“What’s going on?” she asks, but she doesn’t sound overly concerned. She sounds like this is just an unexpected but normal phone call. As if I just called to let her know cheer practice was running long or something.
“There are two books in the bookshelf in the living room on Cherokee history,” I say, matching her tone. “Can you overnight them to me? The address for the school is on the flier on my desk.”
“I’m not home right now,” she says. “But as soon as I can get to them, I will, okay?”
“Sure,” I say. “Thanks.”
“Anything else?” she asks, and my heart hurts for a new reason.
Why is she so cool? So unconcerned? I ran away. We haven’t seen each other in weeks. I’m becoming a more powerful witch. Doesn’t she care?
“How are you?” I ask, and she pauses before answering.
“I’m fine, honey,” she finally says. “Just fine.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting help just like you told me to,” she says, and the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. Something isn’t right.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve been going to meetings,” she says. “I’m at one now. I’m staying sober like you told me to in your note.” There’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there before. “I was going to call you once I got my thirty-day chip—”
“That’s great,” I interrupt as my face blushes hotly. I can’t ignore the feeling that she’s lying. “Where are you going to the meetings at?”
“Oh, you know,” she says, drawing out the word ‘know.’ And yes, I do know. She’s trying to remember where in town the Narcotics Anonymous meetings are usually held that she has been to a few times but never stuck with. “The church not far from the house. Just down the road.”
“The Methodist church?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “That’s the one.”
I nod to myself. The church at the end of the road is Baptist.
“I’m really happy to hear that, Mama,” I say despite my disappointment.
“I’m going to make you right proud, baby,” she says. “But I gotta go. Talk later, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, wiping a tear from my cheek.
She ends the call, and I put my phone down on the bed.
She didn’t even ask how I was.
I turn my head and see the door to Giselle’s closet with the full-length mirror is open. I’m staring at myself. I’m sure it wasn’t open when I came into the room, but I was so engrossed in my conversation that I didn’t hear it creak. At least there’s no ominous feeling.
I stand and go to close the door on the mirror, but as I do so, I run my fingers over the glass. I need to see Mama. I need confirmation. It’s possible she really did just forgot the name of the church. Drugs do mess up your brain, especially memory, and that isn’t always something you can bounce back from.
I clear my throat and trace a circle on the mirror, using the same technique I used to see this school and step through to La Voisin to begin with.
“Show me Mama,” I say.
The mirror ripples and then, as though I’m looking through a pool of water, I see Mama sitting on a couch, laughing. Her junkie friends are around her, and they are passing joints and pouring shots of vodka. I don’t see anything illegal outside of the marijuana, which might be why she said she was “getting sober,” but this isn’t good enough for me. Maybe some people can smoke a little pot and drink a little and be fine, but it just doesn’t work that way for a junkie.
I wipe away the image, and the glass returns to normal. I pace for a moment, chewing my lower lip. I know I should ignore her. If she’s not getting clean, I don’t have an obligation to talk to her. I have my own life.
My life sucks, though.
I’m behind in everything. The ‘catch up’ plan Ms. Brewster gave me seems impossible. My roommate is dead, and I’m the main suspect. My powers are still wildly out of control. Krista and Ivy are nice, but I’ve been avoiding Jaxon, which has made it hard to get out and meet more people. The weather is still cold. The person I am closest to and most comfortable with is a freaking statue! What does that say about my life?
I’m wasting my time here. I’ll never be able to create that super-potion that would get me the in-depth training I need. I’ll never know what happened to Giselle. It’s only a matter of time before people connect Beau’s death to me. I’ll look like a serial killer.
I should go. I don’t belong at La Voisin. I belong in Oklahoma. Or not. I don’t know. There are so many painful memories there. Maybe I don’t belong anywhere.
But Mama is there, and she needs help. She needs someone to kick her butt into gear. She can’t take care of herself. How could I have just left her like that? I should have at least driven her to an in-patient treatment center or something.
Maybe that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go back, take care of Mama, and then...leave. For real this time. Go somewhere new where no one knows me. Take on a new name. A new life.
I close the door to Giselle’s closet and open my own. I pull out my bag and open it on the bed. I start taking out my clothes and tossing them into a bag, along with my makeup and shoes. I leave the books from Mr. Hamilton on the desk. Useful or not, I don’t want to be accused of stealing.
I pause as I pick up the list of possible ways Giselle could have been killed. If I leave, will it just convince Ms. Brewster that she was right? That I was the killer all along? Will she come after me? If she’s convinced it was me, will the real killer get away?
There’s a knock on the door, and I scramble to shove the paper into my pocket.
“Yeah?” I ask.
Ivy opens the door, popping her head in, her sleek hair falling to one side. “Hey. What are you doing?”
I’ve never been quick on the draw when it comes to lying. Instead, I look at the bed and my totally obvious attempt at escape.
“You’re leaving?” Ivy asks, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “Why?”
I open my mouth, but I’m not sure where to begin. “Lots of reasons.”
“But you can’t,” Ivy says. “The end of the semester is only a couple of months away.”
