“Lucy.” I cringe as Mrs. Douglas beckons from across the room. “Mrs. Weinberg needs a refill on her Chardonnay.”
After I deliver half a dozen glasses of wine and champagne, I pass the group of little girls who were bullying Brandi earlier.
“This party is lame.” Blondie covers a fake yawn with her hand. “Where’s the DJ? Where’s the photo booth?” The rest of the group agrees.
I come to a halt and turn around. You want to act like a witch, then you should look like one.
A shivery tingle passes over my skin as I zero my attention on the head of the brat pack.
Focus on intent, I remind myself.
“Whisper the words so he can’t hear you,” Henry said.
Hair of golden blonde, it’s time to wave my magic wand,
Allow me to respond to your yawn, evil spawn,
Let’s liven up this scene, and turn your flaxen curls to green,
Your obscene mouth now smells like a latrine.
The chatter of voices falls away as I repeat the spell a second time. It’s just Blondie and me. But nothing happens. Blondie still looks the same. I purse my lips and focus harder. Third time’s a charm, right? I whisper the spell again. I envision the little girl’s hair turning green, like the sickly skin color of the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz.
…latrine.
“Lucy!” Mrs. Douglas’s fingers curl around my arm in a vice grip. “There are empty glasses that need to be filled. Where is Charlene? We’re running low on fois gras and the appetizers—”
A high-pitched scream pierces the air. The quartet screeches to a halt, the bass cutting off with a violent burp. I look around the room. Frantic murmurs spread like wildfire. Women are craning their necks to get a look.
“Oh, my God!” Mrs. Douglas grips my arm tighter.
I follow her appalled gaze and gasp. Blondie number two has her hands clamped over her mouth, one over the other, reminding me of the monkeys in a poster I saw one time entitled: hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Her eyes are wide as fifty-cent pieces as she stares at Blondie number one.
“What?” The former blonde girl shrieks. She turns in a circle, eyeing the shocked faces around her. “Why are you all staring at me?”
Her redheaded cohort pulls a mirror from her purse and, without stepping any closer, tosses the compact to her friend. “You can keep it.” She shudders.
I’m unable to move as I gawk at her putrid colored hair. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.
“Rebecca!” A woman races over to the little girl, grabs her by the shoulders. She tugs her daughter’s hair as if to remove a wig. “You need to stop whatever game you’re playing. It’s upsetting the guests.”
“I didn’t do anything, Mom!” she wails, eyeballing her reflection. “Fix it. Make it go away!”
The party guests crowd around Rebecca, smiling and clapping. Do they think this is a party trick? This has gone far enough. I didn’t mean to terrorize the girl. My mind races as I try to think of a spell to turn her back.
Greenie suddenly clutches her stomach and doubles over.
“Rebecca! What’s wrong?” her mother moves to touch her hair, pauses, then rubs her back instead.
Greenie groans as her stomach gurgles and rumbles. A sound erupts from her body like a pair of angry tubas. Several party guests burst out laughing, then slap their hands over their mouths when Rebecca’s mom stares them down.
The most horrible smell fills the room. It reminds me of summers back home when the tanker truck came to the trailer park to empty septic tanks.
Party guests back away, gagging.
“I’m going to be sick,” the pointy-nosed redhead exclaims.
Blondie number two jerks the neck of her shirt over her mouth and nose and nods at the redhead. The two of them scurry across the room to their mothers.
“Oh…my…God! What did you eat?” Rebecca’s mother’s complexion flushes in embarrassment.
Partygoers shove toward the door like cattle.
My heart thunders against my ribcage. Reversal spell…reversal spell…I’ve never learned how to undo a spell.
Rebecca’s mother whirls around to Mrs. Douglas. “I’m taking Rebecca to the hospital. If I find out she’s been poisoned by your food or she’s been subjected to some sick joke, your reputation will be mud. I’ll see to it.”
“Mona, I…I…don’t know what to tell you. This is not my doing. I don’t know how this happened!”
