I nodded and shrugged. Wendy’s eyes got wider, and she pursed her lips as if whistling silently. Pulling out a piece of scrap paper, I wrote, He doesn’t like her.
Why?
Bitchy, he says.
Mom loves her books.
My dad called them tripe. Read one a couple years ago, the sex was totally ridiculous. It was nice to talk about something normal. They did it on the floor.
Oooo.
Yeah, the kitchen floor.
LOL. Wendy’s hand paused, and she glanced at me with a little frown. Ms. T asked me to stop by her office tdy.
I pressed my lips together.
I don’t know what she wants, Wendy wrote when I didn’t respond.
She was at my house ystrdy.
Y?
Thinks I might kill myself.
Srsly?!?
Judy said Tripp wanted intervention yesterday.
When I shrugged, Wendy rolled her eyes. What hpnd 2 hand?
Rusty nail.
TETANUS!
S’okay. If we weren’t going to have the energy to heal our hands, we’d have to stick to the spells that only needed a prick, or start cutting in less obvious places. I went for distraction. And I was dying to know. Ask Eric out?
Oh, GOD, yes. Dude is a fine kisser. You were holding out on me.
You weren’t drunk, were you?
She tapped her pen on the desk and glared at me.
Sorry. Just thinking of kissing Eric makes me gag.
Good! Wendy smiled. Mine.
I was starting to write, Did you see Stepmom’s shoes? when Mrs. Pardee mentioned the cemetery.
“It’s an ideal setting for someone like me. So many old spirits, and the atmosphere—atmosphere is quite important to a writer. I can just barely see the whole thing from my bedroom window, and you know”—her voice lowered conspiratorially—“some nights I’ve seen lights out there, flickering like candles or lost, lonely ghosts.” There were chuckles from my classmates, since we’d all grown up with that story. Mrs. Pardee’s eyes scanned the classroom, and when she found me, she paused, letting her smile widen slightly.
Goose bumps rose on my forearms, and I clutched the pen tightly in my fingers.
NICHOLAS
Silla dumped a thick black textbook into her locker.
I brushed a hand down her back. “Hey, babe, how’s it going?”
“Your stepmom is seriously creepy.” Silla turned, closing the locker with her shoulder. I put my hands on either side of her, caging her in.
“Tell me about it.”
“Do you think she knows what we’re doing in the cemetery?”
“Maybe. What’d she say to you?”
“She was just talking about seeing lights and ghosts moving around at night. She looked at me. I didn’t think she knew what I look like, Nick.”
The bell rang. “We’ll figure it out. If she does, she won’t do anything here at school.”
“You’re right.”
I caught her hand as she pushed off the locker wall to go. “Hey, what else is it?” Her fingers were cold, and her rings almost burned.
Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment, and she sighed. “My counselor is really getting on my back. She’s coming through my friends now. Wendy I trust, but what if she gets to Melissa or Beth? They’d totally tell her all the gossip and mean things they can think of.”
“You mean Ms. Tripp?”
Silla’s lip puckered out. She tugged away from me, crossing her arms around her stomach. “Yeah. Did she go after you, too? My freaking boyfriend?”
I smiled and took one slow step closer. Silla backed up, glancing down. “Your what?” I murmured.
“Don’t be obnoxious,” she said, slapping her palms against my chest. She avoided my eyes, but her lips were twitching as she held back a smile.
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.” Silla rose up on her tiptoes and kissed me.
I breathed her in, thought of her surrounded by all those magical colored flowers, and said, “Silla, I have to talk to you about something important.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Sure.”
“It—”
“Aren’t you late for class?”
Lilith’s voice froze me in my tracks. It was joined by another: “Mr. Pardee, Miss Kennicot, it’s two minutes past the bell.”
Silla lowered down to her heels, eyes wide. We turned. There was Lilith standing beside the vice-principal, whose frown dripped off his face. He was carrying Lilith’s box of novels. “Sorry,” Silla said, and she bent down to grab her backpack off the tiles. I managed not to sneer at Lilith as Silla hurried away.
