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.

"How about I take a look?" he asked.

"How about you actually pay attention in class." Eva gave him the hand. Her I'm done with you gesture.

He spread his arms wide, slapping another classmate in the face. "Come on. How's that fair? Okay, fine, what about you?" He jerked his chin at Cora.

"Trust me, you don't want to copy from me," she said. Even if she'd wanted to give him her homework, there was a chance she'd gotten most of it wrong. Math wasn't her best subject. She managed to maintain a C average. She was at least a B in her other classes. She'd spent all Sunday finishing her Essay for English, emailing it to Ms. Brindle before midnight.

When their classmate was pulled away by another peer, Eva said to Cora, "Don't think I've forgotten about you and this mystery boy." She nudged her arm." I want to know who he is. You can't keep these details from your best friend."

"I'm telling you he's no one." She tried to keep her face serious as she said this. Beau was in fact someone, someone whose obliviousness would be his ruination. She could tell Eva wasn't convinced, but Mr. Hankerson turned up, cutting their conversation short.

As they settled into their seats before class began, Eva leaned over and whispered, "Trust me, Cora Emerson, I will find out who this boy is."

She didn't doubt she would. Eva was astute in more ways than one.

Cora didn't reply right away, but she did reread the message throughout the day, during lunch when Eva wasn't looking, under the desk in her last class, right before she left school, on the bus ride home, and again as she lay on her bed in her room.

He was undeniably attractive and nice enough, but none of that mattered. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't. Her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother didn't keep men around for a reason.

Men complicated things. Simply put. They distracted you. They made you want to be good. Well, at least, the decent ones did. Beau was a decent one. Cora could tell as she studied his message for the umpteenth time, as if she could get a hint of his personality through the text. She finally put down her phone, grabbed the notepad and pen on her nightstand, and wrote:

Five Ways to Ruin a Boy:

1. Pretend to be interested in them when you really aren't.

That rule was easy enough. Boys weren't so hard to trap after all. In a few more texts, she'd have him right where she needed him. He wouldn't suspect a thing.

She continued with her list.

2. When the victim is most unaware strike hard and fast.

All her life, she'd never considered herself ruthless. Yes, she could be mean at times when she allowed herself to be, but never ruthless. She had no idea what she meant by hard and fast. She'd have to be creative.

At the very least, it would help her hone her charms. Her great-grandmother had once said that sorcery was an art and being born with magic in your blood didn't mean you'd be a skilled sorceress. Some needed to practice more than others.

She needed to practice more than others.

3. Don't only stick to what you know. Think outside the box. Have fun.

Have fun. That had been her grandmother's advice. After all, they were sorceresses. It would be impossible not to have fun. At least one part of her would. The thought alone triggered her guilty conscience, and she hadn't even begun to inflict misery and woe.

What if he never recovers from his broken heart?

She shook the thought away and wrote:

4. Don't be weighed down by guilt. Let your instincts lead you.

That was it, her instincts. Sometimes she felt less like a sorceress and more like the monster in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. One part of her yearned for this and that was the part of her she'd have to rely on if she wanted to keep her magic. She'd fought with herself too many times, not only about Beau but also about everything.

5. Never let your heart get in the way.

This was the most important rule. Hearts were such fallible things, wanting what they shouldn't. Sometimes, she let herself imagine what it would be like to be a normal teenage girl and it always left her heart aching. Anyone would love to have magic. Magic made life easier, but it also complicated things. It complicated her heart.

She read her list. It wasn't so bad. She could do those things and more. She needed to believe she could. Belief was the most powerful magic there was. Even regular humans could do some wonderful things as long as they believed they could. It wouldn't be easy, but she could do it.

She tossed the notepad and pen onto her nightstand, picked up her phone, and typed her reply.

That's too bad. Maybe next time. Where do you work?

She hit send without hesitating so that her anxiety wouldn't be more than a simmer in her gut. "Keep your eyes on your magic." She patted her cheeks. "Think in magic, Cora. It's not like he's all that to begin with." She scooted off her bed, leaving her phone where it was.

Her first blog post of the week went up on Monday evenings. She'd already been through all the photos and had settled on four she thought were best. As she waited for her laptop to start up, she decided to put on a song on her cell, flipping through her playlist until she found the one she needed. The song was electric pop. She closed her bedroom door, not wanting spectators. Then, as the music played, she got up onto her bed and danced. It was her own form of therapy, and no one, not even Eva, had ever seen her dance.