Mona’s eyes narrow until they’re tiny slits. “Turn…her…back,” she growls.
Tears trickle down Rebecca’s face.
My heart twists painfully. What have I done?
Maybe if I tinker with the original spell? Green…latrine? No, not that again. Blonde, bond, wand? No, that doesn’t work. I shake my head tightly. No time for rhymes.
Allow me to fix your plight, return things to right,
Let’s restore your flaxen curls,
Change that sickly smell to yummy chocolate.
Let what’s been seen to be unseen.
I focus with everything I’ve got on Greenie. I repeat the spell three times. But nothing happens.
I hold my breath against the putrid smell for as long as possible. Mrs. Douglas stands immobile beside me, her nostrils twitching with the tiny breaths she takes.
Charlene races into the room. “Here’s some Kaopectate,” she says as she kneels beside Rebecca. She spoons a dose of the liquid into the little girl’s mouth. “That should help settle your stomach.”
“Alana, a word, please.” Mrs. Douglas releases her grip on my arm as Rebecca’s mother pulls her across the room to speak privately.
Charlene sets the bottle of medicine and the spoon on the floor. She wipes Rebecca’s tears away then caresses her hair. “It’s going to be okay.”
Leave it to Charlene to comfort the little girl. It should be her mother, who’s now too busy threatening to kick Mrs. Douglas out of the country club.
I need to fix this. Now. With every ounce of energy I have, I focus on Rebecca and repeat the spell. I envision her hair changing from green to blonde, for the gurgling in her stomach to cease, and the lingering smell in the room to evaporate and instead smell like a newly unwrapped Hershey bar.
I whisper the words faster and faster. My intention couldn’t be clearer or stronger.
That’s when it happens.
“Can I have a candy bar?” Rebecca asks Charlene.
Charlene raises her nose to the air. I notice it, too. It’s as if we’re on the train about to pull into Ogilvie station, when the cars fill with the intoxicating smell produced by Blommer Chocolate Company.
I kneel down and retrieve the compact Rebecca had dropped. “Take a look.”
Rebecca shrinks from the mirror.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. She looks at Charlene, who nods.
Rebecca takes the mirror and looks at her reflection. A smile breaks out over her face.
“Mom, look! I’m all better!”
Rebecca runs over to her mother, who bends down to hug her. “You look like your beautiful self. We need to go.”
Charlene follows them to the door, where she takes a chocolate cupcake from the dessert table and hands it to Rebecca.
“I don’t think so.” Mona eyes the cupcake as if it’s poison then tugs her daughter out the door.
“I have a migraine and am going to lie down.” Mrs. Douglas heads out of the room with a heavy sigh. “We will never speak of this.”
I smack my hand against my forehead. “Brandi!”
I race off to Brandi’s bedroom. Both Brandi and the iPad are missing. I check her closet and under the bed. No luck. I head down the hall to Ethan’s room where I find the two of them sprawled on the floor with her iPad and Ethan’s cell phone between them.
“I don’t believe you,” Dylan’s voice rings out on speakerphone. “No one farts that loud.”
“It’s true!” Ethan says. “I snuck out there. The smell
was so bad, worse than rotten eggs.”
“Since when are you an expert on rotten eggs?” Dylan laughter causes me to smile, but then it hits me that they’re laughing at poor Rebecca. A nine-year-old girl was humiliated in front of a room full of people. I did that to her.
I push off the doorframe and enter the room. “Everyone’s gone, so why don’t you two come and check out the dessert table.”
“Hey, Lucy. Sounds like that was some party,” Dylan says, his tone clipped. The easy warmth from a moment ago is gone.
I hear the accusation in his voice. He knows.
“You could say that,” I tell him.
“Is that little girl okay?”
Rebecca and her tears flash through my thoughts, her panic and fear. I’ve broken the golden rule. I used magic publicly. And I used it to teach someone a lesson. A little girl, no less.
“She is now.” I clear my throat. “But everyone’s gone, and Charlene and I have to clean.”
“Her hair really was green, Dylan!” Ethan interrupts.
