She couldn't wait until the end of the day, glorious freedom from the tyranny of high school. 

When the last bell rang, she was with the throng of students hurrying down the steps of Thorne Point High. She didn't get to say goodbye to Eva, which she thought earned her zero points as her best friend but at least one point as a sorceress.

Eva might try to get her to stay for the Halloween dance, and she wasn't in the mood. She took the bus home, sitting across from a man who muttered to himself and a young mother, a plump, rosy-cheeked baby cradled in her lap.

Cora kept her gaze on the window until she'd reached her stop.

"Thank you, ma'am," she said to the bus driver and then gritted her teeth for being so polite. Her politeness would be the death of her magic. She wore it like a too tight bra and wished she could strip it off, unleashing her wickedness once and for all.

She had it in her, but she forgot herself sometimes. Who was she kidding? Most of the time.

On the short walk home, she repeated her mother's words in her head. The Emersons do not cower. How strange that phrase. It was certainly contradictory. All they did was cower. One day she would be sick of hiding who she really was, and maybe that day would come sooner than she'd hoped.

She walked with her head down, allowing herself to step on fallen leaves, how she used to as a child, still enjoying the way they crunched under her boots. It was the month of knitted scarves, mittens, cozy sweaters, coats lined with faux fur, peppermint and cinnamon hot chocolate, and dreary weather, all her favorite things. Still, she couldn't quiet her heart. By the time she got to the front gate of 4443 Hemlock Avenue, she still hadn't made up her mind about Beau.

She had only begun to trudge up the front steps when the door to 4445 opened. She paused without thinking. Out on the porch, Beau squinted into the afternoon sunlight as if for the first time being out in the sun all day. He scratched his cheek. A bit too small, the sleeves of his sweatshirt rode up his arms. A pair of worn basketball shorts sat low on his hips.

Gulping, Cora allowed her gaze to roam, taking in the tiny details of him, down to his scuffed sneakers. The laces were undone. She was aware that she was staring but, to be fair, all sorceresses needed to first examine their victims. For research of course. Weak spots. Flaws that might be useful later once she'd made up her mind. It was perfectly all right to stare and, who knew, her gaze alone might have been lethal.

She tilted her head, trying to glimpse the brand of his wristwatch. She couldn't see. Not that it mattered for her sake, unless it was an heirloom, and stealing it might make him spiral into a woeful state. She knew for a fact Willow kept a small box under her bed full of trinkets she'd stolen from her classmates, everything from fruity lip balms to locks of hair.

Her reasoning being, "You never know when you might need to curse someone."

Cora scowled.

I should have thought of that.

Beau cleared his throat. Her gaze met his. He was smiling. How long had she been staring? How long ago had he noticed her? It took her a moment to rearrange her face into a better expression. She settled for her poker face in case he mistook a smile for enthusiasm.

"Do you always make that face when you're thinking?" His grin grew wider.

How does he keep his teeth so white?

She stomped her foot. "I wasn't thinking," she said, as if it helped her case. "I was... I was..." For the sake of lost explanations, she scowled even harder.

"You should work on your scowl," Willow had said to her once. "It makes you look like you're on the toilet."

She might have broken a blood vessel if she hadn't remembered her sister's snide remark. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Beau's eyes narrowed. "You were in the window last night." He pointed at her bedroom window. "I could've sworn I saw someone who looked like you." He stroked his chin, as if recalling the shape of her womanly silhouette, enough to tempt his eyes.

She swallowed a snort.

Womanly? Yeah, right.

Cora nodded at his question.

He nodded too, still gripping his chin. Until, at last, he dropped his hand. "It is a bit strange, isn't it? I didn't expect to see you for a while, Cora." He shrugged. "Feels like fate."

Oh, yes. Fate is such a tease.

"Is Mrs. Campbell your grandmother?" she asked, feigning her curiosity, like she didn't already know.

"Yeah."

Her natural smile slipped onto her face then. "I didn't know she had grandchildren." Then under her breath, she said, "This is too weird."

"Right? I told her about you. But I thought... nah." He shook his head.

A gust of wind swept leaves from the dogwood tree across the yard. Cora's hair was whipped across her face. She shoved it aside.

