“Like what, Bergdorf ’s? I’m on the Upper East Side, Angelique. The most sinister thing I could do is wear white after Labor Day.”
“Or last season’s nail polish,” she agreed, laughing. “Still, I don’t understand why you would be marked by the spirit world like this.”
“Marked?” I squeaked. “Marked by what? For what?”
“It could be any number of things,” Angelique explained.
“Maybe you’re a channel. Maybe someone’s trying to warn you. Maybe this is a sign.”
“I like my explanation better.” I sighed. “That the street lamps were in dire need of repair. I mean, I’ve seen lights go out over my head before.”
Angelique was suddenly silent. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice chillingly low.
“It’s happened before,” I said dismissively. “Just a few times—but it’s been kind of the same thing—the lights burn out, then I smell the bitter, sulfury smell.”
“The sulfur smell generally indicates something negative, so it sounds to me like you’re being warned about something—
something pretty bad. And whoever is reaching out to you had to make a big show to get your attention since you clearly were ignoring the warning signs.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” I twisted my purple comforter into knots.
“Well, don’t get freaked out just yet. I’ll do a spell of protection for you this Friday—Halloween is this weekend, after all.
If this spirit is malevolent, the spell should protect you. But if it’s not—if someone is warning you—well, I think you’ll want those warnings. Just bring me something personal. And let me know if anything else happens. This is exciting!”
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“Exciting for you,” I pointed out. “I don’t want to end up possessed, or trapped in some third dimension.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, as if the phrase “marked by the spirit world” was any more believable than “trapped in a third dimension.”
“Look,” she continued. “The way I interpret this, I’d say a spirit, or some force, is reaching out to you. I know it seems like it was malevolent, but spirits are dramatic, so there’s no certainty that there was any ill intent. That said, I would still be careful. Wear the ring.
“And,” she continued, her voice sounding confused, “I’m surprised you don’t believe in ghosts—or anything spiritual at all. I thought you were into this.”
“No, not really,” I said. “Why did you think that?”
“Well, your necklace, for starters,” Angelique explained.
“My necklace? It’s something my brother gave me,” I said, remembering how I saw the same thing in Brendan’s locker.
“It’s just some common design.”
“No, it’s not,” Angelique said emphatically. “It’s completely and totally not. It’s quite significant. I’ve seen it in a few spell books—but I never bothered to read the spells, since I don’t believe in love spells. So I couldn’t say what exactly it symbolizes. But I also recognize it from one of my mother’s textbooks—she teaches Medieval Studies at Fordham. I’ve also seen it on some websites—dark magic sites, actually.”
Angelique stopped, then took a breath. “It means something.”
“I don’t know what it means, but if you have any books about it lying around, I’d love to borrow them.” I toyed with the necklace as I spoke. “The necklace…it’s pretty sentimental.
I’d like to know what the story is.”
“Of course, Emma. I’ll look for some books. But—” She paused, then sounded sheepish. “You’ve been so nice to me. I 9780373210305_TS.indd 96
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thought it was because you were sympathetic to the witch’s plight.”
“You’re the one who’s been nice to me from day one,” I reminded her. “And I don’t really care what your religion is, although I have to admit, it’s coming in handy for me right now.” She laughed. We kept talking for a while—and she reminded me to bring in a personal item for the protection spell.
“Just jog on a treadmill from now on,” she advised.
I was relieved when, over the next two days, I walked to school with Ashley and no locusts clustered at my feet, no frogs rained down from the sky, and when I turned on the faucet in the girls’ bathroom, the tap ran clear with good ol’ water—not blood. I was even slightly comforted when Brendan continued to keep me on his pay-no-mind list. Any change in his behavior and I would have thought the spirit world was really screwing with me.
In chemistry, I handed Angelique the key to the home I had shared with my mom and Ethan, pre-Henry. I kept it on a purple ribbon and used it as a bookmark in my journal.
She had asked me to bring something personal—the more personal, the better.
“It’s really sentimental, so it won’t get ruined in the spell, right?” I asked, concerned.
“Not at all,” she assured me. “Truthfully, that necklace might be the best, but we’ll work with this and go in for the big guns if we have to.”
Angelique then leaned over and ripped out a few strands of hair. I clapped my hands over my mouth to stop from yelping.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “I should have warned you. I forgot. I’m just excited.”
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“I could have pulled them out for you myself.” I pouted, rubbing my scalp. “I think you got some skin there.”
She stuck my hair in an envelope for safekeeping, and promised me that, by midnight tomorrow, I would be protected—and if not totally protected, at least I’d likely stop seeing lampposts explode. I had to admit, even though I wasn’t really sold on the whole supernatural thing, I appreciated her concern.
