Cackles and Cauldrons

by Sarina Dorie

  “It’s an emergency.” Ben pushed his red hair out of his eyes. “We need you to do the Heimlich maneuver. Or some other kind of Morty magic.”

  Hailey punched him in the shoulder. “I already told you that isn’t going to work.”

  I eyed my class. Probably I would get in trouble if I left them unattended. “What kind of emergency?”

  “Balthasar is up on the roof. Somehow he got ahold of all the cell phones and electronics the security staff confiscated. He taped them all over himself and turned them on so no one can go near him.”

  Of course he would. He was clever when he wanted to be.

  Ben grabbed me by the sleeve. “Coach Kutchi tried to fly up there with her broom, but her magic malfunctions when she’s near electronics, and she crashed into a wall. The principal is yelling at him to come down, but that isn’t helping. Mr. Khaba’s on the roof, trying to talk to him, but he can’t get close enough to grab him. The electronics drain him. Balthasar won’t listen to anyone.”

  “He’s going to jump,” Hailey said.

  The class began to talk excitedly. Someone grabbed Ben, and students peppered him with questions.

  Hailey leaned in closer. “Miss Lawrence, you have to do something. You’re the only one who can help.”

  As much as I wanted to help a hurting student, I didn’t know where to begin. “Why would you think I’m going to be able to help? Balthasar doesn’t listen to me. He tried to bury me in snow the other day.”

  “You’re the only teacher who can get near enough to him to grab him from the ledge.” She gave me a meaningful look.

  I was the only teacher who could get near him because of the electricity. But even if I could reach him, that didn’t mean he’d want to come down. If I grabbed him and he jumped, he would take me with him. There was no Felix Thatch on campus to catch me in a magical net if I fell either.

  “Get Miss Bloodmire,” I said. “Tell her I might need her help on the roof.”

  Vega was Plan B if I failed.

  I turned to my class. “Everyone stay here and do your assignment. I need to attend to something else right now.”

  “Can we watch?” someone asked.

  “No. Stay here,” I repeated. I did not want an audience.

  Plan A was to find someone Balthasar would listen to. The only person Balthasar had any respect for was his sister. It was risky, on two accounts. He already was an unpredictable delinquent. If she hadn’t died, he wouldn’t have been set off in the first place. If I resurrected her, it might push him over the edge—figuratively and literally.

  If I resurrected Camelia and got her on the roof, I would be outing myself.

  Khaba had asked me to lie low and not to get myself in any more trouble, but I had a feeling I was about to dig myself deeper.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Death by Electronics

  With the latest visit to the crypt still fresh in my mind from the night before, I remembered where the new booby traps lay in wait along the way. I found the crypt easily. Camelia remained where I had last seen her.

  Resurrecting Rudy hadn’t worked before. It hadn’t occurred to me as I’d thought up this plan that this might not work. I might be wasting valuable time when I could have been on the roof, helping calm Balthasar from his suicide attempt.

  I placed my hands on Camelia’s. Nothing happened. Maybe I’d resurrected Brogan for too long and lost my ability. Or could it be because it was daylight?

  Camelia’s eyes fluttered open. She gasped, seeing the room that housed us. Her gaze flickered to me with horror. “You’re Clarissa Lawrence, aren’t you? The art teacher? Oh, Nimue! That means I’m dead, aren’t I? I don’t want to be dead.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  She recoiled away from me.

  I held fast to her hand. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Camelia trembled like a scared rabbit. “She said she was leaving me as a gift for Clarissa Lawrence. To make your life miserable. She would start with me and move on to your students next.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “She called herself the Princess of Lies and Truth.”

  I wanted to question Camelia further, but I could only deal with one emergency at a time. “Do you feel like you can sit up?” I asked. “I need to talk to you.”

  She nodded, or tried to, but her head flopped around. Her eyes were wide with fear. Her gaze flickered over to Rudy on the table, a grotesque smile plastered on his face. It probably would have been better if he’d been invisible for her sake.

