Spellcaster

by Claudia Gray

  “What?” Verlaine whispered. “What happens? Could Mateo die?”

  “I doubt it.” If only Nadia could draw any comfort from that. “But he could turn into a vegetable. He might never walk or talk again. Never remember who he is. The person Mateo was—that will be lost, forever.”

  Elizabeth lifted her head, suddenly alert.

  The bonds of the curse on the Cabot family—yet another of the constants of her world, a presence in her life as unchanging and guiding as the North Star—had suddenly fallen slack.

  Nadia Caldani cannot have broken the curse. She doesn’t have the power. She couldn’t. Even as anger rippled through her, Elizabeth realized—no, the curse remained. But the ties that held Mateo close to her, kept him under control … some powerful magic had disturbed them. And even through the murk now separating her from him, Elizabeth could tell that Mateo was in serious physical distress. Perhaps even mortal danger, though she couldn’t be sure. That stupid girl must have tried some spell beyond her ability, thinking her little Steadfast friend gave her the strength to do anything she wanted.

  Well, Mateo Perez couldn’t die yet. She wasn’t done using him up.

  Elizabeth rose lazily from her place on the floor. In her mind, no less sarcastic for the voice being mere thought, the demon spoke: Will you run to his rescue? Play the noble heroine?

  “Silence, beast.” Elizabeth had ceased to see the point of humor some two centuries before; already she was eager to find him an appropriate vessel, the better to house him where she need not hear his endless mockery. “I don’t have to run anywhere for a rescue.”

  She unbuttoned the front of her white dress, then let it fall from her body onto the floor; she wore nothing underneath. Her wood stove was only a few steps away, and as always her bare feet found the slivers of floor not covered with glass. Then, with bare hands, she pulled open the metal door of the wood stove. It took more than heat to burn her now, and besides—what glowed and crackled within was not wood.

  No power was more flexible than stolen power. Or—if you knew how to use it properly—sweeter.

  The light of stolen love and life painted her thighs and belly, touching them with heat. Unblinking, Elizabeth stared into the glow, picturing Mateo’s face.

  You are mine, she thought. No one else can free you. Only me.

  Ginger drove to the hospital so quickly that Nadia found herself bracing her hands against the dashboard. It still didn’t feel fast enough. But within minutes the three of them were dashing across the hospital parking lot. From the grim, desperate look on Ginger’s face, Nadia could tell how truly she regretted having hurt Mateo.

  It didn’t matter. Nadia remained so angry with Ginger, so frightened for Mateo, that she wanted to scream.

  Mateo will be okay, she reminded herself. He won’t die. They have machines that keep him breathing. Ginger will break the spell, and he’ll be fine again in no time.

  Physically, that was true. But what about Mateo’s mind? Although he would be able to remember things from now on, would he ever recall anything from his past? Was every moment he’d ever known—every moment they had ever known—lost forever?

  They ran into the ER waiting room. Nadia hurried to the nurse on duty. “Yes, hi, we’re here about Mateo Perez—we’re his, um, his friends.” Would they even let anybody in to see him? Could Ginger cast the spell from here?

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse said. “No visitors outside the immediate family.”

  Nadia glanced over at Ginger, who still looked as likely to bolt as to help Mateo. Before she could think what to do, though, Verlaine shouted—more loudly than Nadia had ever heard her say anything, “This is an outrage!”

  Heads turned around the waiting room. The nurse said, “Miss, I understand you’re upset, but the same rules apply to you as to anyone else.”

  Verlaine grabbed out her phone and started recording video. “This is about—about freedom of the press! The public has a right to know what’s being served in local restaurants if it’s killing people!”

  Someone across the room, who seemed to be waiting for a doctor to check out a black eye, said, “Wait, restaurants are killing people?”

  Everyone started murmuring, and Verlaine used her free hand to start beating on the nurses’ station as loudly as she could. “I demand accountability! I demand justice!” Then she shot Nadia a look that clearly meant, Would you please get a move on?

