Spellbinding

by Maya Gold

  As I take a few tentative steps toward her bed, a stray gust of wind blows the door shut.

  The sound of its slam makes me startle — and so does the realization that her window’s latched closed; there’s no way the wind could have blown through it. A split second later, the top of her hospital bed’s rising up at an angle. She’s staring right at me, the dark streak across her left eye unmistakable.

  “Aunt Gail?” I say, fearful.

  “Take up your place in the circle,” she rasps. “Time is short.”

  My heart starts to pound. “I don’t know what you mean —”

  “Of course you do, Dorcas. You’re one of us.”

  “Why are you calling me Dorcas?” I stammer.

  “I’m too old to keep the names straight. You’re part of her family. The husk doesn’t matter.” She gives me a stern look. “What matters is claiming your powers before the full moon. That Indian boy’s filled your head up with nonsense.”

  My heart clutches.

  She knows about Rem?

  Gail answers as if she had heard my thoughts, her voice gaining power. “That boy is a tadpole, too weak to conduct you, but you have a fiery furnace inside. In just these few weeks, you’ve learned more of the craft than most do in two lifetimes. That’s why we sent you the spell book. We knew it would tempt you to practice. When you finish crossing, you will be a force to be reckoned with.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” I tell her, defiant.

  “It’s all preordained,” she says, fixing her darkening eye on me. “Earth’s on his way, and he knows who you are. You can’t escape your fate.”

  There’s a rap at the door, and I swivel around as the dreadlocked nurse swings it open. She looks at my face.

  “Are you okay, darlin’? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  I glance back at Great-aunt Gail. She’s lying flat on her back, as unresponsive and rigid as she was when I entered. Her eyes are a blank, milky blue.

  “Did you hear her talking?” I ask the nurse, trying to swallow my panic. “Was that why you knocked?”

  “I didn’t hear nothing,” she tells me, rolling a tray toward the hospital bed. “Just came in to check on her vitals. Why, was she trying to say something to you?”

  I nod. She was saying something, all right. Something I would never have believed before everything in my life changed.

  But now I believe every word.

  THERE’S A WEIRD STILLNESS HOVERING OVER Salem the following morning. Flags and banners hang limp on their poles, and the warm air seems sweaty; there might be a summer storm brewing. Tourists come into the store fanning themselves with brochures, exclaiming gratefully over our air-conditioning. Most people use the word “muggy,” but Dyami has a different explanation.

  “It’s hanging season,” she tells me. “The energy always gets strange on the anniversaries.”

  “Anniversaries of —”

  “The hangings on Gallows Hill,” she says.

  Somehow when I read the list of names at the museum, I didn’t notice the dates of the hangings. Dyami tells me they started in June and went on through September. “Even all these years later, the atmosphere’s charged. You can sense an ionic disturbance. Especially during the full moon.”

  A shiver runs through me as I remember Gail’s words. What matters is claiming your powers before the full moon.

  “When is the next full moon?” I ask, and Dyami smiles.

  “It’s on June twenty-first. That ought to be quite the power night. Summer solstice, midsummer night, and a full moon.”

  Add two more to that list. Some kind of witches’ circle I’m supposed to take part in on Gallows Hill. And Ipswich High prom night.

  As I’m leaving work at the end of the day, I notice the Double Double Café awning is moving. My pulse quickens as I realize Rem must be cranking it up for the night. I can’t resist going to see him. He must know I’ve been good and haven’t been casting any spells. How much could it hurt to say hi?

  But when I turn the corner, it isn’t Rem turning the crank. Kara shoots me a knowing look and says, “Rem isn’t here today. He hasn’t shown up all weekend.”

  My cheeks flush as I nod, disappointed. But as I head back to my car, a sudden fear grips me. Gail knew Rem was trying to keep me from crossing over. What if the rest of the witches did, too? Might they have done something to punish him?

  I have to find him. Even if it means breaking my promise. If anything’s happened to Rem, I’ll be devastated. Especially if it’s because of me.

  The marina seems ten times as far as the last time I went, and I know it’s because I’m so anxious. My heart’s hammering inside my chest as I rush through the gate, past the dry-dock racks, down to the dock …

  And the floating bridge.

