Will nodded, making up his mind. Beside him on the floor were a box of wooden matches and a plastic bottle of charcoal lighter fluid he had snatched from his garage at home. Everyone else had gas grills, but his father still liked the old briquettes. He slid the matches and the fluid nearer to the copper pot and then reached for the book. Its leather was not soft against his fingers today. Instead it felt like sandpaper and the book itself had a terrible weight, so that he had to lean in to lift it onto his lap.
It fell open at precisely the place he wanted, the whisper of pages sending a shiver through him. His eyes burned and he had to blink several times to focus on the words, on the spell. The mantra he would have to speak was not in English but in German. Brian had translated it, but Will only remembered some of the translation—bits about flesh and blood and thwarting the fates, about suspending chance and attracting the attention of malign forces.
He had tried to forget. It didn't matter anyway because they had worked out a phonetic version so that they would be able to pronounce everything properly.
Don't want to fuck it up and curse yourself, he thought, more than a little giddy with the surreal feeling that swept through him. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and picked up the paper with the phonetic pronunciation, placed it beside the book on his lap. Will didn't like that word. Didn't want to have to even think it.
Dori's music still pumped through the house and his temples throbbed, his head aching worse than ever. The slivers of sunlight that peeked around the edges of the shades were not enough to dispel the shadows that seemed to gather even more closely around them, and the candlelight only made them appear to writhe and undulate.
There was a peculiar taste in Will's mouth, as though he had been chewing on aluminum foil. For a moment as he gazed down at the book, his eyes would not focus. One by one Brian picked up the things he had scattered on the floor and began adding them to the copper pot, Will watching to make certain he followed the order of ingredients as prescribed.
With a small paring knife, Brian sliced the apple into quarters and dropped them into the pot. The herbs followed, and then Dori's hair. That hideous tampon went in next. Brian shook it from the bag, not wanting to touch it, and Will tried not to watch it tumble into the pot but could not help himself.
Will's right hand began to tremble and he gritted his teeth and forced it to be still. He felt short of breath and his face was too warm, and with the music slamming the walls from the room next door he was close to just jumping up and taking off. But how the hell would he explain that to Brian tomorrow?
“Come on, man. Hurry the fuck up!” he snapped.
Brian shot him a glance that burned away any pretense Will might have tried to put up. “Relax, Will. I gave you your chance to bail. Too late to turn back now.” A smile creased the corners of his mouth. “Besides, we're just getting to the fun stuff.”
The fun stuff. The words echoed in Will's head. There was a dark thrill in him, like the time he had caught a glimpse up Mrs. Hidalgo's dress in biology class and realized she was wearing nothing under there. Again he wanted to pull himself back, to tear his eyes away, but could not. Mrs. Hidalgo had caught him looking. She had blushed and adjusted her dress, shifted in her seat, but said nothing.
That dark thrill was delicious, and Will could not pull away.
Brian was staring at him.
“Get on with it,” Will told him, breathless.
That smile returned to his face and Brian bent to reach out for the Reebok shoe box that had only days earlier contained a new pair of sneakers. He opened the box and shoved his hand in, withdrawing a small toad, then tossed the box aside. The toad was silent but its eyes darted about anxiously and its throat bulged rhythmically.
Will took a few shallow breaths and then focused on the book and the phonetic translation. He began the chant, forcing his throat and lips around the guttural sounds so unnatural to him.
A moment later Brian joined in the chanting, but he did not have to refer to the book or to the sheet with the phonetics. It unnerved Will a little to find that Brian had committed the chant to memory, but he ignored the feeling, kept going. It really was too late to stop now. Certainly he could have broken it off, but that dark thrill held him in thrall.
Brian held the toad in his left hand, pinching it between two fingers, and then pushed the paring knife into its belly. He sliced it open over the copper pot and when its innards began to spill out, he let the dead creature tumble in with the rest of the ingredients. Blood, yes, but they had Dori's blood. This spell required something else . . . it required life.
