Party Ghoul

by Sarina Dorie

  She was ready to start connecting with people, she told herself. This night would be her first step toward making real relationships.

  As a new dance-worthy song started up, Castor and Paris walked in through the door. Vega’s heart lurched with an unexpected thrill of eager excitement at the sight of him. She rose and met Castor halfway across the room.

  “Dance with me,” she said.

  “Actually, I was going to sit down for a minute.” He gazed at the table where Paris headed.

  She tugged him to the dance floor.

  Not many couples were dancing. There was plenty of room for the two of them to show off their moves. He didn’t step on her feet once. She felt like she moved in synchronicity with him. She had often wondered what it would be like to make love to him, music playing in the background as they created a rhythm of their own.

  Now she wondered what it might be like to have an actual conversation with him for an hour or two over dinner. The idea filled her with a simultaneous thrill of trepidation and excitement.

  The next song was a slow sultry one that inspired closeness. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, about to lead her off the dance floor.

  She tugged him back toward the band. “Are you eager to be rid of me so soon?”

  His face flushed. “No, that’s not it. I just—this song is kind of romantic.”

  She grinned. “I don’t mind.”

  He avoided her gaze. She feared he still might feel rejected from their chat in the woods.

  “Castor, I’ve been thinking about our previous conversation and what you said. I think I’m ready to date now.” She brushed an errant hair out of his handsome face. “I’m ready to date you.”

  His eyebrows furrowed together. He looked like he was trying to smile, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you. The thing is—um—this is so awkward, Vega.” His face flushed a deep crimson that even the dim lighting of the club couldn’t hide.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  She hoped he didn’t have a sexually transmitted disease. Or a magical STD that couldn’t be cured. She couldn’t imagine what else might have gotten him so flustered all of a sudden.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m seeing someone.”

  She shook her head, not believing her ears. “But two weeks ago—”

  “A lot can change in a week.” His gaze flickered to the table.

  Vega glanced in that direction. Ermenjarta was talking to Amy, but her eyes were on Castor. She was playing with a strand of loose orange hair, worry in her expression.

  That was when Vega knew. The truth of it crushed the air from her lungs.

  He was dating Ermenjarta. All his immature teasing and insipid remarks had somehow enticed Ermenjarta. Either that, or her hair flicking in his face had seduced him.

  Vega had realized she wanted a relationship a week too late.

  Embarrassment at the way she had practically thrown herself at him despite his protests, gave way to anger.

  Naturally, Vega considered her go-to solution for getting rid of an enemy. She could hex Ermenjarta to sabotage her, but she remembered what Mr. Gordmayer had said about not getting rid of the competition next time. She had assets that stood out on their own. Plenty of men could see that. Castor certainly had. He was doing the honorable thing and not dumping his date for her.

  “I see.” Vega tried not to sound like she was bitter, to be the kind of nice person who wished others success and happiness. “I understand. Good luck with your date.”

  She turned away and danced to the music by herself. Dance partners were highly overrated. Besides, there was no shortage of hot guys who would be filling up the club soon.

  Even so, she didn’t feel like dancing. The sharp sting of rejection had deflated her optimism. After a few more songs, she still wasn’t feeling in the mood.

  The thing she was in the mood for was macadamia nuts. Ones not tainted with pork. Hawaii was so far away and not easy to reach by broom.

  Vega wondered what time it was in Hawaii. She left the club and walked outside, the cool night air nipping at her skin.

  Mr. Reade had said she was fully capable of using portal magic. He’d been right.

  She’d been creating portals for years, even if it had been minor ones for inanimate objects. When she’d defeated the murderer, she’d used portal magic as well as any Merlin-class Celestor. There was no reason she couldn’t use one now.

  Vega did something she’d never done before. She opened a portal to Hawaii.

  If she was going to be a teacher of wards and protective magic and intended to prove she was worthy to become a Merlin-class Celestor, she damned well needed to be able to perform all kinds of magic. Portals included.

  Vega stepped through the portal to a tropical paradise. It was time for her to get her own vegan macadamia nuts.

  She certainly deserved a reward.

  She just hoped she wasn’t going to be a magnet for murder and mystery on the other side. But if she was, she was certain she could handle a little death and destruction.

  Part amateur sleuth, part vigilante—and all parts wicked—Vega Bloodmire would always be the witch to call.

  Thanks for reading until the end!

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  A Preview of

  Tardy Bells

  And

  Witches’ Spells

  BOOK 1

  WOMBY’S SCHOOL FOR WAYWARD WITCHES SERIES

  PROLOGUE

  Oops, I Did It Again

  “Magic is not real,” I said as I waited for my therapist to come in.

  Magic wasn’t real—because if it was—that would mean I was a witch. And if I was a witch, it would mean I had killed two people using my magic. It was better to be normal. It was safer.