  As soon as I put one foot onto it, it bobs up and down. How am I going to do this? I’m still clinging tight to the piling alongside the dock, but to get to the tugboat, I’ll have to let go. I close my eyes — just for a moment — and picture Rem standing in chest-high water, holding me up with his arms. Like a magician’s assistant, he told me. I’ve got you.

  And then he let go. So that I could do it by myself.

  I open my eyes. I can do it by myself. I can let go of this piling and put one foot forward, and then the next. There, see? I’m doing it.

  One foot. Then another.

  The bridge bobs and wobbles with every step, and I just keep edging my way forward. I grit my teeth, trying to concentrate.

  Suddenly, for just a split second, I see a dark figure reflected in the rippling water: a tall man dressed in black. I look up, but there’s nobody there. The reflection is gone, too. A shiver runs through me, so cold I get goose bumps. What was that, a vision? Am I having nightmares in daylight?

  I can’t think about it right now. One foot. Then another. And finally I’m there. When my hand catches hold of the tugboat’s rail, I’m so grateful I think I will faint.

  I rap on a porthole. “Rem?” I call. “Rem? Are you there?”

  There’s no answer.

  Where is he? My heart pounds with fear for his safety. And mine. Tell me I don’t have to get right back onto that bridge.

  Then I feel the boat creak and rock. Someone’s moving inside; I hear footsteps approaching. Is it Rem, or the sinister man whose reflection I saw in the water?

  I hold my breath as the door of the cabin swings open. Rem stands on the threshold, sun-kissed and tousle-haired, smiling at me as if nothing is wrong, or has ever been wrong. I’ve never been gladder to see anyone in my life. Not even the knowledge that I broke my promise by coming here spoils the moment. His smile floods my whole body with joy. How could I stay away?

  “Abby!” he says, grinning wider. “You conquered the bridge!”

  “I was so worried about you,” I tell him. “Can I come inside?”

  “I’ve got an even better idea,” says Rem. His green-and-blue eyes catch the pinpoints of light off the water. Maybe that’s what makes them glitter more sharply than usual. I’m reminded, for just the breath of a second, of the shiny glass eyes in the witch wax museum. “Let’s go for a walk. There’s a place I’ve been meaning to show you.”

  Rem takes me to a wooded park on the outskirts of town. There’s a flat stretch of grass with a softball field, and behind it a rise toward a dark fringe of trees. A narrow footpath leads up to the top of the hill, and as we start walking up it, Rem pulls me away from its edge. “Watch out for those burdocks. They’ll stick to your clothes.”

  We climb up in single file. He leads the way and I follow him, wondering why such a small incline makes my breath come in pants. I’m more out of shape than I realized; I should sign up for one of those charity runs Travis does.

  I step over a root and feel a sudden sensation of heaviness inside my bones. One of those ice-pick headaches stabs into the base of my skull, and I realize that I’m gasping for breath — not just because the climb’s gotten steeper, but as if something i
nvisible’s tightened around my neck, choking me like a noose.

  Could this be Gallows Hill? Why would Rem want to take me to this evil place? I don’t understand. And I feel weaker with every step, as if I can’t breathe.

  “Rem?” I pant. “Can we stop for a minute?”

  “Of course,” he says, turning to face me. The off-color streak in his left eye seems to pulsate as he puts his hands on my upper arms. His touch sends a tingle right through me.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his voice getting husky. “I missed you like crazy.”

  I drink in his words — they’re exactly what I’ve longed to hear — but something is off, and it’s not just my headache. Rem’s looking at me like a ravenous predator, ready to strike. Before I can speak, he’s pulling me closer, his strong arms wrapping around my back. His lips burrow into the side of my neck, working their way toward my mouth.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp. “You told me we couldn’t —”

  “Forget what I told you,” he says. “You know we both want the same thing.”

  No, we don’t. Not like this.

  I struggle to free myself. He’s much stronger than I am — superhumanly strong — but I feel an angry heat rising in my veins, like lava. I wrench myself free.