“And I’ll never get caught up in time,” I say, rummaging through my bag and handing Ivy the assignment plan from Ms. Brewster. “I’ll be dismissed anyway.”
“So you’re a quitter?” Ivy asks. “Because that’s quitter talk.”
“I’m a survivor. I don’t just quit when things get hard. I quit when I know I can’t win.”
“You think you can’t beat this little list?” Ivy asks. “Reading, practices, assignments. Yeah, it’s a lot, but if you chip at it day by day, you’ll get through it. Krista and Jaxon and I can help you.”
“Ugh, Jaxon,” I say. “I don’t want his help. I’m not sure I ever even want to see him again.”
“Don’t say that,” Ivy says. “He messed up. Have you ever known a guy who wasn’t stupid?”
I snort. She’s got a point there. At the same time, why is it always the guys who get excuses for their mistakes?
“He feels bad,” Ivy goes on. “Give him a chance to learn from his mistakes and do better.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll talk to him. But...there’s something else.”
“What?” Ivy crosses her arms as if ready to rebuff my challenge before I even speak it. “More excuses?”
“My mama,” I say. “She’s not doing well.”
“Is she sick?” Ivy asks.
“Sort of,” I say. “She’s a drug addict. I called her this morning, and she said she was getting sober, but I knew she was lying. I scryed her in the mirror and saw her getting high. She’s just as messed up as she ever was. She needs my help.”
Ivy clears her throat and nods. “I know a thing or two about messed-up family members.”
“Then you understand why I need to go back.”
“No,” she says. “I understand why you need
to stay.”
“How can you say that?”
She walks over and places her hands on my shoulders. “You can’t help her,” she says. “Only she can do that.”
My resolve crumbles. I know she’s right. My whole body goes weak, but it’s as if I’ve been holding the world in my arms and someone has finally taken it from me. It’s a feeling of utter relief that finally lets me relax.
I sway and sit on my bed. Ivy sits next to me, holding my hand.
“I know,” I say. “I’ve tried everything. Begging, pleading. Taking her to meetings. Shaming her. Staying with friends. She’s even been to treatment centers for short stints. She’d get clean for a bit, but after a while, things would always go back to the way they were. I’d blame myself. I wouldn’t be paying attention to the signs that something was wrong. I didn’t want to know. I was tired of being responsible for her. So I’d ignore it until she was so far gone I couldn’t look away, and then we’d fight and the whole thing would start over again.”
Ivy just sits there silently, nodding once in a while, letting me vent. It’s only after I’ve been silent for a minute that she speaks.
“That’s the cycle of an addict. No one can make them get help. They have to want it for themselves.”
“But she’s my mother,” I say. “We only have each other. My dad died when I was so young, I don’t even remember him. Grandma’s gone. How can I abandon her too?”
“You didn’t,” Ivy says. “She’s abandoned you. You’re her kid. You aren’t supposed to take care of her. She’s supposed to take care of you. You need to let go.”
“You’re right,” I say. “Logically, I know this. But...everything is such a mess. I don’t even know where to start fixing my life.”
Ivy reaches into her pocket and hands me a small vial. “This is why I came today. I thought you might want to try this.”
The vial is small and red with a cork stopper. “What is it?”
“A healing potion for your heart chakra,” she says. “Holy basil, angelica, emerald, neroli, and ylang ylang. And I infused it with a bit of love, because you clearly need to be reminded of the importance of loving yourself.”
“Made with love?” I joke, but she nods.
“Love can be very powerful,” she says.
I open the vial, and the scent is heavenly. “Bottoms up,” I say as I toss the liquid down. It tastes terrible, but it’s a small enough amount that I choke it down with little more than a slight cough. “It burns!”
“That’s how you know it’s working,” Ivy says, taking the vial back and standing. “Come on, let’s go work on that potion for Ms. Brewster. Jaxon and Krista are waiting.”
“All of us?” I ask. “But there can only be one winner.”
“We’ll see,” Ivy says. “As you pointed out, it is nearly impossible for any one person to create the potion. Once Ms. Brewster realizes that, she might amend her one-winner rule.”
“Maybe you should find another teammate,” I say. “You three are way out of my league. I’ll just hold you back.”
Ivy looks at her watch.
“Are you late for something?” I ask. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
“No, I’m just waiting for that self-love and heart-healing potion to kick in.”
I laugh, but then I feel a warmth in my chest like I just stepped out of a cold house into the sunshine. “Whoa.”
Ivy places her hand on her heart. “Now, say, ‘I embrace who I am. I release all fear. I listen to my heart. I love and forgive myself as I love and forgive others.’”
As I say the words, I can feel myself believing them.
I’m a witch. There is no running from that.
But no amount of self love can change reality: Beau is dead because of me, Giselle’s murdered is unaccounted for, and I’m dangerously close to losing my only lifeline to mastering my powers.
Chapter 13
“You will never guess what I caught Madison trying to do!” Ivy says as we both waltz into one of the house’s many parlors together where Jaxon and Krista are waiting for me.
“Kissing a frog to find a prince?” Krista asks.