  But after everything I had experienced in my sixteen years, it was hard to believe magic didn’t exist.

  The antique clock on the wall ticked away, the rhythm slow and lethargic. Even through the haze of medications, my therapist’s tardiness made me uneasy.

  I hugged a potted orchid in my hands, trying not to damage the white flowers. It grounded me to hold on to something. Another orchid my mom had given Dr. Bach rested on his desk, stretching toward the cheery sunshine beyond the misty veil of curtains.

  My mind dipped into the well of dark memories I wanted to forget. I pushed away unbidden thoughts of my older sister and what had happened to her and my first love, Derrick. I would not think about it. Dr
. Bach said what had happened wasn’t my fault.

  I remembered Derrick’s blue eyes, full of sunshine and optimism. The way he used to smile at me banished the cold cynicism of the world and reminded me anything was possible. I imagined his lips on mine, his arms pulling me into the sanctuary of his embrace. The old yearning returned, bittersweet and suffocating in its intensity. Tears filled my eyes.

  The room grew eerily silent. The clock no longer ticked. The lamps in the corners flickered and hummed. Haltingly, the mechanisms of the clock started up again, but this time the beat ticked irregularly.

  Tick-tick-tick-thunk.

  Silence.

  Tick-tick-tick-thunk.

  The second hand spun counterclockwise in spurts. The scents of potted plants and dusty chairs faded under the sharp tingle of ozone and metal. Electricity tingled under my skin.

  “Oh no.” I flinched and looked around, ready for something to explode.

  This was not happening again. It had to be one of my hallucinations. I didn’t want to be crazy, but the alternative was worse.

  Beyond the window, the black silhouettes of birds cast ominous shadows over the interior of the room. Their wings slapped against the glass as if trying to break their way in. I squeezed my eyes closed, my apprehension growing. Those were just birds. They were not evil Fae, I told myself. No one was about to abduct me like they had my sister.

  “Magic is not real.”

  I said it, but I was wrong.

  CHAPTER ONE

  If You Believe in Fairies, Clap Your Hands

  “You’re a liar, ginger,” Karen Walker said as we walked home from school with her older brother and his friend.

  “No, I’m not!” I said. No one managed to make my blood boil the way the neighbor kids did. Had it been anyone else, I could have ignored them. “And don’t call me that, squib.” I hoped I wasn’t going to get in trouble for saying that word. My older sister said it wasn’t a real swear word, but it felt like one.

  “If you’re a witch, prove it.” A little smirk tugged Peter Walker’s mouth into a sneer. “Do something magical for us.” He nudged his buddy, Jordan Burke, like it was a joke. They were fifth graders, two years older than Karen and me.

  “Maybe I will.” I held my head up high, imagining myself impervious to the sting of insults in my witch hat, black cape, and Gryffindor scarf. Even so, a prickle of hurt wormed its way under my armor of striped socks.

  If I was going to prove myself, I would have to hurry before my parents came home from work and stopped me.

  Our two-story brick house was a lush oasis surrounded by green gardens and shady trees in a desert of boring cookie-cutter homes with dead grass. Once we’d made it through the gate of the white picket fence, the four of us kids dragged the large trampoline over to the side of the house, under the lower part of the roof where it was only one story. I tried to direct them so they didn’t stomp through Mom’s artful arrangement of flowers planted along the perimeter of the patio, but they didn’t listen. Karen chewed on the end of her brown braid, listening as Jordan whispered to her. He usually didn’t deign to speak to third graders, but today he had walked home with Karen’s older brother, Peter.

  They wouldn’t be sorry they’d come. I was going to show them magic.

  Awkwardly, I held the broom while I climbed up the ladder my dad had left leaning against the roof to fix the satellite dish. My heart hammered in my chest as I shuffled along the angled edge of the roof. I placed the broom between my legs. This would be like all those times I’d successfully practiced flying onto the trampoline before. Only, those times had been from the top of the three-foot brick wall that separated the patio and fire pit from my mom’s garden.

  I gazed down at my audience below. My witch cape billowed around my shoulders, and my red hair danced into my eyes. This was the moment I would prove I was a witch. I would fly. Tomorrow they’d be nice to me and Karen would invite me to sit with her and the cool kids during lunch.

  “Hurry up, Clarissa,” Karen said.

  A niggling doubt worked its way into my mind. What if I wasn’t a witch? No, that was impossible. But if I wasn’t, the trampoline would surely break my fall.

  “Chicken,” Peter taunted.

  It occurred to me I might be wrong. I might be a fairy, not a witch. If that was the case, the broom wouldn’t work. I needed to ensure I would fly. I poured the bottle of pixie dust from the amulet around my neck. I just had to have light, happy thoughts like in Peter Pan. Or was that Mary Poppins?

