“Oh yeah?” I said, not sure whether I found that cool or just really freaky.
Cassandra clasped her hands between her knees, and then leaned forward a little.
“Can I ask you something?”
This kind of prepping was not Cassandra’s typical MO. “Sure,” I said, my interest piqued.
“So, yesterday on the playground, when I did something weird…”
“You mean when you tried to hog-tie the Shimmer instead of Return it?” I asked.
She shook her head, still hunched over. “No, not that,” she said. “The other thing, where I kind of went someplace else for a minute.”
“Oh yes,” I said. “When you were one with the concrete.”
“How long did that last?”
I thought about it. “I don’t know,” I said. “Not very long. Less than a minute, probably. It just felt longer because it was a crucial minute.” Cassandra nodded but didn’t say anything. “Why do you ask?” I pressed.
She looked around, like she was worried someone might hear her. “I think it happened again.”
My eyebrows shot halfway up my forehead in alarm. “When?” I asked quickly.
“Today,” she said. “I was in my bedroom, and then the next thing I knew, I was standing in the bathroom. I don’t remember walking from one room to the other.”
“Do you know whether you did anything weird?”
She nodded and pulled out her phone. “Yeah,” she said, swallowing with a gulp, “this.” She tapped her phone a couple of times and then showed me what she’d pulled up. It was a picture of her bathroom, and it would have been a selfie, except her reflection in the mirror was totally obscured by a word written in thick, soapy lines: “Goodbye.” As I looked at the photo, the skin on the back of my neck pricked up and a chill ran down my spine.
Cassandra clicked her phone off and slid it back in her pocket. “I had to have done it,” she said. “Dion wasn’t home, and I was the only one in the house.”
Brian’s car turned in to the driveway, and Cassandra jumped up. I followed. “What do you think it means?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But don’t tell anyone.”
“Cass,” I started, “this is getting weird. That,” I said, pointing at her phone, “is scary.” She didn’t answer. “Doesn’t it scare you that you’re doing things you don’t remember?”
“Of course!” she hissed, her lips barely moving. “You think I like being out of control? But whatever this is, I don’t want to become even more out of control by handing this—whatever it is—over to someone else. It’s my problem, and I will solve it.”
“You went to the Negative,” I protested. “You had a serious shock. This could be totally normal. It could be something Brian knows how to fix. He could help you find help.”
She shook her head sharply. “I don’t want help,” she snapped. Brian was halfway down the walkway. Our meeting hadn’t even started yet, and he already looked ticked off.
“Where are the binders?” he asked, as he brushed past us to open the door.
“Oh, those,” I said, revving up for an excuse that would at least make it seem like we hadn’t totally forgotten about them.
“We totally forgot about them,” Cassandra said, and followed him into the house. Brian’s house was basic witch heaven. I pulled the door shut behind me and inhaled deeply: fresh-cut evergreen and cloved cider. Sure enough, Brian’s mantel was draped with juniper boughs, and a diffuser in one corner was pumping out clouds of spicy “seasonal” scent. Janis would have clapped her hands and squealed with glee over the very tasteful terra-cotta nativity scene set up on a side table. I wove around a leather pouf and a potted fiddle-leaf fig in the living room, walked past the white tiled kitchen, and into Brian’s bedroom, where, I happened to notice, he had added a salt lamp next to his bed. That gave me the opportunity to deploy one of my favorite bad pickup lines.
“Hey, girl,” I said, “are you a Himalayan salt lamp? Because when I stand next to you, I feel nothing.” I made myself laugh, but Cassandra just rolled her eyes and Brian just looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
“Are you finished?” he asked, pulling a gold necklace out from under his shirt. I nodded as he opened his closet door, pushed about twenty tracksuits out of the way, and then held the gold charm from his necklace up to a special spot on the wall. There was a click, and then a whir, and then the wall slid open to reveal the Bat Cave.
Unlike the rest of Brian’s house, which looked like an Anthropologie photo shoot, the Bat Cave was straight out of American Psycho. It was sleek and modern and there wasn’t a speck of shabby chic in sight. One whole wall was lined with Tools, which were weapons so elaborate that even fourth-grade boys would have a hard time dreaming them up; the wall opposite it was covered with photographs of well-known Sitters. My mom’s photo was up there, as was Cassandra’s. Save for a large screen, the wall behind Brian’s desk was stacked floor to ceiling with books, and not the kind you could check out from the Spring River library. Sitter books. Grimoires and weapons guides and demon encyclopedias, plus biographies and Sitter history dating back centuries. The books updated themselves periodically, which was part of why being a Sitter required constant studying, and I’d come to think of the books as living creatures. Sometimes, when things got very quiet, I could swear I heard them breathing.
Brian walked behind his desk, and as Cassandra and I took our usual spots in the chairs opposite him, something hit me, a question I’d never asked. “Brian,” I said, “how’d you become a Counsel, anyway?”
He sat down in his chair and leaned back, a faraway look crossing his face. “I was living in Denver,” he said, “where I had my interiors business, and I made the news when I saved a dog from a burning building.” I saw Cassandra rock a little in her chair—she’d clearly never heard this story either.
