Spells Trouble

by Kristin Cast

  “I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was strange, listless and so soft Mercy had to lean forward to hear her.

  Mercy touched her tear-ravaged cheek. “Just try to breathe.”

  “Take it one step at a time,” Hunter added from beside Mercy. “Don’t think too far into the future.”

  Emily nodded jerkily. “Okay. Okay.”

  The deputy reached across Emily and closed the door. Mercy raised her hand. “We love you, Em. We’re here. Remember—we’re here for you!” She watched the streetlight illuminate Emily’s pale, stricken face as the deputy backed down the driveway. “She looks like a ghost.” Mercy whispered her thoughts as she and Hunter returned slowly to the porch.

  “She’s in shock,” said Hunter. “We all are.”

  “Oh, kittens! It’s just so awful.” Xena put her arms around the girls and held them close.

  “How could he be dead? Murdered?” Pain throbbed in Mercy’s temple with her heartbeat.

  “Something is wrong. Very wrong,” said Xena. “First Abigail. Then Mr. Thompson, and now Mr. Parrott.”

  Hunter was the first to pull from Xena’s embrace. “We need to go to the other trees.”

  “Do you really think this has something to do with the gates?” Mercy asked.

  Hunter’s face looked colorless in the porch light as she stared over Mercy’s shoulder out into the night. “I’m beginning to believe it does.”

  Fifteen

  “Why are people still out there? I mean, it’s almost midnight!” Mercy felt like she wanted to hit something, but settled for stomping a foot against the floor of their mom’s Camry as she and Hunter stared at the cluster of palm trees that guarded the gate to the Egyptian Underworld. The trees were actually one tree, which had, over the generations, sprouted into five. They were squatty with big, handlike fans of leaves that were sharp-tipped—and the palm was awash in light from the baseball diamonds that surrounded it, which were currently filled with teams and too damn many cheering spectators.

  “Crap!” Hunter mirrored her annoyance. “I totally forgot about the SBA.”

  “SBA? What the hell is that?”

  “Small Business Association—Mom was on the team for Siren’s Call Art Gallery. Every spring the SBA has a tournament. The winning team gets a weekend trip to the Four Seasons in Chicago with spa services and a special dinner included, remember?”

  “That’s right. Abigail thought they’d win this year.” Mercy sighed. “Now what? Should we just go out there anyway?”

  “No way! The whole town is there. If the trees really are dying and something terrifying is happening because of it the last thing we need is to call the town’s attention to the trees—any of the trees—and to us. Let’s just go on to the Japanese gate. No one will be out there.” Hunter shifted the car into reverse so she could back out of the lot.

  “Hang on. We may not need to go all the way to the tree. Look.” Mercy pointed at a group of women, all wearing pink uniforms with KINGPIN LANES blazed across their ample bosoms. They’d just passed the big clump of out-of-place-looking doum palm trees.

  “They’re wearing black armbands.” Hunter’s voice was soft.

  Mercy’s gaze took in the other teams who were all wearing black armbands. She felt tears clog her throat, but she rasped out, “Every team is.”

  “They’re honoring Mom.” Blindly, Hunter’s right hand reached out, searching, and Mercy grabbed it.

  “Abigail would like that,” Mercy said. “But that’s not what I wanted you to look at. Check out what the Kingpin Lanes team is doing.”

  “They’re sneezing,” said Hunter.

  “And covering their mouths like something stinks,” Mercy agreed.

  “Oh, no—sulfur. It’s here, too.”

  Mercy nodded. “And check out the palm leaves. The ones on the top are still green like always. But look at the lower ones.”

  Hunter squinted and held her hand above her eyes to shield them from the bright field lights. “They’re brown!”

  “The palms are sick, too.” Mercy didn’t think her stomach would ever feel normal again. “Let’s go on to the cherry tree.”

  “Okay, yeah, going.” Hunter backed out and headed across town.