“I think Madison is a bit more discerning with her kisses than that,” Jaxon says, and he gives me a wink.
I smile back as I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I think that was his way of apologizing, and I’ll be happy to accept if we can avoid any more uncomfortable conversations in the future.
“No,” Ivy says, plopping onto one of the couches. “She was leaving!”
“What?” Krista and Jaxon both exclaim.
“Why?” Krista follows up.
“Look, I’m really sorry—” Jaxon starts.
“I just got some upsetting information about my mom,” I say, keeping things simple. “I just panicked and thought she needed me.”
“Does she?” Krista asks. “Is everything okay?”
I shrug as I sit next to Jaxon on the couch opposite Ivy and Krista. “Not really, but there isn’t anything I can do to make things better. So I might as well stay here.”
“It can be really hard having mundane family,” Krista says. “But your education here is super important. No one else can teach you the finer points of being a witch.”
“Maybe,” I say. “If I can learn anything. Ms. Brewster gave me a catch-up schedule, but it still seems really impossible to complete.”
“Let us see,” Jaxon says.
I reach into my bag and pull out the form, which Jaxon takes from me and looks over.
“Well, I can help with Simple Arts and Ethical Magic. Those were easy classes for me.” He hands the paper to Krista.
“I love Hexes and Blessings!” she says. “I’m in the advanced class this year. Those kinds of spells are so much fun.”
“And I can help with Omens,” Ivy says. “My observation skills have always been on point.”
I take the form back and stare down at what’s left. “What about Historial Magic?”
“Mr. Hamilton would be your best bet,” Jaxon says.
“Ugh. I went to him to ask about Native American magic, and he only found two books for me. Can you believe that? Shouldn’t there be like a whole library dedicated to Native spiritualism? They’ve been around way longer than European witches.”
Krista’s eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t let Ms. Brewster hear you say that.”
“Why?” I ask, and once again Ivy looks away at the slightest possible criticism of our headmistress.
“She’s just all about our connection to Ancient Greece and Hecate,” Krista says. “She claims our magic is the oldest and strongest in the world and won’t listen to any claims otherwise.”
“Do you think she deliberately leaves out North American magic from the curriculum?” I ask.
The others shrug or shake their heads.
“No idea,” Jaxon says. “According to my mother, Ms. Brewster dictates everything we are taught, but there haven’t been any complaints from past students or parents. She’s the High Priestess for a reason.”
I nod and act like I accept this, but I do remember that my family left La Voisin decades ago over a rift with the Brewster witch who was in charge back then. I wonder if that woman was the current Ms. Brewster’s grandmother or something. It would be impossible for any leader to have a hundred percent approval rating. There must be other people who have taken issue with what we are and aren’t being taught under Ms. Brewster’s tutelage.
Of course, I’m happy for any training at all given my non-existent witch background. But still, there must be other schools of thought out there.
“Ms. Boucher has been so nice in helping me train my air powers,” I say to change the subject.
“All the air students like her,” Krista says. “I think she’s a bit too easy on the first-year subjects, though.”
“That’s probably why the students like her,” I say with a wink. “But she’s so busy. Is there another air witch student I could train with?”
“Some upperclassmen take on their own mentees in a way,” Ivy says. “But that is just a personal relationship thing. Try to make friends in your air arts classes.”
“On top of all that,” Jaxon says, “you’ve roped us into working on this crazy potion for Ms. Brewster.”
“I really appreciate it,” I say. “But do you really think it’s crazy of us to try?”
“If the potion exists, there must be a way to craft it,” he says. “So it’s not impossible. But what gives us an edge above stronger, more powerful witches?”
Everyone goes silent, and they seem to be looking at me to answer that question. After all, I was the only person out of the four of us who actually signed Ms. Brewster’s list. Jaxon, Krista, and Ivy are all more powerful than me, but they know their limits.
Why did I sign the list? What made me think I could do it?
There had to be something more than sheer force of will pushing me to attempt something that should be impossible for me. I look from Jaxon to Ivy to Krista and have an epiphany.
“There are four of us,” I say. “One from each coven.”
“Yes…” Jaxon says, as though prodding me to explain further.
“Look.” I pull out the ingredient list and lay it on the table between our two couches. “A ludisia orchid that bloomed in spring. Jaxon, you are an earth witch. Why is this special?”
“Ludisia orchids normally bloom in winter,” he explains. “They are quite special that way.”
“So how could you get a ludisia that blooms in spring?” I ask.
“Well, it’s actually not terribly difficult,” he says. “I can coax any plant to bloom when or where I want as long as I am gentle with it. It can take a few weeks for something as delicate as an orchid. I’d have to work on it a little every day to get it to bloom.”
“You should get to it, then,” I say. “We’ll need it to be ready when we find the other items.”
“Water gifted from under the sea,” Ivy says, leaning forward and looking at the paper. “That would fall to me.”
“So you can’t just take it from a deep lake or ocean,” I say. “It has to be gifted. Are there like mermaids or something who could give you a gift like that?”
Curse of Stone (Academy of the Damned Book 1) Page 12
