“Oh.” Verlaine frowned. “That leaves you with the power, then, doesn’t it?”

“Pretty much.” It was the truth; why should she apologize for it?

“How do I know you won’t turn me into a newt or something?”

“Honestly, where are you getting this? Listen. Most of what’s in pop culture about witchcraft is crap. What I practice doesn’t have anything to do with being Wiccan, either; that’s a religion of its own. I think the Craft I practice might have been linked to it way back when, but they parted paths a long time ago. And in neither of those is there any turning people into newts.”

Verlaine didn’t seem comforted in the slightest. “I wasn’t specifically afraid of newthood. What I mean is, it’s kind of freaky to know somebody has power over you that you can’t understand.”

Nadia shrugged. “Yeah. It throws a lot of people off. Which is exactly why we try to keep it secret. But you wanted to know. And now you do.”

After an awkward pause, Verlaine said, “Okay, no newts. But what kind of stuff can you do?”

Nadia felt weird—beyond weird—talking about this with someone who wasn’t a witch herself. Mom was the only witch she’d ever known well; Grandma had been in the Craft herself, of course, and had taught Mom, but she’d died when Nadia was eight and had learned only the basics. Not every witch was so isolated—some cities and even small towns had active communities—but Mom had stuck to her one secret coven in Chicago. Nadia had never been introduced to them, and had not expected to be; usually you only met witches outside of your family once you were grown and fully possessed of your power. And while it wasn’t forbidden to reveal witchcraft to a woman who didn’t practice, it was something you were supposed to do as little as possible … which Nadia now understood completely.

Secrecy is important, Mom always said. Secrecy is what protects us from the ignorant and the hateful. Secrecy is the first and most precious rule.

Well, Mom always said she loved us forever, Nadia thought savagely. So who cares about her rules?

“The only real limit on what a witch can do is how much she’s learned so far,” Nadia said. “Well, that and the First Laws, of course.”

“What are the laws?” Verlaine asked. But that was the moment the waiter strolled up to their table.

“Hello there and welcome to …” Mateo’s voice trailed off as he recognized them; his eyes widened as they met Nadia’s. But he barely paused in his spiel. “La Catrina.”

“You work here?” Nadia asked, then felt stupid. He wasn’t walking up to their table in a black apron because he was trying to set a fashion trend.

“This is my dad’s restaurant. I help out after school, on weekends—that kind of thing.” Mateo took out his order pad and stared down at it as if he was unwilling to meet her eyes one moment longer. “What can I get for you guys?”