  It was late enough that there was almost no traffic, but Mercy breathed a relieved sigh when Hunter turned off Main Street and cut through the quiet neighborhood until finally coming to the one-lane blacktop that skirted that side of town. They crossed the railroad tracks and then Hunter took a hard left onto a dirt farm access road that paralleled the tracks and the corn and bean fields that bordered them. They bumped along the dark stretch of packed ground until the car’s headlights illuminated a substantial tree that loomed like a phantom between the tracks and the maturing cornfield to their left.

  Hunter put the car into park and left the lights on, shifting them to bright as she said, “I’ve always liked this tree, especially when it’s blooming.”

  The weeping cherry tree had bloomed several weeks ago so tonight, instead of a curtain of delicate pink the long, slender boughs looked weirdly like skeletal fingers.

  Mercy shivered and didn’t move to leave the car. “Remember when we were super little and would come here with Abigail when she fertilized it in the spring?”

  “Yeah, we’d pretend that the boughs made a curtain.”

  Mercy nodded. “Inside, near the trunk, was our stage.”

  Hunter continued the memory. “And we’d make up dances to Gaga’s songs.”

  “‘Bad Romance’ is still my fav,” said Mercy.

  “Of course it is.” Hunter turned to face Mercy. “My fav was when we performed songs from The Sound of Music.”

  The edges of Mercy’s lips tilted up. “‘Sixteen Going on Seventeen’—you used to love that one.”

  “I had a giant crush on Liesl.”

  “Good times.” Mercy tried to sound light and carefree, but instead her voice broke and she had to blink hard to stop the tears pooling in her eyes from escaping down her cheeks.

  Hunter tugged on her hand. “Hey, we’ll have good times again.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it right now.”

  “I know. But we will. I’m sure of it,” Hunter said firmly. “Ready to go out there?”

  “No, but we have to.”

  “Yep.”

  “Yep.” Mercy sighed and let loose her sister’s hand. “Okay, let’s go check it out. Maybe it’ll be okay.”

  “It looks fine from here,” Hunter said as they got out of the car.

  Mercy didn’t say anything. She was the Green Witch, and her earth-attuned senses had been tingling since the car’s headlights had captured the tree. She approached more slowly than Hunter. Mercy drew several deep breaths and stretched her senses. Now that her grief fog had lifted, she was relieved that she could hear the corn whispering with the soft spring breeze. The corn felt fine—young and strong and growing.

  She turned her face into the wind, which was sweeping over the bean field to her right, on the other side of the railroad tracks. The air was perfumed with green, growing things. She could sense the pods that were already beginning to swell with soybeans. All was well there, too.

  Farther away, Mercy caught the scent of the eastern branch of Sugar Creek. She could smell the distant damp earth. It was normal and soothing. She drew another deep breath to steady herself. Then, resolutely, Mercy focused straight ahead at the weeping cherry that guarded the gate to the Japanese Underworld.

  “I don’t smell anything bad yet,” Hunter called over her shoulder.

  “That’s good.” Mercy picked up her pace so that the sisters reached the veil of boughs together. Mercy gently lifted the drape of willow strands with her hand as she listened with her sixth sense.

  At first everything felt fine. The pink flowers that would’ve perfumed the night just a few weeks ago had already been replaced with small, lime-colored leaves that, when fully grown, reminded her of arrowheads. The leaves were there, filling the lo
ng, graceful boughs.

  “It looks okay, right?” Hunter stared at the long, graceful branches.

  Mercy opened her mouth to agree, and to breathe a huge sigh of relief, when the wind picked up. It caught the dripping boughs so that they swayed as if to a waltz only they could hear—and as they moved together leaves rained all around them. Mercy bent and scooped up a handful. She turned so that the car’s headlights shined on her palm and the leaves curling there.

  “Shit.”

  “What?” Hunter peered at the leaves. “I don’t see any worms.”

  “There aren’t any. Well, there aren’t any in this handful of leaves. Who knows what we’ll find when we look at the trunk. But this is so damn weird.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You see these leaves that are curled and yellowish?” She touched a couple with her finger.

  “Yeah.”

  “That usually means that the tree is not getting enough water,” Mercy explained.

  Hunter’s forehead furrowed. “But we’ve had normal rain this spring. That’s why the corn and beans look so good.”