  “Stop it,” I hiss, and he staggers back, pressing one hand to his mouth as if he’s been burned.

  I turn away from him and nearly bump into a man who seems to appear as if out of thin air. I gasp as I realize he is the dark figure I saw before. He’s gaunt and lank-haired, in a battered black leather trench coat. His features are ancient and sinister, with a wide, fleshy mouth, hollow cheeks, and a long crooked nose. But what draws me at once are his eyes, heavy-lidded, hypnotic, and dark as twin ink spots.

  “Fiery,” he says with a satisfied leer. “Just as you should be.” His voice is as deep as a mine shaft.

  He twists his gaze toward the sky, where a rust-colored crescent moon has just cleared the trees at the top of the hill. When he looks back at me, the top quadrant of his left eye glows with the same rusty red.

  “The full moon is coming,” he intones. “And with or without the kiss, you’ll take your place in the circle, right here on Gallows Hill. The cycle will finally be finished. You can’t turn your back on a gathering storm.”

  I wake up on the tugboat. I’m flat on my back on a bench, and Rem’s kneeling beside me, holding a wet cloth to my forehead.

  “What — what happened?” I stammer.

  “You fainted,” he tells me.

  I blink, and the back of my skull throbs with pain as I try to remember.

  “We were someplace else. On a hill. And you tried to kiss —”

  Rem cuts me off sharply. “I didn’t do anything. You had a dream. A hallucination.”

  I shake my head, insistent. “There was a man in a black coat. He said — he said something about Gallows Hill….”

  Rem frowns. “You hit your head,” he says without meeting my eye.

  I sit up, swinging my legs to the ground. As my hand brushes against my skirt, something snags at my skin. I look down and see spiky burdock seeds stuck to the fabric. My pulse starts to race.

  “Rem, you were there. You did try to give me the witch’s kiss. Why are you lying to me?” My voice sounds hysterical, even to me, but it freaks me out that he’s not telling the truth.

  Or is he? If we really were on Gallows Hill, how did we get back to the tugboat?

  Wait, don’t tell me. Magic. We probably flew on a broomstick.

  This whole thing is scaring me out of my wits. My head is still pounding. I feel like I’m running a fever.

  Fiery. Just as you should be.

  The sinister man’s words sear across my brain. I remember him telling me I’ll take my place in the circle, that the cycle will finally be finished. Is this really some kind of three-hundred-year-old revenge fantasy? And whose side is Rem on?

  I can’t tell anymore. I don’t know who he is. I can’t trust my own soul mate.

  “I’ve got to get home,” I say, reeling up off the bench.

  “What are you doing?” Rem says, his voice sharp with worry. “You just hit your head. What if you have a concussion?”

  “My dad will be worried. I’ve got to get home,” I repeat. I climb over the rail and step down to the wobbly bridge. Heart in my throat, I start scuttling along it, moving too fast. When Rem jumps down after me, I lose my balance — and plunge headlong into the water.

  It’s freezing cold, and I can’t stifle a scream. In an instant, my mouth and nose fill up with water. The weight of my soaking skirt pulls me down as I thrash in terror. My eyes are wide open, and I see a dark fringe of trees overhead as I sink. It’s the living image of my drowning nightmare.

  Except that Rem jumps off the dock, slings his arm around me like a lifeguard, and swims with strong strokes toward the shore. He hauls me up onto the sand, where I sputter and cough, spitting out salt water.

  Rem leans over me, panting and soaked to the skin. Our faces are inches apart. Is he going to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?

  I want him to kiss me, right now, more than I’ve ever wanted anything. A sense of surrender flows through my whole body. I don’t care what happens; we should be kissing. I reach my hands up to his neck, arching my mouth toward his. But Rem draws back, his eyes flashing.

  “Abby, that man is the earth witch! He’s trying to drag you into the circle through me, can’t you see that? He can make me do things I don’t want to do. I’ve been pushing against him with all of my strength. And you’re playing right into his hands!”

  My teeth start to chatter, from fear or the cold, or more likely both. “I’m scared,” I say. I cling to Rem’s arm, but he pulls away, backing up fast.

