Almost Midnight (Shadow Falls: After Dark #3.5)(50)

“Are you implying that someone here did this?”

“It would appear that way,” she stated, realizing her dilemma. Their next question would probably be for her to identify the person responsible for the horseshit.

Miranda was not a tattler. Nope.

“I am tired of these childish games,” a different judge spoke up and she held out her finger, giving it a good wiggle. The dung on Miranda’s shoes and on the floor vanished.

“Who is responsible for this act?” the witch asked. “They will pay for this with a ten-point deduction.”

Just ten? Surely, equine dung came with a higher consequence? “I … I’m afraid I didn’t see the spell being placed.” That was the truth.

“Do you suspect someone guilty of this crime?” another judge spoke up.

Miranda could feel Tabitha’s and Sienna’s gazes on her. Were they afraid? They should be. “I … I can’t really say.”

“Can’t or won’t?” the woman questioned.

Miranda’s gaze shifted to the audience, where she saw her mom sitting in the second row. She was nodding her head as if telling Miranda to spill her guts.

Her hesitation provoked another judge to speak up. “This is silly. Your silence will cost you ten points. Now tell us and let’s get moving.”

Just tell them, a voice whispered inside her head. The two witches deserved it, but to do so went against her moral compass.

She opened her mouth to do just that, but when she did, she saw who sat behind her mom. Kylie, a light blonde who was … as perfect on the outside as she was on the inside. Sweet as apple pie. And Della, with her almost-black hair and dark eyes, eyes that barely slanted upward, that hinted at her half-Asian heritage. No one would call Della sweet. Not to her face anyway. And yes, in truth, Della could be a tad standoffish, and feisty, but it was mostly an act. Miranda couldn’t have a more loyal friend. Both of them were … her support team. Her best friends. Two girls she looked up to, admired.

What would they do?

The answer resounded back with clarity.





Chapter Three


Miranda would stand her moral ground. “I will take the deduction in points,” she said, decision made, but her fury again rising.

“So be it,” another judge said and slammed her gavel down on the wooden French farm table.

Miranda refused to look at Tabitha for fear she’d lose it and send her own horseshit spell the girl’s way.

Not only was the witch getting off without being punished, Miranda was being punished for her actions.

Not that she was throwing in the towel on winning. It simply meant she would have to work harder. It meant she’d have to pull off each and every spell without one hiccup.

Could she do it?

*

A tiny drop of sweat collected between Miranda’s boobs.

“Sienna Banker.” The name of the eighteenth contestant was called. The order in which they were to perform was decided by random drawings. That meant the only ones left were Miranda and Tabitha.

It only added to Miranda’s pressure.

She stood on wobbly knees, watching the B with an itch move in front of the table. The girl extended her hand, her pinky twitching. The spell spilled from her lips. “Apples to apples…”

Miranda purposely tried to not listen to the spell.

Part of her problem in competitions was simply repeating bad spells. She’d managed to change the apple into an orange twice in her dressing room. She had the spell down, she didn’t need to screw with it.

“Oh, orange of mine,” the girl continued.

No. No. No. Do not listen. Miranda cupped her hands at her sides and mentally hummed the “Yankee Doodle” song. She’d picked up that song and the act of humming when nervous from her dad. Her gaze cut to the audience for a second. Not that she expected him to be out there. For some reason, even when he was in town, he never attended the competitions.

Applause erupted from the audience.

Miranda stood stoic at the girl’s success. She wished no one failure, but their victory added to her problem. Another drop of sweat crawled down her cleavage.

Suddenly, a dark mood, the same one that had appeared when she’d studied the storm, whispered across Miranda’s soul. She shot Tabitha a frown.

The girl stood frowning in return, looking uncomfortable in her own skin. Was Tabitha doing this to Miranda? She didn’t appear to be casting a mood spell.

But it had to be her, didn’t it?

“Tabitha Evans,” the judge spoke up.

Friggin’ great. Miranda was going to be last. Swallowing down a lump of fear, she mentally went back to humming. Yankee Doodle went to …

Tabitha stepped up to the table where a fresh apple had just been placed. She repeated a few words, twitched her pinky, and a perfectly round, juicy-looking orange appeared.

Her orange was removed. Another apple took center table.

“Miranda Kane.” Her name set a gang of butterflies loose in her stomach.

She stepped up to the table, now closer to the audience. Her mom’s face stood out. Then Kylie’s and Della’s. You two are going to Paris with me.

Raising her arm, she recited her spell. “Apple, oh apple, fruit of the tree. Grant me this spell, I place upon thee. An apple no more, an orange you shall be.”