Chapter 4
Riya was not afraid of graveyards.
Nor was she afraid of being caught at one instead of being at Mel’s house for a supposed sleepover. Her mom, half jumping
with joy at the prospect of her daughter finally being sociable on a Saturday night, had even shoved a duffel bag in Riya’s
hands and offered to pack her overnight things for her.
Still—Riya was beginning to regret her offer to Mel.
First, she and Mel had to hop the iron rod fence into Chester Cemetery, which was locked for the night—a mental struggle for
Riya, who did not make a habit of breaking rules, and a physical struggle for Mel, whose insistence on fashion-over-function
had its unfortunate disadvantages.
And second, they had to wear all black to blend in, and the only clean black top Riya had was her Caltech sweatshirt, which
she’d worn so much it had holes in the sleeves.
But somehow, they’d made it into the cemetery. Onto “pure, hallowed ground,” one of the first requirements for casting a love
spell.
As for the spell itself . . . that was another matter entirely.
Riya had some idea of what to do: half-formed memories of childhood lessons, fragments of knowledge she’d picked up from her khala’s monologues.
Like about the time Sirah helped two women confess their attraction to each other at a pro-choice rally, or about the marriage she saved in a single forty-five-minute life coaching session.
But Riya had never actually seen her khala use peri magic.
She didn’t like feeling so unprepared, but there was no one she could ask now: Sirah khala was currently off the grid somewhere
in Finland, and Riya’s mom and sisters still avoided the topic of magic the way they avoided eye contact when it was time
to clear the dishes.
But it was too late to back out. Not when Mel was literally skipping between the tombstones, crunching fallen leaves under her boots.
“God, the witchy vibes!! The witchy vibes are off the charts!!” Mel twirled dramatically, her black maxi skirt fanning around her legs. “No wonder so many white women want to be witches.
I feel powerful. I suddenly want to hold hands and spin around a tomb. Or adopt a black cat. Or start an all-women cult.”
Riya rubbed her temple. “I’m happy for you, but I need complete silence if I’m going to do this.”
“Fine, fine.” Mel wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to physically contain all her emotions. “I just can’t believe
it’s happening, though! I can’t believe I actually get to see you use your peri magic! What’s it going to look like when you
cast the spell? Are you going to float and sprout wings like Sailor Moon? Or is it going to look more like the Sanderson sisters
with lots of fun singing? ‘I put a spell on youuu, and now you’re miii—’ ”
“Melanie.”
“Sorry.”
Standing in the center of the graveyard, Riya inhaled deeply.
A peri had to cast a love spell beneath the full moon—like tonight’s, hanging fat and ripe in the late-September night sky—and
the effects would only last for one lunar cycle. Just enough time, her khala claimed, to “jump start” a relationship.
The real key was intention. Magic, supposedly, would handle the rest.
And finally, while casting, one simply had to imagine the emotional bonds between two people as threads. “I always picture
tying those threads together. In a cute little bow,” her khala had said.
Riya tried. She really did. But instead of threads, she saw puppet strings: wooden marionettes being jerked around onstage
by some unseen hand.
Maybe that was a better metaphor: people stumbling through life, pulled in a dozen directions, each thread crossing and knotting
until no one knew who was tugging what. And if Riya wasn’t careful, one wrong pull could send everything toppling down.
She closed her eyes. Breathed.
If she was going to connect anything, or anyone, she needed to start small. Start with what she knew.
So Riya pictured Mel and Andrew as they were now—a good enough place to begin, she figured.
She envisioned Mel’s glittering eyes, her beaming, pink-lined smile; Andrew’s kind face, the way his gaze softened when he looked at her. Their energies were distinct yet complementary: Mel’s colorful and frenetic, Andrew’s steady and warm.
Then, gradually, she let the vision take shape—letting the magic show her what they could become.
She imagined Mel and Andrew walking through the halls at school, Andrew’s hand wrapped around Mel’s like it belonged there.
Mel, flushed and beaming, laughing at something Andrew had whispered in her ear. Riya imagined Mel leaning in to fix Andrew’s
crooked collar on Prom night, Andrew’s eyes lingering a second too long. Like they belonged together, and he knew it.
It felt warm. Effortless. Like two puzzle pieces easing into place.
Except—
That warmth didn’t last. And Riya’s thoughts stuttered as a different face pushed its way in.
Kian.
Riya’s eyes snapped open—then squeezed shut again. No. Absolutely not.
She forced her thoughts back to Mel and Andrew, back to cute hand holding and a happy Mel in a sunshine-yellow prom dress.
But Kian was still there, taking up space in her mind like he owned the place.
His smirk split across her memory like a hairline crack. The way he’d called her Justice Junkie in that annoyingly silky-smooth voice. The shrug he’d tossed after smashing Mel’s mousetrap car, like her best friend’s effort,
her time, was something he could just step on.
Riya’s fingers twitched.
It wasn’t even her project, but Riya had felt Mel’s heartbreak like a bruise in her chest. The worst part wasn’t even Kian’s carelessness—it
was how Mel had tried to laugh it off. The wobble in her voice, the brittle smile. Like she’d already given up.