  “Stay away from me, Abby. I already told you that. I can’t protect you. I’m the one you need protection from.” He dives into the water and swims away, leaving me soaked, miserable, and completely alone.

  I FEEL LIKE A DROWNED RAT. I’VE CRANKED up my car’s heater, but it hasn’t kicked in yet. I’m drenched to the skin and my teeth are rattling away like maracas. I feel like I’ll never get warm again. I can’t forgive Rem for abandoning me. If the earth witch is as all-powerful as Rem says, how could Rem swim off and leave me alone on the beach? Anything could have happened.

  My head throbs, and I vow that I’ll never go near Rem again. If that’s what he wanted, he’s got it. I’m sick of his endless excuses and cryptic pronouncements. I don’t care how alluring he is. That’s the last time I’m going to let him pull me close and then push me away.

  As soon as I’ve crossed the bridge back to Beverly, my spike headache lifts, and with it my dread. This is the real world all around me, a suburban sprawl full of cheap Chinese restaurants and diners and twenty-four-hour Rite-Aids. There aren’t evil earth witches who look like Keith Richards with blood in their eyes, and I’m not the fire witch of Salem who’s come back to “take my place in the circle” or “complete the cycle” or whatever mumbo jumbo is filling my head. I’ve seen too many fantasy movies — if I’m having some kind of schizophrenic breakdown, the voices inside my head sound like Gandalf the Grey.

  Enough of this nonsense. I’m nobody’s witch. I’m just a teenage girl in soaking-wet clothes, mad at a boy who left her in the lurch, on her way home from work.

  The next morning Travis parks right next to me in the school parking lot. When he sees me, he turns on the full warmth of his puppy-dog smile. “Hi, Abby,” he says, pushing his cool vintage sunglasses on top of his head. “You look nice today.”

  What a relief! No tormented brooding or mixed messages. A friendly, cute boy with perfect blue eyes who thinks I look nice.

  “Thanks,” I say, feeling a welcome blush rise to my cheeks. On impulse I ask him if I can try on his sunglasses.

  “Of course,” he says, taking them off and handing them to me. I slip them on, realizing the tortoiseshell frames are still warm. It feels like b
eing kissed on the backs of both ears.

  Travis and I walk into school side by side. Jaws drop and heads swivel from lockers at the sight of me wearing his signature sunglasses.

  Go ahead, somebody tell the queen of monkeys, I think as we stroll past a prom poster. Bring it on.

  No sooner said than done. As I’m heading for my Spanish IV class, Megan turns the corner, flanked by Sloane and Amber. (Why are they always together? Are they taking all the same classes?)

  “Give them to me,” Megan says, holding her palm out. I can see the white moons of her French manicure.

  “Give what to you, Megan?” I ask sweetly.

  “Travis’s glasses. I know you’ve got them.”

  I reach into my purse and take out the sunglasses. “You mean these?”

  She grabs for them, but I lift them above my head, out of her reach. Even in heels, she’s much shorter than me.

  “I will return them when the person who gave them to me tells me he wants them back,” I say coolly. “Got to go. I’ve got Español.”

  I never imagined that I could behave like this, but if Rem doesn’t want to go near me and Travis does, why should I let his forever-mean girlfriend stand in my way?

  Señora Ortiz has come to the door of her classroom, and stands waiting to close it behind me. As I stride past her, I slip on Travis’s sunglasses, turning back to wave over my shoulder at Megan. “Hasta la vista, tonta!”

  Señora Ortiz frowns, closing the door behind me. Kate Reeder is grinning especially wide, and Makayla Graf, the multi-pierced, turquoise-haired art student, slaps me five as I walk past her desk, saying, “You go, girl. Way to get in her face!”

  My elation is short-lived. At dinner that night, Danielle seems especially bubbly. As she passes a platter of stuffed clams — I’ve got to admit it, she is a halfway decent cook — I notice she’s wearing a new silver ring on her right hand. The design — a Celtic claddagh ring, with two hands holding a crowned heart — is one we stock at Spiral Visions. So I know what it symbolizes: a promise of love.