“You too, Mr. Pardee,” the vice said.
“Enjoy class,” Lilith added.
“Whatever,” I called over my shoulder, ignoring the tingle of their eyes on my back.
SILLA
Wendy had to cancel on lunch to go see Ms. Tripp. I tried not to resent it, but it sure made me want to ignore the counselor all week. And Nick was forced into a lunch with his stepmother, so I couldn’t spend it with him. What I really wanted to do was curl up in a bed and take another nap. So I slipped backstage in the auditorium, found the sofa from the set of A Doll’s House, and fell asleep in an instant. I was late for Physics.
When school let out, I hurried to the parking lot to catch Nick and let him know I needed to give Wendy a few minutes for her audition. He said he’d help the stage crew spray paint some background flats out in the football field. “I’ll come find you when I’m done,” I promised.
I found Wendy waiting in Mr. Stokes’s classroom with all her sheet music spread across a couple of desks. “Hey,” I said, sliding in near her. I relaxed into the familiar smell of chalk dust and turpentine. “Have you narrowed it down yet?”
She glanced up, and I only barely caught myself before frowning. It might have been the afternoon light pouring in through the wall of windows behind her, but Wendy looked odd. She smiled and shrugged. “That’s what you’re here for?”
“Yeah. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” Wendy laughed at me.
Nodding, I reached for the nearest pile of music. On top was “A New Life” from Jekyll and Hyde. One of Wendy’s favorites to sing in the car. It suited her mezzo voice really well. “I hope this is on top because it’s one of your first choices,” I said.
“It sure is.” Wendy watched me, one hand up to fiddle with the silver and red stars dangling from her ear. She didn’t continue.
“Well …” I thought for a second. “They want one song and two monologues, right? So what monologues did Stokes suggest?”
She looked startled, but then leaned over to dig into her backpack. “Um, this one and this one,” she declared as she pulled a folder out and opened it. Two photocopied monologues were tucked inside, already marked up with pink directions. “Queen Katharine from Henry VIII and this one from CSI: Neverland.” She smirked. “It’s actually pretty funny. ‘Nine-one-one, what’s the emergency? You are being kidnapped by pirates?’ ”
I smiled. She was being ditzier than usual. “Why Katharine?”
“It’s serious?”
“Duh. But it isn’t that popular, is it?”
“Maybe that’s a good reason to do it.”
“I’d pick one of the younger queens, though. I mean—she’s kind of mature.”
“I can do it.” Wendy pressed her lips together and stood. That was what was wrong: she wasn’t wearing her lip gloss. Weird. But figuring it out made me feel a lot better. Stepping up onto the raised, carpeted stage at the front of Stokes’s classroom, she held the sheet of paper out and began, “Alas, sir, in what have I offended you? What cause hath my behavior given to your displeasure, that thus you should proceed to put me off, and take your good grace from me?” Wendy’s face fell into sorrow, and for a second I was impressed. It was a drastic shift. “Heaven witness,” she continued in almost a whisper, “I have been to you a true and humble wife, at all times to your wi
ll conformable; ever in fear to kindle your dislike, yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry as I saw it inclined.” Wendy sighed. “When was the hour I ever contradicted your desire … or made it not mine, too?” She stopped, staring at the words.
My laugh startled a frown out of her. “Okay, I’m convinced. That was really good.”
Her eyebrows rose and she lifted her chin haughtily. “Of course it was.”
It reminded me of Nick’s stepmom, which made me think of Nick, of his hair-gel smell and the warmth of his fingers. Focus! I ordered myself. On Wendy. I tapped the sheet music on the desk. “So, with those, I think Lucy’s song will work just fine. The only thing you might consider is something more dramatic, I guess? Though this one is really nice for your voice.” I flipped “A New Life” over and saw “Your Daddy’s Son” from Ragtime under it. “Ooooh—this is a good one, too.” There was no response, so I glanced up. Wendy was staring at me, her eyes slightly narrower than usual and her hands hanging loose at her sides. The monologue had fallen to the carpet. “Wen?”
