Spellbinding

by Maya Gold

  I stare at her fingers, not taking the platter. “Is that new?”

  Danielle nods happily. “Your dad gave it to me last night. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Matt stops chewing. “Are you guys gonna get married?”

  Danielle and Dad both look a little embarrassed. “Not this week,” Dad says lightly. He takes her hand. “It’s our two-month anniversary. I wanted to give Danielle something special.”

  I stare at Dad. I’m sorry, you lost me at “Not this week.”

  That was so not what I wanted to hear. How about “Not ever”? How about “You kids are my family. She’s an extracurricular activity”?

  It’s been hard enough to adjust to Danielle staying at our house while she gets new windows and carpets installed. I’m not ready to think about her moving in for the rest of our lives. Taking Mom’s place at the table, taking over my kitchen, hogging my father’s attention, spoiling Matt rotten, and making me feel like even more of an outsider.

  It isn’t her fault, I tell myself. She’s been trying her best to be friendly to me. I just don’t want her here. Which makes me feel extra guilty, since I’m the reason she had to move in.

  “It’s a beautiful ring,” I say woodenly. Danielle gives me a warm smile, but Dad knows me well enough to realize that my heart isn’t in it. He studies me in a concerned way. What does he expect from me, cartwheels? He’s just lucky that I haven’t set his girlfriend’s hair on fire.

  Yet.

  I shake my head, as if to banish the very thought. Even the most random things that pop into my head seem dangerous now.

  Danielle is holding the platter in front of me so I can serve myself. I scoop some clams onto my plate, but the sight of that claddagh ring torpedoes my appetite. I have no idea how I’m going to choke down this dinner. As I watch Danielle and Dad and Matt smiling and laughing and passing the peas, I feel as if I’ve got a hole in my heart that nobody can fill.

  My cell phone goes off in my pocket. Dad frowns. “No texting at dinner. House rule.” But Danielle puts her hand over his, her look implying he might want to cut me some slack. I’m struck by her tact. She didn’t challenge his parental authority, but she still managed to let me know she would be on my side.

  “All right, see who it is,” Dad says grudgingly. “But answer it later.”

  I take out the phone and look at the screen. It’s from Travis.

  wd u like 2 go 4 a drive 2nite?

  Why, yes, in fact. I would like that a lot.

  “I’m so glad you were free.” Travis glances at me from the wheel of his convertible. “I want to show you one of my favorite views on the planet.”

  “It’s already a beautiful view,” I respond, looking out at the grassy dunes we’re driving past. The long, early summer dusk has painted the sky a deep lavender-gray, and the wind rushing over us smells of the sea.

  “Wait,” Travis tells me. “It’s just up this next hill.” As the car starts to climb, he glances over at me again. I enjoy his eyes on me, but I wish he’d focus on the steep road. “It works best if you close your eyes, so you won’t get any hints.”

  “All right,” I say, smiling. I let my eyes close and lean back into the leather upholstery. I can hear the car’s engine, the rumble of tires over gravel. “Tell me when.”

  “Soon,” Travis says, and I feel the car downshift and roll to a stop. He cuts the ignition, and I hear his door open.

  “What are you —”

  “Coming to get you. Keep your eyes closed.” His footsteps circle around the car, and I hear him open the door on my side. He gives me his hand and helps me get out of the seat. Then he puts his arm over my shoulder. The warmth and weight of it makes me a little bit breathless, and I lean into him as he leads me a few steps away from the car. I can feel a smile spreading across my face. Take that, Rem.

  “I feel like I’m pinning a tail on the donkey,” I tell him.

  “It’s worth it,” says Travis. We stop in place. “Okay, now.”

  I open my eyes, and a gasp escapes me. We’re standing on top of a bluff overlooking Ipswich Bay. The pale curves of beaches and sandbars stretch out below, and the low-slung half-moon casts a shimmering ribbon of light across the dark water.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Travis says, and I nod. If I squint, I can make out the red and green running lights of a couple of Gloucester-bound trawlers, and the bright, steady pulse of a lighthouse.

