It was my freshman year when my best friend introduced me to the spring festival in Hawthorne University. I was studying for finals, but she said everyone, absolutely everyone, goes to Beltane. Because Hawthorne is weird.
Men in red paint jumped flames. Ladies in white dresses with lovely flower garlands awaited the May Queen. But none of that interested me—until I decorated a tree with a super cute guy. We danced around the tree and had so much fun.
But then I saw fire. And within the flames were disturbing images. Even with the spark between me and my new stranger, it had to end. I think that was the day my witchcraft began—you know, the fire that burns in my heart and soul.