“No! Of course not!”
Okay, so, that wasn’t strictly true.
I generally wasn’t a fan of lying, especially not to Flo. But in this instance, I was willing to fib to my best friend if it meant keeping the memory of Graham’s lips on mine locked away in the iron-clad vault at the back of my brain where I’d shoved it as soon as he walked out my door that morning. Self-preservation took precedence over full transparency.
Flo’s hopeful expression crumbled into disappointment. “The way you two were flirting this morning, I thought maybe…”
“We were not flirting!”
She waggled her eyebrows. “He bit your bagel.”
“It was a breakfast sandwich!”
“That is so not my point.”
“What I have to tell you is way better. Trust me.” Dropping my voice to a whisper, I launched into the story, telling her everything I’d kept from Graham about Agatha, Sally, and Eliza. About the Heretics and the blood curse. About Aunt Collette being the former High Priestess. As I spoke, Flo’s eyes got wider and wider and wider, until she began to look like an anime character.
“Obviously I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I got Aunt Colette’s friends in trouble with the police,” I said to wrap up the saga, shrugging lightly. “And I seriously hesitate to sic Graham on them.”
Flo nodded in agreement. “Sending three octogenarians to the can would be kind of cold. But at the same time, it wasn’t great of them to kidnap you. Or tell you to split town. I mean, how could they think selling Colette’s house was an option? And the shop?” She glanced around. “This place is an institution. You can’t sell it. As her friends, they should know better than anyone how much this place meant to her.”
“That’s the thing. Theydoknow. They still want me to leave. Which means…”
“They’re seriously rattled about this whole Heretic situation,” Flo finished.
“Shh! Not so loud. This is a secret, remember?” My eyes cut to Hetti again. Thankfully, she seemed completely absorbed in tying the overly-full trash bag closed, and didn’t appear to be paying us even the smallest ounce of attention. “I need to find a way to talk to the coven again, try to get them to see reason in the light of day. I’m sure we can find a solution that doesn’t involve me fleeing Salem forever. But…”
“You need backup.”
“I need backup,” I confirmed.
“I’m totally in. Just give me a time and place, you know I’m ride-or-die.”
“Thanks, Flo.”
“Of course.” She grinned at me. “By the way, can I just say, I always knew Aunt Colette was cool-as-shit, but… High Priestess of the Bay Colony Coven?! How badass is that?”
“Totally.”
“And you’re her ancestor! That means her badass witchy magic passed on to you!”
“Now you sound like Eliza Proctor.”
“She might not be on target about the whole dark-witches-out-for-blood thing, but she’s definitely right about you inheriting a bucketload of Colette’s special brand of magic. Maybe it doesn’t work for spells or potions. But you have her charm and her warmth and that way of enchanting everyone you meet.”
Out of nowhere, my throat felt thick. That was, hands down, the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. Ever. “Flo…”
She reached out, took my hand, and squeezed hard enough to crunch my bones. “Don’t cry. Or I’ll cry. And I’m not wearing waterproof mascara today.”
“Fine. No crying.” I laughed softly. “I just miss her so much.”
“Me too.” Another hand squeeze. “All those rainy summer days we’d spend here in the shop… She had the best stories. She gave the best hugs. Always made me laugh my ass off or cheered me up when I was having a shitty week.”
“It’s a shame she’s not here now. She’d know what to do.”
“We could always have a seance, get her opinion on things.”
“Absolutely not. Knowing the two of us, we’d accidentally conjure a chaos demon and set off an apocalyptic event.”