Cora had planned to absorb her restlessness with more sleep than necessary.

High blood pressure didn't run in her family, but her bouts of dizziness whenever she checked her phone had to be "the silent killer." It would be a twist ending if she died because of that pig-headed boy. Was it really so hard to say yes or no?

Her plans were cut short when Stella marched into her room on Saturday morning, whistling the world's most annoying tune. She wrenched the curtains open. An unbearable stream of light snapped Cora fully awake. She'd been doing a long lap across a massive cup of tepid melted chocolate. The soft, giant marshmallows beneath supported her clumsy swimming.

If Stella Emerson hated one thing, it was laziness. She expected the members of her family to be up at dawn like her. Saturday was a prime day for making Made with Magic products. The holidays were upon them, and their clients would want their skin's radiance to outshine Christmas in Oleander Garden. Cora groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. It wasn't yet noon, so she had no reason to get out of bed.

Her mother pulled the pillow away. "Up, up, up. I need you in the kitchen."

Cora pulled another pillow over her head. Once she'd asked why they couldn't use magic to make all their products, despite that bad brewing spell. Her mother had been so furious she'd shattered a glass mixing bowl. "Our clients expect the best," she'd said. "Every product must be made with care." With care implied not turning someone into a farm animal.

She pretended to sleep, but Stella wouldn't buy it. "Up, up, up," she said. "I want you up, dressed, and downstairs in ten minutes."

When her mother left, she tossed the pillow off her head. She got up, treaded across the room, yanked the curtains closed, and then slinked beneath the covers. Beau had been at the other end of the cup of chocolate. She'd almost reached him, to shake some sense into him.

"Cora!" Her mother yelled so loud the walls rumbled.

Her bed shook. "For the love of crows," she said, but she did get out of bed.

By the time four o'clock rolled around, she'd been in the kitchen all day, mixing and pouring the Made with Magic concoctions into jars with pink tops. She hadn't told her family she might have a date with a boy and judging by the time she saw no point.

Her phone sat on the counter behind her. She'd checked it at the end of every hour. Still nothing. She'd have a heck of a time convincing Beau to see her if he wasn't interested. Lying to ease her suspicion wouldn't help. Boys always knew what they wanted.

Beau didn't want her.

She whipped the bowl of non-edible fluff with extra ferocity. Why couldn't he call already? Who'd decided that humans shouldn't be controlled? Sparks flew from Cora's bowl, popping like firecrackers. To charm the human heart or mind could do permanent damage. Cora hadn't forgotten her lessons, but it was still a stupid law. Wasn't that the point of being wicked?

Her grandmother flinched when her bowl hissed. "There's no need to mix so fast, dear."

A change of tactics would do. She slowed her mixing. She had no time left to dawdle and had no one to blame but herself for it. Once again, procrastination, the two-headed snake, had bitten her hard. She refused to let the hurt show. Losing her magic would be more severe.

Another hour went. Cora, her mother, and grandmother made the products, while Willow concentrated on creating and printing their holiday labels on the family computer. On the counter in front of Cora were over a dozen or so jars of their most beloved product, Cocoa Coconut Face Cream. It smelled like milk chocolate.

Her arms ached, but she gathered as many products as she could and took them to the fridge. "It's all full," she said to her mother who whipped a bowl of fluffy brown cream as if it would get away from her.

Stella stopped mixing, wiped her hands on her apron, and came around the center island to inspect the fridge. The two bottom shelves where they stored their products were full.

Stella took down a jug of milk and sniffed it. "We'll have to toss some things." She sent the milk sliding across the counter.

"As long as we don't starve," Agatha said.

Cora put the jars in her arms down to help her mother toss what was old and spoiled in their fridge. When they were finished, they'd cleared out half a shelf and most of the vegetable bin. They still didn't have enough space.

Stella sighed. Her wine glass would be twice as big tonight. It had been a long day. "We'll have to store them in the freezer for now."

One by one, Cora stacked what she'd mixed in the freezer next to the cookie dough ice cream. She closed the door once finished. "I'm going outside," she said. "I need some air."

Both Stella and Agatha stopped mixing. They exchanged the briefest of glances. In all her seventeen years, Cora had never "needed some air." She kept to her bedroom like she meant to die in it. Agatha joked that Mariam and Cora couldn't be more opposite. Speaking of Mariam, no one had seen her yet that day. She might not have come home last night.

"Is everything okay?" Stella scanned her daughter for signs of damage, her mixing spoon poised in her hand like a chocolate ice cream cone. A big dollop of the Cocoa Coconut Face Cream dripped from it into the bowl, some trickled over the edge onto the counter.

"I'm fine." She untied her apron. "But it's stifling in here." Not one of the Emerson's liked it below seventy degrees in the house. She flung her apron onto a chair on her way out, her mother and grandmother staring after her.

"It must be that boy," Agatha said.

"It usually is," said Stella.

