My lip curled at the name, but they didn’t seem to notice.
“Even Astrid can’t nail her down,” Ivy added in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Maybe she doesn’t date witches,” Faith suggested. “I, myself, am more of a vampire girlie.”
“You only date vampires?” I balked. “Don’t they, like, suck your blood?”
“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” Faith brandished a finger at me. “A little consensual bloodplay is fun. I could see myself settling for a werewolf or zombie, as long as they have a good bite.”
I blinked at her, scanning her from her pigtails down to her white Vans with bow socks. There was no way this cute, coquettish witch just said “bloodplay.”
“Sabine is forallthe girls,” Celeste replied, saving me from asking for more info about Faith’s kinks. “She’s dated a few of the traveling witches who come to town for the fall. Oh, and one local swamp monster—the coven was not too thrilled about that.”
“And she had that fling with that succubus last summer, remember?” Ivy cut in.
“Wow,” I said tightly. “You guys really do know everything about everyone.”
Celeste nodded. “Small towns.”
I thought back to my conversation with Sabine. No wonder she craved anonymity; everyone at this camp knew about her sex life. No one kept tabs on me, which was both a relief and a bit lonely all at once. I was an only child and we’d moved a lot, which meant the word “community” meant the three of us. As I’d gotten older, my shyness had morphed into gruff nonchalance. I’d always been treated like a lone wolf, so I’d become one. The only group I even wanted to participate in now was the Sinclair Society. It would be perfect: skip the friend-making nonsense and just join an organization that forced people to be my friends.
Yep, perfectly healthy.
“I would advise against trying to snag the white whale,” Celeste added with a wink. “Astrid has Sabine in her crosshairs, and she won’t appreciate one of us getting in the way.”
“Has anyone stopped to ask Sabine whatshewants?” I asked, and they all laughed. “What?”
“You’ve already got heart eyes for her, don’t you?” Faith asked. “Insta-love at its finest.”
“I donot,” I gritted out.
“Sure,” Ivy crooned. “Come on, new girls, you’re sitting with us.”
I followed them out, clenching my jaw to fight back the urge to protest further. I didn’t blame these other witches for thinking Sabine was the catch of the summer, but she was so not my type. I dated people with sleeve tattoos and face piercings and hair every color of the rainbow, not earthy witches.
I definitely wasn’t thinking about the way her eyes had snagged on my mouth for a split second, or what she wore under those cargo shorts, or whether I could steal my phone back so I could look up granola recipes and buy matching Hydro Flasks.
Nope! I wasn’t into Sabine Stonewood at all.
8
Sabine
Dagmar really had a flair for drama.
Each year, it seemed to get more and more grandiose. Her magic made the flames grow higher and shadows dance across the crowd. The normally surly head counselor spoke to the new witches like they were her foot soldiers and she was their queen, pacing back and forth across the sand in front of the fire pit.
I watched from where I sat sandwiched between Iris and Ophelia as Dagmar regaled the new witches with the story of how, over two hundred years ago, our coven had done the pettiest thing we could have and named our summer camp after the moniker that the local gentleman’s club had given us.
They’d wanted man-hating witches? They’d gotten them.
Even though we’d changed our name in recent years, we still made sure the original was legible in its crossing out, even on the new T-shirts.
I bloomed with pride at that one.
No one messed with witches and got away with it.
Iris clapped enthusiastically, adding in hoots and cheers as Dagmar promised SCUW that we would win the end-of-summer games against the two other paranormal camps across the lake.
