Keeper(70)

I groaned and threw the sweater over my head where it landed on the pile of already discarded clothes. “That’s it! I’m not going!” I flopped down on Maggie’s bed and covered my face with my arms.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Styles,” Maggie calmly called from the bathroom. “And could you cut that out? I’m trying to put mascara on, and you’re gonna make me poke my eyeball out.”

I uncovered my face to see the lights in Maggie’s bedroom and bathroom were flickering on and off. Yelping, I jumped to my feet. “Argh, not again!”

Maggie walked from the bathroom and put her hands on my shoulders. “Relax, Lainey. You have to relax.”

“I’m trying,” I said through clenched teeth. “But the more I try not to use my magic, the more it keeps happening! The freaking Scavengers could be right outside for all we know!”

“You’re just nervous. You need to calm down.”

I sighed. It’d been four days since Gareth left town. I’d spent hours poring over books about magic in Serena’s shop, but the distraction did little to quell my worry. Gareth had called once to let me know he was safe, but that was two days ago. Every time the phone rang and it wasn’t him, my nerves grew more frazzled.

It didn’t help that Ty was due to pick us up for the carnival in half an hour.

Date. The very word made me want to crawl under the covers and never come out. I’d been on a few dates before, and I’d had the sporadic boyfriend or two. But this felt . . . different, and it made me ridiculously nervous.

I groaned and covered my face with one of Maggie’s pillows.

“It’s just a date, Styles,” Maggie said. “Not an act of congress. It will be fine.” She hopped up and pranced back to the bathroom, fluffing her voluminous curls. “Besides, I’ll be there to back you up. You got this.”

I let out a breath. “Thank goodness for that.” I’d insisted Maggie come along—using my unstable magic as a feeble excuse for not being alone with Ty—but even her usual perkiness couldn’t alleviate the churning in my stomach.

“Here,” Maggie said, coming out of the bathroom to pull an off-the-shoulder, midnight-blue sweater from her closet. “Wear this.”

I took the sweater and threw it on. It hit just below the waistline and sat perfectly across my collarbones. It was exactly the look I’d been hoping for. “How is it that you can dress me better than I can dress myself?”

Maggie laughed. “’Cause I know you better than you know yourself.”

I grinned and sat down to put my boots on. Then I pulled the dagger Gareth had given me from my bag and carefully tucked it in the waistband of my jeans. I pulled the sweater over it and checked in Maggie’s full-length mirror to make sure it was covered.

A few minutes later, I was putting on a thin layer of lip gloss when headlights flashed across the wall. “He’s here,” I said, peering out Maggie’s bedroom window. Ty’s familiar black car was parked in the driveway. “I think I’m gonna throw up,” I continued as Ty walked toward the door.

“It’s not like you’ve never hung out before, Styles.”

“I know, but this is . . . different.” I tugged on my hair, trying to smooth it into place.

Maggie walked over and pulled my hands away from my scalp. “Stop that. You look beautiful, and he’s gonna think so too.”

“You really think so?”

Maggie put her hand on her hip. “Please, when have I ever been wrong?”

“Never.” I grinned. Downstairs, the doorbell rang. I jumped, and the light overhead gave a tiny flicker.

“Come on,” Maggie said with a laugh. “Let’s go save him before my dad starts doing his ‘famous’ impressions.” She cocked her head at me and, with a voice that perfectly mirrored her father’s phony Humphrey Boggart accent, said, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Giggling, we linked arms and walked down the stairs to where Ty was talking casually with Maggie’s dad. He was wearing his leather jacket—which I’d finally returned—and a long-sleeved gray thermal with a pair of dark jeans and boots. He looked incredible.

Swallowing, I forced myself to focus on the stairs so I wouldn’t trip and fall on my face.

After listening to Donald Duck and Bill Clinton remind us several times to stay safe and wear our seatbelts, we managed to say good-bye to Mr. Dawson and head outside. Maggie dutifully crawled into the backseat with a wink as Ty walked me to the passenger side of the car and held the door open.

“Thank you,” I squeaked as I sat down. Oh my God. I cringed at the shrill sound of my voice. Behind me, Maggie snickered. I turned around and gave her a quick glare. She responded by kicking the back of my seat, as if to say, “Chill out! Take a deep breath!”

I rolled my eyes but sucked down a mouthful of air anyway.

Ty walked around the car and got inside. He cranked the car and backed down the driveway in one fluid motion. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Maggie’s dad,” he began, his cheeks turning slightly pink, “but . . . uh . . . you look gorgeous tonight.”

My cheeks burned, but I smiled. “Thank you,” I said, grateful that my voice seemed to have returned to its normal state.

“And we all know, I, of course, look fabulous!” Maggie chirped.