“You saved a dog?” she asked, and Brian nodded.
“Technically, eight,” he said. “A mother and her pups. It made the news, and the Synod found me shortly after that. They made their case, and it was an easy decision.”
“So you gave it all up?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “And I’d do it again. Protecting the innocent is a noble mission.”
“The powers are pretty cool too, huh?” Cassandra said.
The quickest smile flicked across his face, and Brian nodded curtly.
“The Synod has been very generous with me,” he said. “And I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy the powers at my dispensation.” Then he leaned forward and did that thing where he made a triangle with his fingers. Unlike Sitters, Counsels could be men or women, and though they weren’t born with kinetic powers, they could use spells to manipulate magic and from what I’d seen, Brian was pretty powerful.
“Now back to business,” he said. “Since you completely forgot about the binders, and the hundreds of hours of research that went into them, I am going to assume that the ideas you are bringing to the table are minimal.”
“I, uh…,” I started, but I wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t that I’d deliberately avoided thinking about the party we were supposed to be planning. It was more like every time I started to think about it, my mind did that thing it always did when it was trying to protect me from something unpleasant: I locked it away and pretended it was not happening and did not exist.
“I voiced my ideas last night,” Cassandra said. “So, I don’t know about Esme over here, but I’m tapped out.”
“Got it,” Brian said. “Submarine sandwiches and feats of strength. This will certainly go down in history as one of the classiest ways the Sitterhood has ever closed a Summit.” I had been engrossed in a bit of fuzz on my knee, but I looked up quickly. Brian being sarcastic always caught me off guard. He sighed. Cassandra met his sigh with a sigh of her own, and I couldn’t help it, I j
oined in. We were like three leaky tires. I squirmed in my seat.
“Listen, Coach B,” Cassandra said, sitting up straight. “Let’s be real here. Most of the parties I’ve been to have ended with a fight breaking out.” She shifted. “Or sometimes it was a fight and then a party broke out, but that’s kind of beside the point. I don’t have much experience in this area. And Esme’s a wallflower.” I started to protest, but then realized it wasn’t an insult, just the truth. “Her favorite thing to do at a party is sneak out of it. I don’t think this is really our thing. You, on the other hand, seem to have a real vision for what this could be.”
“I do,” Brian said, nodding.
“And it also seems like you have a flair for this kind of thing.”
He nodded again. “I have planned a few events in my day,” he said. “And they all went quite well. I had quite the Rocky Mountain reputation, if I do say so myself.”
“You can say so,” Cassandra said. “And I totally believe it.” I watched her, wondering where she was going with this flattery. “So out of the three of us here,” she went on, “you’re probably the best suited to planning a Summit closing event, and it also seems like you would enjoy it the most.”
“Oh, I’m sure you two could have fun with it,” he said. “Who doesn’t love parties?”
“Esme hates them,” Cassandra said. “Like we were just saying…” They both looked at me and I nodded vigorously.
“Parties,” I said. “Puke.” I had taken the backseat, and wherever Cassandra was heading, I was along for the ride.
“But you can’t plan the party,” Cassandra continued, “Esme and I have to do it.”
“I can only guide you,” Brian said. “And it appears that even with all the guidance in the world, this will still be a disaster.”
“Well, what if you did all the work and Esme and I took the credit?” I almost laughed out loud—such a blatant suggestion could only come from Cassandra. But Brian wasn’t saying anything. He was still doing that triangle thing with his fingers and looking like he was actually considering her offer. “Everyone would be super impressed with how well you’d guided us, and whenever people would tell us what a great party it was, we could be all like ‘Oh, well, Brian practically did everything….’ ” He leaned back in his chair and rocked a little. Cassandra continued. “I mean, that whole ‘Counsels can’t help plan parties’ rule is a stupid one anyway.”
“It is,” Brian said. “And I’m sure, when it comes down to it, the Synod would rather have us bend this one rule and throw a good party than be sticklers and end up with a few marinara-stained paper napkins.”
I sat up in my chair. “I’m sure they would,” I agreed.
Brian moved back and forth slightly, making his chair squeak a little. “It will be tough,” he said. “But it’s nothing I haven’t done before, and sometimes I start to get worried that all my design dreams are going to die and I’ll just be stuck on the sidelines for the rest of my life.” He stroked his mustache. “Literally speaking, not metaphorically.” He was quiet for a few moments, then snapped his fingers. “Okay, let’s do it. I have the perfect idea for a theme.” He leaned back in his chair again and beamed, then leaned forward again. “Après-ski!” he said, so excited that he smacked his palms on the desk.
“What the heck is that?” Cassandra says.
“Après-ski?” Brian said, looking at her as if she were the one speaking a foreign language. “After-ski?”
“I know that,” she said, “I took one semester of French. But how is that a theme?”
“Chalets?” he said. “Chunky sweaters? Lots of candles. Fondue?” He paused. “No meatball subs, of course, but we can have poutine and hot cocoa.” He paused again, like he was waiting for us to say something.
“Okay,” I said, and Brian smiled.
