Hillary is silent, but doesn’t look shocked. I wait, holding my breath.
“Em, I don’t care. I like you. You’re my friend, and witches are notoriously open-minded. And you may have noticed that I don’t go out or have a boyfriend myself. Plus, what a horrifying experience that must have been…”
I’m on pins and needles; this is too much. Is Hillary gay? “Wait…what? What do you mean?”
Hillary motions for me to sit on the floor next to her. “No, no. It’s not that. I guess I will be straight, whenever I decide to give boys a chance again. I had sort of a boyfriend last year. I had only gone out with him a few times, and he took me to this party. At the Nevilles’ house. I won’t gross you out with all the details, but basically he raped me, or right down to the point of rape. I never told anyone, but I think Dax knows. That’s why he hangs around me, I think, out of some weird misplaced guilt. Whatever.”
She turns away then, hugging her knees to her chest. I can tell she is quietly holding back tears.
“Wow. I have no words. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
Hill nods but stays silent.
“So, I guess we both have secrets. That’s kinda good. We can guard each other.”
Hillary turns to face me, a few stray tears still seeping out and trailing down her face.
“Yeah, that’s cool. No boys for us. And no one has to know why.”
“It’s like a pact. Okay?”
“Okay!”
My mind jumps back to the incident that afternoon. “So, what should I—we—do about Deshawn and her sign?”
Hillary looks thoughtful, then stands to grab her book bag off the bed. “I’ve got an idea. We’ll cast a protective spell to keep bad energy away.” She reads from her book: No mortal can harm a devotee of Diana while this charm is upon them.
“Let me see that,” I say. I read the page Hillary was looking at. It does say that. But, it also says that casting a charm requires at least a gathering of three.
“We have to have three people, Hill. Where in this town, at our school, are we going to find a third?”
Chapter 9: Witches and Warlocks
Those words are no sooner out of Em’s mouth than who should appear in my doorway but Dax Neville. He tutors Roger in math on Wednesday nights. Lucky me: I have a sister in kindergarten who’s probably smarter than the entire family, and a brother who needs tutoring to pass the fourth grade.
“Hey, Hillary. And Emelia! How lucky can a man get? Hill, could you tell your mom I’m finished tutoring Roger and I’m headed home? Thanks.”
And then, “I would love to stay and discuss the spirit world with you, but I have a feeling I’m not all that welcome—a third wheel, if you will…”
Emelia looks at me at the same moment I look at her. A third! Maybe Dax could be useful after all.
I invite him in, even though a bit of my soul is dying as I do so. He is basic, geeky, obnoxious, and nosy. But he is interested in things spiritual, and we do need three people to call down the moon and cast a spell. So he’s elected.
“Sit on the floor, Weirdo. We have something to discuss with you.”
Emelia adds, “Nothing personal, so to speak—business. We need your help. But not with chemistry, exactly.”
Dax looks confused. “Well, sure. But what—exactly—do you need me to do?”
I shove the book toward him. “I’m ready to become a true Stregha and Draw Down the Moon. Em’s going to help me, and The Book says we need at least three to cast a spell.”
Dax replies, “I don’t know…the moon thing sounds benign enough, but spell casting sounds like it might be dangerous. Aren’t you scared you’ll—I don’t know—call down the devil instead or something?”
I laugh at this idea, which obviously embarrasses the kid. “Dax, dude, it’s not like making a phone call or anything; I can’t call the wrong number and get the devil instead of Diana.”
“Well, I guess. But what about your parents, and your aunt, Emelia, and my parents? How can we all get out at the same time at night and not get in trouble? I’m assuming this thing takes place at night….”
Emelia adds, “That’s the easiest part. I’ll say I’m spending the night with Hillary, and you make up something about a project you’re doing with another kid. Then we meet down by the pond behind the golf course.”
“What kid? I’m not exactly Mr. Popular at Butler, in case you haven’t noticed. And why is this guy named Raven? You can bet his mother didn’t name him Raven.”
What an idiot! Even though he’s supposed to be a genius or something. “Dax, just use that super brain power of yours and think of something to tell your parents. We’re doing it Saturday night.”
