Witchcraft

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Jace Hartley was the kind of handsome that was annoyingly obvious. His hair was dark—though it was lit in a magnificent gold by the sunlight—and his eyes were vibrant and beautiful. He was tall and athletic; his face was good-natured and kind—a mask to conceal the pure evil lying beneath—and it was wonder that more girls weren't interested in him. Clearly, word of his personality had gotten out.

At the sight of my face, Jace's own broke into a beaming smile. "Can't say I particularly want to do that, no," he said, still grinning that disconcerting grin. I had never been the recipient of Jace Hartley's smile, not really, and it was dazzling.

"A shame," I deadpanned, and the look I gave him held enough heat to melt glass or forge weapons. Sadly, he did not melt beneath my gaze.

Jace had always been uncomfortably decent looking. Which was unfair to the universe, since he was the worst person alive. Since I'd seen him last, his dark hair had grown longer, the ends brushing the tips of his ears. The summer months had darkened his skin to a deep bronze that I told myself didn't suit him.

The mischievous glint that usually sparked in his eyes at the sight of me was absent, instead replaced with something akin to joy, which was a little bit disgusting and made me want to gouge said eyes out with a spork.

"You're back," he said, as his eyes roving my face and that stupid smile still teasing the corner of his mouth. "You're actually back."

I pointed at his face in horror. "What are you doing? Stop that. That thing with your face. I don't like that."

His response? He laughed. With joy.

I was unaware that aliens invaded the planet while I was bedridden. That's definitely something someone should have told me. The Jace pre-alien invasion would have done something predictable, like stolen my crutches so I was forced to hop after him screaming expletives, or—at the very least—insulted my new crippled state.

Instead, the alien inside my nemesis said, "I really don't like you, Elle, but I'm going to hug you anyway." Then he raised his arms and began to approach me, like a grim reaper approaching his victim. Or a Dementor swooping upon me to suck the soul from my body.

Um, what the frick frack diddly dack is going on here?

Witchcraft.

I think I squawked like an outraged crow. I know I scrambled backwards (well, I hopped up a step.) Unfortunately, Jace was faster than me, because I was crippled. I suspected he was faster than me usually, but I had never issued a competition, because I wasn't sure I would win. I only liked to compete with Hartley in contests I was confident I would claim victory in. "I—what? No, I don't like that. Please no. Are you okay, Hartley? Do I need to take you to the nur—"

My breath was knocked from my chest as his arms came around me, encircling my waist and pulling me carefully towards him. My face was practically forced into his shoulder. Yuck. What was this? Jace Hartley, hugging me?

He needed to spend way less time with Daria.

Whose hugs were absolutely better than Hartley's, for the record. He held on to my torso way too tightly, gripping me almost desperately. Maybe this was a secret plot to suffocate me?

He'd pulled my head in so it rested in the crook of his shoulder, his face buried in my hair. He'd grown while I'd been gone. I was taller than most people—boys included, as I stood at over six feet—and six months ago I'd had a good inch on Jace as well. Being taller than him had made me feel pretty great, and teasing him was pretty fun when I could look down at him. But now he was a veritable giant and it only made me loathe him more.

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