Clearwater Witches Boxset

by Madeline Freeman

  I hold my hands up. “Um, no you’re not.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  Lexie releases an exasperated sigh. “Isn’t it obvious? She wants to do it herself.”

  Bridget edges closer to us. “She is the best at glamors,” she admits tentatively. She meets my eyes, a flash of expectation crossing her face. “I’m kind of curious what she can do with the crystal’s help.”

  Crystal’s lips twitch for a moment before she holds the quartz out. I hesitate before reaching for it. I haven’t the foggiest idea how to cast a glamor spell. Trying to do one for the first time with an audience seems like a recipe for disaster. But what option do I have? If I refuse or insist Crystal do it for me, Bridget and Lexie would be suspicious.

  I close my fingers around the stone and a spasm crosses Crystal’s face when I pull it from her hand. An emotion sparks through me: reluctance. She doesn’t want to give it over, but she’s trying to prove me wrong about the crystal, about its effect on her.

  The overwhelming emotions that accompanied my touching the crystal yesterday don’t flood through me today and I’m relieved. Maybe Crystal’s right and there’s nothing wrong with the stone. Maybe yesterday was just a fluke. The energy in the quartz thrums through my hand, but no sinister feelings.

  Now for the hard part.

  I study the dresses worn by the girls and imagine something in the same style for myself. When Crystal taught me how to light a candle, she directed me to imagine a flame and touch that imaginary flame to the real life candle. I hope casting a glamor is a similar process. In my mind’s eye, I call up the image of a dress like theirs, then I see myself wearing it—along with leggings like Lexie’s and the same kind of shoes they all have on.

  I close my eyes. Warmth floods over my body, starting at my head and ending at the tips of my toes.

  Bridget squeals and claps her hands together. I open my eyes and look down. No longer do I wear the jeans-and-sweater combo—I’m in a blue-and-white baby doll dress with cap sleeves, shimmery white leggings, and blue high heels. Surprise and relief mingle in my chest. I did it. I spin around, getting a feel for the shoes I now wear.

  “Wow! I think that’s a speed record.” Bridget nods encouragingly.

  Lexie’s eyes flick from my feet to my face. “You didn’t do your hair.”

  I tug at the ends of my still-straight hair. “It’s the way I want it.”

  She rolls her eyes and I bristle. How can this Lexie be so different from the one I knew?

  The warning bell sounds and Crystal holds her hand out expectantly. I hand the stone to her and she packs it back in her purse. With another click of her fingers, the door unlocks and the four of us head into the hallway.

  Our group’s unified line breaks apart when we enter the stairwell and I’m relieved. I want to get away from Crystal and Bridget and from this altered version of Lexie. It’s all too much change for me to take in all at once. Not for the first time, I’m looking forward to the monotony of a school day, the easy, familiar rhythm of instruction and assignments. Unless the world has really changed, that, at least, should be the same.

  When we get to the second floor, I break off from the group and head down the hall toward my locker. As I approach, a weight presses on my shoulders. What if it’s not my locker anymore? Something so simple should be the same, even though it seems like nothing else is. But the only way to know is to try; I can deal with odd looks and confused questions later if I’m wrong.

  I say a silent prayer as I dial in the combination and tug on the lock, relief swelling in me when it opens. The relief is replaced immediately when I open the door. I didn’t realize I was looking forward to seeing Owen’s sweatshirt until it’s not there. The sweatshirt Owen wore the day we met remained in my locker since my second day here. I kept meaning to give it back to him, but it kept slipping my mind. Once or twice, I tried to give it to him between classes, but he claimed he couldn’t hold it or he’d just get it later. And he never did. Having his sweatshirt in my locker had imbued it with his scent; now, it smells vaguely of flowers and I notice a satchel of herbs on the top shelf.

  Tamping down my disappointment, I grab the books I need for my first few classes, hoping against hope that since my locker is the same so is my class schedule.

  A whistle sounds behind me and I don’t have to turn to know it’s Fox. “Quick wardrobe change,” he says as I slam the locker closed. “So fast one could call it magical.” He winks.

  Glancing around to make sure no one overheard him, I tug at his sleeve. “Fox, shush.”