No boys at her school had ever asked her out, which meant she had zero experience with the male sex. The exchange between Stella and Agatha had more to do with the fact that this boy was indeed the one. She unlocked the front door, pausing halfway out at the sound of said boy's voice. "Don't hide from him," she said, gathering her valor. "Besides, you lived here first."

She stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. The door locked on its own. She gasped too late, realizing she didn't have her keys. She wiggled the doorknob.

"Drat."

A coat would have been great too. She sat on the top step, hugging herself. A delivery truck parked across the street obscured her view of Hemlock Avenue's most decayed houses. It was a wonder no one had asked how the Emersons kept theirs so well-tended. With magic of course. Mariam had once said their neighbors were too busy keeling over to worry about them. The truth no matter how brash.

The old man who lived across the way spent all his time in front the TV she'd nicknamed Dusty. Sometimes she watched him from her bedroom window. Stony-faced and too feeble to take up much room in his recliner, it was hard to tell if he really watched the TV or if the noise comforted him. He was a retired vampire, too ancient to have family who were still alive, too ancient to do much harm to anyone.

Cora thought someone should care, so she kept a mental tab on their neighbors, the majority old and forgotten by everyone except their pets. She never spoke to them, except on rare visits in the summer to make sure they weren't hurt or dead. Not even Stella minded. A person found dead in their home would attract more attention than necessary.

She tapped her feet to keep the cold at bay. It was the kind of autumn afternoon where the air pinched your skin ruddy, chilled each breath, and grew frost on car windows. A gray-skied afternoon that dulled Thorne Point's vibrancy. She trembled in her knitted sweater. The cold made her legs tingle in their black nylon tights.

The little boy in Mrs. Campbell's front yard pressed his fingers to his lips. "Beau, look I'm smoking," he said, laughing. Beau tossed the football at him. He caught it, tucking it beneath his arm. "Can you do this?" He puffed out his chest, his heavy, black coat adding most of the bulk, and giggled though another oust of condensation.

"Everyone can do that. Now, come on. Toss it back."

He did. "Who's that girl over there?" he asked, not caring enough to lower his voice.

She set her gaze on the dogwood tree as Beau set his gaze on her. "Cora," he said, waving. He hadn't seen her earlier because he'd been facing the other way.

She waved too, both aggravated and surprised by his smile.

So, you can be nice to me in person but ignore my texts. Good to know.

She cupped her chin in her hands, refusing to give him more of her attention, though she was aware he hadn't tossed the ball to Noah yet.

Why does he have to look so good?

Beau hadn't dressed for the cold in a brown leather jacket, indigo straight-fit jeans, and vintage-style boots, the kind that were frayed in the most precise places. Cora admired his style.

Noah groaned. "Stop staring at her. She's too pretty for you."

"You think so?" Beau chuckled.

The weather wasn't warm enough to be blamed for Cora's flush. Beau tossed the ball. Noah caught it. He wiggled his hips in a kind of victory dance.

"You won't care if I invite her to the movies with us?" Beau ascertained, as if she couldn't hear their conversation. He was confident enough to stare at her as they waited for Noah's reply.

She counted the number of leaves left on the dogwood tree so he wouldn't see her smiling.

Maybe I was wrong about him.

She counted sixteen leaves. Then gulping the bitter air, she braved his gaze.

"I don't care." Noah shrugged.

"Really?"

Noah chucked the ball at Beau's head and laughed. "Oh, man."

Beau picked it up. "You can come if you want. It's no big deal. I'll try to make it worth your while."

Finally! That wasn't so hard was it?

She assessed his last words, trying to discern their true meaning.

"What time are you leaving?" she asked, tucking her hands in her sleeves before she could get to her nails. There was no need to show her bad habits now.

"Umm... about six-fifteen." Beau tossed the ball up and caught it.

"All right. I'll come." She stood. "Just let me get ready."

He'd already hurled the ball at Noah as she hustled to the door. She knocked three times. When no one came, she pressed the doorbell, bouncing on her toes from impatience and the cold.

Willow appeared in the living room window, glowering as usual. "What?"

"Open the door."

"What for?"

"I need to get in."

Willow disappeared. The door didn't unlock. After a minute, Cora pressed the doorbell again.

Willow came to the window again. "Stop pressing the bell."

"Then open the door."

"I'm busy. Use your magic, you idiot."

"Will—" She slapped her forehead. Her magic. "Duh! I am an idiot." As Beau and Noah discussed the legitimacy of the movie, she unlocked the door.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Willow hastened from the living room, stepping past Cora to the door. "If you want my advice," she continued, while studying Beau through the window, "he's a boy so he's already an idiot. It should be easy. All you have to do is show up. He'll practically ruin himself if he's like any of the boys in my class."

"Thanks," Cora said, and she did mean it.

Beau had chosen the coldest night of the week for a movie—a cold snap, the weatherman on channel 7 had said.

Cora had traded her mini skirt for a pair of jeans, had tugged an extra pair of socks over her tights, and had forgone the cuteness of a fresh, fluffy twist-out to keep her head warm beneath a beanie. Even all that, her ruby coat and boots, weren't enough to end the chill that could convince a shower of dead leaves off the dogwood tree, and make the dogs left outside howl and whimper. The setting sun had stolen the last notion of warmth.