  “Which lighthouse is that?” I ask.

  “The Annisquam Light,” he says. “One of my favorites.”

  I look at him, surprised. How many seventeen-year-old guys have a favorite lighthouse? Travis shrugs. “I did a Gloucester road race that passes two other old lighthouses, and got this idea to visit them all. There are twelve on the North Shore.”

  “That’s cool,” I say. “There’s one outside Salem,” I add, my voice catching on the name of the town.

  “Two,” he says. “Derby Wharf and Fort Pickering.” He shrugs again, grinning. “I know, kind of nerdy. I’ve always liked lighthouses. The way that they’re just always there, you know? Keeping the light on.”

  A little like you, I think. Travis still has his arm around me, and the strong, solid warmth of it over my shoulder feels natural.

  “Abby?” he says. “Can I ask you something?”

  I turn to face him, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement. “Of course,” I say.

  “Would you go to the prom with me?”

  A rush of emotions sweeps through me. There’s the thrill of surprise. There’s a sense of victory when I think of Rem, and a nagging sense of defeat when I think of the spells I cast to get Trevor to this place. And then —

  “But what about Megan?” I blurt, and then back up quickly when Travis’s face tightens. “Yes, Travis. I’d love to go to prom with you. I just meant —”

  “I know,” he says. “But I broke up with Megan. I can’t think of anybody but you. I just …” He looks at me, his eyes flooded with feeling. If I got this abiding love out of a bottle, I really did well. It feels totally real. “Did you just say you’d love to?” he asks, grinning.

  I nod. And then Travis does something that makes my heart soar. He leans down and kisses me. Right on the lips.

  They say your first kiss is the one you’ll never forget, and I can see why. It’s not just the wonderful new sensation, or the sweetness of Travis’s lips. It’s the fact that we can kiss. It won’t turn me into a witch. If anything, it makes me feel even more human. I’m not some half-magical freak. I’m a happy sixteen-year-old who’s being kissed by her prom date.

  The news travels through Ipswich High like a run through a stocking. Wherever I go, people whisper and point at me. Megan is playing the tragic victim, with puddles of eyeliner underneath her red-rimmed eyes. But Amber and especially Sloane have turned into a pair of attack dogs. They bump into me on purpose in the hallway, hissing, “Big Bird.” When I try to ignore them, Sloane grabs my arm so hard her nails cut into my skin. “Everyone hates you!” she snaps.

  “Back off!” says Kate Reeder, who’s standing behind us. “Unless you want to get written up for peer counseling.”

  Sloane practically growls at her, but she slinks away.

  “That girl is a total psycho,” says Kate. “She’s in my study hall, not that she ever shows up. She’s got senior early dismissal. So, what are you wearing to prom?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I tell her. “This all just happened.”

  Kate nods. “Want to go to the mall after school some afternoon? My sister works at one of the boutiques, and she’s a total fashionista.”

  “That sounds really fun,” I tell her. I haven’t gone shopping with a friend since Valerie moved away. Rachel was never much of a shopper, and in my invisible period, neither was I. But Kate’s offer puts me in a much better mood. So does seeing Travis at the end of the day, before he gets changed for track practice. He gives me a hug and quick kiss on the cheek. I walk away feeling the warmth of his lip
s from one end of the hall to the other.

  When I get to my locker, I see that something’s been stuck through the slot. I open it carefully. There’s a note card impaled on a fish hook.

  Q: WHAT DO BIG BIRDS EAT?

  I brace myself to find something disgusting, but that’s all there is. That’s pretty weird, but okay. I head out to my car.

  The first thing I see is the letter A, written in red lipstick across the windshield. Then I look inside. The front seat is covered with a mound of dirt, which is gross enough, but then I see something moving inside it. I stifle a scream.

  Night crawlers. The fat pink worms slither over each other, covered with dirt, and a pile of dead minnows spills over the floor. Someone’s been to the live-bait shop.

  Someone who has to be Sloane. Kate is right. She’s a psycho.

