Happy Halloween.

She wore black. She always wore black. Somehow though, her black blouse, skirt, and matching shoes made her look…well, chipper. She always had a smile. Her lips were blood red. No lipstick required. Her hair looked like the shiny shoe polish that people used to use to shine leather shoes to a high gloss, even a spit shine. Sometimes, her hair would sparkle.

She wasn’t shy. If you did talk to her, well, she was engaging, witty, and a great listener. Sadly, very few of her Classmates ever took the time to find that out. No one could put a finger on it, but she seemed to be different somehow. Like she knew something you did not…and would never tell you. And so her first three years of High School went by without her making a best friend among the girls. And boys, well boys stayed well clear of her. She was pretty, with a somewhat slender build, but not skinny. Boys should have flocked to her. They…did…not.

Until.

*****

“Excuse me, Miss…er…can you tell me where Room 112 is? Mrs. Thompson’s Home Room?”

She turned at the sound of the voice. A tall gangly red headed boy was holding a piece of paper with his Class Assignments on it. He had a confused look on his face. He was concentrating very hard, taking a moment to look down the four different hallways that all lead in different directions. He didn’t seem to notice her outfit. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice her. He was just asking for help…and she was the closest person to him.

“Yes, I can. I am in that same Home Room. Have been for the last three years.”

For the first time, he looked right at her. Her heart felt a feeling she had never felt before. Like it wanted to crawl out of her chest, climb up one of the slim boys long arms, and nestle itself in his chest. Right next to his heart. She managed to keep her face from showing the effect of his eyes on her.

He simply stared at her for a long long time. She stared back. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was…delicious. His eyes seemed to glow. They were orange. A color she had never seen on a boy before. Or a girl for that matter. It wasn’t just the color of those eyes that fueled what was going on inside her fluttering heart. It was the warmth, depth, and silent loneliness leaking out of them that made her reach out and take his hand.

He looked down at her hand. Then looked back at her eyes. He smiled. Then he spoke. His words made her tremble. If she hadn’t been holding his hand…she would have fallen. She was shocked into a mind fog. She didn’t know what to do…or say. His words hung in the air between them:

“You’re a Witch…aren’t you?”

There wasn’t any accusation in his tone. Nor was there any fear. He was simply asking to see if what he already knew…was true. She found her voice as the secret she had carried for seventeen years…came in out of the darkness of shame, into the light of Truth.

“Yes. I am.”

He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. Their bodies at least were still connected.

“Oh, that’s marvelous!”

“It is?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Why?”

He looked down all four hallways, to make sure they were alone. Then he leaned down, lowering his head from his towering six foot six perch, down to her more petite five foot five. He whispered so softly that the words floated to her ears…then directly to her brain, finally knocking gently on the rooms in her heart.

“My father is a Warlock. I am an Apprentice. But I have passed the Wizard Guild test already. I took it a year early. It seems I have some natural talent for Wizardry. “

“You…you…you are a Wizard?”

“Well, I am no Merlin…at least not yet.” (His self deprecating laugh couldn’t hide his belief in his potential. He was humble, but confident.)

“We better hurry! Mrs. Thompson closes and locks her door when the second bell rings.”

He smiled down at her.

“Is that a problem…I mean for you? Can’t you just put a spell on her …or the lock?”

She giggled.

“I don’t know what you know about Witches, but we don’t use Magic for little things. We don’t want folks putting two and two together.”

He squeezed her hand ( a feeling she was growing rather fond of).

“Yeah, I once used an accuracy spell to make my shot go in when I played basketball at my old school. My Dad gave me a very stern lecture.”

“An accuracy spell?”

He blushed.

“Yeah, it was a close game. I am a pretty good shot all on my own. But I really wanted to beat that Team. So on the last play of the game, I had just rebounded the ball, when my feet got tangled up with the defender. And well…as I was falling out of bounds, I just threw the ball away so I could stop from hitting the floor with my head.”

She was listening intently. Almost breathless.

“Then what happened?”

He squeezed her hand (and she enjoyed that pressure just as much as the last squeeze).

“I mumbled a quick spell. The ball went sideways to get out from under the basket. Then it turned towards the other basket…and floated the length of the court. Um…I didn’t tell it how fast to go though. So it just sort of drifted down the court. It took forever for it to get to the other basket. The whole gym went quiet.”

She was smiling at the picture he painted.

“Then, well it just hovered over the rim. With an accuracy spell, you have to finish it with a hand gesture. So I had to move my hand down for the ball to go into the net. Everyone saw it. Nobody believed it. I quit the team that night. I made it through the last few months of school. Then my Dad got me transferred here. The rumors at the Old School I went to got pretty…well…bizarre.”

“Well, I am glad you came here. Nobody knows I am a Witch.”

He turned to look at her again. She didn’t mind. She was looking up at him…wondering what he was thinking. She didn’t have to wait long. The very tall, very gangly young man leaned down from his full height to put the softest of gentle kisses on her lips. She had never been kissed before. She knew he had never kissed a girl before either. She would have known. She pressed her lips back with the same gentle touch his lips had on hers.

He broke contact. But held his face just inches from hers. He breathed out slowly.

“Did you …er…um…did you just put a Spell on me?”

Her laugh puffed up against his cheek.

“No, Silly. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He straightened up, and squeezed her hand- again. (And this time, she liked it even more.)

“Then that was real Magic!”

She had to agree.

It was Halloween.

She went as a Witch. He went as a Wizard. They won “Best Costume” at the School Dance. If anyone noticed that neither of their feet touched the floor during slow dances…well, they blamed it on the lighting.

The Magic that night was the same Magic that weaved its way through Mortal Hearts. It had the same name... no matter who fell under the Spell:

LOVE.