The Complete Spellbound Trilogy Bundle

by Penelope King

  Part of me wanted to run. But I somehow knew that if I did, this girl, this …whatever, would easily catch me. I also knew she didn’t want to hurt me. She could, but she wouldn’t.

  She glanced around and laughed, her eyes flashing wickedly. “Believe me…you want to take this.”

  I hesitated, then reached forward and snatched the envelope from her hand. Without looking at it, I quickly retreated several steps. “Stay away from me,” I said, my voice shaking.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh please. If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead already. It’s your lucky day, Calista McCoy. And from the looks of things, you could do with a little luck.”

  I took a deep breath. “Who are you? What do you want?” I whispered.

  She fluffed her long hair and smirked. “I am a messenger…a friend of a friend. That’s all you need to know. And what do I want?” She paused and glanced around again. “You mean other than to get as far away from this depressing hellhole as I possibly can and forget I ever came here? What I’d like is to get some drinks in me. Any good bars around here?”

  “Huh? B-b-but, are you even old enough to drink?” Despite her ungodly beauty, she couldn’t have been much older than I was. Seventeen…eighteen tops.

  She laughed again. “Silly Sapies and your silly little rules.” She turned on her heel to leave. I glanced quickly down at the envelope in my hands. It had my dad’s name on it.

  “Who is this from—?” I started to ask. But when I looked up again, the mysterious girl was already gone.

  Bewildered, I spun around, looking for her. Where did she go? How was it possible for her to just disappear like that? Had I only imagined her?

  But in my hand was the letter addressed to one Mister Del McCoy.

  That much was real.

  *****

  Hopping up the steps of our porch, I waved at old Mrs. Tierney, who stared at me disapprovingly from the window next door. Normally, whenever our paths crossed, she would just look away with a disgusted look on her face. I’d never spoken to her, even though she’d lived next to Dad and me for the past five years. I had tried saying hello once, but she just ignored me. But I felt her pain and loneliness, and I knew she thought it highly inappropriate that my father and I shared a one bedroom flat. So I didn’t take it too personally.

  “Hi, Dad. Sorry I’m late. Dinner will be ready in just a sec,” I greeted my father as I walked in. “Oh, this came for you—” I walked over and handed him the envelope. I didn’t mention how I came to have it and hoped he wouldn’t ask.

  “Hey ya, Cal. Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said as he took the letter. “I fixed a sink over at Myra McClusky’s farm today an’ she fed me a late lunch. Even give me a small sack o’ taters, too. They on the counter there.”

  As relieved as I was to hear he’d eaten something, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d also been paid with actual money. I doubted it. Dad considered the widow his friend, and she was as hard off as anyone else in these parts. He probably did the repairs for free, and considered the hot meal a bonus.

  I dumped my books on the bed and heated some water for the potatoes. Then I took out the grey slab of meat and threw it in a skillet. I looked in the pantry and was pleasantly surprised to find a can of cream of mushroom soup hidden behind a half-empty bag of flour. I added the soup to the skillet and stirred, waiting for the water to boil.

  “How was your day today?” Dad asked from the couch.

  Well, let’s see. I got caught in a rainstorm on the way to school…looked like a creature from Planet of the Freaks when I got there…magically cut the lights and set off a tardy bell in the girl’s bathroom… spent most of my day worrying about the fact that my psychic powers seem to be fading…and to top it all off, I had an encounter with what may or may not have been an alien ghost. How was your day?

  “Good,” I replied. “I got an ‘A’ on the English paper I wrote last week, and I aced a pop quiz that we had in math. Got a hundred.” I knew it made him happy to hear about my academic achievements.

  “That’s great, hon. You’re so smart. You must get that from your ma.”

  I nearly fell over. He never talked about my mother. Ever.

  I waited a few seconds, holding my breath, praying for him to continue. I wished so badly that he would talk about her. When I was younger, I used to beg him to tell me things about my mother, but he never would. Finally, I stopped asking.

  I glanced over and saw he’d opened the envelope and was studying the paper. It looked formal—like stationary for a fancy wedding, with rounded corners and a gold embossing that I couldn’t quite decipher from where I stood. I was dying to know what it said, but forced myself to act casual.

  “So what’s that all about?” I asked.

  “It’s strange,” he muttered, more to himself than as a response to my question.

  “What is?”

  “Here, why don’t ya take a look when you’re done in there an’ tell me what ya think?” He waved the cream parchment in my direction.

  He didn’t fool me, but I agreed to give him my ‘opinion’. The sad truth was he probably didn’t know what some of the words were, or in what context they were being used. How he’d managed to make it to the ninth grade with only second grade reading skills was beyond me.

  I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I could feel his shame. He never said anything, but I could tell he was always embarrassed when he needed me to read and decipher things for him.

  The meat was done, and I was just waiting for the potatoes to soften up. I washed and dried my hands, then sat down next to him on the couch. Gently, I picked up the letter. Its exquisite texture and elegant script demanded respect.

  I studied the paper in awe. I’d never seen anything like it before. It was more like a piece of art than a simple correspondence. A delicate golden thread swooped around its finely shaped borders, and a golden seal on one side had the letters A.S.H. … ASH? I wondered what that meant.

