“What up, Coach D?” Cassandra said.
“Pick them up,” he said. “Now.” Cassandra didn’t argue, but she did pour herself off the couch and started picking up the glitter balls like all of her limbs were made of dough.
“Did you get the library unloaded?” Brian asked.
“Sure did,” I said. “Every last book. Do we get a cookie now?”
“No,” he said, all business. “Everyone else will arrive shortly. We need to discuss the party. Come with me.” We followed him back down the hall, and with every step I got more nervous, imagining Brian’s dismay when he saw what we’d bought at the party supply store versus what he’d sent us to get.
Brian walked briskly, and when he entered the ballroom, he didn’t hold the door for us. “B-B-Brian,” I started to stammer as he walked straight toward the bags piled in the back, “I–I can explain. We thought that…” I faltered, wondering what kind of excuse I could come up with for buying purple maracas when we’d been sent for gray napkins. Brian opened the top of one bag, reached in, and then turned around, holding up something I had never seen before: a chunky gray turtleneck sweater with cream-colored snowflakes woven into the front.
“What the…?” Cassandra said, as Brian lovingly laid it on a chair, then pulled out a different sweater—this one red with green trees. “That is not what we bought.”
“Of course it’s not,” Brian said. “You two managed to spend five hundred dollars—almost eight hundred with our discount—on a bunch of plastic grass skirts and joke sunglasses. Not that I expected anything different. You two are nothing if not predictable in your unwillingness to follow instructions.” He held up yet another sweater, and I swear to goddess he stroked it like it was a kitten. “Now, these are hand-knit cashmere,” he continued. “I figured it could be an ugly-sweater party without the sweaters actually having to be ugly.”
“Wait,” I said. “Where’s all the stuff we bought?”
“Some of it is still here,” Brian said. “I haven’t gotten a chance to manipulate all of it yet.” I walked over to the bags and was happy to see that it was the one with wigs, and that they were still wigs.
“Oh, good,” I said, pulling out a bright-blue bob, “I love these. I’m glad we get to keep them.”
“Er, not exactly,” Brian said, as he came up behind me. Then he held out one hand and enunciated, “Objeckinesis.” Before my eyes, the wigs turned into beanies. Hand-knit cashmere beanies, to be precise. “You understand, I’m sure,” he said. “Wigs just scream Halloween, and not holiday.”
“Oh,” I said, figuring it wasn’t worth pointing out that Halloween was a holiday. “So why did you even send us to the supply store anyway?”
“I thought it would be a good opportunity for you and Cassandra to feel involved,” he said. “It is your party. But really, Esme, I would have been willing to compromise, and I am completely open to your ideas, but nothing that you bought is appropriate for this time of year, and you don’t even have a cohesive theme.”
“I beg to differ,” Cassandra said. “We most definitely have a theme. It is luau-fiesta-sock-hop-bachelorette-party, and all the kids are doing it.”
“Whatever,” Brian said, in a way that made me think he needed to spend more time around people of his own generation. “Now, for the fondue, I’m thinking a classic pungent with cherry tomatoes, baby carrots, and a good crusty sourdough—”
“What is fondue anyway?” Cassandra asked, interrupting his reverie.
“Melted cheese,” Brian said. “Now—”
“So, like nachos,” Cassandra said. I sensed a repeat of the dead versus dried flower routine from earlier this week, and tuned them out before they started to argue.
After it seemed Cassandra and Brian had reached a melted-cheese impasse, Cassandra and I made our way to the Laurie Strode Auditorium, which was marked by a printed-out sign that called it such. The doors were unlocked, so we went in. There was no one else there. I let Cassandra pick the seats and she, of course, led us straight to the back, to two chairs closest to the doors, as if we might need to get up and run out at any minute. There were purple folders on each chair. I picked one up and opened it—the Summit schedule, aka, everything the weekend had in store for us. It looked like we’d be in workshops to help us learn new skills and to hone old ones: There was one about demonology, located in the Fran Fine Fitness Center, and one about spells, which was to take place in the Mary Anne Spier Library; honing our kinesis would happen in the Jill Johnson Room, and Sitter history and hierarchy had us back in the Laurie Strode Auditorium. Meals were to be held in the Chris Parker Cafeteria, and the final closing party—the very one that Cassandra and I were supposed to be planning—would be in the Steve Harrington Ballroom.
