Calista
Calista, is that you?
I looked over my shoulder and frowned not recognizing the person. But she looked at me like she had known me for a very long time.
“It’s Dahlia, remember we met at Moonlight Avenue.”
I blinked, my mind scrambling to place the name with the face. Then it clicked—she was the witch who tripped over me. Dahlia had been there, dressed in flowing robes that seemed almost otherworldly. But now, in a simple tee and jeans, she looked like an entirely different person.
“Oh, Dahlia! Yes, I remember,” I said, a smile creeping onto my face. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you for a second.”
She chuckled softly. “Don’t worry about it. I guess I look a little different outside of the robes, huh?”
“Yeah, just a bit,” I admitted, feeling a little embarrassed.
Dahlia studi