  I squeezed Camelia’s hand, trying to get her attention. “I need you to listen to me and do as I say because we haven’t got a lot of time. Your brother is in danger.”

  “From that evil woman?” She tried to sit up too quickly and smacked her head against the top of the alcove.

  “No. Well, probably not. It’s a different kind of danger.”

  “You mean he’s up to his usual mischief?” Camelia asked.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘mischief.’”

  She might have looked broken, but her eyes were alert. Now that we were on the topic of her brother, her fear was gone, replaced by determination.

  I helped her out of the shelf so she wouldn’t smack into the low ceiling in her compartment. Her head leaned to one side unnaturally. She wasn’t able to keep her head upright.

  “When isn’t he in trouble?” She tried to pull her hand out of mine. “He’s always trying to get attention somehow.”

  “Not trouble. Danger.” I held on to her hand. “You can’t let go of me, or else the spell to keep you awake will be broken. You’re dead, and I’ve resurrected you to help your brother. He’s on the roof, threatening to jump.”

  Her eyes crinkled up in concern. “What? No! Why?”

  “He went off the deep end after he heard you died. I think you’re the only person who can talk him off the roof.” And possibly help me remove all the cell phones from his person. “Are you willing to come with me to save him?”

  “Yes.”

  A scuff of footsteps sounded behind me. I turned, finding a hunched-over elderly man with a long beard and a briefcase. The staff that he leaned on glowed.

  “Well, well, what’s this?” he asked, eyeing us over the rim of his glasses. “You young ladies aren’t robbing the dead, are you?”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Healer Kohl. I’m here from the Witchkin Council to examine some bodies.” He looked me up and down. “Who are you?”

  “Staff. We have an emergency on the roof to attend to.” I pointed to Rudy’s corpse. “You can get started with that one.”

  I tugged Camelia toward the exit. The old man watched us, eyes narrowing as we passed. All things being considered, he had a right to be suspicious.

  I filled Camelia in on all that had happened with Balthasar.

  “My poor baby,” she said. “Ever since Mom and Dad died, it’s just been the two of us. I know I haven’t been a very good guardian for him.”

  “I’m sure you’ve done your best,” I said.

  “I’m always working, trying to save up for him so he can get an apprenticeship like I did. That means I’m not around a lot of the time. I took the job at Womby’s so I could be closer and help him graduate.”

  “Did you have to pay for your apprenticeship?” That wasn’t how it worked in the real world, at least, not that I knew of.

  “The first two years have to be paid in advance. If you last that long in most programs, they hire you—for dirt cheap. You have to pay for rent and supplies if your trade requires it, and then you gain pay as you earn experience. It isn’t the worst way to go.”

  “And that’s what Balthasar is going to do?”

  “If he can get his grades up and graduate, he stands a chance. But not if he stops trying.” She threw up her hands in exasperation.

  I had to squeeze her hand tig
hter to hold on.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I forgot about the contact thing. Is that how it is for necromancers? You have to touch the person?”

  “I guess. I don’t know how anyone else does it. This is sort of a secret. I could get in trouble for this.”

  “Right. The forbidden art of necromancy and all that. We were always taught in Mrs. Roberson’s classes that dead people come back all evil and want to eat your brains or hearts or something. Does Mrs. Roberson still work here?”

  “No.”

  We headed down a main hallway, passing a few loitering students. They watched Camelia with open curiosity. I wish I knew how to heal her neck like Vega would have.

  I pointed to them. “Go to class.”

  A boy I’d never had in my classes said, “The coach said we were done for the day.”

  I doubted that.

  “Just so you know, I don’t feel the need to eat you,” Camelia said. “I don’t think I instantly turned evil just because I died.”

  “I don’t think so either.”

  We passed more students. Some of them were from my class and should have been in the art room. I didn’t bother to chastise them. Instead, I took a moment to ask Camelia, “Maybe now is a bad time to ask, but do you remember what happened to you? How you died?”