Riya finally understood why he’d bothered her so much.
The whole thing had reminded her of her Caltech admissions essay. The hours hunched over her laptop, rewriting the same paragraph
again and again, trying to prove she deserved a chance—only for some admissions officer to skim it between their third coffee
and an email from their kid’s soccer coach.
She’d worked so hard. Studied, competed, even ran for Student Council—dealt with the stress of it all because she knew it
would look good on her transcript.
But what if none of it mattered? What if someone else’s distraction or indifference—someone like Kian—was all it took to crush it anyway?
The thought dug into her skin like a splinter.
People like Kian shouldn’t get to just walk away.
And suddenly—too suddenly—Riya felt her magic crackle to life, sharp and hot against her ribs.
No, focus. This is all for Mel. Focus on Mel.
But the frustration wouldn’t leave.
Kian, cold and callous. The kind of person who probably never bothered to try, because trying meant caring. It was easier
to smirk at the world, to cut people down before they got too close. To pretend like nothing mattered enough to get under
their skin.
And maybe that was what frustrated Riya most of all.
Because people like Kian tried to make her feel foolish for caring, for believing that hard work meant something. For toiling
over the same essay. For thinking if she tried hard enough, everything might finally fall into place.
Her hands clenched. The heat focused like pinpoints in her fingers, her nerves alight with something wild—
Then the world around her split.
A vast, empty white space stretched around her, swallowing her whole.
And breaking through the void, she finally saw it: A red thread shimmered in the air before her, delicate as gossamer.
The all-important thread that connected emotions.
Her heart pounded. She’d never seen one before—not even during the Incident, the first and last time she’d cast a spell. Back
then, there had been no threads: just raw, untamable heat, spilling out of her like an electric charge.
It was beautiful, the thread. The way it caught the light like a garnet. The way it gave off a subtle heat, as if it pulsed
with life.
But—this couldn’t have been right. Her khala had always said love magic was about connection. Tying two existing threads together. So why was there only one thread here? And what, exactly, was she supposed to tie it to?
She hesitated. The inconsistency gnawed at her. Stupid magic and its stupid imprecision.
Except Mel was counting on her, and that mattered more than her own doubts.
And besides—what if Mel was right? What if this was her best shot at finally being with Andrew?
She didn’t want to fail her. So she reached for the thread.
But the moment her fingers closed around it, something dark and jagged surged up her arm, like nettles dragging across her
skin. The thread bucked in her grip, twisting and coiling, too unpredictable to pin down.
This definitely wasn’t right. Love magic, her khala had said, was supposed to feel harmonious. But this? This was something
unruly and chaotic. An off-key note played far too loud.
Her fingers faltered. She nearly let go.
But she tightened her grip.
Focus. Focus.
The heat surged sharper, searing through nerves. Something dark curled at the edges of her mind, tangling her thoughts into
one wild jumble.
It didn’t feel like love. It felt like wanting. Like hunger.
And then—
She swore she heard Kian’s chuckle. Low and mocking. Close enough to brush her ear.
Her stomach lurched.
No. This wouldn’t be like before. She would maintain control. She had to.
Because the last time she didn’t—
She’d ruined lives. Classmates who went pale at the sight of her. Some who’d even transferred schools. Because of her.
Her khala’s voice echoed in her head, mournful: Magic has consequences, Riya.
Before she could stop it—before she could tame it—
The thread dissolved in her hand.
And the world snapped back into focus.
Riya staggered, hollow. Gasping.
“Did it”—Mel asked, her voice shaking—“Did it work? You were glowing for a second there. It was incredible! But then you made these weird faces, like . . .”
Riya barely heard her, distracted by how the air felt denser, charged with a weight that hadn’t been there before. It was
too quiet, quieter than before. Even the usual rustling of tree branches felt muted. As if the world were holding its breath.
Her hand still tingled with the memory of the red thread slipping through her fingers.
Riya blinked, half in disbelief, half in dread.
Somehow, despite everything, she’d worked peri magic again.
Right now, though, it felt like the magic had worked her.
“I think . . .” She swallowed, her throat arid. “I think so.”
Mel jumped into her arms. “Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!” she squealed. “I knew you could do it! I think I even feel different! It must be the spell working, right? I feel so full of love that even Cupid would be jealous!!”
Riya gently peeled Mel off.
“Don’t thank me yet. Remember, nothing’s guaranteed. If all went as planned, all I’ve done is give you both a little . . .
nudge. Enough to make your feelings a little louder, at least until the next full moon.” She squeezed her friend’s shoulder.
“But the rest is up to you.”
That was what Sirah khala claimed love magic did, anyway.
“Oh, don’t worry. Thirty days is more than enough time. I’ve got this.” Mel beamed and shot her hands up in a victory pose.
“Everything’s going to change from here on out!”
Riya smiled weakly, trying to ignore the fear pooling in her gut. She looked away, unable to look her friend in the eye.
The problem was, what happened if Mel was right?