Page 42 of Summer L.A.W.

“Don’t you dare,” Victoria warned, intercepting the bottle.

Esmerelda chuckled from her chair. “Let her have a splash, dear. It’s midsummer. Spirits of all kinds are welcome.”

“See?” Lioness said. “Esme gets me.”

Joell shook her head but smiled and settled onto a log near the fire. “All right, ladies. Food, drink, and no summoning. That’s an order.”

The circle scattered into comfortable chaos. Witches passing plates, swapping jokes, arguing about who had hidden the marshmallows. The night hummed with warmth and sisterhood.

Only Crystal stayed near the flames, staring into their heat. The blue shimmer flickered again. Subtle, almost imaginary.

She whispered, “What do you want from me?”

The fire answered with a hiss and a brief spark, like laughter swallowed by the wind.

“Crystal?” Brianna called from across the circle. “You okay?”

She blinked, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Esmerelda raised her glass. “Dangerous habit,” she reminded her.

Crystal smiled faintly and lifted her own. “To Litha. To renewal.”

“And to whatever trouble comes next,” Joell added.

As the laughter swelled again and the stars crowded close above the hills, Crystal couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next had already begun—quietly, beneath the surface, like a tide turning in the dark.

Sleep wasn’t happening.

The mattress in Raoul’s pool house was fine, better than Navy bunks, but every time Mason shut his eyes, he saw waves. Not just the rhythmic, harmless kind. The dark ones. The kind that swallowed sound and light and ships.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and rolled over, staring at the glow of the pool through the sliding glass door. The water shimmered faintly, reflecting the moon. For a second, it looked like the ocean off Montauk. Then the light shifted, and it was just chlorinated stillness again.

“Get it together,” he muttered.

He’d promised Joell he’d stay put. Let the witches do their… whatever it was they did. Rituals. Realignments. Magic with a capital M. He respected that, even if he didn’t understand it. But sitting here while Crystal was off somewhere fighting invisible forces felt wrong on a cellular level.

He got up, padded barefoot to the kitchenette, and poured himself a glass of water. The water in his glass rippled. Once. Twice. Then it stilled. He set it down carefully. “Okaaay… no more bourbon before bed.”

The pool lights flickered. A moment later, the surface stirred. Small, concentric circles spread outward, though nothing had touched it. And then he heard it. A voice. Soft. Faint. Carried not through air, but through water.

“Mason…”

He froze, his breath locking in his chest.

“Crystal?” he whispered.

The ripples quickened, the water glowing faintly from below, that same ghostly blue he’d seen tracing her veins.

“Mason…” The voice again, closer this time, but urgent and distorted, like a radio transmission cutting in and out. He was already halfway out the door before logic caught up.

The pool shimmered, the reflection deepening into something impossible… like a vast expanse of dark ocean under moonlight. He could smell the salt, the storm. He jogged down the outer stairs to the pool.

“Crystal!” he called.

The water stilled. The illusion broke. Chlorine and tile again.

He stood there, bare feet cold on concrete, heart pounding. “Shit,” he whispered. “I’m losing it.” But deep down, he knew he wasn’t. He’d heard her. Felt her. Somehow, she’d reached across whatever distance separated them.