Page 49

“The Ramos Witches are renowned where I come from—a little town near Columbus, Ohio. And you?”

“Oh, Jersey Devil. I’m from New Jersey,” he mutters, and I nod because duh, Belinda.

“Anyway, traditionally each Witch has one child. One daughter. And that Witch inherits the ancestral magical stores and Book of Shadows from her mother when she is of an age to appreciate and wield the magic responsibly. Typically mid to late thirties.”

“You’re thirty-eight.”

“Why do you know that?” I gasp.

He shrugs.

“Anyway, as you can see, I was not chosen to inherit. Melida, my sister, was.”

“Sister? So your mother is a rebel with two daughters?”

“Apparently not, since I had an aunt I never knew about who left me this place. But Melida? She’s the golden girl.”

“Golden girl?”

“Beautiful. Talented. Gifted. Powerful. Everything comes naturally to her.”

“And?”

“And I'm not like her.”

His jaw tightens.

“I'm not beautiful or talented or particularly gifted⁠—”

“Belinda.”

“But maybe, just maybe, Aunt Margarita was like me.”

The thought has been growing since I arrived.

“She was the extra sister, too. The one who left. Maybe she came here because she needed somewhere to be herself.”

I glance back at the house.

“My aunt built something here. Something that was hers.”

My throat tightens.

“And maybe I can, too.”

Damian says nothing.

“So please. Truce?” I meet his eyes. “All I'm asking for is a chance.”

He puts the muffins down. Then he steps closer.

My pulse jumps. And my heart starts pounding so hard I know he can hear it.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” I begin, desperate to keep talking.

He moves closer.

“I know all about troublesome families, Sweet. But what I don't know is who fed you that bullshit that you're not beautiful?”