  And there she is now, in her car next to Megan and Amber. I wish they didn’t see me cringing in disgust, but they do. The three of them are laughing at what must be my horrified expression. Honking, they swoop by so close I have to jump away.

  I can feel a familiar heat rising, the spike of a headache behind my right eye. I visualize Sloane’s car bursting into flames, and have to forcibly rein in my imagination. I don’t want to kill them, just do something witchy. Like …

  I lift my hands onto my hips and stare straight at Sloane’s muffler. Blue smoke pours out with a rattle and roar, and the muffler falls onto the pavement, clanking and sending up sparks. The car draws to an abrupt halt and I hear Sloane’s shriek of frustration. It’s so satisfying I barely feel guilty for breaking my promise to Rem.

  Oops, I think, feeling victorious. You picked the wrong girl to mess with.

  It’s three days till prom night, and I’m at the upscale dress shop where Kate’s sister works. I’ve already tried on a pile of potential prom gowns in my usual color scheme — blue, cream, and silver — and nothing’s hit quite the right note. The whole school is still gossiping about my transformation from geeky wallflower to Travis Brown’s prom date. Especially since I’m still a junior. All eyes will be on me, and my newfound and still fragile self-confidence won’t allow me to walk through the doors of the Harbor Resort looking anything less than my best.

  “I liked that white crepe one,” says Kate. “It made you look —”

  “Pasty,” I tell her. “Undead.”

  “What about this?” asks Kate’s sister Hannah. She holds up a gown that my pre-witch self wouldn’t have worn on a bet: a flame-colored satin strapless with a scatter of gold bugle beads on the bodice.

  “Whoa!” Kate says. “That one is smoking.”

  “Maybe on you,” I say. Kate and Hannah are both curvy, curly-haired brunettes.

  “Try it,” says Hannah. “I just have a feeling.”

  I shrug and head back to the louvered fitting room. Its mirror is covered with discarded gowns; I ran out of hook space. The dress seems about the right size as I zip myself in.

  Holding my breath, I step into the hallway. I’m looking at three of myself, reflected in three full-length mirrors, and I don’t recognize any of them.

  Who is that stunning young woman?

  The persimmon gown fits me as if it were made with my body in mind. Swathed in bright satin, with my shoulders bare, I look magically gorgeous, my height, wild hair, and ivory skin striking instead of just pale. And there’s definitely a wider gold streak in my left eye that makes me look still more exotic.

  “Wow,” Hannah says, and Kate echoes her. “Wow!”

  I twirl barefoot in front of the mirror, feeling not just pretty, but powerful. I’ll take it.

  Hannah fits me out with a gold hair clip and dangly gold earrings, and sends us next door to a shoe store. Kate turns out to wear the same shoe size as me, and we have a blast trying on absurdly high platforms, stilettos, and jaguar-print pumps just for kicks. This is so prommy.

  “I don’t get to do this till next year,” Kate says as she teeters in backless pink platforms. “I’m living vicariously.”

  “There’ll be other juniors there.”

  “Yes,” says Kate. “With their drop-dead senior dates.”

  I can’t help smiling. Kate points at the strappy gold sandals I’m wearing.

  “Those are the ones. Are they comfortable?”

  They actually are, considering I almost never wear heels. I nod.

  “All right, then,” says Kate. “Next stop, makeovers and mani-pedis.”

  There may be something more relaxing than lying in a cushioned chair with a warm washcloth over your eyes while your feet and hands bubble in scented spa tubs, but I haven’t found it. It’s also delicious to share the fun experience with Kate. I still feel unsettled about what happened with Rachel — we’ve barely spoken since she blew up at me — and as the manicurist paints on a shimmery polish, my mind drifts to wondering whether she’s going to prom.

  I find out soon enough. After I walk Kate back to her sister’s store and pick up my magnificent gown, I run smack into Rachel and Vijay, who’s holding a tuxedo rental bag. I wonder if they’re going out now, or are still just friends. It gives me a pang that I don’t even know.

