by Libba Bray
She could have done this research inside, but that would have been too comfortable: warm and cozy with a lamp to read by. The temptation to discover all of Mom’s spells would’ve been too great. Cecily didn’t feel guilty for stealing the Book of Shadows, because this was important, but she would lose the moral high ground if she abused this opportunity.
Besides, being out of the cramped house with its silly decorations was a good thing. Cecily found the cool night air and the roaring ocean clarified her thinking. For instance, she’d stopped reveling in the shame this would cause Kathleen and worrying about how Mom would react when she found out about the unauthorized use of her Book of Shadows. Instead Cecily was thinking about Scott.
What will the end of the enchantment be like for him? she wondered. The Book of Shadows didn’t say. Will he simply not care much about Kathleen anymore, and wonder what he ever saw in her? Or will it be more dramatic than that? And if it is dramatic, will he realize he’s been enchanted?
Cecily had been the subject of some harmless enchantments a few times; that was a standard part of a witch’s education, finding out how it felt. When the enchantment broke, the feeling was unmistakable: as sudden and powerful as the drop in a roller coaster after it had climbed a hill. You came smashing down to earth, and you knew that something unnatural had just happened to you.
Even somebody who had never heard of the Craft might well understand that they’d been the subject of magic. That was one reason enchantments were to be used sparingly, if at all.
If Scott realized the truth, then what?
Probably there was an answer lurking deep within the pages of Mom’s Book of Shadows, but Cecily wasn’t going to look for it. In her heart she had always believed that men could hear and accept the truth about witchcraft. (Maybe not all men—but all women couldn’t hear it either, could they?) Somehow her mother could live with lying to her father forever and ever, but Cecily had never wanted that for herself.
The guy of her dreams—the chef who wanted to open a restaurant with her—he would know not only that Cecily practiced the Craft, but would also see how amazing it was. He would be proud of her power. He would support her no matter what.
Could Scott actually be that guy?
Her heart thumped crazily in her chest. One way or another Cecily was going to find out.
The next morning wasn’t sunny exactly, but at least it wasn’t raining. Despite the chill in the air and the thick cloud cover, pretty much everyone headed to the beach. Theo ran down the hallway in his swim trunks and neon green flippers, yelling, “Cecily! You have to go swimming with us!”
“I’ll catch up,” Cecily promised as she shimmied into her black bikini. “It won’t be long.”
She stared at herself in the mirror. Had she once been afraid of something as little as wearing a swimsuit? Compared to what was at stake today that seemed so small.
Besides—she looked good.
Cecily sauntered out of her room, acting casual, with a large beach towel folded over one arm in such a way that it disguised what she was holding in her hand: the spray bottle, which was filled with an all but complete elixir for the disenchantment spell.
Already the house was almost empty—except for Scott, who was rubbing sunblock on his shoulders. It took all Cecily’s self-control not to ask him if he needed help. “Hey,” he said. “Kathleen and I are about to hit the beach. Want to join us?”
“She doesn’t want to!” Kathleen yelled from her room.
Cecily smiled. “I think it’s a little cold for a dip in the ocean, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but there’s no way I’m spending a week on the Outer Banks without going swimming once,” Scott said. He glanced at her bikini—just a glance—but it was encouraging.
Casually, as if the idea had only just occurred to her, Cecily said, “Hey, what about the hot tub on the deck? Warm water, Jacuzzi jets—way better than freezing our butts off in the surf.”
Scott had a slow, warm smile that made her feel sort of gooey inside. “You know, that sounds great.”
“You and Kathleen get comfortable. I have to check on Theo, but I’ll stop by the hot tub on my way out.”
Cauldron—check.
She walked toward the wet bar but glanced over her shoulder to see Scott headed toward the deck. Never before had she realized even a guy’s back could be sexy.
Not that Kathleen wasn’t one hundred percent evil to do this to you, she thought, but I do at least get her motivation.
