“Ugh, I can’t believe that assface picked the spot I showed her,” Angelique grumbled, folding her arms as she leaned against the counter.
“Megan’s meeting spot? I thought it was weird that she picked a spot in Hell’s Kitchen,” I said, pouring myself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher on the table.
“It’s my spot,” she huffed. “Randi used to go up there in high school and hang out, and she showed it to me when I started getting into witchcraft. Sometimes, you know, you just want a place to set up an outdoor altar.”
“What is this spot, anyway?”
“It’s the roof of an old tenement building. You just climb up the fire escape. Easy peasy.”
“That’s trespassing!”
“Oh, okay, Little Miss Set-the-Basement-on-Fire-to-Scare-Kristin, now’s not the time to catch a case of morals,” Angelique retorted, her tone heavy with teasing sarcasm. “We all do what we need to do to get by.”
“Point taken,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“So now what?”
“Now we have our pizza.” Angelique smiled before narrowing her eyes seriously. “And then we take Megan out.”
Chapter 17
“Do you have everything?” Angelique asked me for the billionth time as we turned onto Forty-eighth Street from Ninth Avenue. The popular thoroughfare was lined with bars and restaurants, most holding lunar eclipse-themed drink specials and “moon-tinis.” We had to swerve to avoid some intoxicated smokers, who spilled onto the sidewalk, not watching where they were walking. Instead their heads were tilted back, marveling at the sky, where a rusty crescent was staining the curve of the moon. The lunar eclipse had begun.
We’d gone down Ninth Avenue instead of Tenth, in case Brendan was already waiting for me at the park on the corner of Tenth. But I didn’t have to see him to know he was there—I felt such an unconscious pull to him. I wanted to run down the block and fling myself in his arms. I wondered if he felt the same pull toward me.
“Emma, wake up!” Angelique said sharply, jolting me out of my reverie.
“What? Oh, yeah, I have everything,” I said. I patted my jeans pockets—in my left one was a copy of my spell, in case I forgot the words, and my cell phone was in my right—and felt the waistband of my jeans for the item that would really infuriate Megan. A smile crept across my face when I thought of her reaction.
“It’s nearly nine,” Angelique said, and I nodded woodenly. We walked down the dark block, barely illuminated by the dim light of the lampposts, until we reached a small metal gate between two redbrick tenement-style buildings. Angelique pushed open the gate, leading the way into the dank alleyway between the two buildings. The narrow alley was bathed in an acidic yellow light, emanating from the uncovered bulb buzzing above an unmarked gray metal door on the right, just below the fire escape. The alley was a dead end, and reeked of stale rainwater, urine and garbage, the last one likely due to the overflowing trash cans pushed against the building on the left.
“Does it always smell like this?” I asked, wrinkling my nose in disgust.
“What, don’t you want to bottle this fragrance and wear it every day?” Angelique asked innocently, and I laughed, grateful for the moment of levity—however brief it was. She raised the oversize golf umbrella she’d brought, and hooked the black handle into the bottom rung of the ladder hanging off the fire escape. With a quick but forceful tug, the ladder came barreling down with a loud bang.
I gripped the sides of the ladder—it had the texture of rusted-over metal that had been painted repeatedly with cheap, goopy paint. I set my foot on the second rung and gave Angelique an optimistic look.
“Here I go,” I said with false enthusiasm, and she just stared stoically at me, before throwing her arms around my shoulders for a completely uncharacteristic hug that caused me to stumble a few feet back. In true Angelique form, she kept the hug brief, returning to her stiff demeanor.
“Aww, Angelique,” I murmured. “What made you—”
“Ew. See, you overreact. This is why I don’t hug,” Angelique huffed, stepping back from me like I were a bear trap about to snap. I wiped the sappy look off my face and stared at her coolly.
“I’m just in shock that you actually had an emotion,” I replied, and she grinned.
“That’s better.”
I looked up at the ladder and set my Converse-covered foot back on the rung.
“I’ll talk to Brendan, I promise,” Angelique said. “I’ll plead your case and don’t worry, I won’t tell him where you are. Last thing we need is him showing up thinking he’ll save the day and instead getting struck with a lightning bolt or whatever it is Megan has in mind for him.”
Never be the same again. His health? His personality? His memory? Megan’s words echoed through my mind. I flinched at the mental picture, squeezing my eyes shut. I couldn’t imagine casting the spell and fearing for Brendan’s life. I looked back up at the ladder, adrenaline beginning to course through my veins, saturating my bloodstream.
“Yeah, um. Okay,” I said awkwardly. “Enough stalling. See ya in a bit.”
I gripped the handrails, the black paint flaking off on my palms as I pulled myself up the ladder to the first floor. Whoever lived in that apartment had a security gate, blinds that were closed and curtains drawn. It’s probably darker in there than it is in Hollister.
