At about a quarter after five, she was back on the Campbell's front porch. "Tell Jean I said thanks for the cake," she said to Beau.

Jean had given her a whole cake to take home. Cora held the old cookie tin close to her chest. "I had fun," she said.

He gaped at her in silence.

She shivered. "Boy, it's cold out here."

"Fun?" he said, his eyebrows edging up. "You liked looking at those old photos?"

During the latter half of her visit, Jean had brought out a photo album. She'd expected to see lots of photos of a younger Beau, missing teeth and chubby. Maybe even photos of her children. She had two, a daughter and a son—Clyde—Beau's father. Instead, there'd been lots of photos of Jean herself. "Her glory years," she'd called them and sighed, running her slender fingers across a black and white photo of her then boyfriend, now late husband.

She shrugged. "It was cool." Younger Jean had a trendy sense of style, quite mod. She could respect that.

He leaned closer. Her inhale was sharp. She hated herself a half second later for it, realizing he'd moved to watch a bright red sports car speed down Hemlock Avenue.

She pointed over her shoulder. "I should go. They're waiting for me."

I wish. The cake is all they really want.

"Yeah," said Beau, his eyelids lowering. He set his bottom lip between his teeth.

Come on. Say something else. Say anything. Ask me about school.

She beamed as much mental energy she could at him. But mind control was one charm she didn't possess. It was a law of magic because if she could she'd have charmed someone into pieces and be done with it.

"See you later," he said, oblivious to her powers over him.

"Good night, Beau." Without another word, she ran down the steps. The Campbell's door closed the moment she reached the gate. She didn't stop, didn't glance that way, until at her front door. She paused with the key between her fingers and the cake tucked under one arm. "Be warned, Beaumont Campbell. You're still at the top of my list," she said.

Forgetting the key, she snapped her fingers to unlock the door. Inside the Emerson house was quiet. "I'm home," she said, as she did her usual routine of kicking her shoes off at the door and tossing her coat into the hall closet. "And I've brought cake."

No one answered. When she checked the living room, expecting to see Agatha or her mother, the TV greeted her with an ad for cat food. "Ew." She cringed.

In the kitchen, she set the cake down on the counter. "I should have my slice now," she said, prying off the top. "With a glass of milk to wash away my pain." She skated across the kitchen floor to the fridge. Along with the milk, she grabbed the strawberry syrup.

A sugar coma might help her sleep better.

She shut the door with her hip. A sugar coma, her favorite sitcom, and... She contemplated. "Ice cream."

"Back so soon."

She gasped, flinging the spoon from her hand to the floor. She hadn't heard her grandmother come into the room. "With a cake." She retrieved the spoon and rinsed it under hot water.

Agatha smiled. "I didn't mean to frighten you." Her horn-rimmed reading glasses dangled on a silver chain around her neck. She bent down to pick up a forgotten receipt, groaning as she did, and shuffled to the fridge, tucking the receipt beneath a magnet bottle opener. "Stella must have forgotten this."

Cora pulled out a stool at the island and sat with her elbows on her knees and chin resting on her fists. She hadn't forgotten her third slice of cake but needed the extra bit of attention from her grandmother the most. Agatha Emerson couldn't resist her granddaughter's glower.

Cora sighed for emphasis.

"Oh, oh, I know that look," she said, laughing. "Let me pour us some milk, then we talk."

Forget the milk. I need something stronger.

She knew where her mother kept the wine, but she'd be a fool to touch it. She accepted the cold glass from her grandmother, sans the strawberry syrup. Agatha's sweet tooth wasn't as petulant as hers. Unlike her mother, Mariam, she was more predictable.

She dressed almost the same as Jean, from the woman's section of a department store, sensible, no fuss. She wore hardly any makeup, except for color on her lips that night. A shade the color of eggplants. And she kept her hair the same way for years, a silver buzz cut. Small pearl earrings finished the look.

The years had made her softer, more patient with her granddaughters, so much so Cora couldn't believe the woman beside her hadn't always been this way.

Agatha sat on the stool next to her, clutching her glass. "Why don't you tell your grandmother what's wrong?"

Cora didn't respond.

"Is it a boy?" Agatha patted her lap.

Cora stared into the opaque white liquid, as if she'd find her malice at the bottom of the glass of milk. She didn't know how to tell her grandmother she didn't want to go through with the ritual yet and she needed more time to find someone new.

"I may not be a young thing, but I think I have some experience." Agatha tapped her short nails on the glass, waiting.

Cora smiled. Her grandmother had always been one of her favorite people. All her life, she'd managed to nurture her without being overbearing. She'd been through every bruised knee and fallen tooth, leaving peppermint candy under her pillow instead of money because she said peppermint was much better currency.