“Sounds pretty magical, little man. Pretty magical.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Why did I allow you to talk me into this?” Marcus rubs the back of his neck as he paces beside me. It’s impossible to read his expression in the near-darkness.
“Relax,” Selima says. “You’re going to love it. Tell him, Lucy.”
Marcus moves to the other side of the clearing. A chorus of sounds ring out through the woods, the skitter of nocturnal animals moving over a blanket of twigs, leaves and brush. Two owls hoot, hoot to one another.
“But I tried this before. Twice. It was a disaster.” He clears his throat. “Maybe I can’t fly. You know…like…some protectors can and some can’t.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Selima says, her tone mocking. “While every protector I’ve ever known can fly, you’re the one exception. Silly me.”
I burst out laughing then clamp my hand over my mouth, certain Marcus is glaring at me through the darkness.
“Let’s get this over with,” Marcus mutters.
“That’s the spirit, little brother!” Selima says. “I need to change. Lucy, can I get my other shirt?”
I toss Selima what can be best described as part T-shirt and part string bikini.
I thought it would be better in the dark, not seeing them go through the change. Marcus groans, and I visualize the skin splitting along his back, feathers scraping muscle and bone as they struggle free. I imagine his pain and shudder. Selima whimpers once. Did she just morph instantly?
“You ready, little brother?” Selima calls out.
Sliding my cell phone from my pocket, I select the flashlight app and wave it like a wand in front of me. I gasp as Selima is illuminated. While Marcus’s wings are gray and white, Selima’s are white with what appears to be a large, black spot on the left wing.
“Beautiful,” I murmur.
Marcus moves into the light and studies his sister’s wings. “It’s like you have an extra eye.” He points to the black spot. “Creepy.”
Selima shrugs. “You ever hear of the evil eye? This is the opposite. It keeps me safe.”
“Says the girl who works for demons,” I say.
Selima arches an eyebrow at me before returning her attention to Marcus. “I want you to forget what you’ve tried before. Assume it’s all wrong.”
Marcus snorts. I expect him to come back with some smart aleck remark and am relieved when he stays quiet. Why’s he fighting this? Doesn’t he understand how lucky he is? He can heal people. He can control other people’s emotions. He’s strong and fast. And now he’s going to learn to fly.
I study the sky, disappointed I can’t see many stars. Too much light from the city, I suppose.
“Just watch what I do. Okay? Stay grounded for now,” she says. “The important thing to remember is your wings need to propel you. You’ve never flown before—this is much different than using them as a landing device when you leap off a roof. No coasting. You’ve got to pump them. Hard.”
I move closer to Selima with my makeshift flashlight. Mental note to self: bring real flashlight next time.
She crouches in a low squat, her face pointing skyward. Her wings draw in tight against her back, twitching. She inhales noisily. With a grunt, she vaults her body into the air.
My mouth falls open as I attempt to trail her trajectory. Catching a glimpse of her back, the makeshift shirt makes sense. While the sleeveless design covers her front, it crisscrosses at the back to accommodate her wings.
“This isn’t real,” I whisper as Selima soars above me. I shiver and goose bumps break out over my skin.
“She can really fly,” Marcus murmurs beside me.
I arc my phone over my head, trying to illuminate her movements. Other than an occasional glimpse, it’s useless. I shut off the phone and return it to my pocket. Instead, I listen to the sound of her wings as they beat against the air.
“Amazing…” Marcus breathes, his gaze following Selima’s movements.
“You can see her, can’t you?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I shake my head. His list of abilities continues to grow. I consider my own skills. Fireballs. The ability to blast through doors. Deflecting spells. Knocking people off their feet. In the midst of training, I thought I was pretty badass. And I have the power to humiliate a little girl in front of her friends. Compared to Marcus and Selima, I’m lame. Do I stand a chance against Garret’s army? How am I supposed to protect Jude?
Just then, Selima’s throaty chuckle cackles above us. I jerk my head toward the sky, searching for her in the darkness.
