Although something had to be done about the Antima, obviously. She was thinking more and more that Libertas might be the answer.
“Will you at least think about it?” Div was asking her.
“Yeah, but I’m not going to change my mind. Sorry.”
“We’ll talk again.”
Div ended the call.
Wow. Binx shook her head slowly. She was definitely not going to tell Greta about this. She couldn’t. There was already so much tension between them and the Triad, plus now there were the two new witches to fight over, not counting Ms. O’Shea (because that would be weird). Meanwhile, they all needed to focus on smoking out whoever had penned those shadow messages and also figuring out who’d enchanted them with the numbers. They couldn’t afford to get distracted by Div’s takeover attempt.
Although… hadn’t Binx herself told Greta that they needed to think about the big picture and not just focus on their little coven? That conversation from lunchtime still irked her. Also, how dare Greta question Binx’s judgment re: ShadowKnight and Libertas? Did Greta think she was a total and complete newb?
A breeze rustled the leaves and flowers of a nearby blueblossom bush.
No, not a breeze. There was someone… no, something… hiding in there.
What the—
Before Binx could react, the thing charged at her. She shrieked and stumbled backward. Her ginger ale splattered everywhere, including on her new pink sweater with the smiling panda bear face and the words HELLO PANDA HAPPINESS on it. Whatever it was, it was four-legged. Was it a coyote or a bobcat or a fox or a…
As she regained her balance, she saw what it was.
A dog. A scruffy brown dog. A puppy, actually.
It skidded to a stop in front of her, paws every which way, and dropped something at her feet.
A dead crow.
“Okay, no. That’s gross. That is so so so gross. I’m calling your owner… who is your owner?” Binx dabbed at her ginger-ale-soaked sweater with the back of her hand.
The mutt looked up at her and barked. It didn’t appear to be wearing a collar. It dog-smiled at her with its tongue hanging out. Its tail wagged like an out-of-control windshield wiper.
“Yeah, this is not cool. Do you hear me? Not cool. Ugh!”
Shaking her head, Binx began scrolling and typing. “Okay, pupster. I’m guessing you belong to the neighbors down the hill. Uxie, please GPS them and cross-check the street address against the phone directory… and the Sorrow Point real-estate sale records… and the county deeds office and… gotcha!” Binx nodded as a name and address flashed across the screen. “All right, mini-dog. You must belong to the Noonan family at 1928 Cliffside Drive. A landline—what are they, like, ninety years old? I’m calling them right now, okay? And then you and your, uh, dead poultry friend are out of here.”
The puppy panted happily and nudged the crow with its nose. The bird flipped over; its glossy black feathers were flecked with blood. Ew.
Binx turned away and dialed the number. A woman’s voice answered after three rings. “Hello?”
“Hi… I’m calling from the, uh, house up the road. Are you missing your dog? A puppy? Small, brown, kind of annoying?”
There was a silence. “We do not own a dog.”
Click.
O-kay. Not very neighborly.
The puppy was barking again.
“Yes, yes, I hear you. So obviously, you belong to someone else in this neighborhood. Except, the only other houses around here are way over in that direction, and there’s a lot of them, and I don’t have time to… I know! I’m going to take some photos of you and post them to some sites and—WAH!”
Binx’s gaze dropped to the single black, bloody feather on the granite paver. What the hex? She spun around in a full three-sixty.
The dead crow was gone. Totally gone.
“Did you eat it? That is the grossest thing I’ve ever—”
Binx was interrupted by a dry flapping of wings. Startled, she glanced up and saw a bird watching her from the crook of a madrona tree. Glossy, black, flecked with blood.
It was the crow. The same crow that had been lying dead on the driveway a second ago.
What. The. Hex.
Binx glanced around—she was alone (except for the haunted crow and the clingy canine, of course). She took a photo of the crow and texted it to Greta and Ridley with an all-caps message:
I THINK I’M BEING STALKED BY A ZOMBIE CROW!!!!!
Then she got her wand, Kricketune, from her backpack and pointed it at the bird.
“Repellare!” she said, conjuring a repelling spell.
It didn’t budge.
“Repellare!” she tried again.
It still didn’t budge. Maybe a fire spell would scare it away?
She was just about to try out a new one she’d been practicing when her phone began buzzing. Likely Greta or Binx about the bloody crow photo.
“Just a sec!” she yelled at her phone.
And then she saw that it was a videochat request. From ShadowKnight.
OMG, finally! She quickly hit accept. “Hey! Hi!”
The screen was momentarily black as the buffering icon spun and swirled. A second later, ShadowKnight’s image appeared—fuzzy at first, then almost intact.
“Hey, Pokedragon2946.”
“Hey, ShadowKnight4811! I left you like a gadzillion messages.”
“I know. Sorry.”
ShadowKnight was cute in an intense, brooding sort of way. His brown hair fell to his chin, and he had the fuzzy beginnings of a beard and mustache.
Now she tried to make out the background behind him. His bedroom? Some other room? Or was he outside? His face was superimposed on a bland, mottled collage of light and dark—and something that could be a window or maybe a glimpse of actual sky—so it was hard to tell.
“Are you okay?” Binx asked him.
“Yeah, not really. I got into a humongous fight with the parental units because my dad found my grimoire under my bed.”
“What? No!”
“I told him it was for my art history homework, but I don’t think he believed me. They took away my computer and phone for a month.”
“Then how are you calling