  The script was so perfect and artistic it was hard to believe someone had written it by hand. I began to read out loud.

  “My Dear Mister McCoy,

  Greetings! I hope this letter finds you and your lovely daughter in good health and high spirits. My name is Anastasia Havish, and I currently reside in a town named Crystal Cove in Southern California – about 1 hour north of Los Angeles.

  I am the sole proprietor of a large estate that has been in my family for generations, and I am writing to you because I am in desperate need of a reliable supervisor who can competently oversee the management of the manor and its grounds. You were recommended to me with the highest of praise, and I would be honored if you would consider meeting with me.

  I have taken the liberty of arranging for you to come out here for the day. We can go over all the details then. There will be a plane waiting for you at O’Leary Airport at 8 am on Wednesday morning. You will be home in time to enjoy your dinner with Calista.

  Please forgive the short notice, but time is of the essence. Enclosed you will find directions to the terminal, along with three hundred dollars for—”

  I gasped and looked up. “Is there really three hundred dollars in there!?”

  He looked in the envelope and pulled out a stack of crisp twenty dollar bills, neatly wrapped in tissue.

  “Well, I’ll be…I never saw that.” Dad looked as stunned as I felt, and we stared in awe at the unexpected treasure.

  “Is it…real?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  He examined the bills carefully. “Yup,” he confirmed. He glanced around, as if he expected someone to bust though the door and yell “gotcha!”

  “Do you know who this woman is? Have you ever even heard of her?” I asked, thinking of the strange girl.

  He cocked his head to the side. “No…don’t reckon I know her at all. The name don’t even sound familiar.”

  Ignoring the knot in my stomach, I turned my attention back to the letter and continued reading.

  “…Enclosed y
ou will find directions to the terminal, along with three hundred dollars for your time. A driver will be waiting for your arrival at the airport to bring you to the estate. You do not need to bring anything other than yourself – any needs you may have during your day here will be well taken care of.

  Thank you for your valuable time, and I look forward to meeting you!

  Sincerest Blessings,

  Anastasia Seraphina Havish”

  I put the letter down and glanced at my dad. I didn’t know what to say. It sounded amazing – too good even. And I’d had no visions of this at all.

  Then it hit me…the realization that I was unable to tell what was really going on here. That I could no longer see past the immediate moment, and had no way of knowing if this was a good opportunity for him or not. I couldn’t tell if this was a prank, or if she was just some loony old woman, or if the plane was going to crash…

  I must’ve had a strange look on my face because Dad leaned over and touched my shoulders, his soft brown eyes full of concern. “Callie, you all right? Ya look like ya seen a ghost.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just surprised is all.” I got up and headed to the kitchen to rescue my overcooked spuds from the pot. I avoided looking at him so he couldn’t see my anxiety.

  “So, you gonna go?” I tried to make my voice sound casual as I mashed up the soupy potatoes.

  “Well, sure. No harm in seein’ what’s what. I don’t have nothin’ solid for Wednesday anyhow, an’ if she’s off her rocker I’ll just take the Greyhound back.” He waved the stack of twenties, then set two aside. “Here, take this an’ get some groceries for the week. Buy yourself a nice treat.”

  “Okay,” I replied uneasily.

  We ate in silence, each of us in our own world. I felt my father’s cautious optimism, but I couldn’t quiet the voice in my head that kept telling me that something didn’t add up here.

  It just didn’t make sense. And it was very suspicious that on the same day my visions failed me, this extraordinary opportunity would present itself from out of nowhere. Who was this woman, anyways? She didn’t say who had referred Dad to her. And how did she know my name? And just who was that weird girl?

  We finished eating, and I cleaned up the kitchen. Dad was falling asleep to a static-filled sports program on the TV, and I retreated to my room to do some reading. I pulled out my copy of Gone with the Wind that I’d bought for a dollar at a yard sale a few years before. How I wished I could be more like Scarlett! So confident, strong, and secure. Never a victim, but always the master of her own destiny. She did whatever was necessary to protect her home and her family.

  But I was so distracted by the day’s events I couldn’t focus on the story. I mindlessly looked at the pages as they flipped themselves over, and worried that I couldn’t protect my home or my family. And I had no idea what was in store for us next.

  *****

  When I woke up Wednesday morning, Dad had already left. O’Leary Airport was almost an hour away, and he always allowed plenty of extra time for ‘city drivers’ whenever he had to travel anywhere outside our little community.

  My visions still hadn’t returned, and I was beginning to fear they were gone forever. This fear was compounded by a dream I’d had the night before. Not the nightmare that had been plaguing me of late. This was different. A nice dream. Really nice. I was in what was certainly the most beautiful place I’d ever seen, and had a feeling of euphoria, a love, that was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. The details were lost in my memory almost immediately upon waking, but for those first few seconds, blissful ecstasy washed over me like a torrential downpour.

  I had felt like I was in Heaven. And maybe I was. But instead of feeling good, I was more worried than ever.

  Maybe that’s what the nightmare had meant.

  Maybe that’s why my visions were gone.