“Ha,” I said to Cassandra. “Where’s the Claudia Kishi fashion closet?”
“What?” she said, looking at me like she had no idea what I was talking about.
“Never mind,” I said. I’d long ago learned that trying to explain my pop culture references to Cassandra was more trouble than it was worth. I flipped the piece of paper over to look at the back, and there they were. The names of all the other Sitters, listed in groups of six that were, as far as I could tell, named after popular children’s books: the Very Hungry Caterpillars, the Wild Things, the Cats in Hats, and so on and so forth. Cassandra and I were in a group called the Runaway Bunnies, along with Ruby Ramirez, Mallory Schnell, Amirah Rahim, and Ji-A Kim.
From deep inside my pocket, my phone started to buzz. I pulled it out to silence it but froze when I saw that the call was coming from Mom’s facility. My heart leapt a tiny bit, thinking that maybe she was calling me, though I knew it couldn’t really be the case.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hi, may I please speak to Dave?”
“Oh,” I said, wondering why someone was calling my phone to talk to Dad. “This isn’t his phone.”
A beat of silence. “This number was listed as an alternate for Dave Pearl.”
“This is Esme Pearl,” I explained. “Dave’s my dad. Is my mom okay?”
Another beat. “I’m calling from the accounting office, ma’am. We’ve been trying to reach Dave, as he is the guarantor for…” The woman paused, like she was reading something. “…Theresa Pearl, and the account is overdue.”
“What?” The word involuntarily came out as a shout. “I don’t understand,” I added, making my voice softer.
“That means her bill has not been paid, ma’am,” the woman said.
“I know what it means, I just don’t know how that happened.”
“It means that—” I stopped her before she got any further.
“I’m sorry, but who am I speaking to?”
“My name is Patricia, ma’am.” I’d been going to Mom’s facility at least once a week for as long as I could remember, but I’d never met anyone named Patricia.
“Hi, Patricia,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Thank you for letting me know. Are you new?”
“Yes, I just started last week,” she said. “I’m trying to chase down all of our past due accounts.” She cleared her throat. “Which is why I’m still at work on a Friday evening.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, carefully. “I’m sure this must be hard on you. Has anyone spoken to my dad, I mean Dave, about this?”
“I can’t tell, ma’am,” Patricia said. “The previous accountant did not excel at record keeping.” There was a hint of snarky satisfaction in her voice when she said that.
“What does this mean?” I asked. “I’m sure there’s a grace period.”
“Yes, ma’am, there is. It ended on Wednesday.”
“Next Wednesday?” I asked, my heart stuttering.
“No,” she said. “Last Wednesday.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice coming out in a squeak
because a deadline that was in the past did not sound like a grace period to me.
“At this point, we need this bill to be taken care of immediately, but since today is Friday and I am definitely not spending my weekend at work, we can give you until Monday.”
“Okay,” I said. “What happens then?”
“As I’m sure you’re aware, our facility is one of the top rated in the state and we have quite a waiting list. Theresa will have to find alternate accommodations.” She stopped, and then she actually added, “Ma’am.”
At that moment, I wished that my power were teleportation instead of telekinesis, because I wanted to jump through the phone line and smack the snot out of Patricia. Instead, I visualized her office and imagined sweeping all her stuff onto the floor. From her still-contented silence on the other end of the line, I could only assume that my powers didn’t work remotely. I forced myself to tell her to enjoy her new job and then hung up.
“What was that about?” Cassandra asked. “Is everything okay?” I shook my head as I called Dad. His phone went straight to voice mail. I called again, and then again. I left him a voice mail, and then hung up. My hands were shaking as I flipped my ringer on. If he did call me back, I didn’t want to miss it, no matter where I was. I couldn’t swallow. This morning, I’d written off the unpaid bills as forgetfulness on my dad’s part, or just plain old irresponsibility. But not paying Mom’s bills? There was no excuse for that. The only reason he wouldn’t pay that was if he didn’t have the money. I wiped my palms on my pants and forced myself to breathe. No matter how awesome this Summit might turn out, I did not want to be here right now.