She stepped off the little stage. “Silla.”
“What’s wrong?” Had Ms. Tripp said something to her? Freaked her out enough that she was upset or nervous around me?
“Nothing.”
“You seem … different.”
“Do I?” She put on an exaggerated innocent face. Like we would in a pantomime.
She never tried to hide things from me. “What did Ms. Tripp say?”
“The counselor?” Wendy giggled. “She thinks you’re utterly crazed.”
Utterly crazed? It was like Wendy was barreling through generations of theater: Shakespeare, commedia dell’arte, Tennessee Williams psychodrama. “Maybe—maybe you should lie down.”
Her body shifted: one shoulder drooping, head tilted, small pout on her lips. “I was thinking about your dad.”
The wooden desk chair was suddenly hard and sharp. “My dad?”
Drifting to me, Wendy nodded. “Do you ever wonder what he was thinking in those last moments? About you? About your mother? About his past, maybe?”
“I don’t think about it.” My back was glued to the desk.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t. Come on, Wendy, I don’t want to talk about this. If you’re done with me, I’ll just go.”
“I don’t want you to go.” Grabbing a chair, she swung it around and straddled it, despite her skirt. She leaned her elbows on the backrest and smiled. “I like you, Silla.”
Without glittery pink lip gloss, and wearing that bemused expression, I barely recognized her. The windows flooded the room with light, but none of it was reflected in Wendy’s eyes. Like she wasn’t there. No, oh, no. I just knew, suddenly: Wendy’s body, Wendy’s lips and hands, but not Wendy. Not my friend. A shiver tickled at the small of my back, forcing me to sit straighter. I whispered, “You aren’t Wendy.”
Her lips parted, and we stared at each other for a moment while the world continued to move without us. Slowly, she smiled. Her shoulders pulled back and she slouched, sliding down in the desk until she lounged there like a lion. “Quick as light, just like your dad,” she drawled.
My heart beat erratically, punching at my lungs as if they were pillows, so I could barely breathe.
She ran her hands through Wendy’s hair, fluffing it out.
“Who are you?” I hated that my voice trembled.
“Just an old friend of your daddy’s.” The way she said it, teeth bared, made my stomach twist tighter.
I bit the inside of my lip, gathering my courage. “The Deacon.”
“Ah!” Wendy’s head fell back and she laughed. “No, never, not dear Arthur. You should be so lucky.”
“Let her go—Wendy doesn’t know anything.”
Leaning forward onto the top of the desk she was sitting at, she folded Wendy’s hands together as if in prayer. “I thought maybe I’d see if you’d told her anything, find out what the students are saying. But my guess now is you’ve told more to your boyfriend than your girlfriend.”
“Anything about what?”
Wendy’s lips twisted up on one side. “You know.”
I shook my head. I was cold all over. “What do you want?”
“I want your dad’s grave.”
“You dug it up. You did that.”
“I tried.” The annoyance didn’t sit well on Wendy’s face. This thing, person, whatever it was inside her twisted Wendy’s sweet, young features into a scowl. “But you did something to it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Some warding, a protection spell so that I can’t get to them without making them turn to ashes or some such thing. Whatever he told you to do, you’re going to undo it.” She waved a hand breezily. As if we were discussing place settings.
Slowly, unbelievingly, I shook my head. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything.”
The thing made Wendy sneer. “Yes, Drusilla, you did. I can feel your blood soaked into the ground like a poison.”
“Good!” I spat it at her, wanting to strike with my hands, too, but I could only grip the sides of the desk as if letting go would send me spinning off into oblivion.
The thing in Wendy bent down and reached into her backpack. When her hand reappeared, a silver letter opener was clasped in her fist. “I picked this up off Mr. Edmer’s desk. He left it right out in the open like that, in this day and age. Can you believe it?”
“Stop.”
“Silla.” Wendy’s possessor raised the sharp point and placed it delicately against the soft flesh under Wendy’s jaw. “If I want to, I’ll jab this up into your friend’s brain.”