  “I do. There was a voice calling me from down the hall. I thought I saw a woman wearing a white veil over her clothes, but I couldn’t tell who it was. I thought maybe it was a prank—it seemed like something my brother might pull to try to scare me. I wasn’t scared, though, just curious. Most people can’t see through the glamour I use to make myself invisible, so I suspected she would have had to be someone well-educated. A teacher maybe.

  “I shouted to the woman and asked her who she was. She didn’t answer. Instead she said, ‘I wish to be entertained. Sing to me.’

  “That sounded like the kind of self-absorbed request that a Fae would make. I was wary then. I thought about leaving her and getting Mr. Khaba, but I work as security. I’m supposed to be tough and able to protect myself and keep the school safe from malicious visitors. I cast wards around myself and tried to create a barrier between us. I used a net of light to bind her to where she was. I thought it worked too.

  “I asked the woman who she was again. She started speaking in verse. I can’t remember what she said exactly. Roses are red kind of stuff, only more morbid.”

  Chills settled over me. I’d suspected who Camelia’s killer was earlier, but now I knew. “Could you see any distinguishing details about her? Hair color? Eye color?” I asked.

  We made our way up the stairs to the roof.

  “Not really. The hall was dark, and she was too bright. With the veil over her head, she looked like a ghost.”

  Camelia and I made it up to the roof a moment later. Teachers flew through the air on brooms. A giant net had been rolled out in front of the school, students holding it in case Balthasar jumped. He wasn’t even on that part of the roof. We found him on one of the ramparts, cell phones still strapped to him.

  The principal shouted something from below, but it was too windy to hear him. I hoped the next gust of wind wouldn’t send Balthasar over the edge. Khaba stood about ten feet away.

  He stared at me open-mouthed. “Clarissa, no! Get Camelia back inside! Someone from the Witchkin Council will be here soon. He’s going to see.”

  “Too late,” I said.

  “Can you help me with my head?” Camelia asked me. “I don’t want my brother seeing me with a broken neck.”

  I stood behind her, holding her head upright on her neck.

  “Balt!” she shouted.

  He turned slowly, confusion crossing over his face. “Cami?”

  She pointed to him. “What the heck are you doing? You get down from there right now.”

  He remained where he was, wide-eyed. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Do you really think you can pull off shit like this and not make me roll over in my grave?”

  He grinned. “You rose to save me?”

  “That’s right. Wipe that grin off your face, and get over here.”

  Camelia stepped forward, and I walked with her. She held a hand out to her brother and helped him down. Once he was off the ledge, he hugged her. “I missed you so much.”

  “Sure you did. You missed me so much you wanted to kill yourself to hang out with me.”

  “Yeah.” He looked up at her and then to me behind her. “Why is Miss Lawrence holding your hair like that?”

  My arms were seriously getting tired.

  “Someone broke my neck. She’s helping me so I look normal.”

  “With a face like that, it’s going to take more than that to look normal.” He laughed, but tears filled his eyes.

  She punched him in the shoulder. “Shut up, dork brain.”

  He punched her back. “Hailey told me a dork is a whale penis. You just called me a whale penis brain. Is that what you actually meant?”

  “Pretty much.” She hugged him again.

  Khaba called out from behind us. “Balthasar Llewelyn, remove the cell phones from yourself.”

  “I’ll do what I want when I want,” Balthasar yelled back.

  Camelia shoved him. “Are you kidding me? Do you want them to kick you out? Do you know how hard I worked so you can get an apprenticeship? You’re going to throw it all away and get yourself killed—or worse—expelled?”

  He laughed, and she did too. I took it they enjoyed their Harry Potter as much as I did.

  He ran a hand through his thick mop of hair. “I guess it is kind of lame.”

  “You need to get your act together. That’s my dying wish. You need to live because I can’t.”

  His voice grew high and whiny, reminding me of a child half his age. “I don’t want to live if you aren’t here. I don’t have anyone else.”

