Page 20 of Hexed Up

“How about school?” Horatio asks me, as we climb the steps to our floor. The old 1920s lift, with sliding metal cage doors, has been out of order for at least the last two decades. “Did you go to Civilian school? Or did you go to Hog–”

“Do not say it!” I shriek, slapping my hand over his mouth. I’m a couple of steps above him which means our eyes are now level. Those intensely blue, incredibly dreamy, eyes staring right into mine. “You have no idea how much trouble those books have caused us,” I continue to waffle on, ignoring the hot press of his lips against my palm and the warm, moist feel of his breath. “Civilians questioning things they would otherwise haveignored or would not even have noticed. The need to manipulate civilians’ memories has risen 150% since the publication of those books. As for that school, sure those kinds of places exist – for the very rich and very privileged. Just like they do in the Civilian world. But most of us just went to your average primary school and then onto the Witching Academy. At least, I did until I got kicked out.”

Horatio takes ahold of my wrist and removes my hand from his mouth. I may or may not be sweating at this point and I’m pretty sure, despite the sunblock, my cheeks are tomato-red.

“You got kicked out?” I nod. “Let me guess, for something not quite legal.”

“You could say that …” My words die away because his eyes aren’t focussed on mine anymore, they’ve fallen to my mouth and he still has a hold on my wrist. I can’t help doing the same, studying his mouth. He has plush lips, well structured for his face, a rosy-pink kind of colour. He’s unshaven today and a scruff of stubble marks his jaw. And then, of course, there is that damn dimple when he smiles.

Those butterflies in my stomach, the ones that have been comatose for so long, start fluttering about like they’re on drugs. I blame the caffeine and all the sugar in those pastries.

Hr Hottie’s tongue slides out of his mouth and glides along his plump lower lip – one that’s just demanding I sink my teeth into it. He leans towards me.

I think he’s going to kiss me.

Mr Horatio Shaw, who owns two Ferraris and has often looked like he’d like to see me evicted from my apartment, is going to kiss me.

And I don’t think I have the willpower to stop him.

My eyes flutter shut. My lips part on instinct. I can feel that heat from his body edging closer. His breath flutters against my cheek. I–

Pop!

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I snap open my eyes, jolting away from Mr Hottie and nearly tumbling onto the staircase behind me as I do. McGruff whimpers and Horatio mutters something I don’t quite catch under his breath.

I peer up and find my friend standing on the landing. Today his horns are a lime green colour and he’s wearing matching PVC trousers.

“Were you two just about to–”

“Hey Day!” I say with a smile just as unconvincing as the one I’d used on my sister yesterday. “We took McGruff on a walk around the Heath.”

Damien ignores me. “Because if you engage in that kind of activity, you know what the consequences will be.”

Yes, I know. But I’d like to see Damien resist if a tall, handsome man with dimples attempted to kiss him.

I stomp up the stairs, Horatio following after me and McGruff behind him.

“What do you mean by activity and consequences?” Horatio asks.

“You haven’t told him?” Damien asks me, with a disapproving shake of his head.

“I didn’t think it would be necessary to tell him,” I mutter.

Damien examines me with his cold, black, and soulless eyes and then focusses on Mr Hottie.

“Reversing the love potion is already going to be a challenge.” Horatio nods, that much I’ve already told him. “If the two of you engage in any hanky panky, it’s going to make it even harder.”

“Hanky spanky?” Horatio asks.

“Hanky panky,” Damien corrects, “snogging, heavy petting, feeding the kitty, riding St George, tasting the sausage. That kind of thing.”

Horatio rubs at his forehead, looking even more confused. “Is that English?”

“Kissing, touching, sex,” I clarify, unable to look directly at him as I do.

“Right,” he says, then after a pause he adds, “how much harder?”