  “If you don’t quiet down, I’m going to have to call security!” the nurse cried; already a security guard was edging toward Verlaine. Nadia started backing away from the fracas, towing Ginger along with her. As everyone focused on Verlaine, who kept on shouting about citizen journalism, Nadia was able to push through the doors that led to the ER itself.

  Captive’s Sound was so small, and so quiet, that no other patients were in the ER. Both doctors and all the nurses swarmed around a single hospital bed. Amid the sea of tubes and scrubs, Nadia could just see Mateo. He looked so pale, so still. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest.

  “Do something,” she whispered to Ginger, who nodded.

  It was horrible, having to rely on someone else to save Mateo. Though Nadia could have tried something herself, it would be harder for her; the spellcaster herself always had the greatest power over the spell.

  But even as Ginger lifted one hand to begin, Mateo suddenly sat upright.

  “Whoa—” he groaned. His eyes opened, then shut tightly against what must have seemed like too-bright light. “Whoa, what’s going on?”

  “Lie back down!” one of the doctors ordered, but Nadia could tell she was relieved, as were all the other medical staff in the room.

  Mateo stared past the sea of doctors toward her. “Nadia?”

  A nurse finally saw them. “Excuse me, no visitors. You’ll have to step outside.”

  “You’re okay, Mateo!” Nadia called to him even as the nurse pushed them both back toward the doors. “You’re going to be fine!”

  As they were finally edged out, they almost backed into Alejandro Perez, who looked petrified. “Please—my son—”

  “He’s awake and responsive,” the nurse said. “We’ll tell you more when we can. Wait out here.”

  “He’s awake?” Mr. Perez repeated. Relief made his face go almost slack. “Madre de Dios.”

  Nadia nodded quickly. “He woke up while they were in there. Sat up and knew who I was and everything.”

  Apparently Mr. Perez was too overwhelmed to ask himself why she and Ginger would have been in the ER in the first place. “You’re sure?”

  “It’s all going to be okay.” It was the kind of thing people said even when they couldn’t be sure, so Nadia could get away with it; she did know for sure but couldn’t explain how she knew. And Ginger looked as confused as she did....

  “I’ve been working him too hard,” Mr. Perez whispered. “Riding him too hard, after he skipped a week of school. Wanted to—to straighten him out, you know? But Mateo’s always been a good kid. The first time he ran a little wild, I drove him to this.”

  “No, no! It wasn’t your fault,” Nadia insisted, thinking, It’s mine. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

  He patted her shoulder absentmindedly. “It was good of you both to come. But I—I need to talk to the doctors now.”

  “Of course. Go,” Nadia said. Next to her, Ginger nodded.

  Silently they walked into the parking lot—where Verlaine leaned against Ginger’s car, slightly disheveled. They must have tossed her out here for creating a disturbance. As soon as the doors swung shut, she said, “What just happened?”

  Nadia didn’t answer—she couldn’t—and instead turned to Ginger. “Did you do something in the car? Cast a spell?”

  Ginger shook her head no and shrugged.

  “It doesn’t make any sense.” Tugging her hair up into a tail with both hands, Nadia breathed out in frustration. “Your spell shouldn’t have worn off on its own. Even if it weren’t strengthened by his—by th
ere being a Steadfast around.”

  The answer hit her in a rush: Elizabeth.

  He was her crystal ball, her window to the future—she still needed him. Elizabeth’s dragon claws had been sunk into his family for hundreds of years; why would she let go now?

  And she was still so attached to him, still so aware of everything about Mateo, that she’d sensed the spell without even being there.

  How deep did that connection go? Would Nadia ever be able to free him? Was that even possible?

  Nadia took a deep breath, trying to clear her head. She realized that Ginger had been scribbling something for a few seconds now, just as Ginger finished and held up her note: You’ve broken one of the First Laws. You have no right to the Craft.

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that,” Nadia said, but she felt like she was dying inside. It was like all the anger her mother would have felt, all the scorn, was bleeding through Ginger into her—like somehow her mother had left because she knew this would happen, which made no sense but at this moment felt horribly true. She tried to stick to the subject. “Elizabeth did this. You know she did. Just like she’s the one who cursed Mateo in the first place—and cursed you.”

