by Maya Gold
My whole body lurches with fright. Forget Gallows Hill, I think, gripping the wheel as I drive even faster. I’ll be at the prom.
MY HEART’S POUNDING LIKE A DRUM AS I stand in my bedroom, wearing my robe. The prom starts at seven, but Travis is picking me up at six thirty. I’ve left myself plenty of time to get ready, but everything’s taking me longer than I think it should. I’m not used to arranging my unruly hair with a jewelry clip, and the whole new palette of blush and eye shadow I bought from the make-over specialist looks so extreme in my mirror that I wipe it off and redo it three times.
There are other things making me anxious as well, but I’m not going to let them take over my mind. June 21 is Ipswich High prom night. That’s all it is. There is no secret circle taking place on Gallows Hill, no dark magic gathering under a rising full moon. I’m just nervous because I’ve got a really hot date. I’m going with Travis, my crush. End of story.
I take the gown off its hook on the back of my closet door. I run my hand over the flame-colored satin, admiring the beadwork. It is truly gorgeous, but it looks like it belongs on Dancing with the Stars, not on me. The Abigail Silva who lurked in the background for so many years isn’t quite gone from my psyche. Can I really pull this off? For one anxious moment I think about calling up Travis and telling him this was a giant mistake. He’s not really in love with me; he just thinks he is since he’s under a spell from a love potion I mixed with my fire-witch powers.
Yeah, right. That’ll land me a stretch in the loony bin. I’ve chosen this path, I’ve embarked, and there’s nothing to do but be bold and hold on for the ride.
I pull the dress over my head and zip it up, holding my breath as it nips in my waist and hugs my torso, giving me curves where I’ve never had them. Then I put on my long dangly earrings, slip on my gold high-heeled sandals, and take a step back for the full effect.
The girl who stares back from the mirror is unrecognizable, spellbinding. So why do I still feel like awkward old me?
I wonder if celebrities get this feeling as they’re about to step out of a limo and walk the red carpet. I wonder if something inside them thinks: Who am I kidding? It’s all just a costume.
I wish I could cast a spell to calm myself down. But the last thing I want to be doing tonight is anything magical. I’m keeping my distance from Gallows Hill, and the whole town of Salem.
Just then I hear the sound of a car pulling up at the curb. I hurry to the window, pull back my curtain, and watch as Travis bends toward his convertible’s mirror to check his hair. As he gets out, he straightens the jacket of his rented tuxedo, adjusting the hem and rechecking his cuff links. This little bit of self-consciousness makes me smile and relax. He may be the idol of Ipswich High School, but he’s still just a guy wondering whether he looks all right.
A moment later, I hear the doorbell ring and Dad pulling open the door.
“Abby!” Dad calls up the stairs. “Your date’s here!”
Words I never would have imagined I’d hear.
“I’m coming,” I call back. I take a deep breath and step out of my room. When I get to the top of the stairs, I see Travis framed in the doorway, looking handsomer than ever in his classic tuxedo and bow tie. I stare down at him as he stares up at me, and the look on his face is pure adoration.
“Whoa!” he breathes. Dad turns to look at me, too, and I see something in his eyes I’ve never seen before: pride. It’s as if he just noticed me for the first time.
Danielle, at his side, exclaims, “Don’t you look beautiful! Doesn’t she, Joe?”
“Yes, she does,” says Dad, his voice full of wonder and yearning. I know without having to ask that he’s thinking of Mom, how much she would have loved being here for this moment, or maybe it’s how much I look like her.
I start down the steps, holding my long skirt up. I’m feeling a little like royalty and more than a little like someone who might trip and fall any minute. Travis turns to my dad and shakes hands. Dad introduces Danielle, and we stand in a square, a bit awkwardly, new couple facing new couple.
“Nice car,” says Dad. “That’s a real classic.”
“Thanks,” Travis says, and then adds, “I’ll drive carefully, sir.”
That “sir” is so sweet and old-fashioned, I can’t help but smile.
“You better,” says Dad. “Precious cargo.”