  “Yep. Now check out these other leaves.” She pointed to another cluster in her palm.

  “They’re green. They look okay.”

  “That’s how they seem, but touch one.” She lifted her hand so Hunter could press her finger to one of the green leaves, which made it fall apart and turn to moss-colored dust.

  “It’s like it’s autumn and it should be brown and brittle and falling off for the winter. Why’s it doing that?” said Hunter.

  “Cherry tree leaves stay green but get all brittle like that when the tree gets way too much water.”

  Hunter shook her head. “How’s that possible? First, it’s like it’s thirsty, and then it’s flooded. What the hell?”

  Mercy shook her head. “I have no clue. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. Come on.” Mercy squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as she tried to bolster herself against what else they might find. She fished her cell phone from the boho bag she always slung over her shoulder and flipped on its flashlight.

  Hunter also pulled her phone from her pocket and turned on its light.

  Mercy parted the curtain-like boughs and the girls stepped inside the embrace of the tree.

  “I don’t smell anything, do you?” Hunter sounded breathless.

  “Nope. Not yet.”

  Mercy led her sister to the trunk of the tree. The bark of the cherry tree wasn’t rough like the other four sentinels. Mercy had always loved its smooth, almost velvety texture. She went to the tree and pressed her palm against it, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

  The first thing she felt was completely normal—it was the breathing of the tree. Mercy felt the inhale and exhale against her skin in the stirring of air and a slight change of temperature. She was beginning to relax when nausea consumed her. It cramped her stomach and made her legs go weak—so weak that she suddenly dropped to her knees.

  “Mag! What is it?” Hunter crouched beside her.

  “She’s sick. She feels awful—like that time we went to Mexico with Abigail and we got the pukes from the water. Ugh, it’s terrible.” Mercy took her hand from the ailing tree and leaned forward, pressing her palms against the dirt at the base of the trunk, afraid she was going to actually throw up.

  And worms writhed under her hands.

  “Freya! Bloody buggering hell! That’s so disgusting.” She wiped her hands against her jeans as she frantically skittered backward on her knees.

  Hunter shined her light down and shuddered. “They’re everywhere!”

  Mercy stood and kept backing away. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay here. It’s sick. It feels—it feels. H, I’m gonna puke!” She rushed through the dangling boughs and staggered until she bent at the waist and heaved bile and tea all over the dirt road.

  “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not you. It’s the tree.” Hunter soothed as she held Mercy’s hair back. “Tell yourself that. Remember? Mom always said you had to remain separate from the plants and the earth and your green stuff, even as you listened to them.”

  Mercy spat into the dirt and nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. She handed Hunter her purse. “C-could you find the bottle of w-water in there for me?” Her voice trembled with her body and her mouth filled with bile as she tried not to puke again.

  “Here, Mag.” Her sister broke the seal on the bottle and handed it to her. “Rinse out your mouth before you take a drink.”

  Mercy did as she was told and then unbent slowly. “Sod it! I hate to puke!”

  “Breathe with me, okay?”

  She nodded and matched her sister’s breathing until the horrible sick feeling left her. “Thanks,” Mercy said. “I’m okay now.”

  The two of them turned to stare back at the tree.

  “They’re all sick, aren’t they?” Hunter spoke softly, almost as if she didn’t want the tree to hear.

  Mercy took another drink of water and then nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think we need to cross the caution tape by the olive tree to be sure. The others are sick. That one has to be, too.”

  Hunter began to pace. “But why? They’ve been healthy for generations—literally. Why now? What’s made this happen? What’s different?” Before Mercy could say anything Hunter continued, “Do you have a baggie or anything like that in that giant purse of yours?”

  “Uh, yeah. I keep one of those compostable green baggies in there for when I wear those dangly turquoise earrings that get too heavy. Why?”

  Hunter searched through Mercy’s purse until she found the baggie. “Got it! I’m going to go gather more of those dead leaves. You stay here. I don’t want you to get sick again. Hang on. BRB.” She hurried to the cherry tree and ducked inside its weeping boughs.