Magical things happened when she did, not only to herself but to everything around her. Magic flowed through her and she casted a spell on everyone and everything. If someone could've seen her, they would have suddenly felt as light and airy as she did.

They would forget about the constant rain, who they missed, and what made their hearts ache. As far as sorcery went, it was her most special gift and the opposite of wicked. She could lighten any sad heart all with one graceful move.

At that moment, every single object in her room and in the house was afloat, hovering in the air as if on invisible wings.

Cora, herself, was floating a few inches off her bed.

Someone, probably Willow, pounded a fist on the door. "Would you stop that?' she asked. "I'm doing homework and it's kind of hard when I can't reach my textbook."

Cora grinned. When she didn't stop, Willow pushed in, the door slamming against the wall. As soon as her sister came in, she stopped dancing. Her feet settled onto the mattress and the objects, which had been afloat, lightly landed where they'd once been.

"Seriously, Cora," said Willow, pulling the door closed behind her.

Once she did, Cora resumed shaking her hips.

On the other side of the door, Willow groaned. "Mom, she's doing it again. Please make her stop."

Every one of the Emerson sorceresses had a gift called a splendor, which usually came in at puberty. Cora's great-grandmother had been so skilled with love potions and their opposite. She could make even the most agreeable couple hate each other.

Her grandmother had a way with plants and herbs, a gift that came in handy when she'd had to deal with Cora's grandfather who was said to be the worst of the worst kind of man. Cora's grandfather had a mysterious and sudden death, and everyone suspected one of Agatha's brews had been behind it. And her mother sometimes got so angry she shattered wine glasses with her voice. The Emerson sorceresses could do more than destroy a person. They could destroy a person and get away with it.

They all knew that once Willow's splendor came in she would be a menace. 

Beau's replies to her messages were short and abrupt, yet she persisted all week, gathering the information she obtained like a search engine, for the perfect moment to strike.

She texted: Do you like working at the mall?

He replied: Yeah.

She texted: Cool. I haven't been in ages. Your store's new, right?

He replied: Kind of.

She texted: Is it a shoe store?

He replied: Sort of.

She texted: What do you do there?

The hours stretched between her last text and Beau's response. Thirteen hours went by, an entire day. She read through their conversation to make sure she hadn't missed anything. Waiting on the school cafeteria's lunch line on Thursday afternoon, she concluded he hadn't really been interested. He'd felt sorry for her or had wanted to thank her. That was all.

She also concluded she was hopeless at flirting. Her texts were boring. A year's worth of women's magazines had taught her nothing when it came to seducing men. She could ask for help. Mariam Emerson had at least three engagement rings in her jewelry box. She'd bragged about them enough, how the men couldn't resist and how she'd fooled them.

Cora decided against it for her ego's sake. If texting wouldn't work, she had to try harder. She hadn't seen Beau all week. School and work took up both of their time. She could pay Mrs. Campbell another visit, casually ask for Beau's schedule, and just so happen to be wherever he was. As much as the thought amused her, if he didn't find her bizarre already, stalking would ruin her, not him.

Mariam always said, "We lay the traps and they happily wander in."

For the umpteenth time in Cora's life, being an Emerson was tiring. Beau needed to hurry up and fall in love with her already, but she couldn't even create the thought in his mind.

Another useless law of magic. 

As the all-powerful would have it, Cora ran into Beau where she'd least expected to.

On Friday after school, she and Eva had been perusing the aisles of a local pharmacy, Cora for feminine care products and Eva for new makeup. Eva wanted silvery makeup for prom and the pharmacy had a much better selection than the supermarket her mother had suggested.

Cora, holding a box of tampons, had been helping Eva pick out a new eyeshadow when she saw him. She turned the other way, hoping he hadn't seen her. "This one looks great," she said, plucking a black case off the shelf.

The air was thick, dusty, and she felt unnerved.

"I wish I could try them on," Eva said, taking it from her. She flipped it over to read the ingredients because she refused to use products that contained harmful chemicals.

"I'm sure it'll look great," Cora said. Beau had stopped a few feet away and appeared to be examining the Q-Tips. He had a small white paper bag in his other hand from the pharmacy.

"Why are you in such a rush?" Eva picked up another silver eyeshadow to compare the two. Cora stood in her line of sight so she couldn't see past her.