Travis nods and says, “Abby’s amazing.” He sounds so sincere I feel newly guilty for putting a spell on him. He really is a nice guy. And he’s got a terrific smile. I can feel my blush rising, and wonder if it can be seen through the rouge I’ve brushed on. I might be as red as an apple.
“Do you have a jacket or something?” Travis asks me. “It’s a nice night, but you might get cold with the top down. Or I could put it up, so your hair won’t get messed up. Whatever you’d like.”
He’s so eager to please me. Would Rem have thought of those details? Doubtful. He’d probably want us to go to the prom in a kayak.
“Top down sounds great,” I say. “Thanks.”
I can picture us driving along the coast road with the wind in our hair and the sky overhead, and it sounds like heaven. But I hadn’t thought of a jacket. I rack my brains. What in the world do I own that won’t look completely insane with an orange strapless prom gown? I’ve got several hoodies, a pea coat, and a jean jacket. No, no, and no.
Danielle sees my look of distress and says, “I’ve got something I think might be perfect.” She goes to the closet and takes out an elegant shawl, a coppery raw silk that will go just as well with my gown as it does with her auburn hair. “How about this?” she offers. “I’ve had it dry-cleaned, so it won’t smell like smoke.”
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe. “Is that really all right?”
“I’d be delighted,” Danielle says. She actually sounds like she means it, which makes it feel almost all right that she’s keeping clothes in our closet. She drapes the shawl over my shoulders, adjusting it. “Now can we take some pictures? You’re such a cute couple.”
You know what? We are. So why does my heart feel so hollow as we stand and pose side by side?
I brush the feeling away, flashing a smile as Dad frames us both with his camera. This is my dream night. And I’m going to enjoy every minute, so there.
The prom’s theme is “Enchanted Evening,” and it’s being held at the Beverly Harbor Resort, a seaside hotel with a wraparound deck overlooking the ocean. Salem is just a few miles away, on the opposite side of the bay, but this feels like a different world. The hotel is all modern and sleek, and the low-slanting sun makes its windows look like burnished gold. It’s the longest twilight of the year, with a few wisps of clouds striping the sky over rippling white dunes and a sea filled with glittering highlights. Enchanted evening, indeed.
Travis gets out of the car and circles around it to open my door. His walk is so easy and confident, and he looks like a movie star in that tuxedo. He offers his hand as I rise, and I take it gratefully. With my new heels on, we’re practically eye to eye.
“You look awesome,” he says, and I can’t help smiling. All the years I’ve had a long-distance crush on this guy, and he’s standing inches away from me, telling me that I look awesome. I soak it in, trying to push away any stray thoughts about Gallows Hill, spell books, or potions.
“You, too, Travis. Thanks.” But he doesn’t let go of my hand. He just stands there staring at me like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “What is it?”
“Your eyes. I never noticed that they were two colors.”
I try to smile, feeling self-conscious. That’s the sign, Rem had told me. “My brother says they look like marbles.”
“Your brother is nuts,” he says, grinning. “They look like they have stars in them. Actual stars. Are you ready?”
I nod, and we set out for the hotel arm in arm. I can see couples in formal wear out on the deck, and a few other cars pulling in, but they fade into the background. It’s all about me and my date.
No wonder I seem to have stars in my eyes.
I take a deep breath as we cross the parking lot. I can smell salt air and wild beach roses, the perfume of summer. The breakers roll up on the shore in their ancient rhythm, and the sky shimmers.
When we reach the entry, a doorman pulls open the heavy glass door, smiling at us. The hotel lobby is covered with twinkle lights. Everything’s perfect … or nearly. As I take a step over the threshold, I have a sudden vision of furniture flying, shrieks, chaos. It hits with the sudden force of one of my spike headaches, stabbing into my brain like an ice pick.
And then it’s gone, so suddenly it seems unreal. I shake it off with a shiver, clutching Travis’s hand as we go inside.
Unfortunately, the first person I see, after we cross the lobby and enter the ballroom, is Megan. She’s wearing a shell-pink sheath that fits her like a slice of ham. With her dark hair piled high on her head and cream-colored stilettos, she looks very much like a Kardashian sister. But my eyes go right to her throat. She’s wearing the crystal pendant I sold her at Spiral Visions, but she’s hung the heart upside down.