"What happened to your...?" Beau tapped his arm.

"Oh, that. I..." She inspected her arm, searching for a reason for how it healed so fast. "It's some sort of random gene in my family." She chuckled, flicking her wrist.

Beau furrowed his brow, so she continued. "We heal sooner than most people." She stretched out her miraculously healed arm. "It isn't a big deal really?"

"That doesn't make any sense," said Beau. He was going to persist, but his grandmother cut him off when she came to the door, saving Cora from another bad lie.

It was baking day. Mrs. Campbell had on her gingham apron. She struck Beau across the chest with a wooden spoon, still covered with a bit of batter. "How long does it take to get the mail? You're making me miss my show."

"I'm sorry!" Beau held up his hands.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Cora Emerson," he said, swiping batter off his sweatshirt. He licked it off his thumb.

Mrs. Campbell leaned over the threshold. "Cora." The soft folds of her cheeks rose like freshly baked bread when she smiled. The freckles speckled across her broad nose were identical to Beau's in size and placement. "Beau's hero. How are you?" she asked. "Your..." Mrs. Campbell squeezed her arm, the recognition easy to read on her face that Cora's arm was fine.

Miraculously healed in fact.

"I'm okay." It was her standard reply, even on days like these when she wasn't. She glanced at her front door. There was no way she'd make it inside now. You should never start a conversation with Mrs. Campbell unless you had the hours for it. Besides, she had plans, which she remembered now. Her bed couldn't dishevel itself.

She placed her heel on the front mat, near the bold E embellishment.

"Would you like to come in for cake and tea?" Mrs. Campbell ambled to the iron fence that separated her house from theirs, her smile reaching her eyes. "It's apple cake and maybe some vanilla tea to help this awful weather." She gazed at the sky, confirming that the weather was in fact gloomy.

"I don't know." She took another step backwards, the heel of her boot brushing the tip of the E now.

"Are you coming from school?"

"Just now actually." She swept her hair out of her face; a strand had gotten caught in her mouth, tasting like her favorite curl cream. She plucked it off her tongue discreetly.

"Drop your things inside and come in. It'll be my thanks for saving Beau from himself. I doubt Agatha will mind it." Mrs. Campbell waved for her to hurry. "Beau will let you in."

"I will," said Beau, his lips slightly curling in amusement.

"I have a lot of homework to do." She glanced again at the door, hoping for it to open from the other side. Willow should have been home already.

"Homework? On Friday?" Mrs. Campbell laughed. "It'll only be a second."

She doesn't like hearing no, does she?

"Okay. All right." She slipped her tote off her shoulder, relieving it from the weightiness. "Give me a second. I'll be right there."

"Wonderful." Pleased to have captured Cora, Mrs. Campbell flicked her spoon, sending more cake batter flying.

Cora repaid her smile, as she dug in her bag for her keys.

She unlocked the front door, slipping into the warmth of home. After shutting the foyer door, she pressed her forehead against the glass paneling and groaned.

"This is not going to be easy."

"Bring me back a slice," was all Agatha said when Cora told her that Mrs. Campbell had invited her over for cake and tea. She'd even ignored Cora's feigned posh British accent.

She dropped her bag at the couch beside Agatha's feet. "If I don't come back, she's probably keeping me in the attic."

"Mm-hmm." Agatha turned another page of her book. Her reading glasses were hanging on for dear life at the tip of her nose.

"Grandma."

"Yes?" Agatha raised her eyelids a fraction, enough to appease Cora but not enough to satisfy her.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" She raised her hands but not her voice. She knew better.

"You said that you'll be in the attic."

"We don't have an attic."

"So, what's the problem?"

Cora curled her toes, worsening a hole in her black nylon tights. "I'll be back by six," she said, giving up. She could survive another evening in Beau's company, even his grandmother's. Maybe it would help her make up her mind.

She picked at her bottom lip.

Yes. That's the plan. This is his last chance to prove me wrong, his life is or isn't worth ruining.

She was at the foyer door when Agatha hollered, "Be sure to scream loud enough for us to hear you." Then added, before she could close the door, "And don't forget my cake."

