For Better or Cursed

by Kate M. Williams

  Janis shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll just turn the alarm on, never answer the landline if it rings, and sit up in bed all night holding a knife.” My face must have betrayed something. “Kidding,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Go visit your aunt. It’s Spring River. The worst that can happen here is that I die of boredom.” Then she turned and headed to class.

  Oh, Janis, I thought, I’m glad you don’t know how wrong you are.

  * * *

  —

  I sent Dad several texts throughout the day, but never got a response. The only text I did get was from Brian, who said that, due to an unfortunate incident involving two students and a pommel horse, he had been pulled into an athletic department meeting and would see us at the hotel, right before the Summit.

  Cassandra, of course, hadn’t come to school today, and just before the end of the day, she texted to tell me that she’d pick me up and that all our party supplies were loaded and ready to go. When the final bell rang, I grabbed my overnight bag from my locker and, keeping an eye out for Janis, found a clandestine perch where I could watch for Cassandra and Dion.

  When they pulled up, I threw my stuff in and climbed in the back with all the bags. Dion was his usual cheery, oblivious self. “Boy, you two sure do have a lot of stuff for one party,” he said.

  “We do,” I said, wondering what Cass had told him we were doing this weekend. “You know how girls are, we need a lot of outfit options.”

  The drive to the Riverbend was short, and when Dion pulled into the parking lot, I was a little disappointed that everything looked totally normal. A fountain was spraying mist into the cold air. A classic winter scene had been erected out of lights, complete with pine trees and reindeer. A lone mallard paddled in a circle, and a duck-sized Santa hat would not have looked out of place on its head. The hotel’s big double doors were adorned with greenery and wreaths outfitted with shiny gold and silver balls and big red flocked ribbons. It looked cozy and festive, and I felt somewhat disappointed. I didn’t know what I had expected—a bubbling cauldron? Demons in cages? Something to hint that this was a gathering of supernatural women, or maybe at least a balloon arch? Dion drove right up to the door, and two hotel employees appeared to help us with our stuff. They unloaded all of the bags from the back of the van onto a wheeled cart without so much as a hello. Then, without even asking us where it was supposed to go, they started to push it away.

  That was when I realized maybe things weren’t totally normal. I looked over at Cassandra, who was standing on the sidewalk next to me. “Are they, uh…?”

  She nodded, and started to walk into the hotel. “They seem to be under some sort of spell or something,” she said, her voice low. “Like, they’re here, but not really here.”

  “Have a great weekend!” Dion called from behind us. “Enjoy your staycation! Have fun at the party!”

  I turned and waved to him before he drove away, but Cassandra didn’t even give him a backward glance. At first I thought this was Cass just being her stone-cold self, but then I noticed her jaw. It was tight and clenched, like she was grinding her teeth. I glanced down at her hands. Sure enough, her nails were chewed to the quick, and it almost hurt to look at them. Cassandra wasn’t just being a jerk because she was a jerk. She was being a jerk because she was stressed. Big-time.

  I followed her into the lobby, which, aside from smelling like it had been sprayed down with a mix of juniper and chocolate Santas, seemed pretty normal. We made our way to the front desk, but when the woman behind it looked up from her computer, I gasped, and not because of her blinking Christmas-light-bulb dangly earrings. I hadn’t made eye contact with either of the two men who had been helping us with our bags, but the woman staring at us had eyes as black as 8 Balls. It was like a negative image of what eyes were supposed to look like: white dots in the center surrounded by liquid pitch black, the opposite vibe from the glitter holly-branch pinned to the front of her jacket, right above her name tag.

  “Welcome to the Riverbend and the 2020 Sitter Summit,” she said, her voice bright as lemons. Her hair was brassy blonde, and her name tag said SUZANNE. “You’re the first to arrive. We can hold your bags for you,” she said, and gestured at my duffel.