“Like it, Abby?” she says. “You’re the reason I decided to wear it upside down. Because some people have it all upside down. Hi, Travis.”
And off she sweeps, with some muscle-bound guy from the football team who she’s commandeered as her date.
Travis only shakes his head, as if Megan is just embarrassing herself, and takes my elbow as we keep walking.
Amber and Sloane are here, too, in floral-print mermaid gowns they must have bought at the same clearance sale. Both of them glare at me like I’m a criminal. From the way their heads lean together, I’m certain they’re plotting some kind of revenge.
Well, let them. If push comes to shove, I’m sure I can top it.
The dance floor is already crowded. There’s a live band playing a loud rock song on the opposite side of the room, and a mirror ball twirling above. Seniors I’ve never seen outside of gym class or Spanish are dancing in pairs, dressed in rented tuxedos and gowns from the mall. There are enough sequins to gild a parade float. I spot Rachel, in a demure but flattering royal blue gown, dancing with Vijay, whose glasses are crooked. I wave, but they don’t see me. They look like they’re having a wonderful time.
Several teachers are acting as chaperones, and they’re dressed up, too, which is very bizarre to see. Ms. Baptiste wears a maroon velvet evening gown. My geeky biology teacher, Dr. Aran, is stationed right next to the punch bowl, wearing a lavender tux that he probably bought for his own prom sometime in the ’80s. I wonder if he had a mullet.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Travis asks. The music is so loud he’s practically shouting.
I nod and yell back to him, “Thanks.”
He gets into the punch bowl line next to some of his track team buddies, and I watch them jostle and tease, trading good-natured jokes about bow ties and cummerbunds. People are filling their plates at a long buffet table along one wall, heaped with platters of veggies and dip, cheese and crackers, and big chafing dishes of fried ravioli and buffalo wings. I’m suddenly hungry. I was too nervous to touch Danielle’s dinner.
A few white-jacketed waiters circulate, passing trays of miniature quiches, crab cakes, and spring rolls. One of the waiters brushes against my shoulder. I reach for a crab cake and nearly choke: the cater-waiter is Rem!
“You have to get out of here, now,” he hisses. “They’re here.”
“Who?” I say. I’m so stunned to see him it’s hard to form words. “Why are you here?”
“I had to warn you. Please, Abby. You need to get out now, before it’s too late.”
Why does he have to look at me like that? Those eyes sear right into my soul. The connection between us is like being hit by heat lightning.
Ms. Baptiste takes a crab cake from Rem’s tray. Another waitstaffer, a stocky woman with dark, heavy hair twisted into a bun, steps forward, shooting Rem a fierce look of warning. I guess she’s his boss, but there seems to be something more going on. The back of my neck prickles, but I decide to ignore it — and Rem.
Or try to, at least. Knowing that he’s in the same room makes it all but impossible to think of anything else. My heart’s beating faster than usual, and I’m hugely relieved when Travis comes back with two punch cups. I gulp mine down quickly and ask him if he’d like to dance.
“Sure,” he grins. “That’s what we’re here for, right?” He sets our punch cups aside and walks me out onto the dance floor.
But dancing is the absolute wrong way to clear my head. All I can think of is doing the Dougie with Rem, ankle-deep in the water of our secret cove, and that sublime moment when he picked me up in his arms. Travis is cute and sweet, and he couldn’t be any more doting — I made sure of that — but that one lightning-bolt look between me and Rem is all it takes for me to realize that I’ve been kidding myself. I could no more forget about him than I could forget my own name. He’s a part of me. I’m a part of him. It’s that simple.
And he didn’t reject me, not really. Whatever Rem did to push me away was meant to keep me from succumbing to the witch’s kiss, when the earth witch was pulling his strings like a puppet. He did it because he loves me, and what did I do? Turned around and used magic to gain another boy’s love.