After school, I walked home with Ashley, and figured she’d get a kick out of my supernatural adventures.
“That
is creepy,” she agreed. “I’ve definitely had lights go out above my head, but not a whole row of them. But maybe they were on the same power grid or something, and short-circuited.”
I liked her explanation. We were talking about the com-plexities of electrical engineering—we may as well have been talking about how to build a spaceship, since neither one of us knew a thing about it—when I realized she was rubbing her palms together, which she did when she was nervous about something.
“Ashley, what’s going on?” I demanded, putting my hands over her fidgety fingers as they mashed together.
“You’ll be mad,” she said mournfully.
“I might be going mad,” I conceded, “but I’m sure I won’t be mad. Tell me.”
“Okay,” she said hesitantly, then it all tumbled out, her words tripping over themselves in her exuberance. “I’m seeing Anthony tonight! I know I told you that we were still talking on Facebook and stuff, but he also started talking to me in the library during free period, and he asked me out earlier this week. I didn’t want to tell you ’cause you hate him but he’s really nice and so cute, so don’t hate me.”
She paused, but only because she was out of breath.
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“Ashley, everything I’ve seen of Anthony tells me he’s not a good guy,” I pleaded. “He’s not worth your time.”
“Oh, I asked him about the fight in Central Park, and he said Frank insulted his mother,” Ashley said smugly. “He was just defendi
ng his mother’s honor.”
“That’s not the way I heard it went down, and even if it was, he didn’t have to beat on the guy the way he did,” I argued.
“Emma, I’m happy. Can’t you be happy for me?” Ashley gazed at me with her best puppy-dog eyes.
“I don’t trust him, Ashley,” I maintained. “I wish you’d think about this.”
“I did,” she said, her voice less wheedling, more assertive.
“I like him, I’m going to hang out with him tonight, so you can either be happy for me and hear all about it, or not.”
“Do Uncle Dan and Aunt Jess know?” I asked protectively.
If her mom and dad okayed it, it had to be all right. “I mean, he’s a lot older than you are.”
“It’s only two years, Em. And I told them I was going out with some friends, which is kind of true. He asked me to come over to his house, since he was having a party after the school Halloween movie thing. A whole bunch of people from your class are going to be there. So I might even see you at his party anyway.”
“I wasn’t invited,” I muttered, and Ashley blushed.
“I’m sorry, Em.”
I sighed. “Really, it’s okay.” I f linched at the thought of Brendan, partying it up at Anthony’s house with all the “cool”
kids while I sat at home like a loser. That night with Brendan seemed like another lifetime ago, not just last weekend. I winced at the memory, surprised that I felt physically pained at the thought of how cold Brendan had been to me this week.
It was like a thousand little needles were stabbing me in the chest.
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I pulled myself out of my misery to focus on my baby cousin. “Are you going to be okay? He just comes across like such a player.”
“Emma,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I’ve been to parties before. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to go and hang out with him a bit. Nothing’s going to happen!”
“Famous last words,” I said dryly.
A little after midnight that night, I was sitting up in Aunt Christine’s f loral recliner after she had gone to bed. Angelique had called me to assure me that the protection spell was completed and I might even feel the change in my energy. I thanked her, and though I had decided that the lampposts most likely just needed maintenance, I was still secretly relieved when she told me to keep the ring.
What an exciting Friday night, I thought, cringing when I compared it to last Friday, which I spent with him. I placated myself with the thoughts that it’s not every day you get a bona fide witch doing spells in your honor on Halloween weekend. I eyed my cell phone, resting on the cushion next to me, warily. I had asked Ashley to call when she got to the party, so she could let me know that she was okay—and she definitely should have phoned me by now. I just couldn’t shake my uneasy feelings about Anthony. He was the reason I’d split last weekend, and left Brendan’s side. Which was, apparently, the only chance ever I’d have to be by it.
I was half working on my term paper on A Midsummer Night’s Dream and half watching a classic Knicks game on some random sports network—Christine had the deluxe cable package and had hundreds of channels. Ever since I’d met Brendan, I suddenly had an interest in basketball. I’m such a loser.
I was typing the quote, “The course of true love never 9780373210305_TS.indd 100
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did run smooth,” from Act 1, when there was a knock at the door.
I paused. Maybe they have the wrong door?
The knocking turned to pounding, and I heard a timid voice call my name.
“Emma? I hear the TV…are you there?” The voice sounded tearful.
I tossed my laptop on the f loral couch next to me, f lew to the door and saw my little cousin standing there, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Her lips trembled, and I grabbed her into my arms.
“What happened? Are you okay? What’s going on?” I pulled Ashley into the living room and plopped her on the couch.
She just sat there, sobbing so hard she triggered a coughing fit. I ran to get her a glass of water, and quickly sat back down next to her on the f loral couch.
