Later that night, I'm curled up on my couch, the notebook sitting on the coffee table in front of me. The whole day at work, I'd been telling myself to put it in the box, but then, somehow I didn't. Instead I slipped it into my bag.
My phone is pressed to my ear, and Kaylee's voice crackles on the other end, full of her usual mix of sarcasm and warmth.
"So, let me get this straight," she says, stifling a laugh. "You're telling me you found a *notebook of spells* in the library? Some girl left it behind? Like, actual spells. What, are we in a '90s teen witch movie now?"
"I know, right?" I say, rolling my eyes at myself as I pick up the notebook and flip through the pages. "I couldn't help myself though. Can't really explain it."
"Oh my God, Skye. You've got to try one!" Kaylee's voice has taken on the exaggerated tone of a girl character in just such a movie. She's being sarcastic, but only slightly.
I snort. "Kaylee, come on. It's not like they actually work. It's just some weird goth kid's attempt at being mysterious."
Kaylee is silent for a moment, then her voice drops to a faux-serious tone. "Skye, you don't *know* that. What if this is your moment? What if this is how you become the next great witch of Chicago? Like, you could finally use magic to get back at Derek for being a complete waste of cells. Hey, have you googled this Emily person yet, by the way? Because there's another potential target."
A huge sigh escapes me. "Not really." This is a half-truth. I've been on Derek's employer's website. There's an Emily Wagner listed on the staff page now. She's young, her skin looks dewy and fresh like that of a perfect bioengineered peach. Her eyes are wide and blue, her lips plush and pink. Looking at her for too long hurt my soul.
I bite my lower lip. Leave it to Kaylee to turn heartbreak into some kind of mystical revenge plot though.
"Yeah, I'll just whip up a curse real quick. Turn him into a frog or something," I mutter.
"Frogs are too cute for him," Kaylee says with a laugh. "But seriously. You know what you *should* try? There's gotta be a spell in there that's, like, 'Make my ex cry forever' or 'Erase all memories of my awful ex-fiancé.'"
I skim through a few more pages, half-listening to her, until my eyes land on the spell called *"Your Wish is My Command"* again. This weird recipe asking for pig's blood. It feels ominous. I lean back into my couch cushions and read the page.
"Okay, so there's this one spell," I say slowly. "It's called 'Your Wish is My Command.' Apparently, you just say the words, and it grants you one wish. No strings attached."
There's a beat of silence, then Kaylee breaks out into giggles. "Oh, come *on*. That's straight out of a Disney movie. Just one wish, huh? Shouldn't it be three? Also, what's the catch?"
"I don't know. It doesn't mention any catches. It's ridiculously simple. Like, it sounds so fake. Just mix up the ingredients, light a candle, say the words, and poof—wish granted."
"Oh my God, Skye, you *have* to do it." Kaylee is always the one getting me to do things, to step out of my comfort zone. "It'll clear the air, make you feel empowered. What's the worst that could happen?"
I groan at the most jinxing question there is. "Gee, I don't know, aren't there like fifty horror movies with that premise?" There's something about the spell, about the way my mind keeps coming back to it, that feels both absurd and tempting. "What if it actually works?"
Fat chance, but I have always had an active imagination.
"Then you get a free wish! No harm done. Unless you wish for something stupid, like eternal youth, and end up in one of those ironic situations where you turn into a tree or something."
I laugh, shaking my head. "Yep, classic monkey's paw."
"Skye, you've been through too much crap recently. You deserve a little magic in your life. If it's just a candle and a few words. What do you have to lose?"
She's right. What do I have to lose? It's not like anything in my life is going according to plan right now. The most valuable thing I had was my relationship with Derek and that's... gone. All I've left is the searing pain of missing him and the giant heap of self-doubt he's left me with. And while I know that this isn't going to solve any of my problems, it's at least a welcome distraction.
I look over at the candle sitting on my bookshelf, untouched for months, and I can already hear Kaylee's voice in my head, egging me on. Doing this tonight might not be the best idea, but I know for a fact that if I don't, I'll only end up on that stupid website again, comparing myself unfavorably to Emily.
"Fine," I say, half-joking but half-serious. "Maybe I'll give it a try."
"Yes! Please! And text me afterward. I need to know if you get your wish."
I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips. There is no chance of that, but having a teeny tiny spark of excitement is better than nothing. "Okay, okay. I'll let you know. But if I turn into a tree, you're not allowed to laugh."
"Deal," she says, her voice full of affection. "Good luck, Skye. Make that wish count."
I hang up, staring at the notebook on the table. The candle on my shelf. The words of the spell on the page.