It was chillier out on the front porch, though only a few minutes had passed. She sent a quick text to her mother.

I'm heading next door. Mrs. Campbell's. I should be home before six.

Stella responded: Okay. I'm grocery shopping. Should be home soon. Lines are hell.

Willow was coming up the steps as she finished texting her reply. She halted at the top; her hip cocked.

Cora stalled for a moment, scanning old text messages. Willow could be so moody that even her eyebrows had shadows. Once Cora had suggested having them waxed. She'd woken the next morning missing several inches of her twist-out. A crime Willow denied to this day.

"Where are you going?" she asked before Cora's phone was in her pocket.

She tipped her head. "Next door."

Willow's already tiny mouth grew tighter. "You don't need to do both, you know."

"What?"

"You don't need to do both. You could've just said next door or pointed. I'm not an idiot."

Used to Willow critiquing her personality, she ignored this. "Why are you so late?"

Willow sighed, her shoulders slumping enough to make her backpack fall. It fell like the weight of bricks with all the books crammed inside.

"Where's Mom?" she asked, attempting to crush a pebble beneath her patent black Mary Jane flats.

"Out grocery shopping." She started down the steps past her sister. "She'll be back soon."

"Don't you have better things to do than talk about patterns and doilies? Seriously, Cora, your fingers might atrophy from lack of use. It isn't even hard."

"So, write a book about it," she shot back, the gate closing with a whine behind her.

"I could write a thousand books and it still wouldn't help you."

She applied a thick layer. The waxy strawberry flavor moisturized and made her grimace. She glanced over her shoulder next to make sure no one was out. Willow had already gone in. A meowing cat slinked around the rear tires of a minivan.

You stay on your side of the road, and I'll stay on mine.

She stuck out her tongue.

Across the street, a curtain caught the light of a flickering TV. A leaf, being pushed by the wind, made it into the yard but got stuck at the steps. In the dimming light, she couldn't see past Hemlock Avenue's long row of traditional houses, where the quiet stopped and the hustle began.

She reached beneath her dress and yanked up her drooping tights. There. Better. She pressed the doorbell once.

"That must be Cora." Mrs. Campbell's piercingly sweet voice drifted from somewhere within the house. "Beau? Are you going to get that?"

Cora twiddled her thumbs, as a set of heavy footsteps approached. Beau opened the door, his cell phone pressed to his ear, waving her inside with his free hand.

"Should I take off my shoes?" She lifted the smudged toes of her boots off the floral-patterned rug.

"If you want," said Beau. Then to someone else, "No, I wasn't talking to you. My grandma's neighbor. You don't know her. Why are you asking me?"

Unbuttoning her coat, Cora followed him into the foyer, trying not to listen to his conversation, paying attention instead to the hand stitched hangings on the wall. One said, Home Sweet Home. Another was an embroidery of sunflowers, brightening the pale blue walls. In layout, there was a slight difference between this house and hers, the kitchen on her right and living room down the hall, the air warm with cinnamon, vanilla, and... She sniffed... nutmeg.

Beau led her into the kitchen where his grandmother was turning the dial on the oven. "I almost thought you'd changed your mind," she said, wiping her hands on a towel, also embroidered with a rooster. She tucked the towel into the oven's handle and turned down the jazz playing on the radio on the windowsill above the sink.

"I'm sorry." Hidden beneath the long sleeves of her ruby coat, Cora balled her hands into fists. Beau didn't ask for it, so she kept it on, enduring the warmth.

Mrs. Campbell's gaze skipped past her. She turned in time to see Beau leave the room, laughing into his phone. "That's because you're broke."

Cora flapped her arms. "You've finished all your baking already?" There was a heap of pots in the sink, ingredients all over the counters, and three large cakes cooling on the island.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Campbell said. "The last one is in the oven now." She stretched. Her bones popped as if to make her point. She'd been in the kitchen all day.

Cora hoped Mrs. Campbell would offer her a slice sooner rather than later. Unsure of whether she should sit, she scrutinized the rest of the kitchen. Smaller than the Emersons, the appliances were flecked with rust, the thick bond between the white tiling reminded Cora of her glue eating phase in Pre-K, the paint chipping in places. Altogether, the room was clean yet aging.