“Drink this,” I commanded, shoving the cold glass into Ashley’s hands.
She gulped down half the glass, then put it on the coffee table.
“I feel like such an idiot,” she whimpered, her eyes shimmering with tears, which overf lowed again.
“What
happened?”
She opened her mouth to speak, and instead started sobbing again—big, heartbreaking sobs.
“Ashley, you have to talk,” I said frantically. “I’m going crazy here! What happened?”
“Well, I showed up at Anthony’s apartment, right when he told me to,” she began, nervously biting her lip to keep the tears at bay. “And I thought I was early, because there was no loud music or talking or anything. It was supposed to be a party, right?
“When he opened the door, it was just him, and he looked 9780373210305_TS.indd 101
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me up and down and said, ‘Yeah, welcome to the party.’ And then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside. I asked him where everyone else was and he just laughed and handed me a vodka and orange juice and it was like, all vodka, too.” Her words came tumbling out. She took a big, sobbing gulp of air, then continued.
“I waited for a second and asked him about the basketball team, like, when are they playing again and all the stuff we talked about on Facebook, and he was kind of giving me one-word answers and stuff, and then he sat down next to me and I asked him again, “Where is everyone?”
Ashley’s voice broke, and I handed her a tissue from the fuzzy pink box Christine always kept on the end table.
“His family’s place is huge and there was definitely no one else there. Anthony started rubbing my neck so I asked him again.”
I tried to keep my voice even. “And then what?” I asked.
“He says, ‘Don’t be stupid, you know you’re the party.’” She spit it out bitterly, wincing at the recollection. “I mean, what a lame line, right? And then, he starts laughing, and rubs my thigh. So I push him away and I tell him to leave me alone, and he keeps telling me, ‘Come on, you’re so hot, you know I could get any girl I want,’ blah, blah, blah, and that I should be so f lattered. I didn’t even have my coat off.”
She looked down, her already-crimson cheeks turning even redder. When she looked back up at me, her tear-streaked face was contorted with anger.
“He kept trying to get me to open my legs,” she choked out hoarsely. “He kept wedging his hand between my knees, so I slapped him. Then I reached for the drink and poured it in his lap.”
I was torn between rage at Anthony and pride in my cousin.
“Good for you,” I said through clenched teeth.
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“Not really, because then he got mad.”
My eyes widened. “Did he…hurt you?”
“No, it was nothing like that,” Ashley hastily said, seeing where I thought this conversation was going. But then she started in on the tears again.
“But he started yelling at me, ‘You’re nothing but a tease.
You’re ugly anyway. You’re gonna pay for this couch.’ And he yanked me off the couch, and took my purse and threw it, and me, out the door.” She looked down, mournfully, at her black Betsey Johnson bag, her favorite acces
sory now a woeful reminder, then turned her bloodshot blue eyes back at me.
“I’m really sorry, Emma,” Ashley whispered.
“What?” I was incredulous. “Why are you apologizing to me? ”
“Because you were right. I should have listened to you.”
“Look, there was no way to know what you were walking into,” I said, putting my arm around my cousin and rubbing her shoulder. “I only thought you were going to a party that was going to get out of hand. And that was only because I hung out with those guys once and I felt like I was in over my head. I had no idea he was capable of this….”
I continued what I felt were feeble attempts at comforting Ashley, who just shrugged glumly. My heart sank. I realized this was the moment for her, the moment your innocence—not your physical innocence, but your emotional one—was lost.
After that, you looked at the world more harshly and your heart was harder.
“It’ll be okay,” I said, softly. “Really. You’ll feel better in the morning.” I tried my best to convince her but it was difficult because I didn’t really have any faith myself.
I called her parents and convinced them to let her stay the night. I said she had a fight with one of her girlfriends at the party and was upset, so after leaving a note on the kitchen table 9780373210305_TS.indd 103
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for Aunt Christine explaining our overnight guest, Ashley and I tucked into my bed. Our plans for Anthony’s destruction were sporadically interrupted by me consoling her and telling her she really wasn’t stupid, this really wasn’t her fault, she really was pretty and, no, not all guys are evil. I told her if I really did have some supernatural force after me, I would sic it on Anthony. For a moment, I truly hoped I did have a bitter spirit in my arsenal. If so, I had work for it to do.
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We walked to school on Monday, having passed the weekend helping Ashley’s parents give out candy to the trick-or-treaters in their building. Ashley didn’t want to leave home, and I didn’t want to leave her alone. As we crossed the street to Vincent Academy, I reminded Ashley again that she likely wouldn’t even see Anthony. They didn’t have any classes together—just a free period—which she could spend in an empty classroom, doing homework.
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