“This Saturday night? What’s the big rush?” I can tell he’s getting spooked about the whole idea.
“Dax, Emelia had some trouble in her Creative Writing group—DeShawn, Keisha, T.K. and that bunch sabotaged her presentation. They’re out to get Em, and we need to cast a protective spell. I’m pretty sure I know how…”
“I know it’s short notice. But maybe that’s good—we don’t have time to chicken out,” offers Em.
“And aren’t we supposed to be naked?” His voice cracks a bit on this one. “All the pictures in this book show them naked. And I’m absolutely not taking my clothes off outside with you two. No freakin’ way!”
I acknowledge that this is a bit of an issue; neither Em nor I are willing to get naked either. Silence falls over my room as we all think this over.
Finally, Em says, “Well, look. I think we can just do the thing wearing bathing suits. That’s gonna have to do. And I doubt Diana will actually care, if our—intentions—are right.”
I stare at her with approval. Spoken like a true devotee. Literally. And she isn’t even Italian.
So Dax and Emelia are both in. I’m going to do it this weekend: Draw Down the Moon, and cast a protective spell around Em. Then I’ll be a true witch like my Nona.
The remainder of the week is occupied with putting together my Nanta Bag, the last of the tools I need. There’s a whole long list of stuff, so I’m glad Emelia and Dax are in on the project. Between the three of us, by Friday afternoon we have everything but the seashell. Apparently, there isn’t a single damned seashell to be found anywhere in Shively. Not even in the thrift store. Borrowing Em’s attitude, I decide my Nanta Bag minus one item will have to do. Diana will forgive us.
* * * *
A few nights later, Emelia and I have no trouble getting out of my house; Mama and Pop are watching a movie in the basement family room with Ri-ri, and Roger’s in his room playing an XBox game. We put our jeans and T-shirts on over our bathing suits, and divide the tools between us in our book bags. We walk to the pond by the deserted golf course, waiting for Dax to appear.
We start setting up the area, following the directions in my book. The plan is to cast a ritual circle around the three of us, then Draw Down the Moon to give me Stregheria power, then attempt the protective spell for Emelia. She looks a bit nervous about the whole thing (I have a few butterflies, too), but obviously nothing compared to Dax. I watch him run across the golf course like something is chasing him, then fall onto the ground by the pond breathing heavily.
“Moron, did you bring your inhaler?” I demand. “Please tell me you did.”
For answer, he takes the thing from his pocket and uses it. I breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing we need is to have to call 911 for stupid Dax!
“Is he okay?” asks Emelia.
“I am,” Dax assures her. “Let’s get this show on the road. My dad is expecting me back at 10:30.”
Em looks at the time on her cell phone. “Well, come on then. It’s already 9:20.” And she starts to set out the tools, checking The Book for accuracy. Soon, we have everything in place.
“Okay, everybody take off your clothes, then sit in a circle—well, sort of a triangle.”
Dax and Em sit. I begin, “Now, everybody close your eyes and v
isualize the full moon. Imagine drawing down the power of the moon to every part of your body.”
At this, Dax gives a derisive snort. I open my eyes and stare at him until he closes his eyes again. This may be more difficult than I thought….
“Let the energy of the moon flow through your entire body, until you can feel it glow from within.” Both Dax and Em stay quiet now and I sit with them on the ground. I keep my own eyes closed, trying to feel like a witch. A cat meows somewhere near us, and this seems to add to the atmosphere. I think I’m feeling the power of Diana.
Suddenly, a barn owl screeches overhead and we all startle out of our reverie. Dax makes a small noise like he’s choking; I pray that we don’t have to stop to let him use his inhaler again.
I know something comes next, but I can’t remember the exact words. So I improvise a little, “Thank you, Moon Goddess Diana, for lending me your power on this night. I will now proceed to the Protection Ceremony.”
Emelia asks, “Hill, aren’t you supposed to use the marker to draw a pentagram on me? I don’t mean to interrupt you or anything…”
I answer, “Oh, right. It’s fine. Thanks for reminding me. Do you have the marker?”