“Think about it,” he said. “It’s perfect. It’s very cozy, seasonally appropriate, and yet nondenominational. It feels holiday without being about ‘the holidays.’ ”
I looked over at Cassandra, who met my eyes. “Sounds great,” she said, and I nodded vigorously.
“Perfect!” Brian said, and made a note on a legal pad. “Now, on to the next order of business. We have to commandeer a place for everyone to stay. I started to put together some lodging ideas. I found a couple that aren’t dreadful.”
He opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out—yes, you guessed it—another binder. The man had more three-rings than Office Depot. He flipped it open to the first page, which was a printed-out Yelp page, complete with notable reviews highlighted in yellow. I recognized the building in the picture at the top as the Riverbend Hotel—tall and brick, with a front fountain pavilion that was popular with the few skaters this town had. “This one seems to be lacking in—”
“Ooh,” Cassandra said excitedly, leaning forward and tapping the paper with one of her chewed fingernails. “I’ve stayed there before. The pillows kind of sucked, but other than that, it was really nice.”
Brian looked skeptical. “And the food was okay?”
She nodded. “I loved the omelet bar.”
He looked at me. “Esme?”
“If it’s okay with you two, it’s fine with me.”
Brian smiled and slapped the binder shut. “That’s settled, then,” he said, happily. “I’ll contact the Synod and we can initiate the reservation tonight.”
“How does that work?” I asked. “The Summit is only a few days away. That hotel is probably booked.”
“Oh, they don’t have a single room available,” Brian said. “I checked this morning. The Synod will clear the bookings and reserve the hotel for the Summit.”
“Won’t that cause a scene? People will be pissed if their reservations are canceled.”
“That’s where magic comes in,” Brian said. “No one who had a reservation will remember. Same with the hotel staff who are working there for the duration of the Summit. Their memories will be modified so that all they are experiencing is another day of work.”
Something in what Brian was saying gave me pause. Mind erasure seemed like a pretty big thing, a potent combo of hypnosis and amnesia, but the Synod was handing it out like candy canes. They’d erased the entire town of Spring River after Halloween to cover up the fact that Brian, in his incognito role as football coach, had been falsely arrested so that he’d be MIA for the night. Janis, Dad, Dion, and MacKenzie had gotten extra muddling—I’d even muddled MacKenzie myself. I also had to assume that Pig’s memory had been erased, though I had no idea how to confirm that, her being a dog and all.
Now the Synod was going to zap a whole hotel staff and anyone who had a reservation. And probably more too, since you couldn’t ship in a bunch of girls from all over the country without raising a few eyebrows. “Is it safe?” I asked. “I mean, for all these people to get their brains messed with all the time.”
“Esme, the Sitterhood exists to keep people safe,” Brian said. “So, if the memory altering wasn’t safe, then we wouldn’t do it.” He leaned over and opened a laptop. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work. I’ll put together a task list for you tomorrow.”
“Task list?” Cassandra asked as I stood up.
Brian narrowed his eyes at her. “Errands for you to run. Supplies that need gathering,” he said. “I may be the brains behind this operation, but you two are the muscle. Now, I trust that you girls can show yourselves out. I’ve got some Pinteresting to do.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling as I stood up. Cassandra and I started to leave, but I turned back when Brian said my name, right as I was about to walk out the door.
“Actually, Esme, could you stay a minute longer?” I looked at Cassandra, who raised her eyebrows.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” she said, “and see what Coach has in his fridge.”
“Cassandra!” Brian started, but she was
already gone. I walked back to the chair and sat down.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I’ve been looking into your mother’s condition,” he said. I felt a little tingle run through me. Brian had promised that he would help me find a way to break Mom’s curse for good, but he hadn’t mentioned it in a while.
“And what did you find out?”
He moved a few things around on his desk, and then leaned back in his chair. It creaked a little.
“Unfortunately, not much. There is not a lot of information on curses in the Sitter books,” he said. “Which is disappointing, if not surprising.”
“Why isn’t it surprising?” I asked.
“Curses are tricky,” he said. “Since they’re Red Magic, they are technically not under our realm. People have been able to pervert Sitter magic before to do small amounts of harm, of course.” As soon as he said that, my mind flashed to Cassandra, and Dion, her brother/personal valet. “But nothing to the scale of what has been done to your mother.”
I nodded and swallowed. So basically, what he had for me was nothing. “Thanks,” I said, “for trying, at least.”
“I will continue to try,” Brian said. “And I know you are not looking forward to this Summit, but I ask that you change your attitude. This country’s foremost Sitters and magical experts are basically coming to our doorstep. There could potentially be lots of opportunities for you to learn more about your mom and how you might help her.”
Oh man. He was right. I hadn’t even thought of that. With the Synod here, and whoever else they were bringing with them, I’d be able to go straight to the source and not have Brian be my intermediary.
“Thanks, Brian,” I said as I stood back up, and I meant it. I left the room, then walked back through the house to find Cassandra in the kitchen, sitting on a counter and drinking eggnog out of the carton. “Ugh,” I said, disgusted. “How can you drink that stuff?”
She hopped down, then closed the carton and stuck it back in the fridge. “I like it,” she said. “It tastes like melted ice cream.”
For Better or Cursed Page 5