The metal creaked from lack of use as I gingerly stepped to the narrow staircase, which trembled as I climbed to the second floor. The fire escape shook less by the third floor, and I raced to the fourth and fifth floors with ease—too much ease. I got confident, stepping as assuredly as if I were on smooth pavement, and tripped over the uneven metal slats that made up the fire escape. My stomach hit the railing, my head pitching forward as I grabbed the iron bars, breaking the momentum of my fall. Whether it was the adrenaline coursing through my veins or my brain chiming in to protest with a “Girl, you’re crazy,” my heart definitely skipped a beat as I stared down, five floors, to the alley pavement that nearly became the last thing I ever saw.
Emma, what the hell are you doing? I tried to force myself to calm down before I had a full-on panic attack. This is the dumbest idea ever.
“That’s it. We’ll figure out another way,” I whispered, resolving to bolt out of there and forget the whole night ever happened. I gripped the handrail tightly, and my Claddagh ring—the one Brendan had given me—clinked against the metal. It was all the motivation I needed to keep going. I had to keep him safe. I hoisted myself off the railing and stood up straight, my resolve strengthening as I turned around, facing the small metal ladder bolted to the building that led to the roof.
I grabbed it and shook it experimentally, and the sound of loose metal scraping brick greeting my ears. I scrambled up the ladder as quickly as I thought was safe, and placed my palms flat against the grainy fiberglass tiles that covered the low wall surrounding the roof. Ancient, brown-shingled water towers dominated the roofs of neighboring buildings, the bulky, weatherworn structures rising and falling at different heights. Across the street, Christmas lights twinkled merrily above the packed rooftop of a shorter building, where partygoers milled about, flashes from cameras going off sporadically as the revelers took pictures of the sky. In the distance, the boxy shapes of the midtown Manhattan skyline—brightly lit office buildings splashed with sporadic flashes
of light from the blinding billboards on Broadway—sliced into the dark blue night, appearing miles away instead of a few blocks. Overlooking it all like an eye in the sky was the moon, a deep rust color bleeding into its side as the lunar eclipse continued to progress.
My eyes searched the shadowy tar-covered roof—in the center was a small redbrick structure with a door, which I assumed was for residents of the building. Roof access in Manhattan might be prized by its residents, but I couldn’t see how anyone would want access to this roof; I saw old, musty leaves and errant articles of soggy clothing that had clearly spent more than a few nights in the rain puddled in corners, and uncovered storm drains dotting the ground, just begging to trip someone. What I didn’t see was Megan.
My phone went off in my pocket, Brendan’s ringtone piercing the stillness on the rooftop. I guess Angelique told him what’s up. I pulled my phone out quickly, silencing it and setting it to vibrate before sending a quick text message.
I’m sorry. I had to. I love you.
I had just hit Send when a harsh voice echoed through the rooftop. “Do I hear a visitor?” The artificial cheerfulness in her voice sliced through me, turning my stomach as I noticed the faint glow of light flickering from behind the stairwell.
“Yeah. Do I hear a…crazy person?” I replied with the same forced friendliness that Megan had used. I wished I had come up with a better insult, but my heart had started a rapid solo drumbeat in my chest. Calm down, Emma. Play it cool—it’ll drive her crazy. Well, crazier. I cautiously crept across the roof, turning the corner behind the stairwell.
And then I gasped. Megan had a folding table set up as a makeshift altar—on it sat an elaborate pewter goblet and glass jars of varying heights that held an assortment of herbs and liquids. Some I recognized, some I didn’t—because they were gelatinous, dark masses that quivered, or murky black mists that coiled and swirled within tall, sealed jars. I didn’t know what she planned to do with them. I didn’t want to find out.
But her makeshift kitchenette from hell isn’t what surprised me.
On the black tar floor, she’d spray painted a giant red pentagram. A thin trail of black soil was sprinkled on the crimson lines, and she’d set black and red candles at each point. The candles were lit, flickering in the light wind on the roof. And Megan stood at the center, in black jeans, a black hoodie—and the blackout mask she’d worn when she attacked me at the Cloisters.
“Crazy person? Is that any way to treat your host?” Megan asked, an athame in her hands. She held the tip of the blade against her finger—not with enough pressure to break the skin, but just enough to keep the knife aloft as she twirled it slowly.
“Nice mask. Having seen your face, it’s a definite improvement,” I said casually. Angelique had clued me in to how poorly Megan reacted to such insults. But my dig didn’t hit my intended mark. Target: missed. She just laughed, grabbing the hem of the hood and pulling it back to reveal her smirking face. Her brown hair was stringy, and fell limply on her shoulders. The raccoon-style eyeliner was gone, her black eye on full display. A purple bruise, ringed in a sickly shade of yellow, dragged down her cheek from underneath her left eye. Courtesy of me.
Megan looked around, confusion etched across her thin features.
“You came alone,” she said, almost in wonderment as she craned her head a bit to scan the roof. As if Brendan were hiding behind me—he’s a lot taller than me.
“Yeah, so?” I asked, saturating every word with bravado. “Those were your little instructions, weren’t they?” I rolled my eyes as I spoke, and Megan gave me a dirty look.
“I figured you’d hide behind your friends.”