A sudden chill traced icy fingers along the back of Will's neck. The thump of Dori's music seemed oddly muffled. The candles flickered, throwing hideous shadows, and one of them blew out, a trailing wisp of smoke climbing above it. For a long moment Will stared at that candle. His stomach ached and his mind was filled with all manner of recriminations and second thoughts, that dark thrill now just something to be ashamed of.
“Will!” Brian urged.
He nodded, put the book down. Brian kept on with those guttural words as Will took the lighter fluid, upended the can and squeezed a long stream into the copper pot, saturating the contents. His fingers were numb, his mind felt detached from his body, and yet he kept working. He set the lighter fluid down, picked up the matches, removed one and struck it. The fire blazed up instantly, the smell of sulfur in the air. Will tossed the match into the pot and the entire contents erupted into hungry flames.
His breath came slow and ragged. His eyes darted around the room, taking in every shadow, watching the slivers of light around the shades with longing, impatient to be out of here, to be in the sunlight. All of his muscles tensed, prepared. But nothing happened.
Nothing. The spell had failed. Failed to accomplish anything except to make Will feel dirty, inside and out. The kind of dirty no shower could ever wash away.
The spell didn't work, he thought. Some part of him was surprised he was not more disappointed, but in his heart there was only relief. Relief, because it wasn't really a spell at all.
It's a curse.
The music in Dori's room was abruptly silenced. It seemed to echo in Will's ears as quiet seconds ticked by. He and Brian looked sharply at one another, wide-eyed, both of them holding their breath. Had they done it? And if so, what, precisely, had they done?
From outside there came the blare of a car horn. That would be Ian. They heard footsteps, then Dori's bedroom door opened and closed. Her shoes ticktocked along the corridor and then down the stairs, and a moment later the front door slammed. She was gone.
Will sagged as he let out the breath he had been holding. He felt foolish and perverse, but he smiled and shook his head, trying to cleanse those feelings. But when he looked up, he saw that Brian's face was etched with frustration.
“Fuck,” Brian whispered. He knocked aside the empty Reebok box. “Fuck,” he said again.
“What are you gonna do?” Will said tentatively. “Maybe we just don't have what it takes to curse someone. They don't all work. Some do. This one didn't.”
But the hell of it was, it had.
April, Junior Year
Nightfall was still a ways off, but as Dori hurried along the front walk toward Ian's car it seemed to her that the sky had dimmed far sooner than it should have. When she glanced upward she realized that it was not the encroaching evening but the weather that had cast a pall over the day. When she had gotten off the bus with Brian and Will, the sky had been a bright, clear blue. Now it was simply gray, and on the horizon there was a darkening hint of something brewing, thunderheads on the way.
“Perfect,” she sighed.
The party didn't start for a couple of hours yet, but she had wanted to be gone before her parents got home. Ian had suggested they go out to dinner someplace nice, but since there was very little that fit that description within the town limits and she didn't want to have to go far, Dori had suggested The Sampan. She loved Chin
ese food. At the moment, she wasn't very hungry, but the key was avoiding her parents. Not that they were that difficult. They just asked too many annoying questions.
Ian sat behind the wheel, the window rolled down, and he smiled at her as she approached. Dori had on brand-new jeans and a white top with a brown suede jacket one size too small that she left unzipped. With just a touch of eyeliner and the coolest bloodred lipstick, she knew she looked good, but the expression on his face as she strode toward the car was all the assurance she needed.
“Hey, cutie,” Dori said, marching around to the passenger door. She popped the door open and climbed in. When she leaned over to kiss Ian, she misjudged and their teeth banged together.
“Oww!” he said, flinching back from her.
“Oh, shit, sorry.” Dori put a hand on his leg.
Ian laughed, though a bit hesitantly, and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Let's not do that again.”
Dori smiled and shook her head, then reached out to close her door. Her fingers slid into the smooth plastic grip on the inside of the door and she yanked it toward her. A sharp pain made her hiss and pull her hand away, and she cursed as she glanced at her hand and saw that her index finger had a slice in it.