"I need to pee," she lied, even did a little dance.

"I'm sure they have a bathroom somewhere," Eva said, looking behind her. Another product on the shelf caught her eye and she said, jumping a little, "I can't believe they have this. I saw it in a magazine. It's what the models wear." She held it up to her eyes. "What do you think? My color?"

"Yes. Perfect." Cora took Eva by the shoulders and steered her towards the register.

There, Beau stood in line. Even from the back, Eva recognized him. "Cute boy from the café," she said.

For the love of crows.

Cora cursed her memory and Beau for being so memorable.

There was only one open cash register. The cashier, a lethargic woman, scanned a box of crackers once, twice, then three times before she called over her coworker.

Cora and Eva had no choice but to stand behind Beau. She thought to make up an excuse to leave before he saw her. She didn't have time to because he'd already seen her.

"Hi," she said before he could.

Great timing, all-powerful father.

She'd wanted to hold it against him that he hadn't answered her text the other night before her next move.

"Hey," he said, at least having the decency to sound surprised.

Eva's smile was immense.

"What brings you here on such a fine evening?" Cora asked, and then wanted to kick herself.

What brings you here on such a fine evening?

She sounded like her grandmother.

Beau held up the Q-Tips, cheeks flushing enough for her to notice. His gaze fell to what she had in her hand, a box of jumbo tampons. "They're for my mom," she said immediately.

Eva giggled.

Beau didn't say anything.

Cora pretended to be fascinated by the gray carpet. When she braved another look, he was still watching. She couldn't read his expression. Had she annoyed him by sending those messages? Why would he even care?

"I'm Eva." Eva stuck out her hand.

Beau shook it. "Beau," he said.

"Beau," Eva repeated, with a sidelong glimpse at Cora. "I'm sorry, how do you know each other?" She waggled her finger at them.

The muscle in Beau's jaw twitched. "She's my neighbor."

"Really?" She glanced again at Cora who faked reading the cover of a gossip magazine. "I'm her best friend."

"You do look kind of familiar." Beau nodded.

"I shouldn't. I've never been over."

Jeez, here we go again.

Cora chomped down on her nails. It'd been a while since Eva had mentioned never being invited over. She'd tried to explain her situation the best she could, but Eva wouldn't let it go. She saw it as unfair, them being friends for almost four years now. Cora didn't see it as a big deal, though she understood Eva's annoyance. She hadn't even wanted her to meet Beau yet or ever.

The line moved forward and the three of them went along with it. When Beau was next in line, Eva said to her, "Nice catch and he smells good too."

"Really?" she asked. "I hadn't noticed."

As if her day couldn't get any more embarrassing, the scanner wouldn't work on her tampons, so the cashier, as if she took satisfaction in embarrassing her customers, said so loudly to her coworker, Cora was sure they heard her in Paris, France, "It won't work on the jumbo tampons either. Would you mind running to get another box, remember jumbo!"

Mortified, Cora face-palmed.

She left the pharmacy as fast as she could, Eva hurrying after her. Shoving the tampons into her bag, she crossed the street at a sprint. She wanted to be as far away from that place, as she now thought of it, as possible. Eva gave her a sympathetic smile and Cora waited for her to say it.

"Why didn't you want to tell me about Beau?" she asked, as they strode down Thorne Avenue towards her house. It would be dark soon. The sky hadn't finished its obnoxious orange display. Eva had strict parents, and unless she had a school event to attend, they wanted her home as soon as possible.

Cora was about to say, "I don't know," when a dark green car pulled up beside them. The driver, Beau, waved as he drove away.

"And he has a car, Cora," Eva said. But from her it sounded like "Coraaaaa."

"I'm sorry," she said and kicked a pebble out of the way. "I didn't think it was a big deal."

"When your best friend has been texting a boy like that it is a big deal," Eva said, taking down her ponytail. She shook out her straightened hair and some boy leaning against a car whistled.

"Oh, shut up," she told him. Then to Cora, "Okay, spill! How long have you been seeing him?"

Cora shot a glare at the boy and his friends. One of them had made a lewd gesture. "I haven't," she said, imagining the boy pant less. She snapped her fingers, and as he leaned forward off the car his pants came down around his ankles, revealing blue Scooby-Doo underwear. His friends jeered and pointed.

That'll teach you, she thought.