Mrs. Campbell wouldn't notice right away Cora polishing some rust away, adding a bit of shine to the lackluster apparatuses. She considered it, only to remember why she shouldn't.

You're Cora, a wicked sorceress. Not Cora the agreeable witch.

"Let me put on the kettle." Mrs. Campbell picked up the kettle to fill with water. "Sit down," she said. "Don't just stand there."

Cora hurried into a chair at the island.

"Aren't you hot in that coat?" asked Mrs. Campbell.

She whipped off her coat.

I don't even need strings, just give me a command.

Willow's final remark reiterated in her head. She sank deeper into the chair. Mrs. Campbell finished at the stove. The cupboard she opened groaned on its hinges. Cora cringed. The idea to help pestered her again.

"Shut up," she commanded it.

"What's that?" Mrs. Campbell spun, perplexed.

"Nothing." She sank her teeth into the tip of her tongue.

Mrs. Campbell set three dessert plates on the island top. She doubled back for a knife and forks. "Tell me how big of a slice you'd like?"

Finally. Give me the cake, then we talk.

She leaned forward, pressing her already growling belly into the counter. "Thank you, Mrs. Campbell," she said. "Right there is good." It was a large piece, not as large as she'd have liked but it would do. "My grandmother asked for a slice too if that's okay."

"Call me Jean, dear." Mrs. Campbell passed Cora her plate. "I'll wrap up another for you before you leave." She shoveled out two more thick slices, popping a fallen crumb into her mouth. "Go on, have a taste. Tell me what you think." She watched Cora as she ate.

"It's really good." The steam tickled her cheeks.

Spongy, spiced with enough cinnamon, and hot enough to melt on her tongue. She wasn't the kind of girl who nibbled her food. In three bites, the cake was almost gone.

"You can have more if you like." Mrs. Campbell—Jean—took off her apron, flinging it over the back of the chair beside her. Her beige sweater and pants matched accordingly with her sensible brown loafers. Though Cora's granny was more than two decades older, Mariam Emerson would rather marry for love than wear sweaters.

Cora smiled into her cake, pleased to have such eccentric relatives. When she caught Jean's gaze, she let her smile fall. "It must be nice having your grandson here."

"Yeah, but she keeps me in the basement."

She shifted as Beau sat beside her. He grabbed his plate, grinning.

That must be why you looked so dazed earlier.

Her smile returned a little, as she wondered what Beau would say if she'd said it out loud. She sucked on her fork, imagining.

"At least you get fed," said Jean.

"Barely," Beau retorted.

Cora chanced a look. He winked. She subtly rolled her eyes.

"The truth is, Cora," said Jean, "I was happy on my own."

Beau gasped and clutched his chest, feigning heartache. She noticed that his gold and black watch, though well-worn, couldn't be an heirloom, the way it glinted in the light.

"So, what happened?" she asked.

Despite their jokes, it wasn't hard to tell how much Jean loved her grandson. After all, she was close with her grandmother too. A relationship she wouldn't trade for world domination. Willow, on the other hand, could go either way.

"My parents are having a baby," said Beau, shoveling down his second to last portion of cake. "Our apartment got too crowded."

The water began to boil. Jean turned off the stove. "So, they kicked you out?" Cora clenched her jaw as another cupboard opened with a whine.

"Nah." Beau pushed his fork around his plate. "I'm here until I get my own place."

So, he's older.

Jean brought her a chipped rose patterned teacup full of tea. Cora took it from her outstretched hand and Jean offered another cup to Beau.

"And who knows how long that'll be?" said Jean, settling down beside Cora.

Beau drummed his fingers on the table. "Mom and Dad thought it was a good idea."

"I've been telling your father for years I don't need help."

"You're lucky to have me. Who else could suffer through the Ridge Perry Show?" Beau blew on his tea, his gaze shifting to his grandmother.

Jean laughed. "You're right. I am, but suffering is a strong word."

"Ridge Perry?" Cora blew on her tea. She hadn't been watching, but Jean might not have sweetened it how she liked. She took a sip. Like she thought, a bitter vanilla flavor.