  Because maybe, soon, I would be gone, too.

  *****

  I spent the morning in agony, not knowing what was happening with my father. I only knew that he would be home by suppertime, and that the day was crawling by at a pace that was unbearably slow.

  By lunchtime, I was ready to jump out of my skin. I’d never intentionally skipped class before, but I no longer trusted myself to be around people. I figured at any moment I might just start screaming.

  I snuck off campus and hurried home. After pacing the small confines of the shack and biting my fingernails to the nub, I decided to try some deep-breathing and meditation techniques I’d read about somewhere. They didn’t help.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I heard the cantankerous engine of my father’s old pickup rumbling up the gravel road, and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

  He’s home, he’s safe…that’s all that matters.

  A few moments later he walked through the door, and my relief turned to amazement.

  He looked ten, maybe fifteen years younger than he had just the night before. The stress and strain of his hard life usually made him look far older than his thirty seven years. But all that seemed to have vanished somehow. He looked younger…relaxed…and happy.

  I ran over and gave him a big hug. He laughed. “Geez, Cal, I’m not comin’ home from a war or nothin’,” he teased, hugging me back.

  “Tell me everything!” I demanded. “Everything, start to finish. Don’t leave anything out. Not one thing!”

  He laughed again and sat down on the couch.

  “Well, I can tell you some stuff. The rest you just hafta see for yourself, ‘cause I don’t think my sayin’ it will do it justice.” He was smiling and wore a look of wonder on his face.

  “Please try,” I begged, curling up beside him.

  First he told me all about the luxurious private jet that had taken him to a small airport just north of Los Angeles. It was the first time he’d ever flown in a plane, so he had a lot to say about that. But I was getting impatient—I wanted him to get to the good stuff.

  “What was the place like? And the lady…was she nice? What did she say?” I finally burst out, unable to contain myself.

  “Well, after I landed, a man was there waitin’ for me, and we drove a while out to the coast. The whole area is really somethin’ else, Callie girl. You just gotta see it to believe it. It’s nice. Real nice.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Miz Havish? Oh, she’s a sweet ol’ gal. Real friendly and down to earth. Not stuck up or snobby like some rich folks.”

  “What did you guys talk about? Did she mention how she got your name?”

  “Yeah, we talked a lot. Well, she did most of the talkin’. She said that when she started askin’ ‘round some people she knew ‘bout hirin’ someone on, one of her friends gave her my name. Said they’d heard of me from Mike Jenkins. Guess he lives and works out there now. You ‘member Mike? We were on a crew together back ‘bout five, six years ago. He’s a helluva guy. I gotta look him up and thank him for this when we get out there.”

  The name sounded vaguely familiar, and this made me feel a little better.

  “And the best part is,” Dad continued, “—and you’re really gonna have to see it to ‘preciate it—but we’re gonna be livin’ right there on the property. It’s a guest house set back from the main house a bit. But if it ain’t just about the nicest place I’ve ever been in. You have your own room. Two, actually.” He smiled broadly at that, and a sparkle lit up his handsome face.

  “So we’re moving then? You took the job?” I asked stupidly. The answer was obvious.

  “I’d be a dang fool not to. Seems like a great opportunity…a real golden goose. She’s a sweet old lady, that one, and that big house is too much for any one person to handle alone. I ‘spect to have my work cut out for me, but it seems like a great gig. It’s right near the ocean too—did I tell you that? You can practically swim in the backyard!”

  I felt my earlier apprehension beginning to fade. His enthusiasm was contagious, and anything that made Dad this happy had to
be a good thing.

  “Sounds great. When’re we going?” I asked.

  He draped his arm around my shoulders. “I know this’ll be hard on you at first, leavin’ here and havin’ to start over somewhere where you don’t know nobody—after the start of a new school year an’ all. But just you wait ‘n see. You’ll fit in just fine and make new friends just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  I wondered if he was just being kind, or if he really hadn’t noticed that I didn’t have any friends here now. I smiled weakly.

  “We leave as soon as we’re packed and I can get the truck tuned up,” he continued. “Don’t wanna be broke down on the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “We’re driving there?” I asked, both eyebrows raised. I wasn’t sure the old Chevy would make it as far as the state line, let alone to the other side of the country.

  “Shore are. She offered to fly us, but once was enough for me.” He held up his hands and laughed. “An’ guess what? She already give me a fist o’ money for moving ‘spenses. Ain’t no one never paid me to move before.” He beamed with pride. “I was thinkin’ we skin out on Saturday, if that’s all right by you.”

  Today was Wednesday. That meant three days until we left this cramped, dingy apartment we’d shared for the past five years. Three days until we were in a new home—a big home on the Pacific Ocean, where the beautiful and wealthy lived carefree and charmed lives. Three days until we moved to a place where people would never consider going without air-conditioning when the summer temperatures regularly reached over a hundred degrees, and where people never worried about the gas being shut off during the coldest winter months, or having their only car not start and not having any money to fix it.

  A place where people didn’t wear the same sweater year after year because they couldn’t afford a new one. A place where fathers didn’t have to sleep on couches instead of in real beds in their own rooms.