Once they were outside Cecily got to work. Corkscrews looked simple enough to use, but she’d never attempted to handle one before, so opening the red wine took much longer than she’d planned. The delay made the process even more suspenseful. If her mother walked in and saw Cecily uncorking a bottle of booze, she wouldn’t get a chance to explain why she really needed it. She wouldn’t survive that long.
Finally the cork slid loose with a pop. The red wine smelled sort of stinky to Cecily—maybe this stuff had gone to vinegar. Probably it wouldn’t matter for the spell, though.
She poured a thin stream of wine into the spray bottle. A wisp of periwinkle blue smoke drifted upward, glittering and eerie.
The smoke needed to be darker than that—the magic, more powerful.
With a shaky hand Cecily took a glass tumbler from the bar and held it over the sink. She was scared now, and she told herself that it was stupid to be scared of pain. Did she want to be like Theo, whining and crying before he got a shot at the pediatrician’s?
But it wasn’t the prospect of pain that frightened her. It was the reality of performing this spell—by far the most powerful Cecily had ever attempted on her own. She had no idea what would happen if she got it wrong, but she strongly suspected it wouldn’t be good.
Enough, she told herself sternly. Turning her face to protect her eyes, Cecily threw the glass into the sink. It shattered with a crash, and she felt a sharp jab against her palm. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to actually slice her skin open.
Cecily added a few small shards of glass to the mix, then held the open spray bottle beneath her trembling hand and a few drops of her blood fell inside. With each drop the smoke puffed again, darkening into deeper blue, then into purple, and finally almost into black. That looked more like it.
Showtime.
She strode onto the deck, hoping she looked confident. Kathleen and Scott sat alone in the hot tub, and Kathleen had hooked her legs over his, as though she were about to sit in his lap. When Cecily stepped out, Kathleen looked over with a scowl. “Uh, don’t you need to play with your baby brother or something?”
“Soon,” Cecily said. “Not now.”
Scott grinned and gestured toward the spray bottle. “What’s that?”
A gust of cool wind tossed Cecily’s hair and made her shiver. “Your freedom.”
Kathleen’s eyes opened wide. She knew. It was now or never.
Whispering the incantation, Cecily yanked off the top of the spray bottle and dumped the contents into the hot tub.
The currents caught it, creating a spiral of blue-black that widened every second. Instead of diluting within the water the elixir darkened the contents of the hot tub until it looked as if Scott and Kathleen were sitting in ink. Thick smoke began bubbling at the surface and tumbling over the sides. The air turned sulfuric, and Cecily felt as if she could hardly breathe.
“What the—” Scott tried to push himself out of the Jacuzzi, but he didn’t make it, because that was when everything exploded.
Not for real, with bits of tub and deck and Kathleen spraying everywhere. But it felt like an explosion anyway. A shock wave smashed outward, shaking them all and thundering like a sonic boom. Little arcs of static electricity vaulted through the air. Kathleen started screaming, and Cecily didn’t blame her.
Then it was over. Scott slumped down in the tub as if unconscious, but Cecily jumped forward to catch his head. “Scott?” Her voice shook. “Scott, are you okay?”
“Ye
ah.” He sat upright, blinking slowly. His expression looked dazed. “What was that?”
“You don’t need to know!” Kathleen clambered out of the hot tub. Her whole body shook, and some of her hair literally stood on end from the energy in the air. “Scott, come on.”
Cecily said, “He’s not going anywhere with you.”
“Who are you to say? Scott, come with me!” Kathleen held a hand out to him, but he didn’t budge.
His expression still looked dazed. No, Cecily thought the correct word was “vacant.” Like there was nobody home. Had she hurt him?
Then the Jacuzzi jets came on, and Scott grinned a lazy, stupid sort of smile that Cecily had never seen before. “Dude, hot tubs crack me up. You know why?”
Cecily cocked her head. “Uh, no?”
He said, “Because when the jets make the bubbles, it’s like somebody farted.”