“Why? You don’t scare me,” I scoffed. But as I took in her almost maniacal appearance, I realized that yes, she did scare me. Very much so.
“I was looking forward to teaching you—and him—a lesson.” Megan pressed her lips together in a disappointed grimace as she spun her athame more rapidly, lost in her thoughts. “I had this whole scenario planned out. You would beg me to stop, he would beg—for once in his life, the ultimate player would have to swallow his pride and beg a girl for something… .” Megan jerked the knife sharply in her hands as she spoke of Brendan, and a thick drop of blood fell from her fingertips. She didn’t notice—Megan’s deep-set eyes were facing the sky as she got lost in her malicious little reverie. One where she fantasized about inflicting untold tortures on Brendan.
“Can we get on with this?” I interrupted her sharply. “I really don’t need to hear your unresolved issues about my boyfriend.”
“You should be nicer to me,” she snapped, pacing slowly, continuing to twirl her knife as another heavy drop of blood fell to the ground. Then she stopped short, looking at me thoughtfully. “You know, Kristin called me, freaking out about your big-ass fireball display. I’m a little surprised that you did that. That’s not at all what I expected from you.”
“You don’t know me,” I seethed through clenched teeth, and Megan just laughed.
“Oh, but I do. I’ve been watching you for about two months now. And I thought you were just a simpering little lovesick idiot. I didn’t think you had it in you to make Kristin experience hell on earth. Literally, hell on earth.”
Megan eyed me thoughtfully. “You know, Emma. You do hate Vince A just as much as I did when I was there. And from what Kristin says about you, you sure don’t have that many friends. Why don’t you just let me bleed you, and then we can talk about how you and I can teach everyone who’s ever put us down a lesson?”
“The way you taught my cousin a lesson?” I hissed, my fists clenched tightly. “Ashley’s never done anything to anyone.”
Megan just shrugged her thin shoulders, which stuck out sharply in her sweatshirt. “Collateral damage. I really thought I was putting the spell on you,” she explained graciously, as if that made it all better. “But seriously, Emma, you should think about it after I bleed you tonight. This doesn’t have to be so…combative. We could both be winners in this scenario.”
She paused, pointing her athame at me, and I flinched involuntarily as the blade glinted in the dim moonlight. “Imagine it—making Kristin see fireballs in the middle of Latin class. Or having the power to root that big giant date-rapey Anthony Caruso out of whatever lavish, four-star hole he’s hiding in? I could help you with that—if you help me out, of course,” Megan purred with an inviting smile.
“I’ll pass.” I rejected her offer with a disgusted grimace, and Megan pouted, her pointy nose wrinkled in an almost childlike pout.
“Well, that sucks. ’Cause you know, I’ll still get what I want from you, when I want it. We don’t have to be at each other’s throats. You and I could have been friends because, the way Kristin sounded when she called me hysterically crying, was the funniest thing I’ve heard in months.” Megan stopped pacing, throwing her head back with laughter at the memory, and I was instantly even more ashamed by my own behavior.
“You think it’s funny that your friend was scared?”
“Kristin was never my friend!” Megan scoffed with a hearty laugh. She twirled the knife around in a circle—it was dark, but the handle looked like it was simple silver as it glinted in the light from the flickering candles. There were no embellishments or grinning skulls or demon children or something su
per evil that hasn’t even been invented yet.
“Really? Seems like you and her have a lot in common.”
“Oh, please. She was so easy to manipulate. Everyone knew Kristin nearly got her fool ass kicked out of Vince A for getting you and, um, Brendan—” she stumbled over his name “—into that situation. All I had to do were a few parlor tricks to convince her magic was real. I promised her I’d put a love spell on Brendan for her, and she did whatever I wanted.”
Megan stretched out the hand holding the athame, and inspected her reflection in the blade. With a smug smile on her face, she smoothed out a strand of stringy hair, brushing it back behind her ear before looking back to me. “I heard it didn’t work.” She cackled then grinned at me as if we were childhood besties.
“Were you there when he told her off on Monday?” Megan asked, her brown eyes glinting excitedly in the candlelight. “You have to tell me, Emma. I would have paid to see the look on her face. I only heard her voice—she was so mad when she called me!”
I stared at her in shock. So that’s why Kristin approached Brendan and helped Megan out—she was promised Brendan’s affection in return. Gross.
“I heard she wasn’t exactly thrilled.”
“Well, not my fault he’s immune to love spells. Whatever. The elusive Brendan Salinger remains unattainable,” Megan said his name sarcastically. “I tried. Twice. Too bad.”
“Well, too bad for everyone except me,” I corrected her, holding up my hand and wiggling the sparkling Claddagh ring. “He’s quite attainable to me.”
She rolled her eyes beneath overplucked eyebrows. Target: missed. “That’s cute. I guess it’s a good thing that my other spells worked on him, huh? Or else you and I would never have had the pleasure of meeting. How is Brendan doing, by the way? It really is too bad that he’s not here. I wanted to see if his eyes had returned to normal.”
Spellcaster Page 30