  He makes a face as he reaches forward to sweep my hair over my shoulders. “I’m glad you left the hair straight.” He rubs the pads of his thumbs over my cheeks and my breath hitches. He is good-looking—there’s no use denying it. Objectively, I can see why a girl might want to be with him. I can see why I might want to be with him. If Crystal’s right and we’ve set things on the course they were always supposed to take, does that mean that I’m with the person I’m supposed to be with? I’m not sure I can accept that.

  “Fox, you got a second?”

  Fox turns toward the speaker and my heart begins to pound. Owen is standing in front of us. My stomach twists as I take in the perfect lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the deep, sparkling blue of his eyes. Of course Fox isn’t who I’m supposed to be with. How could I even think that? I’ve had a connection with Owen from the moment we met. But here that moment never happened. He doesn’t even look at me. His gaze is turned to Fox, who engages him in conversation about some class assignment.

  While Fox talks, he slips his arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. I feel a rush of embarrassment, but Owen doesn’t even notice.

  We’re nothing to each other here. The realization washes over me and I struggle to take in breath. Owen and I had been at the start of a relationship just days ago; he kissed me on my front porch and before we separated for the night, he begged me not to change my mind about him—about us. And now that had never happened. I’m with Fox and Owen couldn’t care less.

  Chapter Five

  I make it through the first three hours of the day without much of an incident. But I can’t help cataloging subtle differences. Lexie and I still sit together in first hour English, but West Harmon sits on the other side of the room with some guys I don’t really know. When Lexie catches me staring in his direction, I can’t even come up with a lie about why I’m watching him. She raises an eyebrow and glances at me for the rest of the hour, making sure I’m not paying undue attention to a guy who’s not my boyfriend.

  Is West still friends with Owen? It’s clear that Lexie doesn’t think much of West, but she and Owen aren’t friends here, so that might not affect Owen’s opinion. And what about Bria Tate? A plump girl with black hair and a penchant for heavy eyeliner, she’s not exactly the kind of person who would be accepted into Crystal Jamison’s inner circle. I never asked, but it seems likely that Bria and Lexie became friends after Crystal and Lexie cut ties before ninth grade. Since that break never happened here, there would be no reason for Bria to enter the equation.

  In second hour, it’s hard to pay attention to Mrs. Bates, the science teacher, because my eyes keep straying to Owen. He sits several seats in front of me and doesn’t turn to look back once. I can’t decide whether that’s good or bad. I don’t know if I could handle him looking through me the way he did at my locker when he spoke to Fox. I don’t want to deal with the fact that I don’t mean anything to him anymore.

  West is in my third hour, along with Felix Wolfe. Though I wasn’t particularly close with Felix, he was a member of my old group of friends—Lexie, Owen, Bria, and West. He and West sit together and I take comfort in the fact that, at the very least, the two of them are friends.

  Mrs. Ortiz has already begun the day’s lesson when a student arrives late. My breath catches when I see who’s walking into class: Tucker Ingram. Mrs. Ortiz admonishes him briefly before allowing him passage
into the room. He takes his time walking across the room to the last row—my row. He grins easily at anyone who will make eye contact with him. A few girls titter as his gaze rakes across them and my stomach twists. Objectively, I suppose, I can understand their reaction. Tucker’s shaggy brown hair is mussed just enough to give him an I-just-climbed-off-a-motorcycle look, and his blue eyes are surrounded by thick, dark eyelashes. The barest hint of stubble on his jaw and his black leather jacket give him the bad-boy look so many girls are drawn to. But I can’t see him as attractive. I can’t be objective when I look at him, because all that flashes through my mind is our last encounter, before I found myself in this reality: After a movie night at the bookstore downtown, an intoxicated Tucker tried to attack me. When I look at him, I can smell the sweet alcohol on him and feel his warm breath on my face, my neck.

  Tucker continues on his journey across the classroom and heads up my aisle. My muscles tense as he settles into the empty desk behind me. Mrs. Ortiz continues her lesson and I attempt to focus on her words, but the skin on my back crawls; I can feel his eyes on me.

  When Mrs. Ortiz turns to write something on the board, fingers tap on my shoulder and I jump. Tucker snorts as I turn to face him.

  “What?” I snap.

