Nanna May dropped the fork and threw a handful of tiny seeds into the fire, peering at the flames crackling at her feet. Matilda smiled as she watched her. The seeds she’d thrown into the fire were pumpkin seeds—Nanna May would chew them first, then spit them into the fire in the kitchen and wait for them to ping out onto the floor. Lottie had banned her from doing it inside after one had hit Nimbus in the eye.
After a few seconds, one of the pumpkin seeds leaped out of the fire and landed at Nanna May’s feet. The old lady bent down to retrieve it, and Matilda hurried to her side and picked it up, then dropped it in the soil-lined palm of her grandmother. There was another faint snap, then another and another, and Matilda gathered the seeds up and handed them to Nanna May.
“What are you looking for, Nanna May?” asked Matilda as she looped her arm through her grandmother’s and escorted her to the pond.
Nanna May took one of the seeds and threw it into the water. Matilda watched the water ripple out in circles as the seed hit the surface. Nanna May threw another in, her eyebrows drawing together and mouth moving silently. She bit her lip as she shook her head, then turned to Matilda.
“What’s it say? What did you see this time?” asked Matilda.
According to Lottie, Nanna May was blessed with divination, a fairly common gift among witches. Matilda had always been respectful toward her grandmother and her belief that she could see the future, but deep down she thought the predictions were more likely just coincidences. Still, she looked at Nanna May with what she hoped was eager anticipation as the old woman clutched Matilda’s hand and turned to her.
“Wicked Tilly,” she whispered, the words sending a trail down Matilda’s spine. Nanna May grabbed Matilda’s other hand and looked at the pond, shaking her head as her eyes zigzagged over the surface like she was reading a message. She looked at Matilda again, her eyes grave. “Wicked Tilly.”
Matilda squeezed Nanna May’s hands and offered her a tight smile.
“What have I told you, Nanna? Please don’t call me that.”
Nanna May let go of Matilda’s hands and reached inside her duffle coat. Matilda looked at the horizon; if she was going to get her spell done by sunrise, she’d need to wrap this up and get back to her garden room. Matilda tried to retreat, but Nanna May gripped her tighter, then pulled an embroidered handkerchief out of her coat. She pursed her lips and tried to tie a knot in it.
Matilda kissed Nanna May on the forehead, then backed away from her, smiling as the old woman’s eyes widened and she gestured at the almost knot in the handkerchief, holding it up so Matilda knew who it was intended for.
“You know I love you, Nanna May, but I don’t want your used handkerchief, even it does keep evil spirits away,” said Matilda, picking some basil from the herb garden. “Got to go now, got to get ready for a date. Wish me luck.”
Matilda bounced down the path and blew Nanna May a kiss, smiling at the old woman still holding out her handkerchief. As soon as she rounded the corner, the smile dropped from her face and she wondered what her grandmother had seen in the ripples in the pond. A gust of wind sent a hush through the trees, and Matilda nodded to herself, deciding that maybe, just in case, she’d make a protection charm. One that didn’t involve carrying around a secondhand handkerchief.
CHAPTER FIVE
Grounds was quiet apart from the steady stream of customers with bloodshot eyes who couldn’t start their morning without caffeine, so Matilda felt right at home after her night of zero sleep. She drank the dregs of her cappuccino, then checked in her phone to make sure there wasn’t a foamy mustache sitting on her lip.
Matilda had tried to put the visit from the police and her early morning clash with her mother out of her mind by throwing herself into choosing an appropriate hairstyle and accessories for her meeting with Oliver, but thoughts of dead cows and cats kept bubbling through the piles of discarded scarves, along with a question that she just couldn’t seem to silence.
What if it was me?
She shook it away, trying to drown it in more important thoughts like who she would have to mess with to guarantee a position as prefect next term, and how could she get a place on the French exchange trip when she didn’t even take French. Then Grounds’s door tinkled and Matilda looked up as Oliver walked in, and there was another, important, thought.
Is he worth the potion I got up before sunrise to make?
Oliver pushed the bouncy hair back from his forehead as he scanned the tables. Matilda straightened up and fiddled with the empty sugar pot on the table, keeping her eyes on him. He bit his bottom lip and walked over to her table, ducking beneath the same dangling bats and orange and green streamers that were hanging from every shop ceiling in Gravewick. Hands behind his back, he bent down and narrowed his eyes as he inspected her face. Matilda held her breath as his aftershave and the fabric softener from his pillow floated between them.
“Nope,” he said, straightening up and grinning at her. “No blood today. I think we’re both safe.”
“Guess so,” said Matilda, her shoulders relaxing.
He looked at her cup and his face dropped. “You’ve already ordered? I was supposed to buy that for you.”
“I had a late night.” Matilda shrugged. “You can buy me another?”
Oliver beamed at her, and Matilda was glad she was sitting down. What a smile. Dimple to dimple, she thought, wiping her clammy palms on her thighs.
“What are you having?”
“Um, I’ll have another cappuccino, please.”
“Cappuccino number two, coming right up,” said Oliver, walking over to the counter.
