Spellbound: A magical sequel to Bewitched by Daisy Prescott Page B

poisoned my mind with as a child.
    Sadly, he could never accept my magical abilities were inherited like eye color or earlobe shape.
    Clearly his puritanical beliefs descended from his side of the family and the world view they carried with them on the Mayflower.
    Talk about opposites attract. My parents could not be more different.
    A witch walks into a bar and meets a future lawyer sounds like the start of a bad joke.  
    I guess that makes me the punch line.
    That’s me. A laugh a minute chucklefest.
    “Hi,” Madison speaks from behind me. “Sorry I’m late.”
    In the big picture, she’s early, but I don’t tell her that. “You’re perfect.
    She returns my smile with her own. “So where are you taking me?”
    “It’s a surprise.” I hold out my elbow for her to loop her arm through mine.  
    “Another dark and mysterious location?”
    “The Black Book doesn’t serve dinner.”  
    “I love that place, but I can’t imagine we’d be able to see anything we were eating at night.”
    My favorite café, run by one of my favorite people, Martha, the Black Book was the location of our first date. If a spontaneous afternoon hot chocolate can count as a date, then it was our first. However, tonight is our official beginning.  
    I lead us off campus and toward the cobble streets of downtown. We pass the witch museums and straggling Halloween decorations from the citywide party last night. At least the sidewalks have been swept clean.
    Less than twenty-four hours have passed since our midnight revelations. I can feel Samhain’s power wane as the barrier between ours and the spirits’ world reweaves and thickens. Most people don’t notice the ebbing of magic because they attribute the sensation to the letdown the day after a big event.
    From now until Yuletide on the winter solstice as we enter the darkest days of the year, magic quiets. Whatever magic set in motion between Mabon on the fall equinox and Samhain last night will continue along its path. The laws of physics apparently apply to spells, charms, and curses. Unless the coven votes to intervene in a matter of dire consequences, most witches settle in for a few months of downtime. Mom will close the shop an extra day or two as the demand for all things magical slows. It’s like a post-Christmas hibernation for most of the magical world until Yuletide brings back the light.
    This makes me feel confident I did the right thing in being honest with Madison last night instead of waiting until her birthday. Everything in place before All Hallow’s Eve at midnight bodes well for Madison and me.
    As we pass Salem’s grand old hotel with its enormous white pillars and head in the direction of the old harbor, a cool wind blows in our faces. Madison ducks her head and tightens her red plaid scarf.  
    “I’m not ready for winter.” The wool around her neck muffles her words.  
    “Never dread the change of seasons.” I tug the scarf from her chin to kiss her. “I promise to keep you warm.”
    Whether from my words, the kiss, or the cold, her cheeks color with a blush.
    Over her shoulder I catch movement as we cross the intersection. A black cat darts behind the museum and lands on the low wall surrounding the memorial to the witch trials. It strolls along until it gets to the spot where my family name, Wildes, is carved into the stone. I know the memorial by memory and can tell you all the names, dates of their deaths, and whether or not the victim was a real witch.
    The cat pauses to sit, letting his tail swing in front of the stones like an old-fashioned clock pendulum.
    I swear the cat blinks his bright yellow eyes at me twice before hopping off the ledge and batting a dead leaf around like a mouse. At least from this distance I think it’s a leaf and not a rodent.
    “Andrew?”  
    I switch my focus from the cat back to Madison. “Yes?”
    “You totally zoned out there for a second. Like you saw a ghost.”
    I give her a soft smile. “Not a ghost,