“Are you sure you feel okay?” Cecily said. “Because you—you don’t sound like yourself.”
Scott laughed the kind of laugh that sounded like a donkey’s bray. “Guess what? I’m farting right now! And you can’t tell!”
Cecily stumbled away from the hot tub, backing toward the other side of the deck. Something was wrong with him; he wasn’t at all the kind of person he’d been before. Had she done something wrong when she broke the enchantment? Had she hurt Scott?
Kathleen wiped angry tears from her cheeks. “You ruined him!”
The truth hit Cecily. “You didn’t just make him like you. The enchantment altered his personality too, so he’d be the perfect guy for you.” Or for me, she thought, remembering how Scott had seemed so ideal when he was with her—and how his personality had seemed to change the moment Kathleen walked into the room. Why hadn’t she seen it before? The real Scott was this guy: slack-jawed, stupid, and completely unconcerned with anything around him. He wasn’t even paying any attention to their conversation.
“If you had the guts to borrow your mom’s Book of Shadows, you’d know how to do real magic too,” Kathleen jeered. She advanced upon Cecily, who pressed her back against the deck railing. What other evil spells could Kathleen have learned? What else might she be willing to do? Cecily wanted to think she could defend herself, but more than that she wanted to run for help. Yet Kathleen stood between her and any escape. “Scott was perfect, and he can be perfect again, because you’re about to get out of my way.”
“No, she isn’t,” Mrs. Pruitt said sternly. She stood in the doorway of the deck, with all the mothers standing just behind her. Their faces were grave. “Kathleen, come talk with me.”
Kathleen’s face changed then, from its default setting (evil) to something Cecily had never seen before: real fear. Obviously the mothers had recognized the breaking of an enchantment; just as obviously they’d overheard enough to realize what Kathleen had done. Nobody was wielding any magic; they didn’t have to. The moms’ power eclipsed anything Cecily or Kathleen could do.
And at long last the evil reign of Kathleen Pruitt had come to a crashing end.
“What will happen to her?” Cecily asked later as she and her mother walked on the beach.
“Kathleen will never be allowed to practice magic again. She’ll never be given the right incantations to start a Book of Shadows, and her supplies and instruments will have to be destroyed. We can’t erase what she already knows, but from now on she’s cut out of this or any coven. It’s going to be hard on her mother, but rules are rules.” They went on silently for a few steps before Mom said, “I’m proud of you for not gloating.”
Cecily was pretty sure she’d get in some quality gloating later, but the shock of it all was too new for that. “All that smoke, the boom—Dad has to have seen it.”
“We told the guys the Jacuzzi shorted out. No more hot-tubbing on this trip, I’m afraid.”
It would be a long time before Cecily could look at a Jacuzzi the same way again, so no loss there. “And Scott?”
“Doesn’t know what hit him. Or care, I think.”
They looked together toward Ocean’s Heaven. Scott sat with Theo on the front steps that led to the sand. He chugged half a can of root beer then belched Theo’s name, which made Theo laugh and applaud. Cecily sighed.
Mom said, “You tried to warn me about Kathleen last night. I should have heard you out. In future I will.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Which means you will never again have any excuse for laying hands on my Book of Shadows without my permission.”
“Understood.”
Mom tugged fondly at the end of Cecily’s ponytail. “You took a big risk, you know—and not just attempting the spell on your own. If Scott were any more—let’s say inquisitive, he would have realized that he had been under an enchantment. He would have realized that magic is real. Covering our tracks at that point would’ve been hard work. That you couldn’t have done alone.”
“Why do we have to lie to them? Don’t you ever wish Dad knew the truth? Don’t you think he’d love you even more when he realized what an amazing witch you are?”
For a moment Mom was silent. The only sound was the roar of the ocean. At last she said, “Today of all days I’d think you would understand the importance of obeying the rules.”
