Wicked sorceress Cora must ruin someone's life before her eighteenth birthday or lose her magic forever, a task made tricky when she falls for her chosen victim.
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Cora Emerson is a magical misfortune who just can't get the hang of being a wicked...
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Sunday was the final day before the debauchery began.
Cora formulated the first text that night—phase one in wooing Beau.
Hi! I'm sorry I couldn't come to the party. Did you end up going?
It took her a whole minute to hit send, and even then, she couldn't stand her phone's glow. Waiting for a reply was like watching Mrs. Campbell eat cake, one agonizingly slow bite after the next. She couldn't fathom why anyone would eat cake that way, and why Beau hadn't answered. He'd texted her first and now silence.
Had turning him down been her undoing?
She no longer had the comfort of four solid months before her birthday in February. She'd done the ritual and her family expected some effort. The only way out was through Beau's heart. And once her arrow was lodged in, ruining him would be tolerable, like a snap of her fingers.
By the love of crows, her phone buzzed with his reply at ten o'clock on Monday morning, thirteen hours later. Cora's lucky number. A sign? Most definitely, she decided.
It's cool. Didn't go. Worked late.
She read his text in between classes with Eva peeking over her shoulder. She hadn't had any reason to tell Eva about Beau. She hadn't even told her about her sprained arm. If she did, she'd have to explain why she'd turned down a date with a cute boy in the first place.
Eva, who believed in love at first sight and all that drivel, would have said it was fate bringing them together. Cora had her own doubts about fate at the moment and she certainly didn't believe in true love. She even doubted what her great-grandmother had said about finding the one. The tingle she'd felt could have been her adrenaline and nothing more. Either way, it was all too late. She'd already done the ritual.
"Who's Beau?" Eva asked.
Cora turned off her phone. "No one."
"You don't expect me to believe that." Eva's tone was teasing. "Is he cute?"
"I don't know," Cora said but, in her mind, she saw his smile and her stomach flip-flopped. She told herself it was because she'd had too many chocolate waffles and whipped cream for breakfast. Her grandmother had made them as a treat for her completing the ritual.
Around them, students slipped into their classrooms or loitered in the halls with their friends. A teacher stood by, ushering those students who'd stayed behind to chat out of the hall. Cora and Eva's math teacher hadn't yet shown up. His room door was locked. They stood in a line outside of his class with their other classmates.
One of their classmates, a boy named Max, draped his gangling arm around Eva's shoulders. "Did either of you ladies do the homework?" he asked, his grin brazen.
"Yes." Eva shrugged him off.
Everyone in school knew Eva was one of the best students. She might have outranked Willow when it came to her studiousness. People often came to her when they'd missed a class, begging for her notes. Eva's nature sometimes allowed them to get away with it, but not today, not for this person, who was notorious for never handing in homework at all.