Matilda watched him order their drinks in the reflection of the coffee-shop window and put her hand in her blazer pocket, curling her fingers around the glass bottle that was concealed inside it. Oliver came back from the counter and sat down next to her.
“She’s going to bring them over,” he said, gesturing to the woman behind the counter.
“Cool, thanks.”
“You’re very welcome, Matilda.”
If he doesn’t stop smiling at me, I think my heart is going to explode out of my throat, which will not be good because he doesn’t like blood, she thought, breaking their eye contact as she tucked her hair behind her ear. She glanced back at him; he was still smiling at her.
“So,” she said.
“So,” he said, his smile getting wider.
“Um.” She tapped her fingers against the side of her cup, then looked at him. “You’re a senior, right?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “What about you?”
“Junior,” said Matilda, shifting in the chair and putting her hand back in her pocket. “So … are you new? I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”
Oliver shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, I’m new to the school, but I started in September. We moved here in the summer but only from Landford. I live on Gallon Street, by the lake?”
Matilda nodded. Nanna May had told her that Gallon Street’s original name was Three Gallows, after three witches were hanged there, but the name was changed so people would buy houses and real estate agents could make a fortune.
“How about you?” said Oliver.
“How about me, what?”
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“Oh, right,” Matilda said, cringing at how uncool she sounded. It was so much easier to talk to boys once they had your love potion in their system and they thought everything you said was groundbreaking. “Ferly Cottage, on the edge of town.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Matilda shook her head. Oliver smiled at her. “Lucky. I have a half sister; she’s a pain in my ass.”
Oliver thanked the waitress as she set their drinks down on the table.
“I need sugar. Do you need sugar?” asked Oliver. Matilda nodded and pushed her chair back. “Stay where you are. I’ll get it.”
Oliver picked up the empty pot from their table and walked back to the counter, waving to the
woman to refill it with packets of sugar. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at Matilda, and she froze, her hand in her pocket, the glass bottle tight in her sweaty palm.
Oliver turned back to wait for the sugar, and Matilda looked down as she pulled the bottle out of its hiding place, unscrewed the lid, and held it over Oliver’s cup of coffee. She gasped as she felt a hand around her wrist. Oliver was leaning over the table, the sugar in one hand and her wrist still in his other, with a crooked smile tickling his lips.
“You don’t have to use that on me,” he said, taking the bottle from her fingers. “Let’s give this a chance the nonwitchy way, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER SIX
Matilda watched Oliver put the bottle down on the table, then stared up at him.
“What … I … what … I…,” she said, opening and closing her mouth like a koi.
Oliver looked over his shoulder and sat down.
“Witch,” he said, nodding at her. “Right?”
Matilda swallowed. “No, I mean … What? I…”
Oliver held his hand up, then shuffled his chair closer to the table so his elbow was touching hers. “It’s okay. I practice, too.”
“You … practice?”
“Yeah. You know that dudes can be witches, too, right?”
“Of course I do,” Matilda snapped. “My dad was a witch. Is a witch.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he … never mind. Back up, back right up. You’re telling me you’re a witch?”
“Yep,” said Oliver, sipping his coffee like revealing himself to be a witch was the most natural thing in the world.
“But how’d you know I’m a witch?”
“Your face, when you were bleeding yesterday,” said Oliver, pointing at Matilda’s cheek. He unzipped his coat and Matilda nearly fainted as he lifted his T-shirt up a fraction to show her the word Daniel scarred across his very toned abdomen. “I get mine on my body, not my face.”
Matilda shrugged, hoping that her inability to form words after seeing the waistband of Oliver’s boxers would pass for nonchalance.
Oliver narrowed his eyes and sat back in his chair.
“That was you yesterday, wasn’t it? With Ashley and the bees?” Matilda folded her arms and glanced around the coffee shop. Oliver gently hit the table as he smiled at her. “I knew it! I knew I saw an A on your cheek. The bees were pretty intense. I’ve never even heard of anything like that.”
“She deserved it,” said Matilda, sticking her chin out.
“Hey, I’m not judging,” said Oliver, holding his hands up. “That girl is poison. Just remind me never to cross you, that’s all.”
Matilda pulled her mug over and blew into it, trying to process what was happening.
“Where’s it gone now? Her name?” he asked, peering at her face.
Matilda swallowed. She’d made a basic love spell to use on Oliver mostly out of habit and because she needed a new distraction. What had just happened had completely blindsided her. Not only did he know about magic, but he wasn’t intent on lecturing her about upsetting the balance.
“Um, I can hide my scars.”
“Really? How do you do that? I mean, not that I want to go around doing horrible things to people, but it’d be nice to be able to take my shirt off in the school locker rooms.”
“Sorry, but … how do you know about this?” asked Matilda, her cheeks flushing a little.
“How do I know what?” said Oliver, taking another sip of his drink.
“About magic? About being a witch? About getting scars?”
“Well, I don’t really know that much about it. I’m quite new to it all, but I know the first rule is that if you use magic to hurt someone else then you end up with a big nasty name scored across your body. I didn’t believe it but I learned the hard way.”
