Ten minutes later, the four of them were back inside the Smiths' house.

The rain had started up seconds after Brandon's statement, and Bridget had quickly ushered them all toward the house, her troubled gaze lingering on the gray storm clouds collecting.

The weirdest part, Millie thought as she sat at the Smiths' kitchen island, was that the clouds had only gathered over Brandon's house.

"So," Millie said conversationally as she stirred her spoon in the hot chocolate Bridget had sat in front of her. "How's the weather?"

From his position by the kitchen window, Sam snorted. "Terrible, just like my entire life."

Brandon sighed and rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't so bad up until now, was it, Sam?" Bridget patted him on the shoulder.

"Well, I just found out that my best friend has been lying to me my entire life, that the girl I had a thing for is going to kill me, and my godmother is a witch." He turned to face her briefly. "So, my life has been pretty terrible the whole time. I just didn't know it."

When he turned back away, Bridget looked at Millie and Brandon, both at the island. "That was a rhetorical question," she said.

Millie cleared her throat. "Should we talk about this? Or just . . . pretend it isn't happening?"

"What? The rain?" Bridget glanced out the window. "Yeah, that's pretty weird."

"Pretty weird is an understatement," Millie said, shifting on the stool. "First there were seagulls dropping dead fish on your street and now it's raining, but only above this house. Don't you think people are going to start noticing something weird is happening?"

Brandon sighed again. "Humans will ignore a lot of weird stuff if their brains can't explain it," he said, waving his hand in an offhanded way. "Dead fish falling from the sky? They won't remember it. Clouds gathering over one street and only raining there? Global warming. Millie Clearwater having a thing for Sam White? Now, that's the kind of magic they won't be able to ignore."

"Brandon!" Bridget yelped at the same time Millie slapped him on the shoulder. Between clenched teeth, she growled, "Shut. Up."

However, if Sam was aware of what was happening in the kitchen, he didn't show it. Instead, he continued to stare blankly out the window. Big, fat water droplets rolled down the glass and black clouds gathered angrily in the sky.

Millie watched him over the rim of her mug as she pretended to sip at her hot chocolate.

Even kill someone?

Sam's face had blanched white when Millie had turned her head to look at him after what Brandon had said. Seconds after their eyes had met, it had started raining, and whatever Sam might've said in that moment had disappeared.

Millie had a feeling that whatever Sam might've felt for Millie in general was dissipating the longer this curse clung to them. She couldn't blame him; because of her (and Brandon) he was going to die soon, unless, if Brandon wasn't just fucking with them, they were willing to kill someone else.

If Brandon was being honest about that . . . Millie stared at the back of Sam's head, contemplating.

Was she willing to hurt someone to save him? She'd definitely hurt herself for him. The thought rose in her unbidden and suddenly, with a fierceness that scared her.

Just a few weeks ago, she'd been clinging to her life, desperate to keep it. But if her life meant Sam had to die, she wouldn't hesitate.

She turned her head to find Brandon staring at her. His expression told her he knew exactly what she was thinking — and agreed. Together, they would do anything to save Sam.

Testing the waters, she raised her eyebrows and inclined her head. Let's go, her eyes seemed to read.

When he clenched his jaw and glanced quickly around the kitchen, his said how?

She looked at her hands, thinking. She had to get Brandon alone — far from both Bridget and Sam.

"I think I should be getting home," Millie said aloud. Bridget and Brandon both stared at her. Sam didn't turn, but his shoulders twitched. "I need to see my family and . . . I don't think I should stay here. We can talk more about this tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Bridget sighed. "I'm sure that's fine. Sam, you should probably stay here."

He still didn't react.

Brandon said, "I can drive Millie home. It's probably not safe for her to go by herself."

"What about my car?" Millie asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, it'll be fine here," Bridget said, waving at her. "Brandon can come pick you up tomorrow morning and bring you here. Then you can drive it home after we talk more."

"Alright," Millie said, pretending to sound annoyed as she pushed back from the island and stood. "I guess that's fine."

"I'll wait for you outside." Brandon was out of the kitchen before Millie could even blink.

"I'm going to go call your mom, Sam." Bridget hesitated momentarily before she patted the frozen statue on his shoulder and left the room, her shoes click-clacking down the hall.

"And then there were two," Millie said jokingly. Sam didn't reply, but she hadn't expected him to, really. "Um, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Sam."

Still staring at the back of his form, she shifted, bringing her hand up to nervously smooth her wet hair back from her face.

She could still hear his voice in her head. She wasn't the girl he liked anymore — she was the girl he had a thing for, past tense, and that hurt more than she had thought it would.

But how could she blame him? He was right. She was going to kill him, unless she did something drastic — like hurt herself or someone else — to save him.

"Sam, I . . ." she floundered, gripping the back of her hair in her hand. "I just . . ."

"Stop," he interrupted her. His voice was flat. "Just stop, okay, Millie?"

She froze. "Okay."

He turned, slowly, to face her. His expression was unreadable; it was devoid of the usual Sam-sweetness, or his notoriously infectious smile. "You don't have to do this," he said.

"Do what?" She whispered, her voice stuck in her throat.

"Act like you care about me." He tilted his head, as if he were curious about her, and stepped closer. "I get it. You just went somewhere with me that night. You weren't expecting any of this to happen. You were just a girl that got in a boys' car. I don't . . . blame you. I thought I did, I thought I would, but I don't."

"Why not?" She couldn't seem to speak any louder. Thunder rolled and crashed outside, shaking the house, but Sam didn't jump.

He sighed and put his hand on her shoulder. It was heavy and too warm. "You wouldn't have gotten in my car if you knew the curse was going to happen, right?"

"No." She shook her head quickly. "If I'd known —"

"You'd have kept yourself unhappy forever, right?" He cut her off. She nodded, and he did, too. "Alright. It's fine. Really. I mean, I don't want to die. That's not what I'm saying. I'm not okay with this. But I'm not mad at you. You don't have to act like you like me, okay?"

"Sam . . ."

"No." He squeezed her shoulder, almost painfully. "You never liked me, Millie. You don't now and never will, right? I get it. I just let myself get swept up in the magic of you and the magic of this and . . . I'm sorry for putting so much pressure on you."

He stared at her and she stared back, unsure of what to say. He seemed to have already made up his mind, Millie thought. He really figured she had never felt anything for him. 

A flicker of hope burned in Sam's eyes when she didn't reply. "Millie? Am I wrong?" 

You're so, so wrong, Sam White and so, so right for me.

She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him how she'd always felt about him, how she'd had to force herself to stay away because she knew if she got close, she wouldn't be able to let go. She wanted to tell him she regretted getting in his car because it meant that he was going to die, but she didn't regret it entirely, because at least this way, she had gotten one moment with him; one pure moment. She wanted to tell him that when she'd found out Sam had helped her start the curse, she hadn't been surprised. She wanted to tell him that if she had to die for anyone, she'd die for him.

But, instead, she lied.

"No," she said, and stepped back, so his hand fell off her shoulder. "I don't like you, Sam."