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Back Spells for Lost Things Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. – 1 – Willow
  6. – 2 – Mason
  7. – 3 – Willow
  8. – 4 – Mason
  9. – 5 – Willow
  10. – 6 – Mason
  11. – 7 – Willow
  12. – 8 – Mason
  13. – 9 – Willow
  14. – 10 – Mason
  15. – 11 – Willow
  16. – 12 – Mason
  17. – 13 – Willow
  18. – 14 – Mason
  19. – 15 – Willow
  20. – 16 – Mason
  21. – 17 – Willow
  22. – 18 – Mason
  23. – 19 – Willow
  24. – 20 – Mason
  25. – 21 – Willow
  26. – 22 – Mason
  27. – 23 – Willow
  28. – 24 – Mason
  29. – 25 – Willow
  30. – 26 – Mason
  31. – 27 – Willow
  32. – 28 – Mason
  33. – 29 – Willow
  34. – 30 – Mason
  35. – 31 – Willow
  36. – 32 – Mason
  37. – 33 – Willow
  38. – 34 – Mason
  39. Acknowledgments
  40. More from the Author
  41. About the Author
  42. ALSO BY JENNA EVANS WELCH

It is decidedly not okay, but I give a noncommittal nod. I’ve been pretending to read my dog-eared copy of Astrophysics for People in a Hurry even though I practically have it memorized and staring down at the page makes me carsick. I clutch my star log in my other hand. I’ve lost so many things moving around in foster care that it’s made me paranoid. I keep it with me basically all the time, and whenever I travel, it isn’t good enough to have it in my backpack or bag; I have to have it physically in my hands.

She sighs. “Sorry about the traffic. And the heat. I meant to leave earlier, but paperwork at the group home took longer than I thought, and now I think my air-conditioning needs to be looked at. I had a rough time with it yesterday too.”

It’s only eighty-five degrees, but the humidity is making sweat pool up on my back and under my armpits. I’m damp and sticky and mad as hell, but that isn’t Kate/Kaitlin’s fault. She’s only doing her job.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, trying to sound less miserable than I am, because, honestly, she’s the one who’s truly suffering. She’s dressed up in white blouse and heavy-looking slacks, and her makeup is literally melting off her face, leaving dark streaks under her eyes. Kate/Kaitlin fiddles valiantly with her AC before giving up, then we both sit back and sweat.

“Have you ever visited Salem?” she asks.

I have a very vague memory of my mom bringing me here once, probably on one of our drive-in-piss-everyone-off-and-leave sort of visits, but I have zero memories of our time here, and besides, there’s a very good chance that if I bring up my mom again, my throat is going to close up. “I don’t think so.”

She straightens slightly. “You know, it’s pretty incredible how this has all worked out. I am really excited about this placement. And Salem, Massachusetts. That’s interesting, isn’t it? Do you like history?”

Does anyone really like history? I am obviously affected by history, my entire life shaped by the choices my parents made and the choices their parents made and all that. But I’m trying to staunch the rush of anxiety that I know is coming, so I blurt out a quick “Sure. Salem witch trials, so interesting.”