The Better to Bite(12)

I thought my dad said, “Smart ass”—that’s totally an affectionate nickname for me, by the way. I’ve even had teachers mutter that when they thought I couldn’t hear them.

I picked up my surprise and unhooked the light leather casing that covered the can of mace. “I still have a pretty good supply around here,” I told him. An unpacked supply. There were unpacked boxes hidden under my bed and in my closet. I wasn’t exactly in a rush to tackle them. I was still getting accustomed to the idea of living in a new house—a house that belonged to a grandmother I’d never met—and unpacking more boxes wasn’t big on my priority list.

“I want you to use that from now on.” Dad put some bacon on the table for me. “Just don’t take it into school.”

I almost rolled my eyes. Like I needed to be told that. Even being the sheriff’s daughter wouldn’t save me from the trouble that bringing a can of mace to school would bring.

My thumb traced the top of the mace. I didn’t see a label anywhere on the thing. “Where’d you get this?” It was heavier than my other can of mace.

“The usual place.”

My dad could be a smart ass, too. Family trait.

He pointed a fork at me. “There are a lot of wild animals running loose out in those woods. If something ever comes at you, spray it right in the eyes.”

I could so handle that. My healing arm tensed a bit. “Does this mean I get to head into the woods and—”

“No.” Immediate.

Figured. The man didn’t know how to bend. “It means if you’re walking home or to a friend’s house—”

He had such an obsession with me making friends.

“Then you make sure you’re covered, Anna, got it?”

“Well, if you’d get me a car,” when I saw an opening, I knew how to take it, “then I wouldn’t have to walk any place.” And thus the mace-in-the-woods wouldn’t be necessary.

The fork dropped onto his plate. My dad offered me a half-smile. “I’m working on it.”

My jaw dropped just like that fork. “Seriously?” And a real, honest-to-God squeal burst from me. I jumped up, flew around the table, and hugged him as hard as I could.

And, yeah, this was what happiness felt like.

A car—finally. Oh, sweet. The man knew just how to make me happy.

I felt so good that I could almost forget the nightmares that had haunted me all night long.

Almost.

***

“So…what’s her deal?” I asked Jenny at lunch as I nodded toward Cassidy. Pounding rainfall had forced everyone inside the cafeteria today, and I saw Cassidy sitting at a table with her cousin, Fresh Meat.

Um, James. James Colter. I sucked almost as much as Troy right then.

“Who?” Jenny was staring at Brent’s table with a bit of a longing expression on her face. I waved my hand before her eyes. She blinked like an owl.

“The girl over there,” I explained, pretty needlessly, I thought. “Cassidy.”

“Oh.” I expected her to say her usual, “OhmyGod!” But she didn’t. Instead, she did her forward lean, which I now knew was her I’m-sharing-gossip move, and told me, face totally serious, “She’s a witch.”

Now, really, people shouldn’t joke about things like that. They never knew when a witch was around—one who’d get pissed off at being talked about.

But I smiled and called, “Bullshit.”

The lunch monitor, our history teacher Mrs. Cavanaugh, jerked her head toward the table. She frowned at me.

I kept smiling.

“No, she is.” Jenny leaned ever closer. “Have you seen the shop her grandmother runs? You can buy anything there. Even…a love potion.”

Someone save me. “I’m guessing you bought one.”

Her gaze darted back to the VIP table. Not to Brent, but to Troy. Seriously? Oh, that was such a bad plan.

And she wasn’t answering me. My joke suddenly wasn’t as funny. I put down my soda. “Tell me you didn’t.”

She shrugged and wouldn’t look at me. “Lots of people buy things from Granny Helen.”

Granny Helen. Okay. That would be the not-so-sweet lady who had tried to yank off my arm. “And Cassidy says she’s a witch? She actually tells people that?”

“Well, no, but…”

My eyes wanted to cross.

“But she works at the store, so she has to be one, right?”

Wrong. “She could just be a girl who works at her grand-mom’s shop.” A creepy girl. And every time I looked at her, I kept thinking…I can so relate.

So she’d been weird yesterday. I knew weird. Today, I noticed the way the other kids looked at her. The slightly taunting smiles on their lips. The amused stares. I’d caught too many of those looks once upon a time.