“It’s just me, Sabine,” a saccharine voice crooned.
My gut clenched. “Astrid Cunningham,” I said with a tight smile. “As I live and breathe.” I turned the corner to see the coven leader’s granddaughter placing a backpack on the prime back-left bunk.
“I think you’ve got the wrong cabin,” I told her. “This one is for first-years. Harvest Moon.” I hooked a thumb to the moon phases carved into the beams above my head. “You’re a second year. You should be on the other side of the firepit.”
“I had Mom pull some strings,” she said with a white-toothed grin. “I figured us friends should stick together, right?”
I refused to look down at her impossibly thin white T-shirt. Her short running shorts were already rolled up at the waist, and I’d bet if she turned around, I’d find her plump ass cheeks peeking out.
I couldn’t lie. She was as hot as sin . . . and she knew it.
I also knew she had a crush on me, and not because I was a catch. No, the only reason for said crush was that I was the only witch in a hundred-mile radius who wasn’t tripping over themselves to go on a date with her.
“I don’t know if you staying here is a good idea,” I hedged, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “It’s a bonding experience for all incoming campers to be new together. You’re the only white shirt amongst the olive greens. You’re meant to be with your year group.”
Olive green, white, burnt orange, and mustard were our camp colors, and each one corresponded to a different year level. There was symbolism attached to those specific colors, and each came with its own responsibilities around camp.
“Is all this denial to do with what happened at Bishop’s Orchard?” Astrid clasped her hands behind her back, which only served to stick her chest out even more. “When I had too much mulled wine and was just being silly? It wasn’t even a kiss. It was barely a peck. It’s no big deal. I mean, unless you have feelings for me or something?”
I ground my teeth. “I don’t?—”
“Great, so it’s settled, then,” she cut in. “I’ll stay here with you . . . and the other Harvest Mooners. I’ll be like a junior counselor!”
My shoulders bunched around my ears. “Counselors can’t hook up with any campers—including self-appointed junior counselors,” I pushed. “It’s a rule, okay?”
Her smile widened. “So, you aren’t over me, then?”
How in Hera’s bone-pellet droppings had she gotten to that conclusion?
She hadn’t been that drunk at the orchard cleanup after-party. We’d spent all day painting signs and sprucing up the orchard for tourist season and had been more exhausted thanbuzzed off the celebration wine being passed around. But Astrid had taken it upon herself to fall into my lap and had managed to land a sloppy kiss on my lips before I could leap away like a frog on hot asphalt.
“I understand,” Astrid preened, examining her fingernails. “I’m hard to get over.”
I balled my hands into fists. “I was never under you!”
“But you wanted to be,” she taunted with a wink.
Dammit, I walked straight into that one.
She planted her ass on the bunk next to me, spreading her hands over the bedspread in a let’s-get-comfortably-naked sort of way, and I cursed my stupid pussy for fluttering.
So I did the only rational thing I could: I whirled toward the door.
“I need to go,” I declared. I didn’t add that if I stayed, I would either kiss her or throttle her with my magic.
“Where do you need to go?”
I hated her sweet little doe-eyed act. She wasn’t fooling anyone.
“The archery range,” I gritted out before she could pull me back in. The last thing I needed was getting mixed up with the coven leader’s granddaughter.
I made a point to double back halfway to the archery range before I trudged off into the woods. I knew better than to think walking out on Astrid Cunningham would be the end of her pursuits, and if I didn’t get several lungsful of fresh air, she might get exactly what she wanted.
5
Gwen
The rec hall was full of young women and nonbinary people of all different shapes, sizes, and ethnicities. I’d been worried that I’d be walking into the land of small-town homogeneity, so I was happy to find that paranormal communities didn’t fit the stereotype. And I was pleased that I wasn’t the only queer witch of the bunch either. Far from it. I found many of my fellow campers wearing friendship bracelets in the colors of the bi, lesbian, ace, trans, and nonbinary flags, amongst others. Actually, the more I took in the group, the more I realized most of them were part of the rainbow community.