  “Sure,” I said, and slid it across the counter. “Cassandra, do you want to leave your stuff?” As I said it, I realized Cassandra hadn’t brought a bag with her, but she walked over to the counter, took a toothbrush from her back pocket, and slid it across the counter next to my bag. Suzanne smiled, affixed a tag to my bag and then, amazingly, one to Cassandra’s toothbrush, and put them on a luggage dolly behind her.

  “We’re here to do some setting up,” I said when she turned back around. “We had some other bags of stuff, and, uh…”

  “They’ve been taken to the conference room for you,” she said, gesturing down the hall. Her nails were painted red and green. “The last door on the left.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Happy holidays,” she responded, her hole-eyes staring someplace just past my shoulder. I turned and started to walk in the direction she had pointed when something scraped the back of my ankle. Specifically, Cassandra’s foot from walking too close.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled as I straightened out my shoe.

  “No problem,” I said. “But are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I mean, no. These things. Whatever they are, they’re stressing me out.” She dropped her voice and looked around, making sure we were alone. “This morning, I woke up, poured all the orange juice into a bowl, then carried it into the living room and put my feet in it. Fortunately, Dion’s so stupid he just thought I was giving myself a pedicure.” She paused and swallowed. “But no one here would think that.”

  I nodded. “Do you want to talk to Brian? Or someone who might be able to help us figure out what’s going on?”

  She shook her head. “Stop asking that,” she said. “They could want to help me, or they could make me leave. No offense, Esme, but look at your mom. The Sitterhood isn’t exactly lined up to help her.”

  “No offense taken,” I said. Cassandra had a point, and it was something I’d thought about a million times since Halloween. Where was everyone? Why was I the only one who seemed to care about helping Mom? Why didn’t Sitters take care of their own? I swallowed. “So, what do you want to do?”

  “I’m going to try my hardest to keep it together this weekend, and you’re going to try your hardest to help me, and we’re also going to try to find out as much as we can. About me, about your mom, about my mom, about my dad. About all of it, basically. I’m tired of being in the dark.” She pulled her ponytail out and refastened it. “Deal?”

  “Deal,” I said, looking at her. Cassandra’s face, normally as smooth and tawny as a Krispy Kreme, was splotchy and her eyes looked almost puffy. “Let’s get you a drink of water or something,” I said, because that seemed like the kind of thing you were supposed to do for someone who was clearly upset. I walked back to the desk. Suzanne was gone, and a new woman had taken her place. She had thick hair that was a blonde that could have easily been gray, and her makeup looked like it had been put on with a spatula—contouring several shades darker than the rest of her skin, glossy raisin lipstick, and blue eye shadow. Her eyes were the same shocking black-and-white configuration, but unlike Suzanne’s, they were teary. She dabbed at them and smeared a bit of eyeliner.

  “How can I help you?” she asked, smiling at me but looking at Cassandra. I shot Cass a glance to make sure she wasn’t doing anything strange, but she was just chewing her nail again and looking around the lobby.

  “Hi, Cybill,” I said, reading her name tag. “Is there a drinking fountain or vending machine around here?”

  “Of course,” she said, sticking out her hand to point. “We have water right over there.” She kept blinking, and a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. I almost ask
ed her if she was okay, but then I decided against it. The back of my neck was telling me that I didn’t want to know the answer. The Synod had clearly worked their magic on all the hotel employees so that once we were here, we could be totally out in the open and no one would go home and tell their spouse about the strange convention that had come to town. I could just imagine that conversation: “I swear, dear, it was like they were lifeguards but also maybe a little bit dogcatcher? It was the weirdest thing….”

  I walked across the lobby to where Cybill had pointed and got Cassandra a little plastic cup of water from a cooler containing lemon and orange slices. “Here,” I said, holding the cup out, but Cassandra shook her head.

  “I’m not thirsty,” she said, so I drank the water myself, then tossed the cup in the trash and started to walk toward the conference room. Cassandra stayed close on my heels, but this time not too close. It was funny to have her walking behind me instead of her usual three feet in front. The carpet was maroon with a forest-green pattern that looked like dead leaves and paint splatters, and at the end of the hallway, there was a set of fake-wood double doors. Inside was a slightly raised stage with a podium—it looked regulation, though, and not like anything in Brian’s binders—and a row of chairs behind it. In front of the stage were rows and rows of chairs, and at the back of the room, all of our party supplies. I was just about to dig in and look for a wig that I’d bought for myself when I heard the door open. I spun around to see Laurie Strode striding in.