“Over here,” she calls out, far to the left.
She’s fast.
“Enough showing off.” Marcus stalks the ground below his sister.
What would it be like to fly? To move through the air without a parachute or a bungee cord? To feel the breeze move through my hair? Who am I kidding? My lungs would seize from terror.
“Boo!” Selima plunks down beside me, her wing brushing my back.
I gasp, startled. “Not funny!”
Marcus jogs to my side. “That was amazing, Selima. You’ve got to show me how it’s done. I want to learn to fly.” He drums his hands against his abs in rhythm to a song only he can hear. His wings bounce in time to his movements. I’ve never seen him so excited.
“Let’s do it,” Selima says. She returns to the spot where she launched the first time.
I pull my phone out again and aim the bright light at the two of them. Marcus mimics Selima’s stance, squatting low and pulling his wings in tight against his back. He flexes his biceps, fists his hands.
“Remember to pump your wings as hard as possible.”
“Got it.” Marcus nods tightly.
“You ready?” Selima asks.
Marcus nods again.
“Envision a pole vault. It’s all about the power in the legs,” she says, her gaze leaving Marcus to focus on the dark sky. “Be fearless.”
Marcus glances at me. A slow smile spreads across his face.
“Be careful,” I tell him.
Selima launches herself into the air. Her white wings—majestic and beautiful in the glow of my cell phone—immediately expand. I forget to blink, mesmerized by the womp, womp, womp of her flapping wings as she climbs higher into the night.
“Here goes,” Marcus says under his breath.
I peel my attention from Selima and point my phone toward Marcus. He mimics his sister’s low squat then launches himself into the air with a loud grunt. He flaps his wings hard and fast, but doesn’t climb. Marcus tumbles onto the ground.
“Come on, little brother. You can do better,” Selima teases from above. Her wings are silent. It’s like she’s floating.
Marcus releases a heavy sigh and punches the ground.
“You okay?” I offer him a hand up.
“I’m fine,” he says tersely and ignores my hand.
“You’re
such a mom, Lucy.” Selima laughs. “Marcus, is she always like this?”
My body feels hot from head to toe. “What are you talking about?” I sputter. “I don’t mother Marcus.”
Marcus chuckles. “Yeah, you do, but it’s okay…most of the time.”
“Clearly, he likes that about you,” Selima says.
“I don’t mother him,” I mutter.
“You do it to Dylan, too,” Marcus says.
Why are we talking about this in front of Selima?
Back on his feet, Marcus resumes the squat position and tucks his wings tight against his back. He takes a deep breath and holds his arms in front of his body, fists clenched. He bounces low. Then with one swift pump of his arms, he thrusts himself skyward. His gray and white wings expand and beat down against the air as they elevate him higher. His grunts carry across the mild breeze.
Marcus doesn’t fall. Relief floods my insides as I hear the womp-womp-womp of his wings. I realize I’m holding my breath and exhale long and slow.
“Come and get me if you can,” Selima sings out.
The air above me moves, and I thrust my cell phone above my head to spot which one just flew overhead. Low battery flashes across the screen of my phone. I power off and shove it in my pocket as I peer into the darkness above. I wish I could see them.
“Ouch! Not fair!” Selima cries out. “No feather snatching.”
“Not so tough now, huh?” Marcus taunts.
They chase each other, tossing jabs back and forth, for a long while. It stinks to be left out. I’d give anything to have wings and be up with them right now. You’d give up fireballs? The little voice in my head asks. That’s an easy one. Flying is so much cooler than throwing fire. Why couldn’t I be a gargoyle-protector instead of a demon?
“Whoa! Oh, no!” Marcus tumbles onto the ground. “Oomph!”
“Way to go, genius.” Selima laughs as she lands on her feet beside me and trots over to Marcus. “Slow down before you land next time.”
“Now you tell me.” Marcus arrives at my side. He picks bits of grass and leaves out of his hair.
The Girl and the Gargoyle: Book Two of The Girl and the Raven Series Page 20
