Free This Wicked Magic by Michele Hauf Page A

festival frolicking naked through the coltsfoot. And no music. You are in a good mood. What’s up? Oh, tonight’s Friday. Are you and No-Name Titan headed out to the clubs?”
    She and her best friend, Becky Titan, held Fridays as sacred. “You can call her Becky. Just because her dad didn’t give her a name doesn’t mean we can’t make one up. We use Becky most often. And she’s in the States with her father, visiting friends.”
    “Then what is it that’s brought the color to your pale, perfect cheeks? The last we spoke you were going to find the soul— Ohmygosh. The derelict?”
    “He’s not a derelict, so stop calling him that. His name is Certainly Jones, and he’s the archivist for the Council.”
    “A librarian?”
    “Not exactly. He catalogs more than books. We went looking for the soul.”
    “And found it! No wonder you’re so happy.”
    “We didn’t find it, and in fact, one of his demons made a horrible showing and crashed the hearse.”
    Libby’s eyes widened.
    “Just a broken headlight, which I’ve already had fixed. Sorry, had to dig into the household account, but I promise to concoct a few spells for you to bring along and sell at the next bazaar to make up for the expense. I plan to return to the area tomorrow and spread out the canvass periphery. How can one soul hide? It’s got to want to go somewhere, don’t you think? Oh, no, I wonder if it attached itself to someone else? I may never find it.”
    “You’ll find it. You need to be vigilant, and I happen to know you do vigilance well. But that’s still not the reason for the happy dance. You know I will break you down, Vika. It would be wiser to speak now than have me go at you until you talk.”
    True. Libby never let anything go if it was a secret or mystery. She had once badgered Vika about an All Hallows’ Eve present for six days. Vika was expert at holding out information. It gave her satisfaction to do so.
    “I can’t say.”
    “I won’t laugh. Promise. I’ll tell you my news if you tell me yours.”
    “You have news?”
    Libby pulled a red glass witch ball out of her tote bag. “Got it at the bazaar. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
    Vika studied the handblown glass ball. Long glass strands dashed from side to side within the globe. “This is amazing.”
    “The strands are supposed to trap souls. I thought to hang it in the garden above the white heliotrope.”
    “Perfect. Though, I hope it won’t interfere with the souls that stick to me.”
    “Oh, I didn’t consider that. I was thinking to catch a few butterfly souls to use in my spells. I’m so sorry. We can’t put this up.”
    “No, do. I’ll let you know if it causes a problem.”
    “If you’re sure, then I will. Now tell.” She went dead serious. “Or I’ll have the vines in the garden rise up and meet you next time you go out back.”
    “I’d blast them with nightshade. Libby, you know you can’t go up against me when it comes to spellcraft.”
    Her sister’s shoulders wilted.
    Vika started up the stairs, gliding her fingers along the railing and looking down over the chandelier. It dazzled, but it was as if a speck in the universe compared with CJ’s amazing constellation. She wanted to return to his loft and lie on the floor and lose herself in the terrible beauty of it all.
    “I kissed him,” she called down, and then dashed into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
    “What?” Libby’s footsteps trampled up the stairs in record time. She pounded on Vika’s door. “The derelict?”
    “He’s not— Libby!”
    “You kissed him.” On the other side of the door, her sister turned and leaned against it. “Was it good?”
    “We both said wow after we kissed,” Vika called through the door.
    “Oh, wow. But he’s the complete opposite of everything you find attractive. And he’s so...messy. How did you two manage to get your lips in the vicinity of one another to make a kiss happen?”
    “I’m taking a shower now,” Vika