Page 8 of The Magic We Made

“Hail Hecate, guardian of the crossroads,” Haley is intoning toward the night sky. “We beg thee to accept our sacrifice on this, the first night along our journey toward the darkest part of the year.”

“Sacrifice?” I take what I hope is an imperceptible step back from the circle we’ve made around the fire. Even though Haley has explained over and over that there’s no such thing as good magic and bad magic, it’s all down to the intentions of the witch, I can’t help it: A sacrifice doesn’t sound good. “What are we sacrificing?”

“That which we love most.” Haley lowers her gaze and stares at me. I’m in trouble again for daring to speak. “What else? Otherwise it wouldn’t be a sacrifice worthy of a goddess, would it?”

“I—I guess not.” I glance uncertainly at the other girls. I don’t like the sound of this at all, and neither does Meg. I can see her worried expression across the fire.

But the rest of the girls don’t seem bothered. They reach for one another’s hands.

“What’s the matter, Emma?” Haley demands. There’s nothing friendly in her tone—not like when we first met. “You are aware that tonight is the autumn equinox—the night that we make a sacrifice to thank the goddess for the fruitful harvest that will feed us during our long journey into the darkness of winter, right?”

That’s when I realize Haley isn’t the only one staring at me. All the girls are. Even Meg.

So I step quickly back into the circle around the flames and seize the hands closest to me.

“Yes,” I lie. We’ve been out in these woods for so long, I no longer have any idea what month it is, let alone what day. What fruitful harvest is Haley talking about? I really could kill for some marshmallows, let alone a slice of pizza.

“And you believe?” Haley asks me.

“Yes, absolutely, I do.” I know what will happen if I say I don’t. “I do believe.”

“Perfect.” Haley’s dark red lips break into a smile just as the fingers around mine tighten into vises. “Because our sacrifice for Hecate tonight is... you.”

Frankie

“It isn’t funny,” I tell my brother the next time I see him, which happens to be Sunday Gravy at our mother’s house.

“Oh, come on.” Mark gives me the same impish grin he’s been using since he was three years old and got caught with his fingers in the biscotti jar. “It’s alittlefunny.”

“It’s not, Mark. Mrs. Baumgarten truly thought I was a parapsychologist who could help with her alleged haunting.”

“Try to see it from my point of view.” Mark assumes the stance of reasonable male business owner dealing with what he clearly believes to be a hysterical older woman. “I come to your place to drop off some tuna, fresh from my fish purveyor—which I have to say was very thoughtful of me, considering that this is your busy season and I know you aren’t getting out much—and this old lady attacks me, claiming she’s been robbed by ghosts. What was Isupposedto say?”

“How about that there’s no such thing as ghosts, she’s been robbed by humans, and she needs to call the police?”

“Ididtell her that. She didn’t believe me. So I did what you always say you do with your patients: I embraced her reality.”

“By telling her that I’m aparapsychologist?”

“To get her to talk to you, because anyone can tell she needs professional help! I don’t know what you’re so mad about. It worked, didn’t it?” He glances at his longtime girlfriend—now wife—Dina, who is sitting nearby, looking gorgeous, as always. “Care to bail me out here?” he asks her. “It was a joke.”

“I believe that a joke is supposed to be funny.” Dina’s dark eyes glitter with good humor and intelligence over the rim of her wineglass as she takes a sip.

“Jesus, I’m surrounded by ball-breakers.” Mark always pretends it bugs him when Dina “breaks his balls,” but he’s been with her since high school, so I know that’s one of the things about her he loves most. He grew up with four women who treat him exactly the same way. “I try to do one nice thing, and this is how I get rewarded. How was the fish, by the way?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say. “I left it out for that cat I’ve been trying to lure from beneath my porch steps. I guess he liked it, because later I found the plate licked clean.” Stray cat: 1. Me: 0.

“You leftbluefin tunaout for a stray cat?” Mark almost chokes on his beer. “That’s it. You have officially lost it, Frankie. You’ve been alone in that house forwaytoo long. You don’t have a life anymore! Do you ever even go out, except to swim in that lake or come here? You desperately need to—”

Dina cuts off my little brother. “Mark.”

“—get laid.”

“Mark!” she cries.

“But—”

“Frankie is doingfine,Mark. You’re the one with the problem.You can’t give someone a gift and then try to dictate how they use it. That’s rude.”