Chapter 21
BLAIRE
Sophia Sanderson knew who I was just by looking at me.
I’ve been trying to process that for the past ten minutes while Jamie and I stroll the streets of Salem.
As his big hand holds mine, I glance around, taking it all in.
Still shocked. Last month, had anyone told me I’d be walking the same streets as my ancestors, I’d have called them a liar.
Being here, during this time, is what dreams are made of.
He leans in and asks, “What?”
“Nothing,” I say with a smile. “You’re looking like a snack.”
“I’m the whole meal, babe,” he says with a wink.
“Don’t I know it?”
A man dressed as a headless horseman waits at the crosswalk beside us, holding his own head in a pumpkin under one arm. It’s clever, and it makes me grin. But somehow, my mind keeps drifting back to Sophia’s eyes. She saw straight through me. My truths might as well be written on my forehead.
My aunt used to tell me there were only a dozen true practitioners left in the country.
Sophia is one of them. I could feel it the moment I set foot in her shop.
Had I not been spooked, I’d have asked if she knew my aunt.
Most did. It was my first time meeting someone who read auras and energy.
She said I was too scared of the truth. And she was right.
Now I want to know what she told him behind the curtain because things feel different between us.
Not in a bad way, just not the same as they were.
Jamie would probably tell me if I really wanted to know. But I understand how deeply personal readings can be, so I don’t push.
A witch museum sits in an old brick building with a line out the front. Jamie pays for two tickets in cash. It’s dim and quiet inside. I whisper corrections at the first three placards because they’re not actually correct.
Jamie glances at me.
“Sorry. Wrong information is a pet peeve of mine.”
He reads every card and asks real questions. He leans in and listens to me explain things he doesn’t understand. A glass case near the back of the museum makes me stop walking. It holds a list of family names in faded ink. I scan the page, and halfway down the list is my family name—Wardwell.
Jamie notices too.
I press one finger to the glass, as lightly as I can. Three hundred years later, and people are still calling us witches in the streets.
We move into the gift shop, and Jamie picks up a mood ring that has a witch stamped into it.
He buys it and slips it onto his finger. “Now we match.”
I glance down at it and see his ring has turned purple too.
Afterward, he takes me to a place that serves the best chowder in town. It’s a hole-in-the-wall, where he orders for both of us without touching the sticky menu. Our food is delivered in big Styrofoam bowls, and we take them outside and eat on the bench while we people-watch.
“I’ve never brought anyone here,” he says, the sun warming us.
Leaves rustle across the ground. A brass band, dressed as skeletons, marches past. We watch the entire foot parade while we eat.
“I think this might be the best date I’ve ever had,” I admit.
“Really?” He pauses for a few seconds. “I can’t remember the last time I went out and just enjoyed myself. Usually, I’m performing.”
“And now?” I ask.
He thinks about it as the skeleton band rounds the corner. “Now I’m a guy on a bench, eating chowder with the prettiest witch I’ve ever seen, which is saying a lot.”
I giggle. “All or nothing.”
He winks at me. “I actually really enjoyed the hay maze. And afterward. Unbelievable night.”
“Now you’re just flattering me.” I throw oyster crackers to the pigeons.
“I’m serious. I get to be myself with you. That doesn’t happen often.”
My heart flutters, and I try to push it away.
After we eat, we take a shortcut down a side street to avoid the huge crowd of people. On the corner, I spot a woman dressed as a fortune teller, sitting at a card table with a velvet cloth and a big crystal ball in the middle. A painted sandwich board sign on the sidewalk says: READINGS $5.
“Intuition readings,” I whisper, watching the afternoon sun reflect off the crystal.
“Get one,” Jamie says, nudging me toward the folding chair, already pulling out a five. “Live a little.”
“Peer pressure,” I say, sitting down at the wobbly table.
The woman in the cloak gives me a smile. Her fingernails are long, black, and shaped like coffins. She stares into the ball, pulling it closer to her.
“Long life,” she says. “Good health. Money is coming, though you don’t care about it.”
It’s generic and safe. The exact tone I’d use for tourists who were seeing me for a bit. I relax.
Then she taps the center of the ball.
“And you’ll be engaged before the end of the year.”
I gasp. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” She looks up at me and grins.
I narrow my eyes, wondering if Jamie was onto something when he asked me about a love reading.
“Thanks,” I say.
This woman didn’t know that. She couldn’t have. But even so, my ears are ringing.
“I’d like to ask you something,” I mutter to him as we walk away.
“Okay.” He loops his pinkie with mine.
“How many readings have you had?” I ask.
“Over the years?” He glances away, then back at me. “Hundreds.”
I swallow down the lump that forms in my throat. “Why so many?”
“My brother always dares me, and I never say no.” All he does is smile. “But I was searching for something. I think I found it in you.”
A chill rushes up my spine again, and I wonder if he feels the energy pulling us closer.