  “You’re going to have to try. Make friends. Surround yourself with people who care about you. Like Miss Lawrence. She was kind enough to bring me here to talk to you. And do you know why? Because she cares about you.”

  He eyed me over his sister’s shoulder. “I guess.”

  “No. Not ‘I guess.’ You know people who love you. It’s about time you started showing it in return. Understand?”

  He nodded.

  “Remove all those phones from your body like Mr. Khaba asked. If you don’t, my last deed in the afterlife is going to be hauling you to the detention room myself and kicking your butt the whole way there.”

  He laughed at that. He tried pulling the packing tape off his clothes but he’d secured the phones to him too well. He ended up removing his jacket and slacks, tolerating the December chill relatively well in his boxers and button-up shirt. Maybe it was because he was an Elementia, and winter was his affinity.

  “I love you, even if you’re a butthead,” Camelia said.

  “I love you, even if you’re a wicked older sister.”

  “Shut up!”

  “No, you shut up!”

  They shoved each other playfully. I couldn’t keep a firm grip on Camelia’s head as it flopped around.

  Khaba waited nearby, avoiding the pile of cell phones. “Are you ready to go downstairs?” he asked.

  “I guess.” Balthasar glanced over his shoulder at his sister. Khaba tried to tug him away, but he ran to her and embraced her one last time.

  “Listen to Mr. Khaba,” Camelia said. “And Mr. Thatch and Miss Lawrence. They’re good people. They’ll help you through this.” She kissed his head.

  My arms were tired of holding on to Camelia’s head. I waited until Balthasar was out of view before I switched to holding her hand so he wouldn’t see her head flop over.

  “I think it’s time we got you downstairs too,” I said.

  “What if I refuse to go back to sleep?” Her voice took on a snotty tone that reminded me of her brother. “What if I run away?”

  “I’ll let go
of your hand, and you’ll be dead. Someone else will carry you back down. Also, you’ll probably start to rot out here.”

  Grudgingly, she let me lead her to the stairwell. “Being dead sucks.”

  For the first time, I recognized the similarity in facial expressions between siblings.

  “I wish there was another way,” I said. My heart was heavy with the burden of this job, walking the reluctant dead to their graves. “Do you have any other unfinished business before I put you to rest?”

  We entered the stairwell and descended into the gloom.

  Finally she said, “I would really like to write Mr. Thatch a letter to say goodbye.”

  I hesitated. “Yeah, okay.” It wasn’t that I minded she had a crush on him. It was that he would know what I’d done if she wrote him a letter. “Is there any way you could write this letter pretending it is a premortem letter? Mr. Thatch doesn’t know about, well, about this gift I have.”

  “A gift or a curse?” She grinned.

  “Both.”

  I should have wondered where Camelia’s room was sooner. It hadn’t occurred to me she’d be in Derrick’s old room. She’d stacked up his canvases in one corner and shoved his trunk of paints next to them. I studied the paintings, keeping one hand on her as she gathered up writing supplies. Most of the paintings were of me, though unfinished. I’d seen them before. When Derrick had returned to Womby’s after his disappearance, he’d slashed his paintings. I’d thought someone else had at the time. These must have been the ones that had survived.

  “Were you friends with the former invisible man?” she asked. “He was a good artist.”

  “Yes. We were friends.” Upon closer examination, I could see one of the paintings was stitched together, the slash mended. If only our friendship could have been fixed so easily.

  “Did you sew these?” I asked.

  Camelia took out a piece of notebook paper from her bag and sat down on the bed next to the coffee table. “No. They were like that when I arrived. I was glad I got this room. It was way cooler than the other one.”

  It was nice Derrick’s room had gone to someone who appreciated his talent.

  I examined the other paintings, noticing how they had been sewn as well. Had the brownies fixed these or someone else? Part of me wanted to believe Derrick had returned and fixed the portraits of me as a kind of peace offering between us.