*Your Wish is My Command.*
Guess I have to run to the butcher before they close.
*
The notebook is still open in front of me, the page with the spell glaring back like it's daring me. *Your Wish is My Command*.
A ridiculous, childish idea. But now, with the list of ingredients right there in front of me, I'm not so sure.
Lavender. Check. I have some leftover from a little herbal bundle I bought last year, back when I thought aromatherapy would help my anxiety.
Salt. Check, straight from the shaker I had on the kitchen counter.
Mirror. Check. I pull the compact from my purse, flip it open and set it down.
Pig's blood. Check. It makes my stomach turn to look at the plastic container I just purchased from a butcher shop a few blocks from my apartment. It freaked me out a little how the butcher didn't even bat an eye at my order. I seriously don't want to think about people just buying animal blood and taking it home like it's the most normal thing in the world but apparently they do. I shake my head and banish the thought of refrigerators filled with blood to a dark corner of my mind.
At least the candle is easy. Like most women in the world, I've been gifted candles for various occasions, usually by casual acquaintances. Nothing says, "I don't really know you but I felt obligated to give you something" like a chunky scented Bed Bath and Beyond candle. I spread everything out on the coffee table: the lavender, the mirror, the salt, the candle, the plastic container with the disgusting liquid. The blood is so dark it appears more black than red.
I look down at the open notebook to make sure I got everything right. The instructions are simple. I'm supposed to light the candle, burn the lavender, then dip my finger in the blood and salt and draw a symbol—a crude, looping figure-eight—in the air in front of me. Then, while looking in the mirror, I'll say the words that are supposed to make the wish real. This is both stupid and exhilarating.
My heart is pounding as I light the candle. It flickers to life, casting soft shadows across the room, and the smell of lavender starts to fill the air, mixing with something heavier and metallic, from the open jar of blood.
I dip my finger into the thick liquid, suppressing a shudder of revulsion, then into the small heap of salt I've shaken out onto the table and trace the symbol in the air like the notebook says. I feel ridiculous. My internal compass needle that has been twitching between ludicrous hope, childish defiance and utter exasperation with myself and my foolish endeavors, firmly swings into *Wow, what a dork I am*-territory.
But then, I close my eyes, my mind focused on one thing. *Derek.* I picture him on that rainy day, the way he ducked his head and handed me my umbrella, errant strands hanging off his shirtsleeves. Then he looked up and I feel into his warm brown eyes, rich and comforting like swiss chocolate.
"Your wish is my command," I whisper, my voice trembling slightly as I meet my eyes in the compact mirror. Some past of me is outside my body, watching me act like a heartbroken teenager. "I wish for Derek to come back to me. To love me, forever, like he promised."
I don't know what I expect to happen. A gust of wind? A flash of light? Something dramatic? But nothing happens. Just the soft crackle of the candle, the smell of lavender thickening in the air. I deflate like a punctuated balloon, all that ridiculous hope rushing out of me. Seriously, what was I thinking? I sit there for a moment, feeling like an idiot, staring at the candle's flame.
But then, something shifts. The air in the room seems to thicken, a sudden weight pressing down on my chest. My skin prickles, goosebumps rising up along my arms, and the temperature drops. I can feel it, like the room around me is filling with some invisible force.The flame of the candle flickers violently, then steadies. My heart races in my chest. I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous this all is, but the weight in the room, the tension, feels too real. Too strange. Like something is about to snap.
I sit there for what feels like an eternity, waiting. Waiting for what, I don't know. Waiting for Derek to knock on the door, maybe, or for the spell to simply fizzle out into nothing.But nothing happens. There's no knock, no phone call, no sudden appearance. Just silence.
Finally, I blow out the candle, the tension in the room dissipating as the flame dies. My head feels heavy, foggy, and exhaustion settles into my bones like leaden marrow. I climb into bed, my body still buzzing with the strange energy from the spell.
It was all silly, I tell myself, as I pull the covers up to my chin. A weird, desperate act from a woman who should know better. It wasn't even fun. I don't know what I was thinking.
But just as I'm drifting off to sleep, my phone does light up, casting long, spooky shadows across my bedroom ceiling.
Thinking it's Kaylee, I pick it up from my nightstand, but when I see the caller ID on the screen, my heart leaps into my throat.
*Derek*
For a second I don't move. I barely breathe. The vibration from my phone travels up my arm like electricity. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. If he tells me now that he's going to need to come get the rest of his stuff and put the final nail in the coffin of our relationship, am I going to survive? Or will I just die on the spot?
There's only one way to find out.
I bite my quivering lip and slide my finger across the screen to accept the call.