That wasn’t an answer, but Cecily knew it was as close as she would get. She hugged Mom before jogging down to the shoreline. The waves were cold and foamy against her toes.
Someday, Cecily thought. Someday I’ll find a guy who can live with the truth. Just because that’s not Scott doesn’t mean a guy like that isn’t out there.
At least her summer vacation wasn’t entirely ruined. Cecily had a few days left to enjoy herself, which she felt she richly deserved.
SELF-IMPROVEMENT GOALS: REVISED
During my remaining vacation time I will:
resist gloating over Kathleen’s downfall, at least while there are witnesses around
swim for at least two hours a day
see if the moms now respect me enough to teach me some serious Craft mojo
beat Theo at foosball just once for the sake of my personal dignity
walk three miles on the beach each morning
see about tennis lessons
see about horseback riding lessons
basically, stay outdoors as much as humanly possible
Then thunder rolled in the distance, and raindrops began to spatter onto the sand.
Cecily groaned as she ran for shelter. Well, maybe next year.
The Law of Suspects
MAUREEN JOHNSON
“I hate vacation,” I said.
My sister, Marylou, was in the rocking chair by the window, twisting her short, rust-colored hair around her finger absently, her DSM-IV open in front of her. The DSM-IV, in case you’ve never heard of it, is The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Health Disorders (Fourth Edition). Marylou had just finished her first year as a psychology major, which meant that her favorite time waster was diagnosing me with every ailment in the book—literally. So it was a mistake saying this kind of thing to her.
“Lack of interest in things normal people find enjoyable,” she said. “That’s depression, Charlie.”
“‘Normal people’?” I repeated.
“Well, that’s not the term we like to use, actually….” she said, even though she had just used it.
“Who is this we?”
“Mental health professionals.”
The last thing Marylou was was a mental health professional. She was a barista with two semesters of intro psych under her belt.
“I see,” I said. “A mental health professional. You also serve lattes. So are you also the president of Starbucks? Is that what that means?”
“Shut up, Charlie.”
Page flip, page flip, page flip.
“And why are you so busy trying to diagnose me?” I asked, swatting away a fly that kept trying to land on my nose. “You were reading that on the plane when that guy next to me tried to stab me with his fork. You di
dn’t give him a label.”
“That’s because he didn’t try to stab you,” she said placidly. “You were lying.”
See, this is something that haunts me. I used to lie a lot. Or, I exaggerated a lot. I guess I was bored, and my little embellishments made the world so much more interesting. I have to say, I was really good at it. I could fool anyone. They were harmless lies too. I didn’t hurt anyone with them. The little dog that chased me down the street could be bigger, perhaps rabid. I didn’t just drop my ice cream while it was windy—I was hit by a freak tornado.
But lying is bad. I know this. And even though my lies weren’t evil, they still caused all kinds of problems and made some people not trust me, so I gave it up, cold turkey, at the start of freshman year. I’ve been on the wagon for about three years now.
But do I get any credit for this? No. I guess it’s like having a criminal past: no one ever really trusts you again. Like, if you were a robber, and you stopped robbing and totally re-created yourself and everyone knew it…still, no one will let you carry the big cash deposit to the bank.
And the guy in seat 56E really did try to stab me with his fork. I think this was because he thought I stole his Air France headphones while he was napping, which I didn’t. The stewardess didn’t give him any because he was sleeping. Marylou and I just used our own headphones on the flight, and she ended up sticking her Air France pair in my seatback pocket when she got up to go to the bathroom, so when Mr. 56E snorted himself awake halfway over the Atlantic, he stared at the two pairs of headphones I had in front of me. His mouth said nothing, but his eyes said, “Thief.” When his tray came, he got out his fork with a lot more force than necessary and narrowly missed my arm. He was weird the entire flight. He got up about a dozen times to do yoga in the back of the plane by the exit door. And he was reading a book on yogurt making for most of the time.
But did Marylou spend any time on this paragon of sanity?
No.
