Spellcaster. Cara Shultz Lynn

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       “So much better.” He chuckled, and I continued teasing him.

       “You’re the original badass. You can roundhouse kick a quarter and get five nickels.” I held my fists up in the pose I’d learned from my kickboxing class, which I’d started taking after I healed from the winter dance, and pretended to kick Brendan.

       “Oh, check it out, the mini-ninja has jokes,” he teased, blocking my weak, halfhearted kick with his forearm. “Are you done making fun of me yet?”

       “No, but I’ll be nice and let you continue your story where you’re not at all cute or sweet about Liam. The horror!” I stood back upright, grinning as Brendan gently tugged on the cowlick in my bangs.

       “You’re too much,” he said, shaking his head at me and smiling. “And so what if I’m friends with Liam? He’s a good kid.” Brendan tilted his head, giving me one of his signature flirty smiles. “You know, you really should stop making fun of me, because it’s all your fault, anyway.”

       “What’s my fault?”

       “Me, actually liking people at Vince A.”

       “What a tragedy,” I deadpanned.

       “Oh, it is,” Brendan insisted, his eyes open in mock horror. “I’m losing my cred. Next I’ll be voted prom king.” He shuddered at the thought and I laughed at the mental image. If that crown was placed on his unruly dark head, the heavens would open up and he’d get trampled by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

       “Hey, don’t blame me for making you want to be nice to people.” I laughed, poking him in the chest. He grinned, grabbing my hand to kiss my fingertip, before dropping his hands to my waist, and drawing me close.

       “I want to be nice because I’m happy,” Brendan whispered in my ear, his breath sending trembles across my skin. “And it is all your fault, because you’re the reason I’m happy.” He touched his lips underneath my ear, and I forgot that I was supposed to be avoiding the annoying girls in the bodega. I forgot that I had somewhere to be. I’d forget my eyeballs if they weren’t stuck in my head.

       Maybe it’s because Brendan was smart, sweet, supportive and—let’s face it—smack-yourself-in-the-face hot. Or maybe it was because he could win a gold medal in making out. But most likely, it was because he’s my soul mate. My honest, true soul mate—reincarnated over a thousand years, only to be reunited and ripped apart, generation after generation, thanks to a curse set in motion by a brokenhearted ancient lord. When his beloved wife, Gloriana, was murdered, Lord Archer thought he was securing their reunion in another life. He made a deal with a witch: his and Gloriana’s souls would reunite in another lifetime—one where Archer would be reborn into a rich, handsome and strong descendant.

       But Archer’s goals shouldn’t have been so selfish, so focused on his own glory, as the witch cruelly reminded him when she granted his proud wishes. When you make a deal with evil, there’s always fine print. The witch doomed our souls with a never-ending curse: after we reunited, Archer would relive the loss of his soul mate as she suffered an untimely, tragic—and brutal—death. Over and over again, lifetime over lifetime, condemning me from the moment I met Brendan. But after Anthony attacked me at the winter formal, Brendan risked his life to save mine—the key to unlocking the curse started by his selfish past life.

       The fight also confirmed that I had some seriously untapped witch powers—Gloriana had practiced witchcraft, and that magic stuck with her soul, magnifying as the years passed. My late twin brother, Ethan, was able to warn me of the danger, through dreams and some seriously scary signs, of the impending doom. But when I was somehow able to summon his spirit to help me pull Brendan from an almost-certain death, as he clutched on to the rocks high above Central Park’s Turtle Pond after knocking me out of Anthony’s path, we realized I had some major magical talent flowing through my veins. Before I moved to New York, I had no idea that I was what Angelique called a “born witch.”

       In the four months since we broke the curse, Brendan and I have been blissfully happy—and the only things threatening us from being with each other were my pitiful Latin grades (yes, we had to study Latin at Vincent Academy, a language deader than caveman grunts) and his socialite mom, Laura. She was proving to be almost as big a barrier to our happily ever after as the curse. Laura wasn’t too thrilled that her son risked his life to save mine. I had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn’t have minded Brendan saving blue blood from being spilled—but I was a transplant to New York’s posh Upper East Side, living with my aunt Christine after my alcoholic stepfather, Henry, made life in Keansburg, New Jersey, hazardous to my health. Still, Laura’s disapproval didn’t deter Brendan from bringing me around his family. Like last week, when I joined them for Chinese food. Although when the Salingers get Chinese food, they don’t order in from the local Happy Joy Kitchen—they go to Mr. Chow, where they know the owner. Where the bill is three figures. Where a Grammy winner might be at the next table.

       Sure, it was the best Chinese food I’d ever had, but Laura could make anything unappetizing. She should rent herself out to anyone wanting to lose weight. At least Brendan’s dad, Aaron, wasn’t a problem: he liked me. He also understood that I was Brendan’s soul mate—and that I wasn’t just some fleeting crush of his son’s. After all, the curse had come from the Salinger side of the family. But Laura…she frowned so much in my general direction I thought her chin might fall off. Impressive, I thought at the time—she’d had so much Botox for the grand opening of one of her husband’s hotels that her face was about as flexible as a brick.

       But all those concerns always melted away the second Brendan touched me. His lips left a featherlight path of kisses from my ear to my mouth. Even after months together and a billion make-out sessions (that’s a conservative estimate), every kiss kicked my pulse—and other parts of my body—into high gear. I clasped my hands around the back of his neck, eagerly returning his kiss before a wailing ambulance, heading to nearby St. Luke’s-Roosevelt Hospital, reminded me of our location. “Whoa,” I said, pulling away. “We are in the middle of Ninth Avenue here.”

       “We’re not the most scandalous thing someone’s seen in the middle of Ninth Avenue, I’m sure.” Brendan smirked, his green eyes sparkling mischievously. “Besides, no one’s watching.”

       “Don’t be too sure.” I groaned, reminded of my encounter in the bodega. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to see if the annoying trio of girls was still around.

       Yep. They were. And they noticed whom I was with—and what I was doing with him.

       “What’s wrong?” Brendan’s jet-black brows furrowed with concern.

       “Nothing. Let’s just get out of here, okay?” I ignored the furious texting from their perfectly manicured fingers.

       “What, is some old creeper watching us make out or something?” Brendan asked, protectively throwing his arm over my shoulder and ushering me down the block toward Tenth Avenue.

       “No, nothing like that! Some people recognized me, said some things…blah, blah, blech.” I waved my hands dismissively, omitting the part about his old hookup. Soul mate or not, I didn’t exactly break into a happy dance every time I heard about his previous—and prolific—conquests. Before me, Brendan got around more than the crosstown bus. So I could think of better ways to pass the time than discussing his past, like slamming my face into a drawer—repeatedly. But part of the curse was that Archer be handsome when he was reincarnated, and Brendan was, indeed, magically delicious. And girls most definitely noticed.

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