  I closed my eyes and edged closer to the gutter. I had to concentrate. Magic only worked in stories when a witch focused—and when she needed it most. A door slammed somewhere behind me. I tried to ignore the sound. It probably was my sister getting home from her after school club. She would go straight up to her room to do homework like she usually did.

  Another door opened and thudded closed.

  “What are you doing over here, Karen?” my older sister, Missy, asked. “Where’s Clarissa?”

  My accomplices chuckled.

  “She’s going to fly.” Karen tee-heed.

  “What are you talking about?” Missy came into view.

  Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she wore a blue and green dress that reminded me of water. She joined them out on the lawn, trampling through Mom’s petunias.

  Great. My sister was about to ruin everything.

  Missy followed their gazes. Her curiosity transformed into anger as she shouted at me. “Oh, no you don’t! You get down this instant.”

  “Okay,” I said. I inched forward, my toes over the gutter. My heart pounded in my ears.

  “No! You go over to that ladder and get down. Right now.” Missy punched Karen in the arm. “You should be ashamed of yourself, encouraging her like that.”

  “Ow!” Karen squealed.

  Missy shoved Peter and rounded on Jordan. “You’re all a bunch of jerks.”

  “It’s okay, Missy,” I called down. “I can fly. I’m going to prove it. Just watch.”

  It didn’t count if no one watched. She had to be looking at me.

  “I told you to climb down. You get off the roof before you break your neck. Now!” Missy pointed to the ladder.

  I tried to explain why I needed to do this, but she talked over me. “Whatever these losers told you, ignore them. You don’t have to prove anything.”

  “Missy, listen,” I said. “You don’t have to worry. I know I can do magic, and I’m going to show you all. I just need you to be quiet so I can concentrate.”

  “If you do this, I’ll tell Mom and Dad.” She started up the ladder.

  “Good,” I said. They would see it was true and stop telling me I lived in a fantasy world.

  “No!” Missy said. “Do NOT do it. Stay where you are. I’ll get you down.”

  “I don’t need your help. You, stay where you are. Don’t come any closer.” Why did she have to embarrass me in front of the neighbors?

  This wasn’t going well. If she tried to stop me, I was going to have to leap off the roof before I was ready. My clammy hands gripped the wood of the broom.

  She reached the top of the ladder. “If you don’t stop, I’ll make sure you get grounded. If you don’t stop, I’ll—”

  I inched away from her, slowly, not wanting to trip over the uneven shingles of the roof. “I don’t care.”

  Only, I did. I didn’t want to get in trouble. But this was going to be worth it. No one would punish me once they understood I had powers.

  “Stop being like this.” Missy inched toward me, arms out to balance herself on the incline. “If you do this, I’ll be mean to you. I won’t give you the toys in my Happy Meal. I’ll take back that dress I gave you yesterday.”

  I chewed on my lip. Missy was never mean to me. We were friends.

  My audience snickered below. I heard the words “gullible” and “moron.”

  Missy threw down her trump car
d. “If you jump, I won’t be your friend anymore.”

  My feet rooted to the shingles. She couldn’t!

  She went on. “If you’re going to be my best friend, you can’t do something stupid like this. If you jump off the roof and die—”

  “I’m not going to die.”

  “Fine, if you fly off the roof and survive, I won’t ever speak to you again. I’ll hate you, and you won’t be my friend anymore. Is that what you want?”

  I looked at the trio below and then at Missy. I shook my head.

  She offered me a smile, holding her hand out to me. I trudged back to her and took her hand. She grabbed the broom from me and threw it at Peter. He jumped back. She guided me to the ladder and held it as I climbed down. Each rung brought me closer to my impending doom. Once I stood at the bottom, the three other kids whispered to each other.

  Karen looked me over, her expression unimpressed. “I knew you weren’t going to do it.”

  I hung my head with shame. Tomorrow it would be all over the school. People would have one more reason to make fun of me. Couldn’t Missy understand how she had just ruined my life? I would never have friends now.

  Missy climbed down after me. She picked up the broom from where it lay in the tangles of thyme and rosemary and swatted at Karen and then Jordan. They dodged back. Jordan kept laughing, even as she hit him. He stopped laughing when she smashed the wood of the broom against his nose.

  He cried out and grabbed his face, blood spurting from between his fingers. I stared in wide-eyed shock.

  “Get lost, all of you. If I ever hear about you egging her on like this again, I’ll make you regret it. Understand me?” Missy’s hair fell out of her ponytail and streamed around her shoulders in wild waves. She looked like she could have been a witch at that moment. She smacked Peter with the broom. “You’re a bunch of jerks and bullies. Someone could have gotten hurt today. I won’t let you pick on my sister.” Her voice turned hoarse as she shouted and chased them.