Demon coming right up.”
    Cassandra gets some incense out of her bureau drawer and lights it. It smells nasty, but she says it has to, to work. Then she opens the Book of Shadows.
    “Repeat after me,” she says. “Lofaham—”
    “Lofaham.” I try not to think how ridiculous the word sounds.
    “Solomon—”
    “Solomon.”
    As she chants and I answer, the incense grows heavier. I feel dizzy.
    “Don’t lose it,” whispers Cassandra. “Stay focused. Really try to feel it.”
    And I try. I do. I try to gather my will, make it stronger than Chloe’s. I try to feel the smoke is a fog, hiding me from Chloe’s hatred. A shield against her anger.
    But in my head, I know it’s just cheap incense from Urban Outfitters. All it can do is give me a headache.
    When we’re done, Cassandra says, “I think it worked. I think I felt something.”
    “Yeah, I felt it, definitely.”
    But we’re both lying. I didn’t feel a thing and neither did she. And if we didn’t feel it, it won’t work.
    My will is not stronger than Chloe’s. She’s angry; I’m afraid. Anger always wins over fear.
    From beyond the door, we hear the click-clack of a lock turning. “Crapazoodie,” says Cassandra. “That’s my mom.”
    I stiffen.
    “Don’t sweat it,” she says as she scrambles off the bed to put the Book of Shadows back in the closet. “She doesn’t want to talk about it any more than you do. What she will almost certainly do is ask you—nay, beg you—to stay to dinner so that for once we have something to talk about. My advice: run for your life.”
    “I have my own awkward dinner to go to, unfortunately.”
    Cassandra laughs, her weird little bark that is the opposite of a giggle.
    We hear “Cassandra? Honey?”
    “ ‘Hey, Ms. Wolfe, nice to meet you,’ ” Cassandra instructs me in a whisper. “That’s all you have to do.”
    She yanks the door open. “Hey, Mom!”
    A woman comes around the corner, still in her coat and carrying a briefcase. She is little, with short, feathery hair and hard lines around her mouth. Next to her, Cassandra looks even more gargantuan. “Oh, hello,” she says, seeing me. She looks up at Cassandra with an odd mix of …
    Hope?
    Fear?
    “Mom,” says Cassandra, “this is Antonia from school.”
    “Hi.” Ms. Wolfe drops her briefcase on the floor, comes forwardto shake my hand. I feel her eagerness like a big wet pink pillow about to slam into me.
    “Hi, Ms. Wolfe. Nice to meet you.”
    Cassandra smiles.
    “And now,” says Cassandra, “Antonia from school has to go home.”
    “Oh.” The pink pillow deflates, starts to sag. “She could certainly stay for dinner.” She looks back at me. “You’d be absolutely welcome.”
    Her need is so huge, her pain so out there,