  Mercy stared after Hunter, her mind whirring as it circled around and around, echoing her sister’s words. Why now? What’s changed? How could trees that have been healthy and thrived for generations suddenly sicken? Why now? What’s changed?

  “Oh, Tyr! This is so damn gross!”

  Hunter’s words drifted to her on the wind like a gift. Her sister reappeared as she rubbed her forefinger and thumb across the amulet that symbolized her god, Tyr, and Mercy felt a jolt of electric understanding.

  He’s what’s different! Tyr, thought Mercy. No Goode witch in our history has ever chosen a god to follow—never until now—and now the trees are infested with parasites and dying.

  The thought made Mercy dizzy. She wanted to shout down the words that whispered through her mind.

  “Hey, are you still feeling sick?” Hunter hurried to her side.

  Mercy nodded.

  Hunter hooked her arm through Mercy’s. “Let’s get in the car.” Hunter opened the passenger’s door for her sister and helped her inside before climbing in behind the wheel. Then she turned in her seat to face Mercy. “We have to do something. Now. Like, tonight. A spell—maybe something protective? I dunno. Xena will help us figure it out.” Hunter’s words kept rolling from her, not giving Mercy a chance to speak. “Wait, no. How about a ritual? Like a repeat of the Beltane Ritual. You know, to make them all stronger. We could start here, and then—”

  “You mean redo the ritual that killed Mom? Bloody hell, Hunter, think! It’s not like you to be so impulsive—so blind.”

  “The world might be dissolving around us!” Hunter picked frantically at her nonexistent thumbnail, making it bleed. “Nothing is like me anymore. Nothing is like you anymore, either. This nightmare is our new norm, and we have to stop it.”

  “Which is why we have to be extra careful,” Mercy insisted. “H, we have to figure out what’s really gone wrong. We can’t just throw spells and rituals at the trees. What if we choose wrong? What if we make it worse or even let another monster loose?”

  Hunter breathed out a long sigh that sounded like a sob. “Okay. Okay. I hear you.” She shook herself like a cat coming in out of the rain. “But we can’t just sit around talking and researchi
ng. Mag, we have to act.”

  “I know. I’m not saying we do nothing. All I’m saying is that we have to be smart and careful.”

  Hunter sat up straighter. “I have an idea! Tomorrow I’ll go to that big nursery in Champaign.”

  Mercy nodded. “World of Blooms.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. I’ll take leaves from the trees and even a sample of those worms.” She shuddered. “Maybe there’s something mundane we can do to make them better.”

  “And while you’re doing that Xena and I will be going through the old grimoires to research what kind of magic we need to use,” Mercy said.

  “Yes. That’s our plan. Okay?”

  “Okay. That means no school tomorrow for us.” She chewed her lip and then added, “And we have to be there for Em.”

  “I wonder what happened to her dad?” Hunter mused as she started the car and began backing carefully to the blacktop.

  “I don’t know, H. Everything feels so wrong. I can’t even.”

  “I know, Mag. I know.” Hunter’s bloody thumb rubbed Tyr’s amulet.

  Silently, they drove through town—each girl lost in her own thoughts. Mercy stared out the window, overwhelmed by a terrible foreboding that had her feeling like she might puke again. Could Hunter’s devotion to a god and not a goddess be the match that will light the fire that will burn down the gates? She didn’t want to believe it, but the more the idea circled around her mind, the more it made sense in a world that had suddenly turned dark and chaotic and strange.

  Sixteen

  Mercy hovered between awake and asleep—and for a few precious moments her world felt normal. Birdsong and a gentle, corn silk–scented breeze wafted in through her open window. From the crack under her closed door the rich aromas of coffee and toast slathered with homemade strawberry jam teased her, and she imagined she heard Abigail’s Pandora station—perpetually set to her favorite singer, Tina Malia—drift up the wide stairway as the songstress’s sweet voice told tales of this world’s magic and beyond.

  “Mag! Psst! Mag! Are you awake?”

  Mercy rubbed sleep from her eyes as she came fully awake, and with consciousness also came reality. Abigail Goode was dead. The trees that kept this world safe from ancient evils were sick. Emily’s father had been killed. The world was upside down.