  * * *

  —

  “Oh dear,” she said, gesturing at the Party Town bags. For a moment, I panicked, thinking that she’d seen what was inside them. “These should have gone to the ballroom. Someone will need to move them.” She turned back to me and Cassandra, and before my shyness took over, I took a few steps toward her and held out my hand. “I’m Esme,” I said. “We met on Halloween, but I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself.”

  Faux Laurie ignored my outstretched hand and went straight in for a hug. “Esme Pearl, of course!” she said. “It’s so good to see you again. I’m Wanda.” She turned and went over to Cassandra. “And Cassandra Heaven.” She wrapped Cass in a hug too. “How are you?” she asked. “I’m hoping that we can get some time to debrief you about your experience. A Sitter traveling to the Negative is always unfortunate, and we have protocols in place to support your recovery. It’s just, well…” She clasped her hands in front of her and looked back and forth between us. “As I’m sure you can imagine, the events of Halloween were quite a surprise. We had no idea that Erebus was capable of such a feat.” Her eyes settled on Cassandra, and she looked like she was waiting for an answer.

  Cass hesitated, and for a moment, I thought maybe she was going to answer Wanda honestly. Instead, she just smiled. “I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.”

  “Oh, that’s so good,” Wanda said. “One less thing we have to worry about this weekend.” Wanda was dressed in head-to-toe linen, and she reached into one of the million folds of her cinnamon-colored skirt and pulled out an iPhone. “I’m going to have my assistant find us some one-on-one time so that we can really get to know each other,” she said. She looked down at her phone, and what she saw made her scowl. She cursed under her breath. “That’s insane,” she muttered. “It’s not worth that much. At least not yet…Maybe in a few years.” She seemed to think about something for a minute, then tapped her phone a few times, shoved it in her pocket, and plastered her smile back on.

  “In the meantime, the truck should be pulling up outside any minute now,” she said. “So if you could just help with the library unloading, that would be great. I’ll have someone take care of moving everything that was brought in here, and you can take all the books to the Cottonwood Room. We’ll be using that as the Mary Anne Spier Library.”

  A ding sounded from deep inside her linen. She fished her phone back out. “Woo-hoo!” she said, doing a little fist pump when she saw the screen. “Now, that’s more like it.” Then she turned and scurried out of the room.

  “She seems nice,” I said to Cass, which seemed like a better thing to say out loud than what I really felt, which was maybe a little disappointed? All four members of the Synod were powerful, but Wanda was the head, the one in charge, the boss witch. That made her the most powerful Sitter on the continent, and it turned out she was a hugger.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Cass said.

  “Maybe you can find out more about what’s going on when they debrief you?” I said.

  “Maybe,” she said. The door opened again, and in walked a woman who looked like a Pantone swatch. She wore lavender head to toe, from her scrunchie to her Juicy Couture tracksuit to her lavender Air Force Ones. It had to be…it could only be…ironic, right?

  “Hello,” she said, brightly. “You must be the Spring River delegation. I’m Clarissa.”

  Cassandra and I introduced ourselves. “Are you a Sitter?” I asked, and Lavender Clarissa burst into laughter.

  “Oh dear no,” she said, waving a hand. “You flatter me. I’m about twenty years too old and never had the kinesis anyway. I’m a Counsel in Salt Lake City. I’m just here to help out. But we should hurry. The truck is parked outside, and we don’t want the books to get cold!”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. I looked at Cassandra, who shrugged, and we followed Clarissa’s bouncing ponytail back through the lobby out to the front of the hotel, where, sure enough, a large moving van was idling.

