Chapter 3: More than One Basket

“LUZ IS HOME!” screamed Hooty with the same inflection that a normal person might yell Fire! or Dread stalker! or Tax collector!

Eda smiled as she looked up from the armchair, a leather-bound tome open on her lap. “Luz! You aren’t gonna believe what I—”

The girl bolted through the open door and practically flew onto the couch; Eda barely had time to register her red, puffy eyes or visibly dripping nose before she landed face-down on the cushions.

For a moment, Eda just watched as silent, shuddering sobs wracked Luz’s shoulders. Then she sighed. “What’s wrong, kid?”

Luz muttered into the couch.

“Speak up, will you.”

She propped herself up with a fist, lifting her head about an inch—“I don’t want to talk about it”—then buried her face in the cushions again.

Eda tried to ignore the frustration rising in the back of her skull. She was, after all, partially responsible for whatever nonsense must have transpired between Luz and the rich girl—like maybe one percent responsible, tops.

(Then again, all the new snails lining her wallet told Eda not to fret too much. That rich girl was very rich, and boy had Eda scammed her good.)

She closed the book, tucked it under her arm, and hoisted herself from the chair. “Well, when you change your mind, I’ll be upstairs.”

She’d barely gone two steps before Luz cried out, “Wait!” The girl sat up—well, slouched up—and regarded her with big, round, sad eyes. “Eda, you don’t secretly hate me, do you?”

Eda felt a chill down her spine. “What? Of course not.”

The answer didn’t make Luz look any less scared or uncertain, so Eda headed to the couch and sat down; Luz obligingly made space.

“I sacrificed my magic for you, kid. I almost sacrificed my life—and I would have, gladly.” Would Luz hear the honesty in her words? “I know I’m not the nicest person in the world, but—”

“No, it’s not you!” Luz said. “Sorry.” She sniffled a little and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Titan’s breath, the girl was a pitiable sight. Eda mustered her most motherly voice and said, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Luz nodded softly. She took a deep, shaky breath, then began: “Amity had a truth serum today during our secret Azura book club and I don’t even know how she got a truth serum because you said they’re illegal unless you’re in the Emperor’s Guard…”

The story tumbled out of Luz fast and disjointed; she stopped occasionally to cry, but never to catch her breath, so she was practically panting by the time she’d finished.

And…wow. It seemed that Eda was very responsible for Luz’s current emotional state. Like off-the-charts levels of responsible. But she’d also rescued the kid from a shitty friendship, so—wait, hold on, Luz looked like she expected Eda to say something.

“Yeesh. I knew rich people were terrible, but that’s just cruel.”

Luz’s frown quivered. “You think she really meant it?”

“I mean…” Eda opened her hands in a half-shrug. “You saw the potion, right? It seems pretty clear-cut to me. Oh, come on, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. This is a blessing in disguise. Seriously, kid, you’re hurting my eardrums.”

But it was no use: Luz had gone from stifled sobbing to full-throated bawling.

So Eda did the only thing she could think of. She took her arms and kind of…placed them…around Luz—who, thank Titan, leaned into the hug without hesitation. They stayed together for what felt like hours, long after Luz’s tears had subsided. When King awoke from his nap and saw what was happening, he jumped onto Luz’s lap and curled up without a word.

❀

Amity Blight spent the next twelve hours in a state of mild shock: She got home, slept, and muddled through her morning by habit alone. This freed up her brain to try to wrap itself around whatever the fuck had just happened.

The reversed love potion, obviously, had not worked as planned. Had Amity screwed up the spell? Or did reversal magic work differently on love potions than she’d conjectured? Why had the potion forced her to say such…weirdly specific things? And why had Luz misidentified it as a truth serum?

Only one piece of Amity’s mind worked at these questions; another was stuck on the image of Luz’s face right before she’d fled—right as Amity had (unwillingly, unable to wrest control of her tongue from the potion) denounced their friendship. Luz had looked betrayed, upset, and angry…but not surprised.

Why did that bother Amity so much? Luz was clearly the victim of yesterday’s disaster. Amity had no right to feel betrayed, let alone indignant, that Luz had so easily believed Amity would turn on her—that it hadn’t even occurred to Luz that maybe it wasn’t a truth serum, maybe something else was going on.

