Page 19 of Summer L.A.W.

Rayna rose with a grimace. “I vote yes. If this is what the ocean’s coughing up, I’m not sticking around for the sequel.”

“All in favor?” Sahara asked.

Hands rose, immediately. A unanimous vote. The house itself groaned in approval, shutters rattling, as if it had just been waiting to be asked.

Crystal leaned back against the scorched floorboards, still dazed. “Sure. Fine. Mountains sound safe right now.”

But outside, the wind had already picked up. A restless roll of thunder seemed to echo the threat.

The floor lurched. Walls shuddered. Windows slammed shut. Then, riiiiiip! Moments later, the sea breeze vanished, replaced by the fresh, piney breeze of mountain air. When the mansion steadied again, the Long Island coastline was gone. Tennessee rose around them, all green slopes and thunderclouds overhead.

Relief was still settling over the room when a voice came from the corner:

“Uh. Hi.”

Everyone spun.

Mason stepped out from behind a bookcase, dusting plaster off his shirt, his expression somewhere between furious and bewildered.

“I heard everything,” he said, jabbing a finger toward the scorched spot where the compass had been. “The dead rising? Exploding artifacts? What kind of craziness did I just sign up for? Because I did not come here for a front-row seat to Armageddon.”

Mason’s glare swept across the circle of witches, who suddenly looked like they were facing a jury, and holding matching bloody knives.

“‘The dead shall rise’?” he repeated, incredulously. “Explosions? You all voted to teleport a house across state lines like it’s an Airbnb on wheels, and you’re just calm about it?”

Joell opened her mouth. “That was… a metaphor.”

“For what?” Mason shot back.

Magda coughed into her elbow. “For… climate change.”

“Yeah,” Sahara added quickly. “We’re very environmentally conscious here. Sometimes we… uh, dramatize.”

Rayna dusted herself off. “It’s performance art. We do that now and then. Keeps morale up.”

Mason’s eyebrows climbed so high they threatened to exit his skull.

“Uh-huh,” he said flatly. “So, the table exploded as an avant-garde installation? And your bird looks like it just wrestled an exploding compass for fun?”

Crystal’s bird gave a pitiful chirp, still singed.

“Exactly,” Brianna said brightly. “Symbolism!”

Mason folded his arms. “Worst. Liars. Ever.”

Before anyone could escalate the argument, Crystal stomped over, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him bodily toward the door.

“You were supposed to leave. Outside. Now.”

The door slammed behind them. Cool, welcome mountain air rushed into her lungs. Mason shook her grip off, scowling. “What the hell was that?”

She crossed her arms. “Damage control. You weren’t buying the performance art thing, so congratulations, you’re my problem now.”

“Yeah, I gathered.”

She leaned against the railing, staring into the dark line of the forest below. “Listen. They want to hide up here, reset wards, and pretend the world isn’t on fire. That’s fine. But I’m not sitting around knitting scarves while something that calls up ‘the dead’ crawls from the deep. I’m going back to Long Island. Tonight.”

Mason blinked. “You’re joking.”