  He leans across his desk and it takes everything in me not to leap from my seat. “Can I borrow a pencil?”

  “No.” I turn forward and scribble down the notes Mrs. Ortiz has written. Tucker hasn’t moved: I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

  “Come on,” he breathes, his voice low. “We both know you’re like an office supply store. Give me a pencil.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention and I clench my jaw. Without looking back, I hold my pencil over my shoulder. After a second, he pulls it from my fingers. I pull my backpack onto my lap and dig through the front pocket for another pencil.

  No sooner do I put my backpack back under my desk than Tucker taps me again. “Can I get some paper?”

  I stifle a groan, making a mental note to ask the teacher to move my seat. I rip out a couple of sheets from my notebook and turn. “You’ve got a pencil and paper. Now leave me alone.”

  Tucker sneers as he pulls the paper toward him. “No need to be a bitch about it. What’d I do to you?”

  “Silencio, por favor, senor Ingram,” Mrs. Ortiz says from the front of the room. “Escuchen, por favor, senorita Barnette.”

  I turn my attention back to the front of the room, grateful for a reason not to continue a conversation with Tucker. He doesn’t bother me for the rest of Spanish, and after third hour, I stop by my locker for my lunch before heading down to the cafeteria. I bypass the lunch line, my chest aching as I remember my first day here. Owen and I stood in that line, and I thought about how I never bought lunch at my old school, how my mom was too proud to admit we needed help and always sent me to school with a lunch packed from home. As I hold the brown paper bag in my hand, I can’t help smiling. At least not everything has changed.

  It’s not until I walk into the cafeteria proper that my pace slows. On Friday, I knew exactly where my place in the room was: at the table in the center of the room on the right side, with Owen, Lexie, Bria, West, Felix. But there’s no way that’s where I sit now.

  I don’t even realize I’ve stopped in the center of the room until Lexie nudges me with her elbow. “Get lost?”

  I force a laugh, though what she’s suggesting is pretty accurate. “Sorry. I just... I got lost in thought.”

  She raises an eyebrow before surveying the immediate vicinity. It takes a second for me to realize she’s checking for West. I curse myself silently. I have to be more careful. The last thing I want to do is start some kind of rumor that I’m interested in West, and while the Lexie I knew wouldn’t do something like that, I’m pretty sure this one would.

  When her scan comes up empty, Lexie heads toward a table near the back of the cafeteria. I recognize it instantly as the table where Crystal and her friends always sat. Lexie settles down at Crystal’s right side. Bridget is already sitting at Crystal’s left. I’d be concerned about selecting the right spot for myself except that Fox is already seated across from Bridget. I don’t need the warning look Crystal is giving me to know I’m supposed to sit beside him. I take the seat and Fox immediately slips his arm around my waist. I fight the urge to shift under his touch. Crystal’s eyes are on me.

  As I eat my tuna sandwich, Bridget reaches across the table and grabs my right hand. I have to be quick to keep my sandwich from falling. “Hey!”

  Bridget pulls my hand up to her face and squints. “Gah, Kristyl, what are you wearing?” She studies my father’s ring.

  Before I can respond, Lexie pulls my hand from Bridget so she can perform her own inspection. “Isn’t that your dad’s ring?” She presses her lips together thoughtfully. “Yeah. I’d recognize that ugly thing anywhere.” She raises her eyebrows before taking a bite of her apple.

  Bridget wrinkles her nose. “Oh, yeah. I remember it now. Crystal, didn’t you say it was the ugliest piece of jewelry you’d ever seen?”

  Although I already knew a bit of my alternate-self’s history with this ring, hearing it repeated irks me. I cock my head at Crystal, waiting for her to say something.

  It takes a beat before she sighs. “It’s still the ugliest piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen. Why would you willingly wear something that hideous?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Maybe you didn’t hear Lexie. This ring belonged to my dad.”

  Her dark blue eyes fix on mine. “Oh, I heard her. It still doesn’t answer my question.”

  I pull my hand from her grip and settle it on the table, not breaking eye contact. “Yes, it does. I don’t care if you don’t like it. This ring makes me think of my dad, and I want to wear it. I want to feel close to him. If you don’t like it, don’t look at it.”

