This session was just the Runaway Bunnies, and everyone but Cassandra and me raised their hands. Deirdre called on Mallory. “I use spells in most of my Returns,” she said, “as my kinesis isn’t that great at, you know, getting rid of demons. And I’ve found architectonikinesis to be really helpful in that regard.”
“Ah yes,” Deirdre said, smiling. “The ability to manipulate architecture. Three Legos, some double-sided tape, a brown palm oil candle, and one graham cracker, if I’m correct?”
“Exactly,” Mallory said. “So if I’m trying to do a Return indoors, I’ll use architectonikinesis to manipulate the walls until I get the demon right under the Portal.”
“Fantastic,” Deirdre said. “Such ingenuity. Anyone else?” She nodded at Amirah.
“So, this one time, we were at Mr. Chow in Beverly Hills and my mom started to panic because she realized she’d lost her wedding ring,” Amirah said. “And we had the entire staff looking for it, and my mom was freaking out. Because that ring is, like, serious wattage, and no one could find it, but I used diamantikinesis and realized it was actually at home, by the bathroom sink.” As soon as Amirah was finished with her story, she sat back triumphantly and crossed her arms over her chest. In her eyes, this was another time when she had saved the day. Also, did that really mean her favorite spell was a spell for finding diamonds?
“Okay, wonderful,” Deirdre said, in a way that I couldn’t tell whether she was serious or not. “Now, the goal of this session is to have each of you create a spell that will be accepted by the books.” I sat up a little straighter. Now this, this was interesting. Tentatively, I raised my hand, not sure whether I was about to ask a question that everyone else already knew the answer to. Deirdre nodded at me.
“So all the spells in this book have been written by other Sitters?” I asked.
“Yes,” Deirdre said. “Our grimoire is truly a communal effort. Some of our spells have their origins centuries ago, and that’s why the books must be able to update themselves, as a Sitter who created a spell in the seventeenth century would have no way of knowing what sort of ingredients would be available to her lineage hundreds of years later.” I nodded. That made sense, and my mind immediately jumped to Mom: Were any of these spells ones she had written?
“How do you know who wrote what spell?” I asked.
“We don’t,” Deirdre said. “There have been some Sitters who were notably prolific, but on the whole, we try to keep things anonymous. As always, our magic is about altruism, selflessness, and protecting the innocent, not gaining personal recognition.” Beside me, Cassandra shifted in her seat and I couldn’t help but wonder whether that was in response to what Deidre had just said. Cassandra liked power, and while she certainly didn’t need the confidence boost that came from people telling her she was great, I was sure she wouldn’t have minded it one bit.
“Now,” Deirdre continued, “do any of you know the criteria for getting a spell in the books? There are three.”
Ji-A raised her hand. “It has to be as near universal as possible.”
“Correct,” Deirdre said. “Can you explain what that means?”
“Sure,” Ji-A said. “It means that a spell has to solve a common problem, not a problem that just you face or that will occur just one time.”
“Very well put,” Deirdre said. “Now, the second?”
“The ingredients have to be specific, yet widely available,” Ruby said, and when Deirdre nodded, she continued. “Like, if you are designing a spell that uses mushrooms, you have to specify what mushroom, since there are so many kinds. But at the same time, you don’t want it to be super rare. So it’s best to pick something right in the middle, like shiitake or cremini.”
“Very good,” Deirdre said. “Now, the third rule of spells?”
Mallory spoke up. “Like with everything we do,” she said, “it has to be altruistic. You can’t create a spell just so you can use it for personal gain.”
I was sitting rapt in my chair. “Did you know this?” I whispered to Cassandra, and she responded with a quick shake of her head. I hadn’t either. Brian had never told us that Sitters wrote the spells or that new ones were constantly being added, and we’d never asked. It had never crossed my mind to ask where the spells came from. I just assumed they came from the books, and that wasn’t a lazy assumption. The books revised themselves, after all, so why wouldn’t they write themselves too?