She tucked her hands in her coat pockets, thinking of someplace warm. If it weren't for Beau, she'd be in bed, binge-watching her favorite sitcom on her laptop.

Her cell phone buzzed—a text from Eva.

Are you there yet?

She'd texted Eva to tell her that Beau had invited her along. A description of his outfit and a blushing emoji summed up her feelings.

She replied: We haven't even left yet. I'll call you later.

At five-forty-five, she checked her messages again to make sure she hadn't missed Beau's text, canceling their not-quite date. A minute longer, she'd be an icicle. She stomped her feet to get warmth into them, selected the new message icon, and had typed one word before deciding another text would be coming on too strong.

She didn't intend to push him away yet.

The door to 4445 opened at five-fifty PM. The Campbell's swarmed onto the front porch, filling the night with the laughter and banter you'd expect from a close-knit family.

Cora plastered on a smile, the polite thing to do no matter how cheesy. Beau, who caught it, smiled too.

"It's a surprise you can even get into your coat, Renée," said Mrs. Campbell. "If I were you, I'd have Clyde doing everything for me."

The man standing beside Beau laughed. "As if she doesn't already." He had all of Beau's features, thick brows, full lips, heavy lidded brown eyes, and ears that stuck out and were pointy at the top, all on Mrs. Campbell's round face, his light-brown skin freckled the same. His shoulders had most of his width. Beau beat him by an inch in height.

"We can all blame this one for the state I'm in." The woman nearest Cora struck her husband's chest. She could've passed for a girl Cora's age, the added baby-weight bringing youthfulness to her cheeks, making Beau's bone structure on her softer, cuter. Cora couldn't spot one blemish on her deep, brown skin, and could bet she didn't use Made with Magic, not even on her Senegalese twists.

"If you're going to have another one, you might as well have a girl. What do you need three boys for?" asked Mrs. Campbell. Still standing in the doorway, she was the only one who hadn't noticed Cora yet.

"To take care of me when I'm old." Renée touched her heavy belly. "Trust me, this is the last one." Her grin was radiant against her dark skin. "Anyway, we should get going. I know Beau and Noah have a movie to see." She glanced at Cora, smiling.

Her smile had remained intact all through their conversation. Her mouth hurt. She suspected she looked more crazed than friendly.

"The girl Cora lives next door," Mrs. Campbell added.

All of the Campbells' gazes shifted in Cora's direction. "Hi." She waved. Recoiling into the shadows wasn't an option on the Emerson's lit front porch.

"Cora, I didn't even see you there." Mrs. Campbell inspected her glasses. "It must be time for a new pair."

"You go to Thorne College?" Renée asked.

"No, I'm just a neighbor," she replied.

Renée nodded. "Tell his grandmother if he misbehaves, so I can deal with him myself." Cora couldn't tell if that was a joke, until Renée smiled. "Don't worry. He knows how to treat women because I'd kill him if he didn't."

"Mom." Beau informed his mother of his embarrassment with one expression, his lips pressed tight.

"It's okay. She knows I'm joking. Right, Cora?"

"Yes," said Cora, bashfully, though Beau's expression hadn't changed.

Noah shuffled his feet. "Hurry up. The movie's about to start."

Renée ruffled Noah's hair. "You make sure you don't give your brother a hard time."

"I won't," he said. "Now can we go?"

"Yeah." Renée tugged Noah's hood over his short, curly fro. Before she'd even finished saying goodbye, he zipped down the steps to Beau's car.

"Wait up," Beau called after him.

Noah, undeterred, skipped across the street to the car. He waved his arms, signaling for Beau to unlock the doors. When Beau did, he slid into the passenger seat.

Beau dug his phone from his pocket. "You ready?" he asked Cora.

Yes. Who do you think I'm waiting for?

She waved at the other Campbells. "Goodnight. It was nice meeting you."

They waved back. "You too, Cora," said Clyde.

"Don't bring him back too late," Renée said to Beau.

Beau was already crossing the street when Cora noticed her mother spying from the living room window, her words muffled behind the glass.

A moment later, a new text arrived on her phone.

Take things slow. Don't cause too much misery at once. And be home before ten.

Cora gave her mother a thumbs up, their sign for no worries. Her phone buzzed with another text before she'd reached Beau's car.

At least he doesn't look like an ogre.

This one was from Willow. She ignored it and shivered into the empty backseat of the car. Judging by its age, she doubted it had good heating. A heating charm could either warm them or set them on fire if she took it too far.

"Finally," Noah said, as soon as she closed the door.

"Let Cora sit in front." Beau shoved his phone into his jacket's pocket. He turned the key in the ignition.

"Why?"

"Because she's older."

"So what?"

"I don't mind," she said to end the awkward conversation. She would sit in back for now but didn't intend to stay there forever.

The mischief had begun.