“You’re not a lineage witch?” Matilda asked.
“A what-now witch?” said Oliver, raising his eyebrows.
“Lineage. So, it doesn’t run in your family?” Oliver shook his head. “Why did you start, then? Guys don’t tend to be interested.”
Oliver looked out of the window and let out a long sigh. “I had kind of a rough time before the summer, with my family and stuff, and sort of stumbled across it. I was spending a lot of time in the library, and there was this coven of old ladies who met there.”
“I bet they loved you,” said Matilda, thinking how much of a fuss her mom’s coven would make over Oliver.
“Of course,” smiled Oliver. “They’d feed me cake and teach me about magic. And how to knit. I was all about the meditation side to start with, but the more I learned the more I got into it. There was one lady who really helped me learn how to focus, and she could see I was taking it seriously, so she gave me some of her old books. She said she’d learned everything from her mom, so I guess she was a … what did you call it?”
“Lineage witch.”
Oliver nodded. “The coven taught me some basics just before we moved here, and I’ve tried to read as much as I can.” He looked up at Matilda and smiled. “What?”
Matilda smiled, too, and shook her head gently. “I just can’t picture you sitting in a coven in some library.”
“Hey, it was exactly what I needed at the time. I needed a focus and to feel in control of something.”
Matilda swallowed. Hearing Oliver’s words was like reading out a page from her diary. Since her dad left, the only time she felt she had any control in her life was when she was using magic. She couldn’t stop him from leaving, but she could make others do what she wanted; the control was a comfort.
“And then I move here, and it’s like witch central with girls vomiting bees in the cafeteria and all those dead animals. You heard about that, right?”
Matilda nodded, her shoulders tensing.
“That has to be someone using magic, right? I didn’t think you were supposed to hurt anything living, but it seems pretty…”
“Odd,” said Matilda. She wasn’t sure how Oliver would react if he knew the police had been at her house the night before, specifically asking Matilda questions about her possible connection to the latest deaths.
“Yeah, more than odd. I actually heard those cows had writing carved into their skin. I mean, how gross is that?” said Oliver, frowning out the window as if he was trying to piece together a crime scene.
Matilda willed herself to come up with a different topic of conversation that would distract Oliver, but her stupid brain couldn’t think of a single thing apart from the image of her own name on the animals. She looked down at her hands, then let out a small sigh of relief as Oliver steered the conversation on.
“But anyway, where were we? Let’s not talk about dead animals anymore, shall we? Not the topic of conversation I had in mind for today.” Oliver smiled, but there was some fear hidden in his eyes as he tried to change the subject. “What about you? I’m guessing being a witch is a family business?”
“Yeah, it goes way, way back. My family’s origins are right here, in Gravewick. You know the story of Ivy-down-the-witching-well?”
“I think it’s pronounced wishing well,” said Oliver.
“Thanks for the mansplain, but around here we call it the witching well,” Matilda said, smiling at him. “Ivy lived here in Gravewick, like four hundred years ago. Everyone knew she was a witch, but they went to her in secret if they were sick. It was all fine until someone actually said it out loud and all those people she’d helped turned on her, worried that they would be accused of witchcraft themselves. Apparently, they broke every one of her fingers, sewed her lips together, then threw her down a well in the woods and left her to starve to death. It was one of the wettest autumns recorded and after a few days the rain filled the well until she ended up drowning. People throw coins down there now and ask her to grant wishes, so her soul was never able to rest. Have you noticed how much ivy there is growing everywhere in Gravewick?”
“I’ve never really thought about it.”
> “Now I’ve told, you’ll notice it everywhere you go. Green, brown, red. Around tree trunks, over walls, up people’s houses. That’s her, reminding people she’s still here. So they say, anyway.”
“For real?” said Oliver, his eyes wide as he absorbed the story of Ivy. “Is that what this is all about?”
He pointed to a big green-and-orange poster advertising Gravewick’s Witching Well Festival. Matilda nodded and went on, her muscles crackling with the excitement of being able to share such a well-known town secret with someone who’d recently started using magic.
“Everyone knows the story and the festival is fun, but Ivy was a real person. I’ve seen drawings. She wore a moonstone around her neck and always carried an athame.”
“A what?”
“Athame. It’s a sort of ceremonial knife. People said she carried it in case she ever came up against the devil.”
Oliver swallowed, his eyes wide. “So, do lineage witches, like, worship the devil?”
“It was just a rumor. Real witches don’t believe in the devil, Oliver.” Oliver nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “You really are new to all this, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, and you’re a walking encyclopedia,” said Oliver, smiling.
Matilda shrugged. “My mother and grandmother have been teaching me all my life, and my dad, before he left. Mom is always banging on about the purity of my magic and how I need to respect it by learning through the right channels.”
“When did your dad leave?”
Matilda stiffened. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Do I? You want to ask me anything?”
Matilda bit her lip and narrowed her eyes.
“Why’d you leave your old school? Were you expelled?”
Mark of the Wicked Page 4