I had missed what Deirdre was saying, but everyone else was scribbling on pieces of paper, so I grabbed a pen and slid a pad of paper closer to me, but then I just sat there with the pen poised in my hand, not writing a dang thing. I had a million ideas—a spell to drive a car; a spell to make food appear in an empty refrigerator (both so handy for babysitting); a spell to keep socks from separating; a spell to walk into a store and immediately find the perfect shade of lipstick….So many spells, but only one I really cared about.
The room was silent except for the sound of pens scratching on paper, and the sound of Cassandra’s left knee, which was bouncing and made a soft thud every time it hit the table leg. “Remember,” Deirdre said, “wording is everything. That is why we so often use the word ‘manipulate,’ because it can be interpreted so many ways. If you are too specific, your spell might not have enough impact. Not specific enough, and it could be hard to control.”
Ruby was the first to put down her pen and get up, then walk to the back of the room. Amirah followed, then Mallory. Suddenly, Cassandra jumped up to go join them, no doubt worried someone else might take all the good stuff.
I still sat there, going over it in my mind. Like Deirdre said, it had to be just right. A spell could not remove a curse—if it were that easy, then that spell would have been in the books a long time ago. But what if I wasn’t trying to remove the curse, or even lessen it? What if I just wanted to pierce it? My spell wouldn’t make a curse go away, it would just cleave the cloud for a while. If I had a spell like that, I could talk to Mom, and we could build a relationship. Then, when her curse was finally removed, we wouldn’t be starting from scratch—we would have known each other all along.
I was sure this spell was universal. Talking to Ruby had been enough to convince me that Mom and Cassandra weren’t alone. There were plenty of cursed Sitters out there, and wherever there was a cursed Sitter, I was sure there were people who loved her and wanted to talk to her. A spell like this could help people. Not just Mom—or, goddess forbid, Cassandra—but a lot of people.
I finally scrawled some words on my paper, then stood up and walked to the back of the room. Ji-A was standing back there and methodically picking up items and then setting them down. It looked like she was going through them one by one.
She looked up and smiled at me. “I want to make sure they feel right,” she said, before setting down a pink flamingo swizzle stick.
The thing with Sitter spells was that the ingredients seemed random at first glance, but they were actually very carefully chosen, and everything related back to the ultimate goal. My goal was communication. It was to clear a path so that the essence of the person could emerge through the curse. I didn’t want the books to reject this spell, and I wanted it to work, so I had to make sure the ingredients were just right. I spied a blue pillar candle and picked it up. Blue was the color of truth and communication, and in a way, this spell would be lighting a path for the cursed person to follow. Then there was a broom—it was petite and handmade, for cleaning up only the cutest messes. I’d take that too, to sweep away the curse.
I saw something that made me smile: wind-up plastic teeth, with googly eyes on top and flat pink feet on the bottom. Most spells had four ingredients, so now I just needed one more. I made my way down the table, looking at everything. Silver wolf’s head charms, tiny pots of eye cream, golden paper crowns, fabric flowers, dried stems of eucalyptus, a pink and purple beer koozie that said “Same Penis Fore
ver,” a few different types of dog treats, a cat toy, a yellow bandanna, tubs of neon-hued slime, barrettes, bubbles, anything and everything imaginable. Then I saw it: a package of smoke bombs, the different-colored orbs Dad and I used to light off on the Fourth of July. I picked them up and headed back to my table.
Now that I had my ingredients, I had to think of a name and a description. I’d start with the description first. The power for a cursed person to speak clearly? Eh, no. That could just mean they weren’t supposed to mumble, or even that their words would be invisible. The power for a cursed person to speak the truth? That wasn’t quite it either, because it might only work on someone who was cursed to lie. I thought for a minute, gripping the pen over the blank paper. Then I wrote it down: the power to manipulate curses so that a cursed person can experience themselves again.
Mom was smart and funny, but under her curse, none of that could come through now. I could see how frustrated she was, like she was looking at the world through a scummy shower curtain, and I could imagine how freeing it would be for her to have a conversation again, even if it was just for a minute, where she could be herself again.