“I have to go,” I said to Cassandra, standing up.
“What?” she said. “You’re leaving? Why?”
“I can’t be here right now,” I said. “Something…I don’t know.” I stopped and took a breath to calm myself down. “Someone just called from my mom’s…” I turned around and scanned the auditorium. “Have you seen Brian?” I was about to walk toward the door and make a break for it when I heard them.
A chatter, a roar, the sound that filled the school hallway between classes. The other Sitters had arrived, all at once, like a mob descending out of the sky, or at least off the same flight. I was standing there, and they were spilling into the auditorium around me—teenage girls, already the most capable slice of humanity, and these girls with capabilities to the nth degree: Sitters, of every shape and skin tone imaginable, but all looking like they were beyond excited to be here. The buzz was palpable, every molecule in the air was incandescent, and as the energy flowed over me and through me, I felt my heart slow and my palms dry. I needed to go, yes, but I also needed to be here. This was where I belonged.
I forced myself to focus. I wasn’t going to panic. I’d find Brian as soon as I could, and he would help. I put my phone away and craned my neck, trying to get a good look at everyone. My eyes settled on two girls a few rows up. One had a half-shaved head, her hair cropped close on one side, then hanging long and over one eye on the other; a glinting nose ring brought out the gold in her skin. The other had spaghetti-straight hair that hung down her back like a black curtain and severe, too-short-on-purpose bangs. She was wearing pale-pink heart-shaped glasses. I could swear that I knew them both. Or, if I didn’t know them, I’d definitely seen them somewhere before. With a start, I realized it wasn’t them I’d seen, but their clothes. The one with the nose ring was wearing a Rick Owens leather jacket. I’d seen that jacket online before—it cost five thousand dollars. And the other one’s heart-shaped glasses? They were Saint Laurent.
I strained so I could get a good look at the rest of Heart-Shaped Glasses’s outfit. She wore a long Prince of Wales check blazer with a large, toothlike zigzag cutout at the waist. “Comme des Garçons,” I gasped, gripping Cassandra’s shoulder.
“Who?” she said. I didn’t bother to explain myself, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the girls as they sat down. The one in the Rick Owens jacket pulled a tube of lip gloss out of a white leather Alexander Wang fanny pack and dabbed some on her lips, and the one in the CDG blazer tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her nails were matte black talons with a tiny stud in each ring finger. Dang. They looked like they’d slay at Returns and Fashion Week.
The buzzing died down as everyone waited in anticipation, and the room was so quiet you could have heard a sequin fall. Then, out of nowhere, music started. Simple piano notes that sent chills down my spine in a very good way. It was music I knew well—the Halloween theme song—and I sat up straighter in my chair. Others did the same, and I could see that girls were looking around the room, trying to find the source of the music and wondering what was coming next. Then, in the newly named Laurie Strode Auditorium, the real-life Laurie Strode walked onstage. I braced myself for the music to swell and for something to happen, something awesome, something mind-blowing, something so sinister you didn’t know whether to poop your pants or dissolve into giggles.
Except, the music didn’t swell. It didn’t get louder, and even Laurie, er, I mean, Wanda, seemed confused about where it was coming from. The theme song kept playing, small and tinny, almost like a ringtone. Wait, it was a ringtone—the music was coming from someone’s phone.
Then it hit me. “Oh God,” I said, right as Cassandra looked at me with a shocked expression. It was coming from my phone. My stupid ringtone that I had set as a joke and then forgot about because my ringer was usually off. I scrambled to pull my phone out of my pocket, hoping it was Dad. It was Janis calling me. The laughter in the crowd was growing louder.
“Sorry!” I shouted to no one in particular. At that moment, I wanted to throw my phone on the ground and stomp on it. Stupid, stupid Michael Myers!
As the laughter died down, Clarissa got up from her chair and headed in my direction. Without saying a word, she held out her hand. I knew what that meant, so I passed my phone over, and then Clarissa returned to her seat. Brian had turned around and I caught him giving me a sriracha stare before he turned back around to face the front.