Travis holds me tighter against his chest, and I feel like a traitor. We’re moving closer and closer to the bandstand, as if something is drawing us in that direction. I feel an electrical crackle around me. The air starts to shimmer, and I feel light-headed. Is it from dancing with Travis, or knowing that Rem’s right across the room?
I close my eyes, hoping to get lost in the music and shake off this dizzy uneasiness. When I open my eyes again, we’ve reached the edge of the stage. For the first time, I have a clear view of the band — in fact, I’m looking right at the drummer. He’s louche and tattooed, with a scarf tied around his lank hair and one dangling earring. As he moves his limbs, rattling hi-hats and brushing the snare drum, the stage lights catch a telltale streak of red in his left eye.
My breath seems to freeze in my lungs.
It’s the earth witch.
He’s looking at me with a sardonic smirk, and I hear his deep voice echo inside my head: I told you we’d see you tonight.
Now I’m really terrified. The prom is infested with witches! If he’s earth, Rem’s water, and I’m fire, the only branch missing is air … on the full-moon solstice night when it’s been prophesied that all four elements will come together to take vengeance on Salem. I didn’t go to Gallows Hill, but it came to me.
No wonder Rem told me I had to get out.
My head’s pounding as if it’s about to explode. I feel dizzy and feverish, and I’m breaking out in a sweat.
“I’ve got to go to the ladies’ room,” I tell Travis, and bolt from the crowded dance floor.
I zigzag between moving bodies, trying to force my way through. As I pass the buffet table, I overhear the catering captain chastising Rem.
“You’re not the only water witch here,” she snaps. “We can manage without you. It’s her we need. Fire.” She meets my eye, and I realize one of her dark eyes is dappled with green. And that I have seen her before: She’s that other inspector from the RMV. The one Rem said had sent me to Salem. I even remember her name: Esperanza. And, of course, she’s also a witch.
This is getting worse every minute. If I had my car keys, I’d speed away like a bullet. But I came in Travis’s car, so I’m trapped. There’s nothing outside except sand dunes and pavement. There’s no place to hide. I stumble into the ladies’ room just off the lobby.
It’s a suite, with brocade benches and a mirrored wall in the powder room. Before I can catch my breath, I spot three figures in the mirror: Megan, Amber, and Sloane. They’ve been waiting behind the door. I turn around to dash back out, but Amber and Sloane each grab one of my arms, twisting them savagely behind my back so that any move I make will hurt me. I let out a scream but the
music outside is much louder.
Megan steps forward. “You think you can just help yourself to my boyfriend?” she asks, reaching into her purse for a can of black spray paint. She presses the nozzle, zigzagging it over my gown. I try to jerk away but it’s no use — the girls are holding me firmly. In seconds, my gown is splattered with black paint and I’m too stunned to shout or cry.
“Let’s see how Travis likes your dress now,” Megan hisses.
“Oh, she looks so cute,” sneers Amber.
“Smoking,” says Sloane.
Megan finishes spraying and drops the can into the trash. I see something gleam in the mirror, and realize that Sloane is holding a pair of scissors. I feel a hot surge of panic. Is she going to stab me?
“Somebody needs a new haircut,” Sloane sneers, removing my hair clip and tossing it onto the floor. She grabs hold of a clump of my hair and slices it close to my scalp. I don’t dare to struggle; the scissors are too close to my face. She lops off several more chunks at odd angles, dropping them onto the carpet. Her beady eyes gleam. I want to throw up.
“You look hideous,” Megan tells me. “It suits you.”
“Enjoy the prom, loser!” Amber shrieks in shrill tones, and the three of them rush from the bathroom in fits of hysterical laughter.
The whole thing happened so fast that I had no time to react. Now I look at myself in the mirror and burst into sobs. My hair is in uneven tufts and my whole scalp is burning. I look like a freak show. There’s paint on my arms and my gown is graffitied with large black splotches.
As the tears fall and I hug myself in horror, I wonder: How could I let Megan do this to me? Why didn’t I torch her pink prom gown, set fire to her hair?
So much for my being a powerful witch. When it comes right down to the crunch, I’m nothing but a scared teenage girl. For the first time, I actually wish that I had crossed over, so I could come into my full fiery strength.
