A degree was the only way to break the cycle I’d been stuck in. I tried to wet my lips, but my tongue was milk-powder dry. Mom and I would have to pack the car and start over yet again. The second my power sparked at work, I’d be booted from yet another bakery. So, keeping my witchcraft under wraps was my best chance at both safety and sanity. People were both fascinated with our magic and terrified when we moved in next door. I’d never use my power to harm-and I didn’t even believe in the devil-but other than the few celebrity witches who’d made it into the mainstream, the rest of us were outcasts. We were supposed to be power-hungry, manipulative hags who used our devil spells to curse law-abiding citizens. In a perfect world, I’d work my way up from part-time cake decorator to bakery manager to maybe owning my own shop. Ten pastry school applications and nine rejection letters later, I had one last chance to escape the future where I decorated grocery store sheet cakes for minimum wage forever. It felt like a big dough ball was proofing in my stomach, the pressure building and building until I wanted to hurl. My key jutted from the lock to Box 13, but I couldn’t twist it yet.

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Quanta by Lola Dodge