When she'd had her first heartbreak in elementary school because a group of girls wouldn't let her sit with them, Agatha had been there for her, taking her out for her favorite flavor of ice cream, cinnamon pretzel, because she said ice cream healed hearts. She wasn't like Stella who would remind her of the Emerson motto or like Mariam who would recite her own tale of misery and woe. She was simply grandma. She put her hand on top of Cora's. The warmth filled her up better than a cup of hot chocolate ever could.

"It is a boy," she said finally. She pulled her hand out from underneath her grandmother's and wiped her eyes although they were dry.

"I thought as much," said Agatha. "Is it the same boy who took you to the hospital? The one?" She jabbed Cora's side with her elbow lightly.

Cora, who'd always been ticklish, wrapped her arm around her stomach and nodded. "He's also Mrs. Campbell's grandson. Did you know?"

Agatha's eyes widened. "Yes, I saw a young man leaving her house the other day. I thought maybe it was someone she'd hired to bring in groceries."

"No," said Cora. "He lives there now."

"You aren't interested in him, are you?" Agatha's smile hit her eyes, and Cora caught a glimpse of a younger her, possibly how she'd looked at her age.

She waved her hand. "No." She tugged at her sleeves. "I am absolutely not."

I'm absolutely not.

But a new warmth flooded her belly.

Agatha, whose smile was perpetual, asked, "So you're worried about the ritual?"

"I don't know if I can do it," she admitted. "I don't think I can." She bent over, her head hanging once more. She didn't want to cry in front of her grandmother. That, on top of admitting how scared she was, would be too much for a wicked sorceress.

Agatha rubbed her back in circles. Outside, a strong gust made the branches of the dogwood tree scrape against the windowpane. Once it stopped, Agatha said, "I'm not going to lie to you. It won't be easy."

Cora lifted her head enough to glimpse her grandmother's frown. "But sometimes," Agatha continued, "we have to do things we don't like for the greater good."

She didn't see how ruining a life would be considered good but none of them had a choice. It was their magical misfortune, thrust on them centuries ago—a horrendous curse. Before she could say it, Agatha said, "You think I like making those darn beauty products?" She chuckled. "I do it because it's what we've done for years."

Cora slumped once more. Her grandmother had begun to sound like her mother. She patted her back. "But," Agatha said, "it doesn't mean you can't have a little fun."

She lifted her head and Agatha winked.

"It doesn't have to be all doom and gloom," she said. "You're young." She squeezed Cora's arm. "And there will be others. Don't let this one get you down. He's just a boy, but we are your family. We'll always be here." Agatha leaned towards her ear. "At least, Mariam will."

Cora laughed. It wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. What she'd wanted was for her grandmother to say that she didn't have to do it if she didn't want to, but she remembered that family was the most important thing to her grandmother. And it should have been the most important thing to her too. Why was she so hung up on this boy? He was, like her grandmother had said, only a boy. She kissed her grandmother's cheek. It had come down to two things: Her family or the life of a stranger. In that case, she'd made up her mind.

She'd be choosing him when the clock struck midnight.

Halloween had always been like Christmas in the Emerson house. A magical time of year. They didn't decorate. There were no presents or games, but the Emerson sorceresses had a particular glow on that frightful day. Stella even let Cora and Willow use more magic in the house. She'd never wanted her daughters to become too reliant on it, for fear of them becoming slothful, though Cora and Willow often did behind her back.

At least on Halloween day they didn't have to hide it. Needless to say, by the afternoon, Cora had snapped her fingers so much she could've started a fire.

"No, turn that way," her mother was saying. They were outside in the yard. Stella held a camera and was directing her on how to pose. Every year since she'd started her blog, Cora had dressed up for Halloween.

Last year she'd been "a party animal," in a DIY cat eye mask, a leopard print sweater, black pants, and leopard print heels. Of course, she'd donned her trademark red lipstick. This year, however, she wore the dress Mariam had given her.

Stella waved her hand. "Now turn a little to the right and don't look so serious.

She did as her mother instructed.

That's it." Stella gave Cora a thumbs up.

The early trick-or-treaters passing by in gremlin masks and bride of Frankenstein wigs did double takes, but she didn't mind. She'd gotten used to the stares she got whenever her mom took her picture. She liked to pretend she was someone important on a photoshoot. She did a little dance, twirling the skirt of the dress, which earned her another thumbs up.

There were a few hours left until the ritual. She tried to put it out of her mind, focusing instead on the positive. When it was all said and done, everything would be normal. As far as she knew, there wasn't a law that said she'd have to keep ruining lives forever. It was only a formality, a test of her prowess.

At the end, she'd still have her magic. That was most important.

"Get out of my way." A little boy ran down the sidewalk, clutching a broomstick between his legs.

She forgot to pose, watching as he ran and leapt across the street out of sight.

If they only knew what it's really like.