  Clarissa went around to the back, flipped the latch, and then rolled the door up like she’d done it a million times. Inside, the van was packed, floor to ceiling, with purple velvet boxes, all different sizes, but all the same deep, shimmering violet, wedged in like a winning game of Tetris. Everything smelled strongly of garlic.

  “Whoa,” Cassandra said. “What are these?”

  “Sitter books,” Clarissa said. She climbed up on the tailgate and took a box off the top, then handed it down to me with both hands. “Or, more specifically, the boxes the books come in.”

  “How many books are in each box?” I asked, the box in my hands feeling surprisingly light.

  “Only one,” she said. “They’ve very protective of their space and don’t like to be crammed in while traveling.” She turned, picked up another box, and handed it down to Cassandra. “Now, I think Wanda said they all go in the Cottonwood Room? No need to unpack them, just drop them off and Dierdre will arrange them when she arrives.”

  “I can take more,” Cassandra said.

  “Oh no you can’t,” Clarissa said. “One at a time, and hold them with both hands. I’ll wait here and guard the truck. Now, snap to it! We don’t have all day.” I looked past her into the van. Now I could see that the garlic smell was coming from actual garlic, hung in bunches along the van’s sides. There were hundreds of boxes in there, and two girls carrying them one at a time, well, that would take all day.

  “You know,” I started to offer, “some of the employees helped with our party supplies earlier. I bet—”

  “No way,” Clarissa said, cutting me off. “Only the Sitterhood touches these books. That’s why I drove this van here myself. Now, hurry up. I drove all night, and I would really like to freshen up before the Summit starts.”

  Cassandra turned and started to walk back toward the building, and I followed. Neither of us said anything until we made it to the Cottonwood Room, where Cassandra put her book box down on a table and immediately opened it. As soon as she did, a gonging chime filled the air, and she quickly shut the box again. “Well, I guess we won’t be doing as much snooping as I would like,” she said. “But still, this is pretty awesome.”

  “Is it?” I asked, still feeling incredulous. “It’s awesome that we got here early so that we could help unload a truck?”

  We started to walk back outside, and I couldn’t help but notice that Cassandra
was walking quicker than usual, like she was actually obeying Clarissa’s order to hurry. “Well, admittedly, this part is less than awesome,” she said. “But this library is like twenty times the size of Brian’s. And these books must be special, because they’re definitely getting the Oprah treatment. So if there’s anything, anywhere, in a book that could help us figure out what’s going on with me, it’s probably in one of these.”

  I nodded and flashed back to my conversation with Brian. He hadn’t been able to find much about curses in his books, but like Cassandra had said, these books had to be bigger and better. Maybe I could even come to see unloading them as a privilege. Maybe.

  * * *

  —

  I didn’t. Cass and I worked for almost two hours, until my arms were sore and I could walk from the truck to the Cottonwood Room with my eyes closed. We stopped only for occasional chugs from the water dispenser. At one point, Cass even stuck her hand into the dispenser and fished out a few orange slices, because unloading books really works up an appetite and there were no snacks to be seen.

  “Good job,” Clarissa said, when Cassandra and I returned to a finally empty van. She slammed the door shut with a clang. “Now relax for a minute, and I will see you in the Laurie Strode Auditorium right at six. I’m going to go find a place to park this thing.”

  Back in the hotel, we plopped down on a couch, and Cassandra propped her feet up on a coffee table, knocking her feet into a flocked wicker basket filled with decorative glitter balls. I couldn’t help but giggle, and she looked at me, smiled, and then gave the basket an actual kick so that it fell off the table and sent the balls rolling across the floor. I had just started laughing when someone cleared their throat behind us, which sent me sitting straight up.

  I turned around, and sure enough, Brian was standing there, a look of total displeasure on his face. I was pretty sure that Brian wore a tracksuit 364 days a year—he had a closet full of them—but now he was dressed up, in a turtleneck sweater, a tweed blazer (not totally unlike the one Janis had been wearing today), dark jeans that looked like they’d been ironed, and brown leather driving loafers. In that outfit, I practically expected him to pat a golden retriever and squirt some Old Spice in his eye.