  Ginger only stared, but Nadia knew that was the same as agreeing with her. Verlaine hugged herself and watched them with worried eyes.

  “She’s planning something.” Nadia stepped closer. “Something terrible, this Halloween night at the carnival. I know you don’t approve of me. I know you think I’ve done something awful but—it’s not like what Elizabeth does, you get that much, right? You’re—” Her voice broke, and a flush of shame warmed her cheeks, but Nadia forced herself to keep going. “You’re the only other nonevil witch I know right now. My mother’s gone. Elizabeth’s a Sorceress. If we don’t stop her, I think a lot of people are going to get hurt. And I’m sure Mateo’s going to be the first. Please, tell me—what would you do? What are you going to do?”

  Ginger jotted one more note, handed it to Nadia, and got into her car. The door was slammed shut in a way that suggested they wouldn’t be getting a ride back home.

  Nadia looked down at the piece of paper, which said only, RUN.

  16

  MATEO KNEW HE WAS DRUGGED. THE HEAVY, SWEET taste on his tongue and the overpowering weight of his eyelids and his body told him that. It was as though he were sinking through endless fog but couldn’t bring himself to care.

  Nadia had been here with him. That was the one thing he now knew for sure, the one thing that made the rest of it okay. If she had been here to check on him, then everything must be okay.

  He saw nothing now; he didn’t care. His hand hurt—one constant pinpoint of pain. The IV, he thought, without really caring why there was one jabbed through his skin. Mateo’s only real connection with the rest of the world was hearing, though he didn’t bother making sense of what he heard.

  “—keep him overnight for observation. We’ll need to do some tests.”

  “Of course.” That was Dad. Mateo was sure of that much, and it was such a relief to know who Dad was, to remember him. But why a relief? He couldn’t put it together right now—not with the fog swirling all around him—“But everything looks normal?”

  “His vitals are strong. We’re giving him antiseizure medication just in case, but if he doesn’t have another episode, he can go home tomorrow morning.”

  That sounded good, Mateo decided. Now he could let himself fall asleep. But wasn’t there a reason he didn’t want to go to sleep? He could remember it now if he wanted to—

  —but he didn’t want to. He relaxed and let the fog swallow him whole.

  For a long time there was nothing.

  Then he saw Nadia again.

  They sat on the back porch of some house on the beach—not Mateo’s, but it might have been any of a few dozen strewn along the coast of Captive’s Sound. A fire pit flickered from the sand below, and crystal wind chimes sang with the breeze. It was late at night, and the sky was so clear he could see where the stars met the sea. They were curled up on a swing, and Nadia shivered from the chill.

  “Don’t kiss me,” she said.

  She was cold, so cold. Despite his own shivering, Mateo shrugged off his jacket and slipped it around her shoulders. Nadia’s dark eyes seemed like part of the night that surrounded them, and he couldn’t stop wanting to bury his hands in her black hair.

  Why was this different?

  “You’re not dying,” he whispered. “Not this time. It’s okay for me to be with you.”

  Nadia smiled up at him as she trailed two fingers along his cheek, a touch that made him feel like he was melting. She smiled even as she said, “I’m dying the whole time this happens.”

  Mateo laid one hand along her belly; he could feel the warmth of her skin through her shirt. Slowly he slid his hand toward her back, bringing her into his embrace.

  She leaned against him and whispered, her breath soft against his lips, “If you kiss me, we’re both lost.”

  It didn’t make any sense. Dreams didn’t have to make sense.

  Just as he bent toward her, though, there was light—“Time to check your vitals!” in a chipper voice—and Mateo wasn’t awake but he wasn’t dreaming any longer, either. He let the dream go easily; the fog wouldn’t let him hold on to anything for long.

  At three a.m., about when Verlaine was starting to think she might have calmed down enough to go to sleep, she thought again of Ginger’s note.

  RUN.