“You’ll die.” But I knew it couldn’t be true. I thought about the possession charm, how easily Reese had possessed the crow. How easily it seemed this person was possessing Wendy. What happened to Wendy? Where was Wendy? Trapped?
“My body is close, darling. I’ll just jump right on home.”
“Like …” The realization hit as slowly as poured molasses. “Like you did when you killed my parents.”
“Yes.” She—it—snapped on a grin like the bite of a shark. “Tell me what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything, I swear. Just some spells there.” The tip of the letter opener cut up into Wendy’s neck. “Dad didn’t teach me anything. He never …” I sucked a desperate breath in through my teeth, trying to stay calm. “He didn’t teach me the magic. I only have the book.”
Wendy’s body stilled. She stared at me, unblinking. I could see nothing in her eyes. No spark, no personality. They were flat like a dead thing’s eyes. “What book?” She enunciated like a vocal coach. Sharp t, sharper k.
I didn’t answer right away. Part of me wanted to leap at her, disregarding the danger to Wendy. I drew myself up. I had power, too, since I had what she wanted. “Trade. Answer for answer.” I found a mask for courage: a red dragon face, long and snarling.
“I have your friend’s life in my hands, girl. And if I kill her, you’ll be blamed.” The smile snaking across Wendy’s face made my stomach roll over.
“Just tell me your name, and I’ll tell you the book’s name.”
Wendy’s fingernails drummed once on the back of her chair. “You do have guts. I like that. Josephine. My name is Josephine Darly.”
Imagining the words hissing through razor teeth, I said, “Notes on Transformation and Transcendence.”
“Oh, that sounds just like him!” Wendy laughed. “What is it?”
“Why do you want it?”
“No, I know what it is. His spell book. That old thing he was always putting his finished spells into. I thought it died in the fire.”
I didn’t let myself ask about the fire. I couldn’t waste a question. “It’s filled with spells. Powerful spells. Why do you want it? Clearly you can—you can use the spells already.” I needed a weapon. Stokes’s desk had some heavy books on it, but they were too far away. All I had in front of me were slips of loose-leaf paper. My po
cketknife was barred from school grounds.
“Silla.” She pressed the point in again, puckering Wendy’s skin. “Don’t be coy.”
I opened my mouth, closed it, and stared at the thin trickle of blood slipping down Wendy’s neck. “I don’t have it.”
“Who does?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Where did you hide it? I searched your house before I killed them, and it was not there.”
An image of my dad’s body, possessed, lurching around our house, digging through our things, with this monster’s soul looking out through his eyes, broke something in me. “I will not tell you!” I yelled, and jerked forward, grabbing at the letter opener and knocking both of us to the floor. The desks crashed down around us, and Wendy’s head smacked back. She yelped. I seized her wrist with both hands, forcing the blade back with all my weight. “Leave her alone!”
“Tell me where—the spell book—is,” Wendy ground out, teeth clenched as she fought me for the letter opener.
“No.”
She relaxed suddenly, and I tumbled forward with a little shriek. The letter opener hit the floor with a clang, and Wendy crawled away from me, scuttling back on her hands and feet. I sat on the floor cradling the blade and panting.
Silence reigned in Stokes’s classroom. My head ached again, like the pain had only been waiting for a moment of weakness to come roaring back.
“Silla,” Wendy finally said, “help me, and I’ll teach you to live forever.”
Here was what I’d wanted most the past week: someone to teach me. Someone to answer my questions and show me the depths and heights of the magic. I imagined sitting across the kitchen table from her, poring over the spell book, excitement and wonder electric between us. But she was the one person in all the world I could never, ever accept. “Why did you kill my dad?”
“More quid pro quo?” She brushed hair back from Wendy’s face and met my eyes. “He made me his enemy, Silla. Don’t think for a moment he was a good person. He killed and he lied. He lied a lot.”
“No.”
Wendy’s hand reached out. “Come with me. I’ll teach you to be everything you have the potential to be, Silla. Think of the power, the magic.”
Blood Magic (The Blood Journals) Page 15
