A RETELLING OF PRACTICAL MAGIC.
A 300-year-old family curse. A teenage witch with a broken heart. And a lone wolf determined to solve a missing person's case.
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For three hundred years, a witch family has endured a curse: any man an Owens girl d...
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"Do witches have to bang Satan in order to get their power?"
I've experienced my fair share of dumbasses but Bryant Lancaster takes the cake.
With a deep sigh, I flip my waist-long silver hair, which slaps said dumbass in the face. He flinches and I smile with satisfaction, hoping he'll take the hint.
There's a long pause.
"Aren't you going to answer my question?" he asks.
Clearly he's slow.
After my continued silence, he flexes his jaw, settling two beefy arms against the lab table, no doubt eating up the snickers of our peers nearby.
He repeats the question: "I said, do witches have to bang Satan to get their power?"
The snorts and chortles grow, especially from a bitch named April, who blames my sister for every pimple she gets right around her period. Although, my sister might be responsible for the new mole growing right between her eyes—that's a mystery I have yet to crack.
I point to the lab packet. "Can we just focus on breaking down the chemical compound, asshole?"
The beefy jock leans in. "You know...you can bang me anytime, Silver Owens. Even right here, right now." He flashes a cocky grin while his friends break out into light applause.
My temper surges and fists knuckle until they're as white as my hair.
Meanwhile asshole jock, Bryant, places a hand on my thigh. He slides it over my knee and slowly creeps it up my black jeans.
My cheeks fire up and my breaths become short gulps of air from the humiliation. I'm now presented with a choice: walk away or use my magic.
Except I swore six months ago that I'd never channel my power again.
And so far I've been able to keep my word.
But now?
My vision swirls with heat while anger floods my lungs. Bryant's hand inches up my thigh while everyone watches, thinking this shit is funny.
I hate high school.
Or more accurately, I hate the sheep in this one.
The funny thing is that six months ago, Bryant and I were actually friends.
Well, maybe not friends per se, but if Michael were still alive, this wouldn't be happening.
But he's not.
And I no longer have him here to protect me from my childhood bullies.
I stand up from my seat, shoving Bryant's hand away and recommit to my no-magic vow. "Go fuck yourself."
"Aw, not even a blowjob?" Bryant chuckles. "It's probably for the best. I wouldn't want you falling in love with my dick and killing me next."