"My favorite radio show," Jean said. "I like solving those mysteries, and I do also love the sound of his voice, reminds me of that Walter Wright the kids like."

She didn't know who that was either and wouldn't bother asking. "Like those crime shows on TV?" she asked instead.

Jean lowered her teacup farther from her mouth. "No, not that. It's a bit like Out of Reality."

"Huh?"

"It was one of my favorite shows."

"Sorry, I've never heard of it," Cora said, blowing on her tea to distract from the fact she didn't like the taste.

"Well, I suppose you're too young." Jean laughed. She snapped her fingers. "I just remembered tomorrow's Halloween. Beau, why didn't you remind me? Are you still going to that party?"

"I doubt it," he said, flicking the end of his fork so it spun on his plate.

"I hope we won't get too many visitors this year." Jean took a long sip of tea. "I hate being on my feet all evening passing out candy."

Cora gazed longingly at the cake on Jean's plate, trying to figure out how to ask for more or have a bite without her noticing.

"I would have gone if someone hadn't turned me down." Beau didn't meet Cora's gaze. Her heart had leapt when he said it, surprised he'd even brought it up. Her cheeks burned.

"Maybe next time," said Jean. "Where is it again? Thorne Point College?"

"Around there."

Jean grabbed Cora's wrist. "He goes there, you know. "Studying..." She pressed her thumb into her chin. "Business Administration. It's his first year."

"I'll probably take Noah trick-or-treating instead." Beau ignored his grandmother's fawning. "He says he's bored and wants me to come home."

"You've only been gone two days," said Jean.

Cora gathered that Noah was Beau's younger brother, younger maybe than Willow who never wanted to go trick-or-treating with her at any age.

"I got into FAE," she blurted for some reason that was replaced with an awkward silence.

"That's wonderful." Jean who'd started on her cake, at last, put down her fork. "FAE? I'm confused, which one is that again?"

"It's in Oleander Garden. It's the Fashion Academy of Elorie actually. I'm starting next fall after I graduate." She giggled, snorted, and took a big gulp from her cup to hide her embarrassment.

For the love of... Why did you snort? You idiot.

Beau hadn't flinched or recoiled. Thank the all-powerful father. In her effort to avoid his gaze, she focused instead on emptying her cup, disturbed only when a brush against her leg made her scream. "What the heck." She skidded back, swiping at her leg where the thing had touched her.

The culprit, Edgar, trotted from beneath her chair, looking back at her from the door, as if scaring her had been his plan all along. Beau laughed. The way Edgar stared her down, Cora didn't doubt he'd planned it. What conceited creatures cats were. She snapped her fingers, a quick pinch of his striped, gray tail. Edgar yelped and sprinted from the room.

Beau's laughter faded into chuckles. "What the heck," he mocked.

"I'm afraid Edgar doesn't like strangers," said Jean, bringing her mug to the sink.

Well, I don't like him either.

Jean's plate rattled under the weight of Cora's magic, capturing her and Beau's attention. She'd meant to send it to the floor to mollify her annoyance and for Jean not even trying to finish her cake. Then neither of them could have it. But she didn't. The plate settled with her nerves.

None of their conversation so far had put her any closer to figuring out what to do about Beau. It wasn't her worst evening, far from it, with the exception of that miserable creature.

But any evening with cake was an achievement to Cora.

Hello dear reader! So this is one hefty chapter, I know, but I'm so glad you made it to the end. 

Most of this chapter was added during a major revision. I wanted to include more scenes featuring Cora and Beau. And because I love a good slice of cake, I thought having Beau's grandmother invite her over for cake and tea was the perfect opportunity to get them mingling. We still have a long way to go in the story so expect more Cora, Beau, and more talk of food, especially dessert because it happens to be my favorite meal.

If you love sweets like Cora, what's your favorite dessert? 

I personally love milk chocolate candy bars and my favorite flavor of cake is vanilla with lots of icing. 

This month also happens to be my seventh Wattpad anniversary, the 21st to be exact.  *throws confetti* 

Thank you so much for reading! If you have any thoughts, do share them with me in the comments! <3