“What the hell?” she muttered, sucking on the cut finger as she examined the plastic grip. It was cracked, and one portion jutted higher than the other, jagged and sharp.
“What's wrong?”
She shot him a withering glance. “I cut myself on your stupid car, that's all. Do you have any Band-Aids?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I carry a purse? No, I don't have any Band-Aids.”
“We'll have to stop at the 7-Eleven.”
Ian nodded and put the car into gear, backing out of the driveway. “Not a problem. Sorry about that. I didn't even know it was broken. I'll have to get some duct tape or something, cover it up.” He seemed troubled, his forehead creased with concern, but as he drove toward the center of town he lightened up considerably. “You hungry, babe?”
The gray skies and cutting her finger had annoyed her, but Dori wasn't going to let that ruin her whole night. She gave him a warm smile and nodded. “Wicked hungry. And looking forward to the party later. Hoping we can get a room to ourselves.”
As he glanced at her, a lascivious grin on his face, the front left tire blew. The shotgun report of the exploding tire made Dori cry out, her heart hammering in her chest, and Ian slammed on the brakes. From behind them there came the screech of tires. An old Ford behind them swerved, but not far enough, and the driver clipped the back of Ian's car, ripping metal and smashing the taillight.
Dori cried out again.
Ian swore and pounded the steering wheel with the heel of his hand.
“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Dori rasped, hands on the dashboard.
Which was just about the moment that she felt a trickle between her legs, and she knew that her period had arrived two full weeks ahead of schedule.
NEARLY TWO HOURS AFTER the flat tire and the fender bender, they sat at a table by the window at The Sampan, staring at one another in numb disbelief. While Ian was exchanging information with the driver of the old Ford and changing the tire, Dori had been forced to sit there and bleed, both from her cut finger and elsewhere. The entire time she had waited in the car, glancing anxiously at her crotch in hopes that she would not bleed enough to soak through her jeans before they could get to a convenience store.
They did manage to make it to 7-Eleven in time, but that was the only thing that had gone right.
Now Ian sat across from her, silhouetted against the window, beyond which the night was coming on and the thunderclouds had moved in. Rain pelted the glass so hard it seemed like sleet, though it was too warm for sleet. Dori was miserable and it was obvious Ian felt the same. Neither of them was very patient in general, but this night would have tested anyone. The appetizers they had ordered had been overcooked and cold, and one piece of steak teriyaki had a fringe of what looked like mold on the edge of it. The Sampan was usually fantastic, but Dori had nearly thrown up at the sight of that and been unable to eat any more of it.
It seemed an eternity before the waiter brought them dinner, and when it finally came, both orders were wrong. Completely wrong. Now they were enduring a second infinite lag and both of them were in a foul mood. They were going to be much later for the party than they had intended. Not that Dori really felt like partying anymore.
Ian glanced around as though the waiter might suddenly materialize out of thin air, then sighed and shook his head. “Can't believe you got your fucking period.”
Dori put on a tough-girl veneer, but she made no pretense to herself . . . it was very thin. Yet it wasn't his words that wounded her. It was the tone, the dismissal inherent in his voice. You've got your period, that tone seemed to say. What good are you?
“You should say a prayer every time I do get it,” she said in a low voice, glancing around to be sure no one could overhear them.
“I know. I get it, OK?” he said, softening, shooting her a regretful glance. “But it's like you just had it.”
“I did just have it. I'm not due for another two weeks. It's early.”
Ian frowned and he looked around again, though not for the waiter this time. For the first time in minutes his eyes focused on her and he leaned in closer. “Is that supposed to happen? I mean, are you all right?”
But she was still stung by his attitude and so she only sniffed and averted her gaze. “Like you care. Asshole. Sometimes it's early, sometimes it's late. But it's never been this early. Sorry I ruined your night.”
