“Two years ago, you received an anonymous package with a mojo book inside? And you’ve kept this from your very best friend for two years? Two years?” Kenna responded to Lizzie’s tale of wonder, magic, and mystery with a tiny bit of surprise...and annoyance.

Lizzie knew she should have left out the dates.

“I would have told you sooner, but I didn’t think any rational person would believe the flying, changing words, part of the story. It’s a stretch for me to believe, and I’ve seen the book.” Lizzie’s words held a distinctly defensive tone.

Kenna clarified. “Oh, don’t be confused. I think you’ve gone around the bend. I just can’t believe you kept such a huge secret from me for so long. For two years. Even if there is no such thing as magic—and I’m not saying there is or isn’t—you believe there is. And if a friend has a life-changing experience, like, oh—say, getting a magic book, she should share that life-changing experience with her best friend. Immediately,” Kenna concluded.

A little concern peppered with humor, that was Kenna. But her flippant attitude about magic—maybe there was, maybe there wasn’t—was very unlike her. Kenna, with her sleek blond bob, trim figure, and attention to detail, was no nonsense…except in her persistent efforts to set Lizzie up on the perfect date. She was all nonsense when it came to Lizzie and men, or so Lizzie thought. And, apparently, in her belief that magic might exist. That was news to Lizzie. If she’d known her friend secretly watched Supernatural, and believed it, she’d have considered fessing up much faster.

“You haven’t mentioned medicating me yet. That’s a good sign, right?” Lizzie decided that clarifying whether or not Kenna intended to call 911 should be a priority in this conversation.

Kenna looked at her steadily and refrained from comment.

Uh-oh. Time for the evidence.

She pulled out the Book—when she’d started thinking of it as Book with a capital B, she wasn’t entirely sure—and flipped it open to the first page.

After turning the Book around and presenting the first page to Kenna, she said, “Other than the dancing words, there is also the changing text. Every time I open it, there’s a different entry.”

She closed and reopened the Book, then she showed Kenna the first page a second time. Lizzie’s eye caught on the bold, black, slanted writing on the page as she turned it toward her friend. She looked up and, for the first time during the conversation, she saw real concern on Kenna’s face.

“Honey, there’s nothing on the page. It’s blank.” Kenna reached a hand out to her and pressed Lizzie’s fingers reassuringly.

The Book fell to Lizzie’s lap. She glanced between Kenna and the Book.