“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be a pain,” I mumbled, embarrassed. I tried to catch Brendan’s eye but he was slouched in his chair, staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed as his 9780373210305_TS.indd 216
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mother whispered a tirade against him. I heard the words,
“How do you think this makes me look?” and it seemed like he was trying not to laugh.
“Well, Emma, I don’t know what to do here.” Christine was wringing her hands, and I was a bit taken aback; I’d never seen my aunt look less than confident before. “What you did doesn’t feel punishable. Some guy was harassing you.
Your beau stepped in. Let’s just hope the school feels the same way.”
“How did you know about Facebook?” I asked.
“Oh, dear, I’ve had a fake Facebook profile forever,” she said with a laugh. “I’m on the board, how else do you think I know what’s really happening at this school? It helps with the simplest things, like which teachers need reevaluating, and sometimes strange things—like getting my niece and her beau out of trouble.”
My jaw dropped, and Christine just continued. “Anyway, I do hope you don’t get punished too severely. It doesn’t seem like I should really ground you or—”
Christine was cut off by a loud metallic banging against the wall directly behind our heads. On the other side of that wall? Probably a dent, because it sounded like someone had just thrown a folding chair in Principal Casey’s office. We all stood up, unsure of what to do.
“I said, out now!” Principal Casey’s voice was shrill in the next room. The door to her office swung open, and Mr.
Caruso, dragging his red-faced son by the arm, swaggered out. His father stopped in front of me and shook Anthony by the back of the neck. I saw Brendan tense, ready to jump on Anthony at the first sign of attack.
“Apologize, Anthony,” his father demanded. Anthony spoke, but it wasn’t exactly an act of contrition.
“I said apologize,” his father growled menacingly. I could 9780373210305_TS.indd 217
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see where Anthony inherited his temper. The angry apple didn’t fall far from the tree monster.
“I’m
so sorry, Emma,” Anthony sneered mockingly. Then his eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not. And I’m not sorry for what I’m going to do to you.” Anthony lunged at me, but Mr.
Caruso had his son in a wrestling hold before he could inf lict any damage.
Brendan jumped forward but with one meaty hand, Mr.
Caruso pushed him back, hitting him square in the chest.
“Watch it, Salinger, this is my job,” Mr. Caruso warned him before grabbing Anthony by the collar and dragging him out.
We overheard his unf lappable lawyer’s voice on the way out.
“We’ll go clean out your locker and that’s it, Anthony, this is the last straw. I’ve done all I can to help you. You’ll have a nice vacation at home before we decide on boarding schools for the second semester.”
I slumped back into the chair. Last straw? What else has he done that we didn’t even know about?
Principal Casey called us back into her office, and shaken, I followed the Salingers and Aunt Christine into the room, where there was, indeed, a large dent in the wall. Likely from the now-broken folding chair, which was stowed away in the corner.
Principal Casey was brief: Brendan and I were not officially
“suspended”—just asked to leave school grounds for the rest of the day, until the gossip died down. Yeah, fat chance. It would just mean people could gossip without having to worry if we heard them.
I got off with a warning. Because he was already in trouble for fighting on the basketball court, Brendan was put on probation—and Anthony was expelled, effective immediately.
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was at Angelique’s locker, stuffing her books into the spare tote bag she had crammed into the back of her locker. Christine had asked me to be home by dinner so we could discuss the day’s events, but since she was already late for some theater charity group she was heading, she left me at school. She had already promised Dr. Tedt that I’d bring Angelique’s books home, so I needed to complete that mission.
So much for a romantic first day as boyfriend and girlfriend.
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I arrived at Angelique’s apartment on the West Side of Manhattan about an hour later. Angelique lived in a standard New York City high-rise on the corner of Tenth Avenue and Fifty-first Street. It looked like any number of skyscrapers that began littering the New York skyline in the ’70s. I don’t know why I was half-expecting an ancient stone corridor, dimly lit by f laming torches; instead, f luorescent lights buzzed overhead as I walked through the beige hallway until I reached a red-painted metal apartment door.
Angelique answered the door in black sweatpants and an oversize tie-dyed T-shirt that screamed “I Love It in Florida!”
in glittery orange lettering.
“So, you love it in Florida?” I asked dryly, eyeing the bright shirt.
“Shut up. It’s comfy,” she pouted in a stuffy voice, holding open the door so I could enter the living room. It was bright and airy, filled with sand-colored fabric couches and a pale wood entertainment center. Only on closer inspec-tion did I notice the tiny telltale signs that this was a witch’s lair, so to speak—crystals scattered throughout the apartment, and antique books that resembled Hadrian’s Medieval Legends 9780373210305_TS.indd 220
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crowding the bookshelves. I dropped Angelique’s books on a cornf lower-blue recliner and followed her into the adjoining eat-in kitchen.