Now I needed a name: identikinesis. Quickly, I raised my hand, which brought Deirdre over to our table. Cassandra was scrawling all over her paper, and she put her forearm over it, as if she were trying to make sure the teacher didn’t copy off her paper. I wasn’t sure if Deirdre noticed. “Yes, Esme?” she said.
“When it comes to a name, how do you know if it’s already been taken?” I said. “If there’s already a spell with that name in the books?”
Deirdre smiled as she flipped half her dreads over one shoulder, a move that sent a hint of palo santo wafting through the air. “You ask them.” With that, she gestured toward Mallory, who was bent over at the waist and whispering to a book. Suddenly, she bolted back upright as it flew open, its pages rustling like a flock of pigeons. I heard her mutter, “Crap,” and then she sat back down.
“All of them?” I asked, and Deirdre shook her head.
“They’re very cooperative,” she said. “So one will speak for all.”
I nodded at Deirdre, then stood up and walked over to where Mallory had just been. I was glad I could whisper and not have to announce it in front of everyone else. I bent and whispered, “Identikinesis,” but the book didn’t emit so much as a purr. I straightened up and turned around. Deirdre was looking at me, and she gave a little smile and nod. “Looks like you picked well,” she said.
I sat down feeling more hopeful than I had in weeks.
* * *
—
My anticipation grew as we waited for everyone to finish their spells, and soon my knee was bouncing as much as Cassandra’s, turning our table into the epicenter of the room’s nervous energy.
Which definitely didn’t help the wariness aimed at Cassandra, from Mallory and Ruby especially. Ruby kept glancing over at Cassandra in a way that made me anxious wondering whether there was something Cass was about to do that Ruby knew and I didn’t. But even Amirah and Ji-A seemed a little distant after the incident with the demon this morning. Or maybe I was just imagining it all, and they weren’t distant, just absorbed in what they were doing. I hoped that was the case.
Finally, everyone had finished writing and concocting, and it was time. Deirdre gave us a little speech about how we shouldn’t get discouraged if the books didn’t accept our spells. “They’re not saying no,” she explained. “They’re saying not yet. If it’s something you really want, you can tweak it and try again later.” She did not say when later would be.
Mallory went first. She carried her four ingredients to the front of the room, then held them up one by one—soy sauce packets, raisins, a tongue depressor, and a packet of gold leaf—so that we could all see. Then she carefully arranged them in a line, evenly spaced. Mallory picked a book out of the ones lining the room and carried it back to the table. She set it down and then took a step back. “Umamikinesis,” she said. “The power to make gross food taste good.” The room was silent as we waited, but nothing happened. She said it again, waited a beat, and then turned to Deirdre.
“I’m sorry, Mallory,” Deirdre said, “but it looks as though they are not going to accept it. My guess is that it is too subjective, in that everyone has a different idea of what ‘gross’ and ‘good’ mean.”
Mallory shrugged; she didn’t seem too bummed. “That makes sense,” she said. “I was thinking it would be useful to do something like turn sushi into oatmeal, but—”
“Why would anyone want to do that?” Amirah interjected. “Sushi is far superior! I’ve had sushi that cost hundreds of dollars, but what’s the most you’re gonna pay for a bowl of oatmeal? $19.99?” I watched Deirdre’s face, but her smile didn’t slip. Instead, she turned back to Mallory.
“Case in point,” she said. Mallory nodded, then carried the book back to where she had picked it up, before taking her seat.
“I’ll go next,” Ruby said, gathering her items and standing up. She had a tube of arnica, a bottle of foundation, a packet of paper plates illustrated with Elsa from Frozen, and red cedar shavings. She set out the first three in a triangle, then sprinkled the cedar in the middle. She picked out a book from the library and placed it a few inches away. “Contusikinesis,” she said. “The power to manipulate bruises.” Everything was silent for a few seconds, then the book burst open, sucking the ingredients toward it like a powerful vacuum cleaner. As the ingredients hit the pages, they disappeared as if sinking into a bubble bath. The book snapped shut, made a sound like someone swallowing soup, and then popped open again. Ruby leaned forward to look at it. “Holy crap,” she said. “It’s in there! My spell! It’s in the books.” She was beaming and bounced up and down on her toes. “It’s going to help so many Sitters! You won’t have to wear makeup or make up stories the day after a tough Return.”
