Crazy Train

Hayden wouldn't meet my eyes. He stood by the kitchen doorway, shoulders drawn inward, gaze fixed on the tile like it owed him money.

"Lidia's upstairs," he mumbled. "You probably won't see her. She's in college now. Keeps to herself mostly." His mom's angelic voice captured my attention.

Lidia. Sister, I guessed. Unless his grandmother had suddenly decided to room with them and pursue higher education.

Mr. Grahm gestured politely for me to sit at the dining table, his smile warm but measured—like a friendly interrogator. "So Hayden tells us you're interested in Wicca?"

The air in the room changed. Not tense, exactly—just… expectant. All three Grahms were looking at me now: Hayden, his father, and Mrs. Grahm, who hadn't yet said much but watched with eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

I felt like I'd wandered into a panel interview that I hadn't studied for. Suddenly I was in the hot seat, and felt my cheeks starting to burn.

"Um… yes. I saw Hayden's pentagram, and I got curious, then I admittedly, sort of went down a bit of a research rabbit hole. But I couldn't find much in depth online. At least, nothing that wasn't immediately contradicted on the very next page." I offered a half-smile that I hoped read as inquisitive and not mildly terrified.

"In-depth information?" Mr. Grahm arched a brow and gave Hayden a sideways glance. "Most young seekers struggle with the basics. And here you are, days in, already bored?" I was sure if he was being condescending or genuine, which made me nervous as hell.

"I'm not trying to sound cocky," I added quickly, "but yeah… most of what I've read seemed pretty intuitive. It all just kind of… clicked."

Hayden, finally lifting his head, jumped in. "It's true, Dad. She picks everything up fast. That's why I brought her here. She wants to start practicing." He said it casually, like we were talking about joining the yearbook committee.

Mr. Grahm steepled his fingers, resting his chin on the bridge they formed. "Has Hayden been a good teacher?"

I nodded. "He's been helpful."

Translation: When he wasn't dodging my questions like they were hexed dodgeballs, he was downright brilliant. Not that I'd ever say that out loud. Especially not to his dad.

"Then I see no issue with him tutoring you further," he said. "Provided you're serious about becoming a seeker?" He glanced from me to his son.

"I am." I peeked cautiously over to Hayden, thinking he might not be so happy about this.

Though, I meant it. Every cell in my body buzzed with the thrill of possibility. The Goddess, the rituals, the idea that intention could shape reality—it felt like someone had handed me a compass and whispered, Go find your life.

Mr. Grahm nodded thoughtfully, then turned to Hayden. "Do you think her intentions are genuine?"

There was a long pause.

Hayden looked at me. Not a glance. A look. Like he was seeing me for the first time. The mask of snark and sarcasm slipped just a little, and something softer, something real, passed between us.

He nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"Well then," his father concluded, "you'll need to come by a few days a week for study sessions. Will that be an issue with your parents?"

I almost laughed. "Oh, they won't care. Honestly, they probably won't even notice."

"Excellent," he said, clapping his hands together with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. "Now, let's eat!"

Mrs. Grahm brought over a spread that smelled like comfort and looked like culinary witchcraft. My stomach growled audibly. No one laughed, but I caught Hayden smirking.

Dinner was… oddly perfect. We talked about school and culture shock, about the differences between the U.S. and the U.K.—and then, just when I was wondering if Wicca had been shelved permanently, Mr. Grahm leaned in.

"The High Council," he explained, "is our version of the Supreme Court. Thirteen members, all elected by local covens. Old, wise, and powerful. They act as peacekeepers. When someone in the Craft uses magic to harm, the Council sends an emissary to intervene."

Made sense. Power needs checks and balances. Especially if it could, I don't know, blow up a city block.

"I'm one of those people," he said, spooning potatoes onto his plate like he hadn't just casually admitted to being a magical enforcer. "They send me to areas with high magical activity to keep things in balance."

Oh.

He watched my face for a reaction, and I tried not to spiral.

"Don't worry," he added quickly, "we're not leaving anytime soon. I've been following a pattern, but for now, we're staying put."

The tension in the room became a visible thing. Hayden and his mother exchanged a glance that suggested this was not the first time this discussion had surfaced.

But then he smiled—small, warm, genuine—and the knot in my chest loosened just a bit.

After dinner, when it was late enough that polite guests were supposed to take their leave, I stood and offered my thanks. "This was lovely. Thank you for having me."

His parents both smiled at me sincerely and Hayden stood and started to follow me out. Once we got to my car I turned to face him. I looked at Hayden, extending my hand. "Seriously, thank you."

He stared at my hand like I'd offered him a live ferret. Slightly bewildered and taken aback. Then, as if deciding I was entirely ridiculous (a fair assessment), he shook his head with a chuckle and pulled me into a hug.

A hug.

And if that wasn't enough, he kissed me.

On the cheek.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there like someone had unplugged my brain.

I climbed into my car, face on fire, and grinned like an idiot. I was going to have to come over to his house multiple times a week. To study. Magic. With him.

When I got home, I all but cartwheeled to my bedroom. I skipped the family. They wouldn't notice. My mom wasn't even home. Again.

I launched myself onto my bed, rolled around like a lunatic, and finally let out the squeal I'd been suppressing since the moment his lips touched my cheek.

Then I danced.

Full-blown, musicless, ridiculous happy-dance across my carpet.

Hot guy? Check.

Cool family? Check.

Witch training? Double check.

My life was changing, and I loved it.

Out the window, the hawk was back, perched like royalty in the tree.

I opened the window. The breeze kissed my face as I stared at the bird, who stared back with intelligent eyes that seemed far too aware for something feathered.

"Can I tell you a secret?" I whispered.

The hawk tilted its head.

I giggled. "The most attractive guy I've ever met just kissed me on the cheek. I know, I know—it was friendly, polite, probably nothing. But I'm choosing to live in delusion. Just let me have this."

The hawk blinked slowly.

"Don't worry," I added. "I'm not one of those girls. I won't plan our wedding or anything. But I will be basking in the glow of that kiss until further notice."

I leaned on the windowsill, the wind threading through my hair.

"I think I'm going to be a witch," I told him. "A real one. Isn't that crazy?"

The hawk blinked again. Stoic. Mysterious. Majestic.

"Best. Day. Ever."

I waved goodnight, shut the window, and flopped into bed.

Sleep? Impossible.

My cheeks still burned. My chest still hummed. My future had cracked open just enough for the light to pour through.

And for once, I wasn't running from it.

I was dancing toward it.