“Sorry I’ve been MIA,” Angelique said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice and sitting on the counter. “I only checked my voice mail today—I’ve been in bed since Friday night.”
“Blame Mr. Emerson,” I suggested.
“I do! He never takes sick days. Anyway, sorry I was out of commission,” she said again, then added, “It sounds like you could have used my expertise.”
“That’s okay. Are you feeling better?” I leaned against the windowsill, trying to act nonchalant as I nervously started picking at my freshly painted nail polish. Where to even begin?
“Forget about me,” Angelique said, taking a big gulp of orange juice. “It’s the f lu. Big deal. I want to hear about what I missed.”
“Well, it’s been an interesting couple of days.” I slid into one of the white kitchen chairs and launched into my date with Brendan—and the revelations that came with it. She was pretty quiet until I got to the whole born-witch thing when she raised her hands in victory and let out a high-pitched cheer—only to end up in a coughing fit.
“I knew it!” Angelique coughed again and slid off the kitchen counter. “I knew I was right about you. There always seemed to be something about you—I knew it the moment I met you! But after we figured out the curse, I thought that might have been what I was sensing.”
“Well, I think maybe you were on to something.” I sighed, drumming my fingers on the blue place mat. Angelique chuckled.
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“And just a few short weeks ago, you didn’t believe in any of this stuff. Now you think you’re a witch.”
I just shrugged. “Next week I’m probably going to get a pet unicorn. What can I say, the craziest explanations make the most sense these days. Oh—speaking of crazy, I didn’t even tell you what happened today!”
“There’s more?” Angelique asked, grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge and handing me one before sitting at the table.
“You aren’t wondering why I’m at your house in the middle of the day?”
“Oh, yeah—that is weird.”
“You’re usually way more perceptive,” I observed. “This f lu is messing with your head.”
“So, what happened now? Did you meet Frankenstein? I’d believe it, the way things are going.”
“Not quite,” I said, telling her about the packed drama of the day.
“Wow, I picked the wrong time to get the f lu,” Angelique said when I was done. “So who do you think emailed the link to the edited video? I mean, it’s so obvious that you and Brendan were set up. Someone is trying to get you into trouble.”
“Most definitely,” I agreed. “Only it backfired. It had to be Anthony or—” I stopped short, remembering how self-satisfied Kristin had looked in English, and what she said—or rather, hissed—in the hall.
“Kristin,” I nearly shouted. “Whoa, that girl has it out for me.”
Angelique nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I mean, she’s usually pretty nasty, but she’s gone overboard on you.”
“I have no idea how to handle it,” I muttered. “The more I try to stand up for what’s right, the worse things get.”
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her orange juice. “It’s what I’ve done ever since the second week of freshman year.”
“There’s no way this could be the ‘danger’ I’m being warned about, right?” I asked, making finger quotes around the word.
“Nah, I doubt it. But you know, on that topic, I do have an idea,” Angelique said conspiratorially. She stood up and grabbed her water and OJ. “Come back to my room. We’re going to do a spell.”
I raised my eyebrows as I slid the chair back. “For what?
Spells are what got me into this mess—well, not me, but my past life me—oh, you know what I mean.”
“This is different.” Angelique led me down a sunny, yellow-painted hallway to her room—which looked much more like what I was expecting from a witch. The walls were dark purple, with glow-in-the-dark stars stuck all over them and a sun, moon and stars-printed tapestry hanging over her bed.
Candles dripping with wax and dog-eared books lined the messy shelves of her desk, and an ornate bowl filled with dried rose petals sat next to her bed.
“So what’s the spell?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and sitting cross-legged on her black velvet comforter while she rooted around in her desk drawer. Angelique pulled out a notebook and began scribbling some notes with an oversize blue pen.
“We’re going to amplify your powers—or more to the point, unlock them,” Angelique explained, tapping the pen on her desk for emphasis. “That way, whatever danger is on its way, you’ll have a fighting chance at beating it.”
“How
so?”
“I don’t know, it’s not an exact science,” she mused, taking a wooden box off her desk and pulling out some crystals. “We 9780373210305_TS.indd 223
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know you’re safe right now, but I’m hoping this will at least give you some extra ammo to fight whatever the threat is.”
“How do you know I’m safe right now?”
“You’re still wearing your necklace,” Angelique said. “Remember, in your dream, you lost the medallion before the fire? It snapped off your coat and rolled away?”