“Well,” Wanda said with a little laugh, “that is the perfect intro for me to lay down the house rules before we get started, as some of you apparently did not get the memo. We have few rules here, yet they are strict. First: cell phones in your rooms only.” She smiled, and a small laugh snaked through the crowd. “Your time here is brief, and we want you focused on being here while you are here. Also, I do not need to tell you that you are all very powerful, and you are all very trustworthy. If you were not, you would not be one of the chosen few, selected by destiny to protect the world’s innocents from evil.” She paused and cleared her throat. “That said, this much concentrated power could quickly dissolve into chaos, so we must lay down some ground rules about magic. When you are in common spaces, such as this auditorium, and at mealtimes, no magic. You will comport yourselves as if you were normies. When you are in your rooms, use your kinesis as you normally would, but no spells.”
Next to me, Cassandra shifted in her seat. “Great,” she muttered, “so I can light as many candles as I want.” I pretended I didn’t hear her. After the phone incident, I definitely did not want to get caught talking out of turn, but I could see that a few other people seemed displeased by Wanda’s statement.
“Don’t worry, though,” Wanda continued, “spells are a huge part of why we are here, and there will be plenty of opportunities to practice the old and learn the new. I think you will all be quite happy. Now, as I said earlier, we consider you trustworthy and we expect you to honor the rules. For anyone who is caught breaking them, punishment will be swift and severe.” She stopped and smiled again. A grin this time, one that stretched wide across her face. “So with that out of the way, on to the fun part! I am so, so pleased to welcome you to the 2020 Sitter Summit.
“I am sure you all know who I am, and who my fellow Synod members are, but on the off chance that you do not, I would
like to take a minute to introduce us: I am Wanda Willis, and I am the Synod’s Premier and will be overseeing the operations behind this operation.” She gave a little smile and gestured behind her, to the three other women in the Synod, the same ones who had been at the mall with her on Halloween night when they flushed Erebus like the wad of toilet paper that he was. “To my right, I have Janine Guillot, our foremost expert in demonology.” A tall blond woman stood up and waved. She wore a black-and-white ’80s business suit, white stilettos, and her nails were candy-apple-red talons. It was a fierce look and I 100 percent approved. “To my right, I have Deirdre King, our librarian.” Deirdre had an equally fierce, though completely different, look. If Janine was a skinny cappuccino, Deirdre was a rooibos chai: she had thick dreads, almost to her waist, and a wax-print scarf tied around her head and giant gold hoop earrings accessorizing a leopard-print maxi dress.
“And finally, off to the side, is Ana Mora, who will be your instructor for all things related to kinesis.” Ana was a triple Americano: she wore a black turban, black turtleneck, black jeans, and black high-heeled boots. Out of all of them, she looked like the one you would least want to mess with.
“We also have several Counsels helping out this weekend,” Wanda continued, “all of whom were outstanding in their fields both before and since they were recruited.” Wanda went down the line and introduced all the Counsel, which included a guy from Oregon with a mullet, a woman who looked like Oprah and was from Chicago, a few others, Brian, and Clarissa, who had changed out of her tracksuit into an equally amethyst dress.
“We are all looking forward to getting to know you this weekend, as I’m sure you are looking forward to getting to know us,” Wanda continued. “A Summit is a chance for the Sitterhood to come together in the name of education and connection, and to reassess where we are in a rapidly changing world. Thanks to us, the mortal world is safer than ever before, but new threats will always arise. And one is rising now. That threat is Red Magic.” Silence had returned to the room. It didn’t seem like anyone was even breathing, and Wanda sighed, a weary, confessional sigh. I bit my lip and looked sideways at Cassandra, who looked totally passive. So, we were right. They were here, all of them, because of what had happened on Halloween. “Red Magic is a perversion of Sitter magic,” Wanda said. “It is selfish rather than altruistic. Instead of protecting, it causes harm. It is greedy, not generous, and rather than being genetically innate, it can be acquired by anyone willing to sacrifice their moral soul.” She cleared her throat and took a sip of water.
For Better or Cursed Page 10
