Death, Dating and Other Dilemmas

So here’s the thing, I’m a witch. Not that you’d guess by looking at me. Maybe it’s the pastel pink hair, meticulously bleached, dyed, and set in rollers every night for the perfect bounce. Maybe it’s because I’m never without my phone, tablet, or laptop. Or maybe it’s the bright, colorful outfits and impractical shoes that ruin the “ancient coven vibes.” Either way, no one would look at me and think witch. The rest of my family? They’re a little more... Predictable. Think long, neutral dresses, no makeup, and hair that’s never seen the inside of a salon. ‘Embracing nature’ they call it.

Meanwhile, I think of makeup as art and my face as the canvas. But hey, to each their own. Now, don’t get me wrong—I haven’t completely abandoned my roots. I can still do magic when I feel like it. Specifically, elemental magic is kind of my jam. And yes, I stick to wearing natural fabrics like my parents taught me, but mine are actually pretty.

The biggest difference is that I don’t subscribe to their “one with nature” aesthetic and overly traditional outlook. As soon as I turned eighteen, I ditched the rituals, signed up for an online university, and studied at night. By twenty-three, I’d graduated top of my class and landed a job at a big law firm. I moved out that same week. My parents were horrified. Apparently, ‘corporate IT’ didn’t fit into their grand plans of me settling down with a nice, nature-loving wizard and popping out magical babies.

Fast-forward five years. I’m twenty eight now, working in IT support, and living my best life. Well, mostly. I have my own office in the basement of the firm. It’s filled with knick knacks, fairy lights, and cute little trinkets that would make the firm’s HR department faint. But since the lawyers upstairs rarely venture down here, nobody cares.

If something breaks, they send an intern or shoot me an email. The interns, bless their stressed out souls, don’t have the time or energy to critique my decor as long as I fix their problems. Today, my peace is interrupted by the rarest of events, an actual phone call. My work phone vibrates. I sigh. Nobody here calls unless they’re in a full-blown panic. I answer in my most professional tone. It’s chirpy, polite, and just a little too cheerful. Why? Because I know it annoys people who are already frustrated. And honestly? That’s my little reward in this job where people are rarely happy to see me.

“Good afternoon, tech support. This is Clare speaking. How can I save your ass today?”

Silence. Then, an irritated male voice responds, dripping with impatience.

“Fifth floor. Office 503. My computer isn’t working.” He grunts out. Ah, a charmer.

“Have you tried restarting it?” I ask sweetly, already gathering my things. The pause is so long I can practically hear him rolling his eyes through the phone.

“Obviously. Just get up here.”

Click.

He hangs up without so much as a thank-you.

“Charming,” I mutter. I grab my gear, plaster on a grin, and head upstairs.

I make my way to the fifth floor and find office 503. I haven’t been to this office before, so naturally, I’m curious to meet the grumpy guy who summoned me. His name plate reads Lukas Hollen. I knock lightly on the door.

“Come in,” a male voice calls. Pasting on my brightest smile, I push the door open.

“Tech support! I’m Clare. We spoke on the phone?” The guy working in this office is very put together. His dark brown hair is perfectly combed and styled. His charcoal grey suit pairs perfectly with his dark blue tie. Sadly, his pretty face is ruined with an irritated scowl. 

“Do you really think that outfit is appropriate for your role here?” he demands. I glance down at my clothes. I’m wearing a white blouse tucked into a bubblegum pink skirt. I’m wearing these fabulous white heeled boots with little crystals sewn into them that make my legs look awesome and make up for my miniscule stature. My pink hair is perfectly curled as usual and my glasses today have pink frames to match the look. I frown.

“What exactly is wrong with my outfit?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not very professional. You hardly look competent,” Lukas replies with a scoff. Oh, no he didn’t. Without saying a word, I march into his office, stride right around his desk, and stop in front of him. Before he can protest, I reach out and ruffle his meticulously styled hair, turning it into a chaotic mess.

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, He seems totally stunned for a moment then shoves his chair back to escape me.

I smile sweetly. “Your hair’s a mess now. Tell me, does that make you any less capable of doing your job?” He stares at me, flabbergasted, one hand already trying to fix his hair. Finally, he mutters, “I suppose not.”

“Exactly. Now,” I say brightly, 

“Why don’t you show me what’s wrong with your computer, and I’ll fix it. Or, if you’d prefer, you can figure it out yourself.” He sighs, clearly defeated, and gestures to the screen.

It takes me all of two minutes to fix the issue. Just a driver update, no big deal. I step back.

“All done!” I chime in a singsong voice.

“Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep! You can thank me now,” I say pointedly, flicking my hair over my shoulder.

“Thanks,” he grumbles. Then, to my surprise, he abruptly holds out a hand. “I’m Lukas.” I take his hand, placing mine lightly in his. 

“Clare,” I reply, still forcing my cheery tone. Internally, though, I’m fuming. This guy is lucky I don’t use magic often, or I’d have been tempted to light his stupid hair on fire instead of just messing it up. His eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Huh?” I blink. Wait a second, I didn’t say that out loud… did I? Wait a second, I thought his name sounded familiar… He’s still holding my hand, so I yank it back and glare at him. “Lukas Hollen. As in the son of Marian Hollen?” He nods slightly, his expression unreadable.

“You’re a wizard! My mother complains about your mother constantly. You’re the guy who reads minds!” I accuse.

“Guilty as charged.” He replies smoothly, looking far too smug for my liking.

“Keep your nosy head out of my thoughts, asshole!” I snap, backing away a few steps. 

For a moment, he looks startled. Then his expression clears, like he’s just put something together.

“You’re Clare Mead.”

“Yes, I am,” I say, still glaring.

“My parents don’t like yours either,” he remarks.

“No kidding,” I shoot back. 

“Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m leaving. Consider yourself lucky I didn’t set you on fire. And if you read my mind again without permission, you won’t be so lucky.” Lukas nods, his face annoyingly calm. 

“Right.”

Ugh. I storm out of his office, take the elevator straight back to my basement sanctuary, and start packing up. It’s a little early to leave, but I don’t care. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m sick. One thing’s for sure, I don’t often agree with my mother, but she’s spot on about Lukas Hollen. He’s definitely a jerk.