“How on earth do you remember that?” I asked, incredulous. “It was my dream and I forgot all about—”
She gave me a smug look and tapped her forehead.
“Right, your amazing memory,” I grunted, still jealous.
Angelique pulled out some white candles and set them in a circle on the f loor, lighting them one by one. When she lit the last candle, she let loose such a powerful sneeze that she blew the candle out.
“Are you sure you feel up to this?” I eyed her critically, but she rolled her eyes at me.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, and gestured for me to join her on the f loor, where we sat among the f lickering f lames. Then she pressed a small stone into my hand. I looked down at the glittering, tiny blue rock. It was the half the size of a Tic Tac.
“Sapphire,” she explained. “It amplifies a witch’s powers.
Now hold it, and focus.”
“On
what?”
“Just try to get in touch with your inner witch,” Angelique instructed. “Think about it like you’ve got this inner treasure chest that you’re trying to unlock.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to feel out whatever witchiness was in me as Angelique started chanting.
“I call upon the Goddess to free this witch’s mind In this day and in this hour
To protect against impending evil, blessed be Give this witch her born power.”
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I opened my eyes and Angelique was handing me the notebook.
“Here, now you say it,” she told me.
I looked down at the scrawled ink in the book and expected that I would feel foolish, casting a spell—but it felt right. I clutched the stone in my hand and began the spell.
“I call upon the Goddess to free my mind In this day and in this hour
To protect against impending evil, blessed be Give me my born power.”
I was hoping to feel a rush of warmth, or hear a thunder-clap— something, to show me that the spell was a success. But there was nothing, just the sound of my own breathing and Angelique’s sniff les. I sat there for a moment, gripping the stone in my fist.
“Let me know this worked,” I muttered. “Come on, give me a sign!”
And then I felt it. The room was filled with a swirling breeze—it seemed to start at the f loor and spiral upward. I opened my eyes and gasped. It looked like we were sitting at the bottom of a whirlwind. The dried rose petals had blown out of their bowl and were f loating on the breeze, surrounding us with the heady f loral scent. Some papers on Angelique’s desk blew around us in circles. Our hair whipped into our faces. And then, with one final burst of a stronger wind, the wind extinguished the candles. Lights out.
Then everything dropped to the f loor with a slight rustling sound.
“Whoa.” Angelique exhaled, brushing her hair out of her face. “Your first spell.”
“There’s no way your window is open, right?” I croaked, 9780373210305_TS.indd 225
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already knowing the answer. Still, as she shook her head no, I dropped the sapphire. It hit the f loor with a minute clacking sound. “Now, I’m a little scared,” I admitted, looking at the petals and papers scattered around the f loor.
“Don’t be!” Angelique’s voice was filled with excitement.
“You wanted a sign, hey, you got it! And that wasn’t even a proper spell—Emma, you have so muc
h untapped potential.
I’m so relieved I was right about you. I just knew it—I knew there was something about you!”
She wagged her finger in my face smugly. “I’m also going to undo the protection spell I did on you, by the way. I’ve been thinking about it and I totally gagged your brother with that. We want him to be able to warn you.”
I just stared at where the sapphire sparkled on the f loor.
Three weeks ago, if you asked me to cosign on these plans, I’d have laughed and told you that you were crazy. Now, I wondered where I’d house that pet unicorn.
“So, what, now I’m a witch?” I asked, bewildered and a little thrilled by the events that had just unfolded.
“You
always
were a witch,” Angelique said. “Now, you just know you are one.”
She launched into another coughing fit—and was starting to look a little pale—so I took that as my cue to leave and let her get some rest, even though I desperately wanted to stay and soak up as much witch information as I could. It felt like one mystical thing after another was hitting me.
By the time I got home, school was out, and my voice mail was full of urgent calls from Ashley, Jenn and Cisco. I’d barely changed out of my uniform into a T-shirt and track pants when the phone rang again.
“Phone, now,” I demanded, opening my palm and trying to summon it from my nightstand. Shocker—it didn’t move an inch.
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“You’re a witch, not a Jedi, Emma,” I chastised myself, picking my phone off the bed. I checked the caller ID—it was Cisco.
“I saw Anthony cleaning out his locker,” Cisco said after I’d relayed the events that unfolded in Principal Casey’s office.
“He was pissed. I expected steam to come out of his ears, like he was a cartoon character or something.”
“Well, at least I don’t have to see him anymore,” I said, relieved. “I just get to deal with all the gossip every day. Oh, joy.”
“Okay, Emma, I don’t know if I should tell you this but, well, I feel obligated to.”
“Oh, great, what now?”
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