If my training hadn’t kicked in—and I don’t mean my magical maid training, either—our hearts would have literally stopped. As in dead. Or, at the very least, human hedgehogs with glass quills, chugging painkiller vials by the dozen and watching our powers go haywire.
But one flick of my wrist did the trick. The glass froze in mid-air, like a magical display of snowflakes twinkling under the fluorescent lights. Guess my time at St. Vincent’s Academy was good for something. Well, something other than a job I quit two years in.
The job in question? Hated it. Wanted to quit from the start and never regretted leaving. Not until today. Because I’d much rather apprehend a deranged vampire scientist or the leader of an underground troll ring than face the man who saunters into Jewels Cafe behind Julian.
Terence. I almost say his name aloud. A name Terentius White never let anyone use but me. Not our other classmates. Not even our teachers. Just me.
He made me feel special. Like I meant something. Like we meant something. But it was all a lie.
Don’t think about it, Zoe! Focus on levitating before you fall flat on your face!
I take a deep breath and stare at Terence like I’ve seen a ghost. Though technically, I have. Not because he’s dead, though I kind of wish he were. Okay, maybe not dead, dead. But missing a limb. Or at least a pinkie.
Either way, he’s dead to me. That and it’s what everyone else called him. Ghost. Though he is the furthest thing from pale. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes. He looks exactly like I remember him, and nothing like it. Older. Harsher. More unforgiving. Scratch that. Unforgivable. Because after what he did…
He pulls off his winter gear, and my brain short-circuits. First his hat, revealing hair cropped short, not long and unruly like I remember. Then gloves, with all ten fingers still intact. What? A girl can dream.
He takes off his coat next, and that dream? It starts to feel more like a nightmare. The kind that starts with Cleanly Den clients getting robbed and ends with a hotter-than-ever Terence. No, scratch that. Ghost.
The muscles underneath his sweater bulge, and I get this sudden urge to peel it off. Only out of curiosity. Morbid curiosity. Because I’m not attracted to him. Nope. Not one bit. I’ve ridden on the Ghost train once. Had a one-way ticket to Heartbreak Town. I do not need a repeat.
Then, his sleeve rides up, showing off a strong, inked forearm, and my heart nearly stops. The Terence I knew did not have tattoos. The Ghost standing in front of me has swirling flames disappearing beneath black fabric.
I take him in—okay, fine, I stare—until he finally, finally, notices me.
“Wyn?” His eyes widen as he gapes at me like he’s the one who’s seen a ghost. Yeah, I know. I’m hilarious.
I’d roll my eyes at myself if I weren’t using all that energy to levitate. That and to keep my Mood Tea from glowing red. As in red with desire, because knowing Ghost is a Hole with a Capital Ass doesn’t stop me from wanting him.
So I focus on channeling turquoise instead. Calm, serene, indifferent turquoise. Because my go-to happy pink or excited silver won’t do. Terence—Nope. Ghost. Just Ghost—doesn’t deserve either one. He gets to see how little I care. And that he no longer has the power to hurt me.
I guess my heart doesn’t get the memo because the turquoise starts to darken. It’s a momentary lapse in magic—one Ghost doesn’t notice. And if he does? He’s one of the few people who know I can manipulate Mood Teas, so he wouldn’t trust it anyway.
Which is why I do the one thing I do best. I bluff.
“Well, if it isn’t Terentius White,” I say brightly. Like I’d read his name straight out of the Academy Yearbook. Not that we had a yearbook. Kind of defeats the purpose, when it’s not even supposed to exist.
I even smile. Not too brightly. Not like I care. More like we’re strangers.
“You two know each other?” Julian comes to my rescue. Not that he seems to pick up on the fact that I need rescuing. He’s just being Julian.
But if he can’t see the energy buzzing between Ghost and me, maybe no one can. Including Ghost. And maybe I can get through this. Maybe I can walk out of Jewels Cafe and forget all about him. Did it once. No reason I can’t do it again.
“We went to school together,” I tell Julian casually. Like we were just classmates. Like we barely knew each other. Like we didn’t profess our love on the academy rooftop and vow to be together forever. Like he didn’t betray me. Like I didn’t spend my nights with my face buried in my pillow, sobbing my heart out.
Don’t think about it, Zoe. Just don’t think about it.
Haven’t thought about it, or him, in years.
Ghost continues to gape at me. Like he’s seen a… well… yeah, you get it. He seems way more rattled than I am, which makes me want to do a happy dance… or keep an invisible tally: Wynter 1, Ghost 0.
Wynter. Because everyone at St. Vincent’s used to call me by my last name, and suddenly I’m that girl again. Wynter. Ghost’s Wynter. One half of the perfect couple that was a total and complete lie.
“Juli and I…” Troll Amber—who’s wearing a police uniform and one sparkling purple Converse shoe on the non-swollen ankle—starts.
“…went to school together, too,” Pixie Amber—who’s got mouse paws in place of feet—finishes.
“And we—” She shifts into a midnight-blue skinned, hairless elk, and grunts a few times.
“Hey, you all right, Bean?” Julian asks. Because that’s some crazy shifting, even for Amber.
“Right as snow,” Yeti Amber, who’s now wearing headphones, says.
Julian takes a step toward her, and Yeti Amber’s Yeti Junk jumps to attention beneath pink, fluffy boxers.
I can’t help it. I snort.
Amber blushes scarlet, but Julian doesn’t freak out. He grins.
“What are you doing here, Wyn?” Ghost asks me, completely ignoring Julian, Amber, and the pink, fluffy tent.
And I hate how his tone is gentle. Soft. Like he still cares. Like maybe, just maybe, the Terence I knew is somewhere in there and…
Nope. Not happening. Not now. Not ever.
“I’m just hanging out with…” I give him another fake smile and glance at Amber, who’s shifted into “…a male stripper with questionable junk.”
“A what?” Ghost’s eyes narrow.
“She means me.” Shirtless Dude Amber—whose hair is up in space buns—raises a purple hand, which quickly shrinks as she shifts into a mouse. Her blush disappears beneath fur—assuming mice can even blush—before reappearing on the cheeks of a pink-haired, furry girl.
The girl looks oddly familiar beneath all that fur. I stare at her for several seconds, trying to place her. But by the time I do, it’s too late.
It all happens so fast. First, the magical ice floating above Amber’s ankle drifts lower. Then, it makes contact with swollen skin, and a single drop of moisture forms on its surface. And that drop touches Mermaid Amber’s bare skin.
Because that’s who the pink-haired girl Amber shifted into is beneath all that fur. A mermaid. Tail and all. And the thing about tails is that they’re not that great at keeping you balanced on barstools.
One second, Amber’s sitting upright, and the next, she starts to tumble sideways.