I drive back to the cabana, my thoughts whirling around in my brain. What Allegra said and how much it stung. Connelly accusing Emma of wanting me gone. The fact my face is all over the blogs with a fake story. It's all too much.

Something nags at me about what Connelly said. If Emma was the one cursing me, how was she wiping my memories clean? She can't use mentalism because that isn't her family's magic. The person who has access to that type of magic is Connelly. Did she drop Emma's name so I wouldn't suspect her? After what she did to Bayer last year--lying about magical coercion, ruining his reputation him online--I wouldn't put it past her. Is she lying about all of this too?

I merge onto the Pacific Coast Highway, the ocean stretching out to my left, like an endless gray mass. The sun is starting to dip, turning the sky into streaks of fiery orange. Caldera Heights sprawls to my right with palm trees and Spanish tile roofs. All those magical people living their lives not thinking about what their magic does to others.

I pull back into the Santos estate and park near the guesthouse. I pass those damn rose bushes with my head still spinning. I round the mini garden, head towards the pool and stop dead.

Mateo is in the deep end, slicing through the water with clean strokes.

I avert my eyes and keep them locked on the cabana. I don't want to see him. I don't want to think about him with Xander, or the way their mouths were pressed together in the kitchen.

I'm almost to the door of the cabana when I hear it.

"Press! Wait!"

I freeze. And turn.

He's pulling himself out of the pool, water streaming off his shoulders and chest. He wears dark black swim trunks that sit low on his hips, and the last light of the day catches on the drops sliding down his skin. His buzzed head sparkles with droplets of water, muscles taut from the swim and for a second I forget what my name is, how to breathe.

The Roman statues around the pool turn their heads to watch us. Their stone eyes follow every movement.

Mateo grabs a towel off a nearby chair and rubs it over his hair as he walks toward me, leaving wet footprints on the stone.

"I just wanted to say... I'm sorry about--"

"You don't have to apologize to me," I cut him off.  "We're not together anymore."

"Yeah, but I didn't want you to find out like that." He winces at his word choice or my face. I'm not sure which. "It's still new. I'm not even sure where it's going yet."

"You don't owe me anything, Mateo. I just want to get through whatever I need to get through with your mom and get the hell off of your property."

He studies the stone on the ground. He's dripping all over it. "That's fair," he finally says.

Heat rises in my chest and I have to fight the urge to poke him in his chest with a finger. "Did you talk to the blogs?" I ask him. " Did you tell them you wanted me gone?"

He shakes his head hard. "Press, you have to believe me. I would never do that. Just because we're not together doesn't mean I'm an asshole."

"That's up for debate." I chuckle bitterly and turn to leave him there as a sloppy, soaking mess.

"Is that what you think of me?" He grabs my hand as I turn to leave. His palm is still wet and warm. "I've never been cruel to you."

"Except the day you dumped me."

A confused look crosses his face. "That day is...weird for me, too, Press. It's a blur. Breaking up with you made sense at the time, but now..." He trails off.

"Are you happy with him?" I ask, my eyes searching his face. I feel so stupid for having a shred of hope.

Mateo looks up at me. His eyes are dark and sad, like an apology is hiding in them. His bottom lip trembles. "I don't know," he says quietly. "Sometimes I look at him and I feel...nothing. Like I'm going through the motions. Like I'm supposed to feel something but I don't."

I notice that his hand is still holding on to mine.

He sighs. "And other times I look at you and--"

"Mateo! Can you please come inside!" The shrill voice makes Mateo drop my hand like it burned him.

Dr. Santos is standing at the kitchen patio door, staring at us. Her eyes are narrowed into slits. And just like that, the spell between us is broken.

He steps back, his face going blank. "I should go." He walks past me toward the house without looking back.

I stand there alone by the pool, the Roman statues watching, my hand still tingling where his touched mine.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Inside the cabana, I kick off my shoes and toss them near the door. My mind begins racing again. I start pacing the length of the living room, from the white sectional to the glass coffee table and back again. The floor-to-ceiling windows show the pool outside, the Roman statues frozen mid-gesture, the main house looming beyond. What am I going to do now? Allegra won't help me. Someone is using mentalism on me. And Mateo--god, Mateo looked at me like he still felt something, then his damn mom called his name and he went back to blank.

My phone pings.

I check. It's Harley.

Harley: Hey babe! Tomorrow we HAVE to film some Luxecaster content. I'm thinking we use my affinities to create something totally sick. Like viral-level sick. U in?

I'm about to respond when another text comes through.

Harley: Also is it cool if Bayer comes? I think he misses u or something jk jk

Bayer is like Connelly; he only pretends to be my friend. I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. I want to throw my phone across the room, watch it shatter against the pristine white walls.

Instead, I text back: I don't really want him there but if you want him there it's cool I guess

The three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

Finally she says: It's ok I won't invite him

Guilt twists in my stomach because I'm taking out my bad mood on her.

I text back quickly: Bring him. It's fine. I'm sorry I'm being such a dick

Harley: U sure?

Me: Yeah

Harley: Love u babe. Tomorrow's gonna be FIRE

I drop my phone onto the bed when there's a knock at the door.

I freeze, my heart thumping in my throat.

Mateo?

Then I cross the room and pull the door open.

Katya stands there, holding a cup of steaming tea on a small silver tray. She looks nervous. Her eyes dart past me into the cabana, then back to the main house, then to my face.

"I brought you some tea," she says in that soft Eastern European accent. "It's for your nerves."

"How did you know I--" but I shake my head and don't finish the question. I take it from her hands, grateful. The warmth seeps through the ceramic into my palms. When I take a sip, my anxiety melts away like ice in the sun. It's not as good as an elixir, but it'll do.

"Is this...is this enchanted?" I ask, almost handing the cup back to her. "If so, I can't have this..."

She places a finger on her lips as if shushing me. "Dr. Santos sent it to you. You're having a tough time. Let this help."

I take another big sip right in front of her. But she doesn't leave.

Instead, she opens and closes her mouth like she's about to say something but keeps changing her mind. Her fingers twist together, while her eyes flick toward the main house again.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

She looks around with nervous eyes, scanning the pool area, the cabana windows, the path that leads back to the main house and leans in closer.

Finally, she says in a low voice, barely above a whisper, "I know what's going on."

My heart damn near stops. I look over her shoulder to make sure no one's heard her. The pool is empty and the kitchen patio door is closed. "Tell me what you know," I say quickly. "Come inside."

But she shakes her head, quick and sharp. "Not here. They're watching. Always watching."

"Who's watching?"

"The Santos family." She glances back at the house. "What happened to you at that party wasn't an accident. Someone did that to you. On purpose."

Blood rushes to my head as ice floods my veins. "Who?"

"I can't say more. Not here." Her eyes dart to the windows. "Meet me in two nights. At eleven o'clock. I'll tell you everything. The old reservoir off Mulholland. The one they closed down five years ago. There's a service gate on the east side--it'll be unlocked."

"Why there?" I ask, ignoring the nerves leaping around in my stomach.

"Because no one goes there anymore. And because..." She glances back at the house again. "I won't be able to get away from here until then. This is the only chance."

Then she grabs my wrist like I'm not listening to her. She leans in close enough for me to smell mint on her breath. "Be careful with this family," she says. "They're dangerous. Very dangerous."

Then she lets go of my wrist and turns, walking quickly back toward the main house.

I stand there in the doorway, the tea still warm in my hands, my heart pounding.

The old reservoir off Mulholland...in two nights. The day the blackmailer will expose me.

I close the door and lock it behind me.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​