Page 68 of Everything She Does Is Magic

There isn’t time to thank Anya. To tell her that was reckless. Any of it. I rush into the gym, letting everyone know what’s happened.

The ambulance arrives. The Fall Ball comes to a pause as we watch Grace getting wheeled off on a stretcher. I answer questions for adults, telling everyone that Grace ate a cookie with almonds and went into anaphylactic shock. Then I lie just as smoothly, saying Anya was able to get Grace’s EpiPen, buying her enough time to get to the hospital to recover.

No one here knows what Anya did. Only her and me.

Still, her mood is dark. Part of me wishes Grace could see it, because this isrealbrooding.

“You saved her,” I remind Anya, hoping to lift her spirits.

“I broke the rules,” she tells me back.

“But no one knows that.”

“I know it. And so do you. And somehow, I know my family does too.”

I don’t ask questions, because I can tell she doesn’t want to hear them. Once the ambulance has left, the dance resumes, but no one’s heart is in it.

“I have to go,” Anya says, sulking off into the night.

32

Anya

At least my last night as a witch was memorable. That’s what I tell myself on the drive home, replaying the Fall Ball in its entirety, trying to memorize each moment so it can keep me company in my new, powerless life. Darcy smiling at me in her dress. Dancing for hours. Saving Grace.

It was all worth it.

Every last second.

Mom, Dad, and Cal are all sitting on the porch when I park the Volkswagen in the driveway. I appreciate the fact that they aren’t waiting to do this, not making me suffer through small talk before sharing the bad news. It’s a mercy that isn’t lost on me. They know this will be hard, and they don’t want to prolong it either.

My mom, typically so bright, wears her closest impression of a frown. Cal scowls as she always does. And Dad is Dad.

“I know,” I say, picking up the hem of my dress so it doesn’t get ruined by the wet grass. I’d like to save this too. Maybe I canput it on sometimes as a sad memento. Like a funeral dress. The last relic of my life of joy.

“Doyle witches don’t mess with the natural order of human life,” Aunt Cal says anyway, despite my generous lead-up.

I don’t bother saying that I know. It’s the first thing any of us learn when we start training. It’s been repeated by every mentor I’ve ever had. It’s what I would’ve explained to Julia, if she’d ever actually wanted to listen. For most of my family, it’s the one rule they set for me at all, knowing my power might be strong enough to actually do it. Only Cal has given me another—her rule about not having a romantic relationship with a protector.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I don’t regret it,” I tell my family. “I will gladly give my powers up if it means that Grace is okay.”

All I can hope for is that stripping my powers doesn’t hurt. My mind wanders anyway, envisioning the coven putting their hands on my head like some kind of magical electric chair. Or maybe it’s slower. Maybe it’s a detox that takes days, and I’ll be stuck in a room all alone until my powers run dry.

“You did the right thing,” Cal says.

Her words startle me out of my imagined nightmare. She’s not frowning, not any more than usual. If anything, she looks…proud.

“This isn’t the same as an old man who was dying of cancer,” she continues. “If anything, the way you saved your friend will help you with your initiation. You’ve shown a willingness to aid your community. To use your magic around here for good.”

It’s not the mention of the initiation that catches me off guard. It’s calling Grace my friend. When it was Darcy in that position, it never fit. Kyle Holtzenberg is a good guy, but I wouldn’t call us friends. With Grace, it’s easy. Obvious.

I saved her for a lot of reasons. She’s a good person. She ate that cookie because she thought it was the same kind as mine, and I felt bad about that. I saved her because she didn’t deserve todieat the Fall Ball.

But I also saved her because she was—no, is—my friend.

Grace Manalo is my friend.

“How did you know I did it?” I ask.