She produces it from the bodice of her bathing suit and hands it over. “I have to get the Spirit Bowl and the lighter. Everybody just hold still.” At the word lighter, Dax opens his eyes again. “What?! Lighter? As in fire?”
“Yes, Doofus. I mean…yes, fellow devotee. We have to have the flame to cast the spell.”
“This sounds more dangerous by the minute,” whines Dax. “Maybe we should just forget it and go home.”
Em and I say at once, “No! Please don’t.”
And I add, “It won’t take much longer. Just stay, Dax.”
He settles uneasily back in his place in the circle. I light the liquor in the bowl, take my amulet in my left hand like it says in The Book, and read from my notes, “I call upon the Source of All Power to protect Emelia against all that is evil, negative, or unbalanced.” At that, I touch my blade to the point of the pentacle I just drew on Em’s back.
“I call upon ye spirits and Guardians of the Powers of the Four Directions to protect Emelia.” Dax shifts in his position as if bugs are biting him. I hurry to the end.
“I bind here, by all these powers and forces, this unyielding Pentagram of Protection. To this Emelia, may no evil thing approach or enter in. Now you all have to say with me: ‘In the name of Diana, so be it.’”
We all say it, even though Dax stumbles a bit over the words. And the spell should be done. Em should be safe from Deshawn and her clan.
Dax stands up immediately, and looks around like he expects a vampire or something to appear. “Okay, ladies, I’m out of here.”
Em says, “Go, Dude—thanks for doing it—that’s all we need from you.” And she, too, stands and brushes grass and sticks from her butt. Dax is already pulling his outer clothes on, still looking over his shoulder across the empty golf course.
“See ya’ at school, kids. And I’m calling both of you if I get in trouble for this.”
“You won’t,” I assure him. “Just go in your back door and don’t make any noise. Check first to make sure your sister’s in her room.”
Dax does a thumbs-up, then silently runs back across the grass toward his house. Em and I take a bit more time to pack up our stuff, but we’re out of there pretty quickly, too.
I have no idea how long we’ve been here, but the movie is probably over, and I have no way of guessing where in the house each of my family members might be. It is crucial that we not get caught. The secrets between Em and me are piling up.
Chapter 10: A Wreath and a New Writer
So I guess the protective spell must’ve worked, even though we really had no clue whether we were doing it right, because everyone seems to be leaving me alone. Hill and I hang around together, and occasionally we let Dax sit with us at lunch. I mean, he’s really okay, and he did take a chance of getting into trouble by sneaking out and all. So as far as the witchcraft thing goes, he came through for us.
At this moment, I’m sitting in Mr. Partridge’s class, trying to concentrate on vectors, but really thinking about Taylor. I haven’t heard anything from her or about her in months now, and I wonder if she’s okay. I also wonder whether she’s forgotten all about me and what I thought was true love between us. I try to ignore the subject of boyfriends, dates, etc. as much as I can; it helps that Hill doesn’t want anything to do with boys right now, and that Dax is just relieved to have people to call friends.
“Emelia. Are you with us?” This from Mr. Partridge. I’m sitting near the back, so the entire class now turns around to look at me. I really don’t like Mr. P.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Partridge. I’m paying attention.” T.K. Narwani, who’s sitting in the first row, gives a derisive sort of chuckle loud enough for the whole class to hear. I ignore her. “Please go on, Mr. P. I’m really understanding this vector stuff.”
“Well, we’re all happy to hear that.” He turns back to the whiteboard and carries on in a droning voice; no wonder people fall asleep in his class!
* * * *
Lunch on the lawn: sounds much more sophisticated than it is. In reality, it means me, Hill, and Charity Bloom sitting at a concrete picnic table, eating lunchmeat on white bread.