  She stares, mouth twitching like she’s got too many things to say and is sorting through which comments should go first. Her lips part, but before she speaks, Lexie points across the lunch table toward the wall by the courtyard.

  “What do we have here?” A cruel smile curls the corners of her mouth and she holds her hand out toward Crystal, opening and closing her fist. “Give it.”

  Crystal’s eyes flash to mine for a second before we both follow Lexie’s gaze. My heart sinks. Bria Tate is sitting on the floor, her back against the courtyard windows, large headphones covering her ears, her head down. No one sits near her. Doesn’t she have friends? Sure, she and Lexie aren’t friends anymore for obvious reasons, but it’s hard to believe someone as vivacious, as sweet as Bria wouldn’t find a new group to be with.

  Lexie knocks on the table impatiently. “Come on, Crystal. Give it to me.”

  After a beat, Crystal opens her purse and pulls the drawstring bag out of it. She glances around the cafeteria before handing it to her cousin.

  My blood runs cold. What is Lexie planning?

  Bridget is watching with interest, leaning forward so far that her cleavage appears to expand exponentially, spilling out over the top of her dress. She’s not doing it on purpose—well, I don’t think she is—but that doesn’t mean that the guys around the table haven’t taken notice. To his credit, Fox turns to the table behind us and strikes up a conversation with some guys sitting there.

  Lexie rubs the pads of her fingers over the bumps and ridges of the crystal for a few moments, her eyes closing in concentration. My whole body tenses. When Lexie opens her eyes, they’re narrowed intently. I turn just in time to see several lunch trays launch themselves at Bria from nearby tables. Bria screams as she’s splattered with french fries and ketchup, milk, and lettuce dripping with dressing. She covers her head with her arms, pulling her legs up toward her torso. Lexie lets out a cackle and a second barrage of food flies at Bria.

  Kids at the tables nearest Bria jump up, looking around for something to explain why their trays are sliding away from them. Just as eyes flicker in our direction, the bel
l rings and in a flash, everyone is standing. Crystal closes her hand over Lexie’s, pulling the stone from her grasp. Lexie gives it up without a fight, still laughing. She and Bridget link arms and head into the swelling stream of bodies. I peer toward the courtyard but can only catch glimpses of Bria between people. Everything in me wants to go to her, to help her get cleaned up, but I know I can’t.

  Crystal tucks the pouch containing the quartz back into her purse and merges into the mass of students heading for their next class. With one last glance at Bria, I start for her. How can she be so nonchalant about what Lexie did?

  I don’t get more than a few steps before Fox catches my hand. A scan of the vicinity doesn’t reveal Crystal: She’s been swallowed by the crowd. I allow Fox to lead me toward the nearest stairwell. Zane is on Fox’s other side, going on about Lexie’s display. I do my best not to listen.

  I need to talk to Crystal. Is this what the circle is all about? Picking on other people? And this is the way Crystal thinks things are supposed to be? I don’t know what kinds of magic the circle has been practicing until now, but I can’t be part of a group like this. And I would hope Crystal wouldn’t want to be either.

  Chapter Six

  Zane doesn’t stop talking about what happened at lunch until we’re all seated in math. I’m distracted all hour.

  Bria’s supposed to be in this class.

  Agitation grows with every minute Bria’s absent. Is she in a bathroom somewhere, trying to clean up? I should get the pass and go find her. Maybe I could help get the food off her clothes. Or maybe I could do a glamor like I did this morning.

  No. I can’t do magic. I have no idea if she even suspects witchcraft. Before, it was Lexie who proposed the theory, based on what she knew about her late aunt, Crystal Taylor. But since Lexie’s one of the witches now, who would even come up with the idea of magic?

  As hard it is to get through math, health class is worse. Last time I was in health class, Lexie, Owen, Felix and I all sat together in one often-chatty group. The teacher, Mrs. Stanton, threatened to break us up several times—sometimes more than once a day—though she never made good on the promise because we always got our work done. But now, Lexie and I share a table with a girl named Heidi who seems desperate to be accepted by the two of us; she keeps offering us things—to give us the answers or to get us a special at the salon her mom works at. Owen and Felix sit on the other side of the room, but not together.