  I’ve got my hair gathered in the gold clip so it tumbles down one side of my head, showing off my nearly shoulder-length new earrings. My nails are gleaming, and I’m wearing professionally applied eye shadow, blush, and lipstick. Although I’m still in my jeans and T-shirt, I’m also test-driving my strappy gold sandals, so my feet have a chance to get used to the extra three inches.

  Rachel looks me up and down. “What happened to you?” she asks, shaking her head. Her tone sounds judgmental, and I start to bristle, but then she says, “You look sensational.”

  “You, too,” I say, very relieved. “Have you picked out your prom dress?”

  Rachel nods, blushing a little.

  “She’s going to look incredible,” says Vijay, giving Rachel’s hand a quick squeeze. So they are going out. I’m so glad. He’s really nice, and almost as smart as she is. It’s great to see Rachel looking so happy. She doesn’t seem mad at me anymore, either — maybe a bit wary, but hopefully that will fade fast. I realize how much I’ve missed being friends with her.

  I say good-bye to Rachel and Vijay — telling Rachel I’ll call her soon, and meaning it — and head to my car.

  I drive back home feeling glowy. After Sloane’s little “gift” last week, I took the car to the detailer, who managed to get out the fish smell as well as the dirt. Now the car is so clean I can smell the perfume sample sprayed on my wrist. The moon’s coming up, and I note with a pang that it’s nearly full. It looks unnaturally large and orange as it hovers above the horizon like some kind of spacecraft. The back road is deserted, and on a dark stretch between hills, my headlights sweep across a lone hitchhiker standing on the shoulder. He’s wearing a long black coat.

  My blood runs cold as I recognize him. It’s the tall, long-haired man I saw near Rem’s tugboat and then on Gallows Hill — the one Rem called the earth witch.

  I speed past him without stopping, but in the next instant, he’s appeared beside me in my passenger seat. I let out a scream of sheer terror, and practically swerve off the road.

  “Get out!” I shriek. The steering wheel jerks back under my hands, as if someone else is controlling it. My heart bangs against my rib cage as I realize:

  Someone else is.

  What is he planning to do to me? I’ll fight back. I won’t let him.

  The car’s driving faster and faster. My foot on the brake makes no difference at all. No wonder Rem is so frightened of him, I think.

  The earth witch’s low voice booms with scorn. “Forget about Rem. You’re worth twenty of him.” My throat goes dry as I realize that he can hear my thoughts.

  The moonlight illuminates his craggy features, the rust-colored streak in one inky black eye. He fixes his hypnotic gaze on me.

  “Summer solstice is coming,” he intones in that cavernous voice. “The moon will be full, and the circle
will meet to gather the storm. Salem must pay for its sins.”

  “Sins?” I echo. Why am I even responding to this creepy phantom? My heart’s pounding out of control. “If the people they hanged really were witches —”

  He cuts off my words. “They were innocent until they were murdered. Our powers took root in the afterlife. Our ancestors’ souls were so wronged that the ancient creators — what your world calls witches — granted them magical powers that would bear fruit in the next generations. Some of those families died out; some squandered their magic. And some have been gathering strength for three hundred years.”

  “What about Sarah Good’s curse? And the spell book I found?”

  He snorts. “Deranged scribblings from a cracked mind. Did you really think lighting some candles and grinding herb tea could make magic?”

  “It did,” I say stubbornly.

  He shakes his head. “You did. The book was a stage prop, an inducement to practice the craft that’s within you. None of those spells would have worked without your powers, Abigail. If someone else mixed the same powders and said the same chants, nothing would happen. You have the deep gift, the fire in your veins.” His voice rumbles like thunder deep inside a cave. “We’ve been waiting for you to step forward and join us for centuries.”

  “What if I don’t want to join you?” I hear myself saying. Why are the thoughts in my head coming out of my mouth? I didn’t want him to hear me say that.

  “You don’t have a choice,” he answers sternly. “It’s why you were sent to us, why you were given these powers. You will meet us on Gallows Hill the night of June twenty-first.”

  And he’s gone, so fast I can practically see him dissolve into the night air. The car nearly spins off the road, but I will it to straighten. He’s right. It’s my own power that makes these things happen, not words from a book.