Of course, she had no intention of explaining what the potion had really been for. Maybe she could lie and say that it was for her…health? Or something?

When Amity took her normal seat next to Willow during second-period demonology, the plant-track witch wordlessly stood up and moved to the back of the room. Amity flushed, wishing she knew an invisibility spell, as the whole class suddenly turned their curious eyes on her.

It’s okay, she told herself. So Luz had informed Willow about the incident. No big deal. As soon as Amity apologized, things would go back to normal.

The words I’m sorry were on her tongue when she rounded the corner toward the school’s west wing, on her way to fourth-period history. This was the only time Amity ever saw Luz during the school day: They shared no classes, only this one moment in the hallway, walking in opposite directions. Amity had looked forward to it every day for the past Titan knew how many weeks, bubbling with anticipation; Luz would smile at her, or wave, or quickly remind her about something happening after school; then Amity would tune out the first half of her history lecture while she doodled hearts in the margins of her notebook.

I’m sorry, she would say today. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The words echoed in her brain until they drowned out all her other thoughts, drowned out the thudding of her heart.

But when she caught a glance of Luz’s hair, and those cute little human ears—she froze. Yanked her gaze away and sped down the hall. At lunch she sat scrupulously alone, set apart from Luz and her friends by a sea of chattering students. And when the final bell screamed, she all but sprinted home.

Amity avoided Luz the next day, too. And the next day, and the next…

❀

At the close of one school day midway through the week, Amity hurried to her locker, eager to grab what supplies she needed and flee. The more students poured into the hallways, the more their faces blended together in her periphery. She glued her gaze to the floor, not daring to look anyone in the eye lest she happen to see Luz.

To her annoyance, a pair of pink-striped cleats stood before her locker, ankles crossed and teeth bared. The shoes looked as if they’d been magicked to appear brand-new, judging from their obnoxious sheen.

Boscha leaned casually against the locker. She wore her full grudgby getup, face paint and all; her arms were folded across her chest, and a smirk played on her lips when Amity met her gaze.

“I heard you finally ditched your loser friends.”

Amity gritted her teeth. “What do you care?”

Boscha’s shoulder jerked up and down as if tugged by a string. “Me and the girls are gonna hit up the town after today’s game. You free?”

Me and the girls? Amity hadn’t seen Boscha’s clique together for almost a month—ever since the match against Willow. From what she’d heard, the Banshees tolerated Boscha as a teammate, but nothing else.

Just as Amity opened her mouth to voice her confusion, it clicked: the too-practiced smile, the stiffness in her stance. Boscha was desperate. She’d lost all her friends, and her social status, in a matter of weeks. She wanted someone from her old gang so she could pretend that she was still on top—pretend that her world hadn’t turned utterly upside down. She needed a friend.

“No.”

Boscha’s smirk stayed frozen in place, but her third eye narrowed. “Tomorrow, then? Weekend also works for me.”

“Oh! Sorry for the confusion,” said Amity with faux congeniality. “I’m free; I’m just not interested.”

Boscha leaned forward, discarding the cool-girl act and breathing down Amity’s neck like an unchained minotaur. “What gives, Blight?” she spat. “You think you’re better than me?”

Amity almost felt pity for the girl. Almost. But cold indignation had burned a hole in her chest.

“I never wanted to be your friend, you know that? I only tolerated you because my parents forced me to.” Amity kept her voice low, mindful of the spectators at neighboring lockers. “You’re petty and cruel, even to your friends. Narcissistic, shallow, and—Titan’s blood—you are so, so boring.”

Boscha’s expression cycled through shock, hurt, and fury. Through her red-faced scowl, two of her eyes glistened with tears.

“It is no small pleasure to watch you finally get your comeuppance. There is nothing I want less than your friendship. So yeah, that’s a ‘no’ from me.”

Amity reached behind Boscha and rapped twice on her locker. “Open up,” she said at a normal volume. The demon obligingly unraveled its tongue; Amity grabbed a saliva-tinged notebook.

Boscha punched her in the mouth.