  “Forget it,” she groaned, throwing back the covers to grab her phone again. Even as she did so, Nadia texted again: Sorry if I woke you up—can’t sleep.

  Me either. Hey, are we considering fleeing as a possibility? I would be good with fleeing. She really should have put that in the PowerPoint as Option D.

  Nadia didn’t seem to be thinking about escape—at least not enough, in Verlaine’s opinion. Tell me more about that church fire. The one where Ginger lost her voice.

  I was little. I don’t remember much about it. As Smuckers jumped up on the bed, Verlaine absentmindedly petted him, trying to remember anything Uncle Gary had ever said about the fire. He was the one who knew pretty much everything that went down around here. It was the Catholic church—they were in this really old building then, not far from the beach. There was some group meeting in the basement, but just like a women’s club or something. Most of them died. Ginger got out but she never talked after that.

  That wasn’t a club. I’d bet anything that was a coven.

  What? Are you sure?

  Ginger’s a witch—and that fire can’t have been targeted only at her. There are more specific spells you could use against one enemy.

  What kind of spells were those? Verlaine wondered if she really wanted to know.

  Nadia kept typing. If Elizabeth only wanted to hurt or warn Ginger, the curse alone would have done it. But the fire striking a whole group of women who met alone … to me, that says coven.

  A whole group of witches—right here in town—and Verlaine had never suspected. Someday soon, she figured she wouldn’t even be capable of being surprised anymore, but not quite yet. Why would a coven be meeting in the Catholic church? Isn’t that, like, a conflict of interest or something?

  They probably said it was a knit night or a book club or something. It’s always easiest to hide in plain sight.

  Her phone screen was the only light in her room; the shadows it cast made everything look unfamiliar. Verlaine realized she was shivering and clutched Smuckers closer, though the fat old cat meowed once in protest. So Elizabeth just goes around destroying other witches in town, whenever, wherever?

  No, because she hasn’t come after me, and she could. I wouldn’t be able to stop her, Nadia replied. That wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  Why had she let herself get sucked into this? But Verlaine knew now—witchcraft had played a part in her life long before she’d ever met Nadia Caldani. She wound a strand of her waist-length hair around one finger, over and ov
er, coiling it all; in the phone’s light it shone silver.

  Uncle Gary and Uncle Dave kept the one formal portrait of her and her parents framed in the hallway, bigger than any of the many pictures they’d all taken together over the years. So she wouldn’t forget, they always said, like she remembered back that far to begin with. Verlaine was hardly a year old in that picture, chubby and grinning with her dark curls as her mom and dad hugged her tight. She’d lost everything she could see there—the parents, the baby fat, the dark hair, and even the smile.

  Was Elizabeth the one who had taken it all away?

  Her phone chimed again in her hand. Verlaine looked down to see Nadia’s text: The witches must have been planning on challenging her. That’s why Elizabeth killed them. She must have left Ginger alive but mute as a kind of warning.

  Warning who?

  Anyone else who was coming after Elizabeth.

  Um, isn’t that us? Verlaine was starting to wonder whether “teen runaway” was the worst thing she could put on her college applications.

  But as scared as she was, there was no erasing what she’d learned. Her whole life, Verlaine had been wearing the scars Elizabeth had given her; now, at last, she saw them for what they were.

  Her uncles said that Mom had a fantastic sense of humor and had crocheted Verlaine’s baby blanket herself. That Dad used to sing Beatles songs to her when she was a baby to put her to sleep.

  They deserved justice.

  And if going after Elizabeth Pike was the only way to make that happen—then no matter how scary it was, no matter how dangerous, Verlaine had to try.

  Sorry, Nadia typed. I didn’t mean to scare you.

  Verlaine’s reply popped up on her phone almost immediately. Hey, if I need to be scared, scare me. We know what we’re getting into now. Right?

  Right, Nadia said, hoping it was true. But Elizabeth was so ancient—wielded such unfathomable power—that she might be able to come after them in ways Nadia couldn’t even begin to guess. Their only hope was that she’d underestimate them, and that could only take them so far.