Page 27 of Witchful Thinking

After Horatio paid the check, he reached into his pocket and placed a four-leaf-clover key chain charm on the table. The green enamel clover glinted under the overhead light.

Alex tried to give it back to him, but he pressed it firmly into his hand.

“Take all the luck you can get,” Horatio said. He slid it over to Alex.

He attached the keys to the charm. Maybe, luck would be on his side.

Alex shook off the conversation. Focus up. The Fortunato Cottage was simple, symmetrical, and rectangular—orderly and straightforward. Alex ambled up the path and touched the front door, placing a hand on the knob. The brass doorknob felt real and solid underneath his scales. I’m here. He turned the knob and walked inside.

The door opened directly onto a polished wood staircase squarely in the center of the house. He studied the entryway, impressed. The wood floors, scuffed and slightly worn, sounded solid under his feet. He walked through the first floor, strolling through each area—living room, kitchen, family room, and dining room. The place didn’t seem jinxed. However, he got an odd feeling standing alone inside the house. He didn’t feel alone. It felt like when you were standing in line at a checkout counter and you feel someone behind you but you can’t see their face. He shuddered all over. Battling voices warred within him.

Just leave. Apologize later. But if you leave, where would you go? You don’t have a fishbowl to live in, a voice sneered in his head. Eventually you’re going to run out of ocean to explore.

As of Friday, the apartment lease was up, and he’d given away or sold everything that he owned. He had to deal with this house and find a way to get out of this situation.

His agent had left a message for him about an upcoming photography showcase if he was interested. Alex hadn’t returned the phone call but rather kept that nugget in his back pocket. He placed his hands on the walls, letting the weight finally hit him. The Fortunato Cottage was one of the oldest houses in the Grove. It was sturdy, dependable—it was exactly what he didn’t need in his life.

Three words chimed through him like warning bells.

Responsibility. Liability. Burden.

His friends and cousins shared wedding photos and baby announcements on their social media profiles. Alex switched his profile picture from him and Nahla hugging to a solo picture of him standing on the horizon alone. Make no promises, break no hearts, put down no roots. It was better that way. It had to be better that way. Now he had the Fortunato Cottage to tend to for the foreseeable future. The warning bells sounded again.

Responsibility Liability. Burden.

No more rented spaces and tiny apartments that he couldn’t call home.

He didn’t own a lawn mower, but now he had a whole lawn.

He lived under one rule: If you don’t keep anything, you can’t lose it.

When he was a kid, he’d felt like a goldfish dropped into an aquarium with plastic palm trees and stone castles. The Grove had been his aquarium. Everything used to be exciting, but he always bumped up against the walls and limits of that world. As Alex grew, he’d felt like an overgrown fish in a bowl, flopping out tail first and wanting to see the world. By the time he turned eighteen, he’d completely outgrown the Grove. Even after more than ten years away from home, being back here made him feel like he had when he was eighteen, right back in the proverbial fishbowl. He was trying to make his way. He pulled away from the walls that seemed to close in and steal his air and walked out of the cottage.

Alex took in a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs.

This house was just another adventure. Another project he could post to his feed. He crushed adventures on a regular basis, and this house would be no different. He’d get the cottage ready for the open house, decorate, then sell it. Until then, he was here in the Grove for good. He scrubbed his hands over his hair and groaned. Just my freaking luck.

He hadn’t left the Grove on the best terms—having not only burned bridges but torched everything with his words. He didn’t regret leaving, but he regretted who he’d hurt on his way out. The flash of hurt on Lucy’s face when he tossed a careless goodbye over his shoulder, turned away from her, and drove off immediately after graduation haunted him even now. The very people he’d never thought he’d see again were now his new neighbors. Those same ones hiding in their homes but watching his every step. Alex glanced around Summerfield Street. Lace curtains fluttered as people peeked out their windows at him. His next-door neighbor, Ms. Shirley, lingered on her porch, cradling a cup of coffee, while glancing over at his house.

Alex raised his hand and waved. “Good morning,” he called out.

Ms. Shirley sheepishly smiled, then went back inside the house without another word. Okay. Irritation needled its way into his chest and stayed there. That’s what he got for trying to be friendly. Alex went to the sidewalk and turned to the house. Cars slowed down as they passed. Dog walkers slowed their pace. He was the freak at the freak show. He heard approaching footsteps coming up behind him. Her oil—a mixture of something peppery and sweet—wafted in the air.

“The whole damn neighborhood’s out here,” he said under his breath.

“Not the whole neighborhood,” her voice said over his shoulder. “The gnomes are busy stashing their treasure.”

Alex faced Lucy and put his hands together in a prayer motion. What were what? “Please tell me you’re kidding about the gnomes.”

Lucy shook her head sagely. “I never kid about them. Watch your silver and gold.”

Alex rubbed his eyes in a motion of annoyance and frustration. He forced his hands down to his side. Gnomes. Witches. Hexed house. He looked at Lucy. She wore a crocheted shawl over her shoulders, hiding her Freya Grove High School T-shirt and jeans covering a shapely bottom.

Lucy held out a tinfoil-covered plate to Alex. He eyed it warily. Wasn’t he warned in fairy tales not to take treats from witches, especially the ones that were beautiful?

“I figured you needed something sweet,” she said, waving the plate at him.

“Something sweet other than you?” Alex took the plate from her. He noticed the blush cross her cheeks. A ripple of pleasure went through him. He liked making her blush.