Today, Charity has oranges her grandma sent from Florida, and they are yummy but messy. As we enjoy the fruit and wipe juice off our hands and chins, I think how glad I am to have Hill, and now Charity, as friends. Charity doesn’t know our secrets, but she is easy-going and funny, and lives near me with her dad and little sister. Her mom died two years ago, so we share the pain of having incomplete families. Anyway, Charity has had the same boyfriend since ninth grade, so there is no question about her heterosexuality. Plus, her dad is a pastor at one of the three Baptist churches in Shively, so my mom approves. Needless to say, I have not shared much about Hill with my mom on her regular phone calls/interrogations.
“Charity, I know your dad is a pastor and everything, but the Christmas stuff all over town is making me nuts,” complains Hillary, finishing her orange and tossing the peels in her empty lunch bag. “What about Jewish people, or Hindus? Even in Shively, not everyone is a Christian.”
“Hillary, don’t worry about what I think—I don’t even know what I think,” says Charity. “I get your point, really. I just don’t see how you can do anything about it.”
“And you really should try not to let it get to you, Hill. It’s only December 2, so you have a while yet to endure….” I add.
“Okay, ladies, I get it. Shit or get off the pot.”
We laugh at this, which makes Hillary grin.
“In other words, I’m going to make a Winter Solstice Wreath and put it up somewhere at this lame ‘traditional’ school.”
So the following Monday Hill appears at school with a large, flattish box that she carries reverently into the building. Her plan is to ask every teacher she has if she can hang the wreath in their room. As we head to first period, we pass Dax in the hallway and he gives me a questioning look.
“Best not to ask,” I warn him. Even though he is sort of a part of our Wiccan group, he’s not a close friend when we’re at Butler. Neither Hill nor I can afford extra social baggage at school. Dax passes on without meeting Hillary’s gaze—smart boy. I wish her luck, tracing a pentagram on her back as unobtrusively as possible. She gives me a grateful smile and enters her first period class: sociology with Mrs. Jeffers.
At lunch, Hill doesn’t show in our usual place. I’m a bit worried, but say nothing about it to Charity. We eat in virtual silence, chatting briefly about chem class and Charity’s little sister, who has autism. I must admit I find the ins and outs of Portia’s trials fitting in at elementary school interesting.
After school, Hill appears in the building two restroom while I am redoing my ponytail. She looks dejected, and still carries the wreath box under her arm. This tells me everyt
hing about how her day went.
“Em, what is wrong with these people? I thought teachers were supposed to be educated and open-minded.”
“Oh, Hillary,” I answer, “this is Shively, Kentucky. We’re in the official Bible Belt. There are more churches here than food stores. Get a grip…”
“Get a grip!” This answer obviously doesn’t suit her. “It’s just a decoration. A wreath. There’s nothing offensive on it: just fruit and stars and moons. Fuck, you’d think it had devils on it or something.”
“Okay, look. Calm down and we’ll go see Ms. Schell. If anyone will put the wreath up, she’d be the one. And I need to ask her about next week’s meeting anyway.”
In Ms. Schell’s room, we find her writing a notice about the next Creative Writing meeting on the board. She turns to smile at me and Hill.
“Hey there, girls. What’s up?”
“Well,” I say, “I want to find out about any assignments for next week’s meeting. It’s the last one before the Christmas break, right?”
Ms. Schell sits on the edge of her desk. “Right, Emelia. We’re going to workshop some poems from Calen and a short story from Deshawn. I should have the copies to email everyone by Friday.”
“Okay, cool.”
And then she adds, “How about you—are you okay after the treatment you got at that earlier meeting? You handled it brilliantly, you know.”
Hill is inspecting some posters about authors on the side wall. “Yeah, I’m okay—nothing more has been said—at least, as far as I know…”
Ms. S. addresses Hillary, “Hillary Calvano, right? I’ve seen you eating lunch with Emelia and Charity Bloom.”
Hillary answers, “That’s right. I have Ms. Janson for English. Em is always talking about how cool you are. So I wondered, if…”
“What is it, Hillary? Don’t worry—I won’t bite.”
Hill laughs. “I didn’t think so. I mean, you’re not a vampire or anything…Anyway, I get a little sick of everything in this season being about Christmas. See…I’m pagan…and I follow the celebrations of the natural seasons.”
Buried Secrets Page 4
