I didn’t look back. Not until we were almost home.
By the time we made it back to my house, the sun had started sinking, throwing long gold stripes across the walls. Every one of them caught on a reflective surface, the hallway mirror, the glass on a framed photo, the microwave door and made my skin crawl.
Mom was in the kitchen when we came in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. The faint smell of dish soap and toast hung in the air, too normal for how the night had gone. Her eyes flicked from me to Bianca lugging the flamingo mirror wrapped in her hoodie, to Nate trailing behind us like he’d just crawled out of a wind tunnel.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” Bianca said at the same time.
“Yes,” Nate added, which made Mom’s eyebrows climb.
Bianca recovered first. “We, uh, helped Jess with a school project. Involving historical reenactment. And props.”
“Very fragile props,” I added, patting the hoodie.
Mom stared at us for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. But if that’s a real flamingo under there, it’s not staying in the living room.”
“We’ll keep it upstairs,” I promised. “We’re all crashing here tonight. Too much reenacting. Bianca can barely stand up.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed, but she must’ve decided she didn’t want the details. “Fine. Guest room’s made up. Keep the noise down. And keep the flamingo out of sight.”
“Got it,” I said quickly, steering everyone toward the stairs before she could change her mind.
Bianca followed close behind, carrying the flamingo mirror like it was a live grenade. Nate brought up the rear, his eyes flicking warily to every reflective surface we passed. Raven flew ahead, hopping from shelf to shelf, peering into each mirror as if daring something to try.
“We’ll take shifts, one can watch, two can sleep. Nate, you’re on snack duty.”
We set the mirror in the far corner of my room, still wrapped in the same quilt. Bianca planted herself in front of it like a guard dog. Nate dropped onto the end of my bed, giving a mock salute. “Snack duty. Got it.”
Nate was still holding my hand like I might vanish if he let go. “So, no more magic experiments on me?” he asked, half-smiling.
Heat crept up my neck. “I guess I should probably stop trying to hex you into liking me. Turns out it’s easier just being myself.”
“You think?” he teased.
Bianca snorted from across the room. “Wow, personal growth and a happy ending. My readers are gonna eat this up.”
I groaned. “You’re not still blogging about me.”
She grinned, holding up her phone. “Too late. Working title: The Girl Who Learned Love Isn’t a Spell.”
“Delete it,” I said.
“Never,” she replied. “It’s my most wholesome content yet. Don’t ruin this for me.”
Nate gave my hand a squeeze. “If it’s any consolation, I liked you even without the magic.”
He kissed my temple and disappeared downstairs for snacks.
Bianca stayed awake with me for the first watch, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw the mirror storm, light and glass tearing around me and felt the way the spell had burned in my chest.
For months, I’d been afraid of what my magic could do. Afraid it would break things, hurt people.
And it had hurt people. But this time, it had brought someone home.
My hands still ached, the last traces of the sigils Raven had inked there fading to pale shadows. I traced them anyway, the ghost of the magic humming under my fingertips, and for the first time I didn’t flinch.
