Spells Trouble

and stared out at the boat.
Hunter smoothed her fingers over her pendant. “I’m Hunter, not Mercy.” She said the words without thinking. It was a line she’d spoken more than any other. It was a line that usually ended a conversation.
With a sigh, Emily eyed Hunter. “Well, yeah.” Emily’s golden eyes swept over Hunter’s damp ponytail, closed journal, plain white tee, and plain jean shorts. “You two may be identical to most, but I’ve known you since second grade. Plus, there’s no way Mercy would be caught dead without some sort of…” Emily waved her hand in front of Hunter, her gesture taking in every bit of the twin. “Bedazzlement. Your sister also wouldn’t arrive half an hour before her party even started.” She twirled a long curl around her finger. “I mean, Mercy practically is the party, so I guess it won’t officially start until she gets here anyway.”
Hunter tugged her shirt from her chin and clutched her journal against her chest. It pressed against the pendant of Tyr hidden under her shirt as she resumed chewing her nail and stared past the boat at the sunlight glinting off the lake’s gently pulsing waves. “Why are you here so early, Em?”
Emily hefted her bag onto her lap and pulled out a stack of red cups. “My mom just flew back from her trip to DC and my dad doesn’t leave for some gross embalming conference in LA for a couple days.” She plucked a cup off for herself and offered the stack to Hunter. “So, both of my parents are home. Occupying the same space at the same time. And we all know how well they do that.”
Hunter stared at the stop sign–red plastic cups and swallowed. She didn’t want one. She also didn’t want to be rude. “I’m sorry, Em,” she said and took a cup.
“Don’t be. They did it to themselves.” Emily shook her head and set the tower of cups on the deck before reaching back into her bag. She wiggled her shoulders as she pulled out a glass bottle and unscrewed the cap. “Let’s toast to divorce.”
Hunter grimaced. “Is that vodka?”
Emily’s brow furrowed. “I brought mixers, too. I’m not a savage.” The clear liquid whooshed as Emily poured some into Hunter’s cup and even more into her own. “I have OJ, tonic, cranberry, something called lemonberry spritz that I took from my mom’s minifridge…” She shrugged. “Pick your poison, Miss Goode.”
Hunter’s stomach twisted. “I’m fine. I’ll just hold on to this until you need another drink.”
“Unclench, H. You know, live a little.” Emily took out a plastic bottle of orange juice and poured far less juice into her cup than she had vodka before doing the same to Hunter’s. “As someone who’s been sixteen for, like, six months now, I’m going to give you some advice.” She took a drink, grimaced, and took another. “Guys, girls, whoever, want to be with a girl who’s free and relaxed, not rigid and uptight. Look at Mercy. She got Kirk because she’s wild and breezy and weird, but in the best sort of way, like a kite, or a unicorn.” She took another drink, motioned for Hunter to do the same, and settled against the chaise. “Whether or not any of us really dig Kirk doesn’t change the fact that all that stuff is what people want.”
Hunter ran the edge of her ragged nail against her shorts. “People want a unicorn kite?”
“Exactly.” Emily grimaced and downed the rest of her drink before she reached out and tapped Hunter’s. The orange-tinged contents sloshed over the side of the cup and onto Hunter’s fingers. “I’ll also add some cran. It’ll make it a smidge less brutal,” Emily said, too busy rummaging through her bag for the mixer to notice the mess.
Hunter dried her hand on the bottom of her shirt. Just because it was simple white cotton and not covered in splashes of color or fringe or sparkles didn’t mean she was devoid of personality. It meant she was different from her sister. And she liked being different than Mercy. It meant she could be there for her impulsive, trouble-making sister. If they were both irresponsible and spontaneous, the entire town would end up in flames. She was Mercy’s counterbalance, and Mercy hers. They were perfect together, perfect for each other. Jax understood that about the twins. Sometimes it felt like he was the only one of their friends who did.
Emily poured a splash of scarlet juice into Hunter’s cup and stared at her expectantly. Hunter brought the cup to her lips and closed her eyes. It smelled like rubbing alcohol and brunch. She tilted the cup back and swallowed. The liquid burned her throat and slid, fiery and hot into her stomach. Her eyelids flew open and she thrust the cup at Emily. “It’s—terrible,” she said between coughs.
“Well, yeah.” Emily shrugged, took a sip, and refocused on the boat full of boys. She whooped as another peeled off his shirt and shook out his dark hair. “Don’t you just love watching animals in the wild?” she asked, leaning into Hunter.
He performed an exaggerated bow before walking to the edge of the boat and jumping into the water.
“They’re not there for you to ogle, Em. They’re people.” Hunter brought her nail to her lips and grimaced. Her fingers smelled like alcohol.
Emily blinked at Hunter from above the rim of her cup as if waiting for the punch line.
Hunter sighed. “They’re people out here enjoying the lake just like we’re out here enjoying the lake.”
Emily pooched out her glossed lips and adjusted her long legs until she was stretched across the chaise like a cat. “And I expect to be ogled.” She pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and readjusted her pout until it was duck lip perfection.
Hunter’s chest warmed in the comforting way it did when her sister was near. Like she’d just taken the first drink of hot chocolate on a snowy winter day. It was one of