Guilt blankets me because I never actually told him what his cup said or what mine displayed after.
I’ve kept it to myself, and I don’t want it to eat me alive.
I almost confess it all in the middle of the street.
The words sit on the tip of my tongue. As I’m about to speak, a large group of teenagers passes us, talking loudly, interrupting the moment.
I take it as a sign that now is not the time, but I promise myself that I’ll find the courage to tell him before he leaves.
He deserves to know that he will find the love of his life, even if that person cannot be me.
“You just went somewhere,” Jamie says, studying me. “Wandering a forest in your mind?”
“Something like that.” I squeeze his hand.
“Ooh, caramel apples. I haven’t had one in decades,” he says.
“Me neither.” I lead him toward the small food truck selling them.
It’s sweet and delicious, and it reminds me of my childhood. Jamie steals a bite of mine even though his is identical. We devour them and end up sticky.
Before I can dig for a napkin, he kisses me, beside the food truck, slow enough that someone says, “Aw,” when they pass.
He tastes like sugar and caramel. I could get used to this, which is exactly the problem. He offers me a wipe, and we clean ourselves quickly.
Two shops later, while he studies a wall of gargoyle bookends, I find a hematite disc on a leather cord, small enough to live in a pocket.
It’s dark and plain enough that a man could wear it as a necklace without questions.
It’s full of protection and grounding. I pay for it and swipe it off the counter with a thank-you.
I hold it in my fist, setting the intention. Warmth spreads through me.
We step outside, not in a rush, but knowing the day is quickly fading into the afternoon. Our time here is coming to an end, and tomorrow, we will be back in Pine Haven. I have to open the shop at ten.
“Just one more stop before we go,” I tell him. “It’s somewhere I want to take you.”
I lead him down toward the water while the sun goes down. The harbor opens up at the bottom of the street. The smell of salt air surrounds us. The crowd is still on the streets, and the bars are coming alive.
I find an empty bench and pull him down to sit with me.
“My aunt brought me here,” I say. “We sat right here with a bag of saltwater taffy, and she taught me that the tide carried messages. You can whisper to the sea, and it travels wherever it needs to go.”
“That’s a nice thought,” he says, leaning back, watching the seagulls.
It’s relaxing here, next to him.
We stay like that for a while, my shoulder against his arm, watching a sailboat come in slowly.
“What was your aunt like?” he asks.
“Loud. Hilarious. Eccentric. So caring. Warm.” I grin, thinking about her. “She would have loved you. Right after she invited you to dinner and tried to hook you up with me.”
“I’d have joined her,” he says, and I believe him.
“One more thing,” I say and pull the hematite from my coat pocket.
The flat disc hangs from the leather cord. I hold it up in the fading light. He looks at it, then at me, and doesn’t say a word.
I slip it over his head, and he immediately rubs his thumb across the center before he drops it.
“It’ll protect you.” I pick it up and do the same, feeling the smoothness of the center. “For when I’m not around to do it myself.”
“Thank you,” he says, not making a single joke. Instead, he tucks it inside his shirt, against his skin.
The harbor fades around us. The sky is orange and pink, glowing like magic.
Neither of us wants to go, but we do. Jamie takes his time leading me toward the cottage.
We pass a bar with the door propped open.
A football game is on every screen, and people are booing and shaking their heads.
A man leans out of the doorway with a beer, watching the street, as one of his buddies smokes. The man squints at Jamie.
“Hey,” the guy starts, pushing off the doorframe. “Aren’t you—”
Jamie steers us into the crowd, a move he’s clearly made a hundred times. A flood of witches and vampires swallows us, and we disappear. The man doesn’t follow.
We make it back to the cottage and collect our things. I stand in the little living room a minute longer, memorizing the space because I don’t know if I’ll ever see it again.
Thirty minutes later, the driver arrives and delivers us to the airport.
The jet waits for us.
“I’m not ready to leave this behind,” I confess as we climb the stairs.
“We can stay longer,” he offers. “You make the call, and I’ll cancel this all.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. I have to be a responsible adult.”
“I understand,” he tells me.
The jet lifts off in the dark, and the coastline disappears under the wing. Jamie falls asleep before me. I rest my head against his chest, and he holds me.
For a while, I look at him. His lashes are long. The universe gave him features he didn’t need. His arms tighten around me in his sleep. I memorize all of it without meaning to.
Today was a whirlwind. It was nice to be together.
Now I understand why women fall in love with the Fling King.
It’s easy to get swept away by a man who wants to have a good time for the season, but I can’t be like all the other girls.
I remind myself that we’re just having fun and having sex.
It’s nothing more or less. I read several articles stating that Jameson Cross committed to no one, and he confirmed it.
The last thing I need to do is get swept away in the moment because that’s how heartbreak happens.
November will be here within a blink, and all will fall back to normal just as winter moves in. I wish I could make time slow down.