Stella snapped her fingers to get her attention. Cora forced a grin. Once they'd finished, Stella had taken over twenty photos of her. She leaned over her mother's shoulder as she scrolled through them. "That one looks good," she said. In the photo, she stood off to the side with a slight smile on her lips.

"Let's get inside. The weather's turning." Her mother gazed up at the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

The first drops of rain struck Cora's cheek. "Darn, I did want to try out my new broom," she said, which earned her a slight shove up the steps. Her mother hated when she joked about sorceresses in such a way.

There was such a thing as sorceress prejudice. Most people thought sorceresses were horrendous women with green skin, boils, and a pointy hat who rode around on brooms. In truth, Cora's family was like any other, except they could do magic. To be fair, Willow did own a pointy hat. She'd bought it as a joke.

She took the camera to her room and plugged it into her laptop. She was on the last photo when Willow barged in. She flopped, belly first, onto Cora's bed. "Do you think I'm too old to trick-or-treat?" she asked. "Mom wants me to stay in."

Cora, who was busy opening up her editing software, didn't respond right away. "I don't think you're too old," she said. "But Mom hates those costumes."

"I won't be dressing up, neither are Piper and Oliver." Those were Willow's best friends, although she liked to pretend she didn't need them.

"Did you tell Mom that?"

The bed groaned as Willow rolled onto her back. "She says the weather's too bad anyway."

It had occurred to her that even though Willow said she didn't care about certain things she undoubtedly did. Willow snapped her fingers and Cora's laptop slammed shut.

"Hey," she said, swiveling around in her chair to face her sister. "I'm not the one keeping you locked in here."

Willow rolled onto her stomach again and propped her chin in her hands. "Ask her to let me go. Please."

She considered this. Willow never begged unless she had to. "Why do you really want to go?"

Willow buried her face into the covers. Cora couldn't hear her as she spoke.

"Fine," she said, swiveling back to her computer. "Don't tell me."

"All right, all right," said Willow. She let out a breath. "Oliver Maxwell is—"

"A boy?" Cora swiveled around so fast she almost fell out of the chair.

Willow's cheeks went pink, a pretty color on her, which she refused to wear. "He isn't a boy. He's just a friend. Stop looking at me like that." She covered her face with her hands.

"I'm not," Cora said, but she was. The day had come. Willow had her first crush. She wanted to hug her, but she knew Willow would never have it. "Is he cute?" she asked. She'd never met Oliver or any of Willow's friends. Before now, she'd suspected they weren't real.

"Forget it." Willow got up and stormed out of the room.

"I'll tell Mom for you," Cora called after her. After minutes of fiddling with the photos, she left to see how much longer dinner would be.

Her mother and grandmother were in the kitchen preparing dinner, otherwise known as their annual Halloween feast. Rain beat against the windows, thunder clashed, lightening flashed, and Stella sung as she supervised the cooking.

"It's music to my ears," she said to her mother as thunder rumbled across Thorne Point.

There was nothing quite like a good thunderstorm on Halloween night. It might even mean less trick-or-treaters. Earlier, Willow had hung a sign on their front door that said, "No candy! Go away or else."

They put this sign up every year, but people usually thought it was all a joke. Stella would put out a bowl of the nastiest candy she could find, some cough drop variety. That would be gone by six PM. Every year, they had at least one visitor.

On this day in the Emerson house, no one bothered to use their hands to prepare dinner. Ingredients poured themselves into bowls; the bowls mixed themselves, and spoons scraped their contents into pans. All the Emerson sorceresses had to do was snap their fingers and make sure the oven door was open when needed. Cora stood in the doorway and watched in wonder. She'd had years of this, but it never seized to astound her. It was then, most of all, she loved being a sorceress. It was then she loved magic.

"Need any help?" she asked, ducking a bowl of thick, brown batter.

Her grandmother, who'd been paging through a cookbook, said, "No, dear, we've got it all under control."

"Go watch TV with your sister," her mother said. She tapped her foot as she observed a pan of biscuits like there was music.

There were too many sweet aromas in the kitchen to pinpoint just one. She wanted to stay and watch and maybe lick a spoon or two like she used to when she was younger, but she left as her mother had asked.

She and Willow did have their own Halloween tradition. The first trick-or-treater would be here any minute. They needed to get their costume ready. Cora poked her head into the living room. Willow lay sprawled on the couch watching a horror movie.

"I can tell you how it ends," said Cora.

Willow turned the TV off. "I already know how it ends. Are you ready?"

She didn't have to respond. Of course, she was ready. Every year on Halloween, Cora and Willow dressed up as the creepy, old Mrs. Stern. Willow would sit on her shoulders covered by a long cloak Cora had found in a costume shop downtown. Willow would slip on a mask, also bought from the same shop, and they would say the line, "No more candy," using a voice changer. There was nothing more horrifying than there being no more candy.

It was all in the fun of Halloween.