“Come on, Dori. Don't be like that. You didn't ruin anything. Not your fault, is it?”
Every word seemed to have been torn from him. She could see it in his eyes, in his expression and the way he moved his hands. Ian didn't mean a word of it. He was just saying what he thought he ought to say, and that kind of patronizing baby bullshit made her crazy.
“Do you even want to go to the party?” she asked, her back rigid against the chair, fingernails tapping lightly on the table. She had been ravenous before, but the wait and the hideous appetizer had fixed that. Her stomach had gone from empty to numb, and now the smell of Chinese food made her nauseous.
“What? Of course I want to go. You don't?”
“Do you still want to go with me?” The moment the question was out of her mouth she was furious with herself for how small and weak she sounded. She had meant it to come off as demanding, even bitchy, but now she sounded needy. She abruptly changed gears.
“You know what? Fuck it. I'm not hungry anymore. Let's get out of here.”
Ian blinked in surprise as she got up from the table. “What? Where?”
Dori narrowed her eyes. “That's up to you. Take me to the party or take me home.”
With that, she turned her back on him and strode out of The Sampan. As she left the restaurant she could hear Ian arguing with the waiter, who still hadn't brought their dinner. Ian was going to pay for the drinks and the appetizer but that was it. Dori hoped he didn't leave a tip, either. She didn't give a shit. No way was she ever going to eat in this place again.
JILLIAN MANSUR'S FAMILY LIVED in a sprawling farmhouse on Grove Street, set back a ways from the road. Her father had been sent on a business trip to San Diego and had taken his wife along, leaving Jillian alone in the house. She had just turned eighteen and they thought of her as a responsible girl in an irresponsible world. That was almost a direct quote, though Dori couldn't remember the rest of it. Obviously, the Mansurs didn't know Jillian at all. Maybe, Dori thought, they've taken one too many business trips.
The house was a wreck. Beer had been spilled onto the living room carpet and left to soak. Someone had shattered a Zima bottle in the kitchen sink. There was vomit in the garbage can. Under the dining room table, a senior named Jimmy Vons was curled up into a fetal ball, passed out and snoring. He was missing both shoes and one sock.
Dori felt
like crying. Frustration burned in her chest and her throat tightened, but she would not allow tears to moisten her eyes. Not here. Not in front of all these people, all these seniors. Some of them had been nice to her since she had started seeing Ian, but many of the girls dismissed her. She was just a lowly sophomore, after all. She didn't belong.
Tonight, she agreed with them.
Off the kitchen was a small pantry that one had to pass through to get to the back door. Dori had fled there, and now she leaned against shelves of tomato paste and soup cans and hugged herself, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes burned. When she raised her hands to push her hair back, her fingers trembled. Her back was wet where someone had spilled a glass of red wine on her neck, staining the collar of her suede jacket and the white shirt beneath and drenching her in that rich, earthy burgundy odor. The jacket was ruined. She could not escape the smell. She had no idea what to tell her parents.
When the drunken bitch had spilled the wine on her, Dori had rushed to the bathroom, hoping to wash as much of it from her jacket and shirt as possible. But when she banged into the bathroom she had found a couple of senior girls snorting coke off the toilet seat, half-naked, groping each other. Trying to find some privacy, she had ended up in the pantry, and only now, as this little bit of intimacy enveloped her, did she feel the dampness at her crotch and realize that she needed another tampon. To get one, she'd have to go out to the car, but Ian always locked it. She needed his keys.
She needed Ian.
Never in her life had she wanted to leave anywhere so badly.
Dori reached out and steadied herself, holding on to one of the shelves. She took several long breaths and found herself staring at a can of baked beans. For some reason it made her smile. Though fleeting, that smile was enough to let her breathe again. Nothing was going right tonight. Not a goddamn thing. The rain, the flat tire, the fender bender, the fucking Sampan, and now this party from hell. Whose idea of fun is this? she thought.
The Boys Are Back in Town Page 16