“Well done, dear,” Deirdre said. “Well done.” She started clapping, and the rest of the class joined in a little round of applause. Ruby still had a look of disbelief on her face as she sat down and leaned over to fist-bump Mallory. I couldn’t take the waiting anymore, so I shot my hand into the air before anyone else decided to go next.
“Esme, sure, go ahead,” Deirdre said, and I pushed my chair out and stood. I carried my ingredients to the front of the room and carefully placed them on the table, just as Ruby and Mallory had. Then I took my time choosing which book I wanted to represent all the books. I finally settled on a rather slim gold volume with pages tipped in a deep jelly bean purple. I carried it to the table and placed it next to my ingredients, then cleared my mind and said my spell. “Identikinesis,” I said, making sure to enunciate every syllable. “The power to manipulate curses so that a cursed person can experience themselves again.” Then I waited, my heart falling as it looked like the book wasn’t going to do anything. That meant they were rejecting my— But then, the book burst open. Every book burst open, not just the one I had chosen, and the room was filled with a piercing, shrieking sound. Instinctively, I clapped my hands over my ears. That barely did anything; the sound was boring into my body, like my innards were being shredded from the inside out.
It was the books. They were screaming.
Panicked, I spun around to look for Deirdre. She was up and moving toward me, already coming for the book. Her hands were clasped over her ears, and everyone else had done the same. Everyone, that is, except Cassandra, who just sat there, staring straight ahead as if she didn’t hear a thing. Then, all of a sudden, she jumped up, so fast that she knocked her chair to the floor, and started screaming too, her mouth open like that Munch painting. She grabbed the table in front of her, and in a flash, I realized two things: First, this wasn’t Cassandra; this was Cassandra in the middle of an episode. And second, she was about to flip that table like a Real Housewife.
In the space of a split second, I glanced at Deirdre, who, fortunate
ly, had her back to us as she tended to the screaming books. I raised my hand at Cassandra. To hell with not using our kinesis outside of our rooms, this was an emergency, and I clamped the table to the floor. That seemed to make Cassandra mad. As she kept trying to flip the table with one hand, she made a fist with the other and raised it, ready to punch through the poor table, which hadn’t done anything but just try to do its job and give us a place to take notes. Not wanting to let go of the table, I braced myself for the sound of Cassandra’s fist pounding the wood, but just like that, Ruby was behind her, wrapping Cass in a bear hug and literally lifting her off her feet and dragging her out of the room. Mallory was right behind them, and in two steps, I was right behind her.
Ruby must have been strong as heck, and her adrenaline must have been pumping as well, because Cassandra was fighting her every step of the way. As soon as we were out of the library, Ruby threw Cassandra, who tumbled to the carpet right as the cartilage-cutting sound coming from inside the room died down.
As soon as Cass looked up, I could see she was back, even with her hair in her face. “What the…?” she said, looking at me. I didn’t have answers, so I turned to Ruby, who was bent over, one hand on her heart.
My head was spinning, and I had the feeling I’d just done something wrong. Really wrong. “The books were screaming. Why would they scream?” I asked. “Why didn’t they reject me quietly?”
Ruby gave a long exhale. “I have no idea,” she said, “but man, that sound. It was tearing into my bones.”
We both looked at Cassandra, who was still sitting on the floor. Mallory knelt beside her. “Are you okay?” she said. “Ruby stopped you right before you were about to put your fist through a table.”
Cassandra didn’t say anything, just pushed herself up off the floor. “I’m fine,” she said, when she was on her feet. She seemed to shake something off, then looked at Ruby. “Thank you,” she said. Ruby’s breathing had returned to normal, and she stood quietly, looking at Cassandra, then at me. Cassandra thanking her, and in front of other people, was a huge deal. I knew this, but Ruby didn’t, and her expression didn’t soften.
For Better or Cursed Page 17
