Spell Fire (The Teen Wytche Saga)

by Ariella Moon

  Isis waved to me from the doorway.

  I straightened in the chair and reached for the computer mouse. An Avalon-Bennett always keeps her promises. With a click, I re-opened Dad's email, and I began to type.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "Sounds like a full house." Jett paced the dim hallway.

  "A bunch of people phoned in ticket orders this morning." I plucked at the white French cuff peeping out from under my black designer pullover. I had layered them over khaki pants with ankle ties. My black stilettos added three inches to my height and a much-needed boost to my confidence. "We had to rent more folding chairs."

  I crept to the end of the freestanding bookcase and peered around it. No sign among the crowd of Thor's wavy blond hair. Deflated, I rejoined Jett and Isis.

  Jett chewed his thumbnail.

  "Don't worry." Isis took her brother's hand. "Morningstar is protecting the crystal ball. No one will break it."

  "Yeah. Good." Vertical worry lines trenched above Jett's nose, mirroring the ones I felt furrowing between my brows. We exchanged a worried glance. Morningstar had filled in for Thor, who had gone off the radar almost completely. His silence unnerved me. Was he dying? Were his overprotective parents holding him hostage? Had he forgotten how to make a phone call?

  My heart constricted. What if this wasn't about his illness? What if it was about me? Maybe he couldn't look at me without seeing a lunatic. Maybe he had become the Hermit and was waiting for me to journey out of his life.

  I should have checked my almanac this morning and not stashed my purse in the office.

  Portia squeezed past a pair of latecomers. Her dangly earrings — seven colored crystals representing the main chakras — swayed as she hurried toward us. She clutched the black tote containing the strange spell book. Seeing it, my gut clenched and I stepped back into the shadows. Portia's daughter and granddaughter had arrived the day before. By now, Evie would have connected the dots and told Portia, "Yeah, I know Ainslie Avalon-Bennett. She ended up in a mental ward after her best friend disappeared."

  Heat flared across my cheeks and spread higher, making my eyes water.

  "There you are," Portia said in a stage whisper. She must have used extra mousse on her hair. The gray spikes on top of her head appeared extra stiff and pointy.

  "Can you keep this safe for me? Evie was supposed to guard it, but she and her mother are running late." Portia shook her head. "They hit the galleries and boutiques in Palm Springs and lost track of the time. Artists!"

  "Sure. I'll watch it." I searched Portia's face. No crazy girl wariness. The tension eased out of my shoulders.

  Portia stabbed an arthritic finger at the tote. "Behave." To me she said, "Thanks, kiddo. The grimoire is priceless, so don't lose it."

  "I won't."

  "Break a leg," she told Jett.

  "That's not nice," Isis scolded.

  "It means 'good luck,'" I explained.

  Isis appeared unconvinced. Portia waggled her fingers then plunged back into the fray.

  "What's a grimoire?" Isis asked.

  "A spell book." I hefted the tote. "It's gotten heavier." A swamp image flashed in my mind, then disappeared. Heebie-jeebies jittered down my arms. I placed the black bag at my feet. The grimoire shifted within the tote and thunked against my shins. At least it remained silent.

  It likes true love. I sensed the grimoire assessing the crowd as though it were a dog sniffing the breeze. Maybe it searched for Evie or a certain Viking dragon shaman. Join the club. I walked the tote to the end of the bookcase and scanned the crowd and front door again before shifting my gaze to the stage.

  Aunt Terra nodded to Morningstar. The waitress relinquished the makeshift stage. She took up sentry in front of the jewelry counter, near the register. Aunt Terra positioned herself beside the velvet-draped table showcasing the crystal ball. The holly, bay, and mistletoe I had ordered from the florist ringed the raised platform supporting the crystal. Their fresh, wintry scents cut through the incense smells, reminding me of home. With a pang, I thought of my parents. I hadn't heard from Dad since his miffed response to my email. Mom, at least, had called and said she was proud of me for upholding my promise to Aunt Terra.

  "Dad's disappointed," Mom had explained over the phone, "because he wanted us to spend Christmas together."

  Yeah. Well. So did I.

  Aunt Terra's star-white cotton-and-lace dress stood out among the sea of dark pants and Christmas sweaters. The silver circlet with a fiery garnet she wore around her head gleamed. The crowd quieted. I beckoned to Jett and Isis to inch forward.

  "Welcome, everyone!" Aunt Terra clasped her hands together and beamed at the audience. "I'm pleased to see so many new and familiar faces." She gestured toward Betty, Arthur, and other store regulars who had arrived early to secure front row seats.

  As she continued her introduction, Jett murmured in my ear, "If this bombs, I'll have to switch schools."

  I assumed my best stage manager pep rally whisper. "You've got this. You crackle with magic."

  He snorted. "You lie like a dog."

  "Prove me right." I extended my arm, fist closed, and bumped Jett's inked knuckles. Tiny currents zapped me. My lips spread into a genuine smile. "Oh, yeah! You crackle!"

  A smug smile lit Jett's face. He flicked his head and his bangs swung upward, revealing dark bad boy eyes.

  "Two lucky audience members will receive fire fortunes tonight," Aunt Terra announced from the stage. "Without further ado, I present Jett Julliard."

  Jett released Isis's hand and jogged to the stage as though he were a boxer entering the ring. When he pivoted toward the audience and raised his arm in greeting, his ebony blazer shifted, revealing the dark red tee beneath. His iconic black skinny jeans molded his narrow legs. He had painted over the white areas of his piano-keyboard sneakers with a blood-red felt pen.

  On cue, Lucia dimmed the lights. The flames from five tea candles on the table cast an eerie glow. The clapping quieted. I hoisted the tote bag. Isis clasped my free hand, and we tiptoed closer, shielded by a bookcase, and sat on the carpet.

  "The winter solstice marks the longest night of the soul," Jett began. "Tonight alone, darkness triumphs. Before we bring in the light of fire and the light of fortune, let us take a moment to close our eyes and reflect back on the year."

  Isis scooted closer until her knobby knee jabbed against my thigh. The tote with the spell book weighed against my other leg. I closed my eyes and thought back to my friends at Athenian Academy, my parents' announcement about the cruise, Isis and her mother on the plane, meeting Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun, my first encounters with Jett and Thor, and meeting the board. My mind backed up to Thor. I opened my eyes and wiped my hands up and down my khakis.

  Onstage, Jett released a long breath. "Lucia, please raise the lights. Not to full brightness. Thank you." His gaze swept the audience. "Has everyone who wants a fire fortune placed their names in the hat? Sorry, but you must be fourteen years or older." He held aloft a black velvet top hat Aunt Terra had retrieved from her costume trunk. Three late arrivals hurried over and stuffed handwritten scraps of paper into the hat. As they returned to their seats, Jett motioned Morningstar to the stage and implored her to mix up the contents of the hat.

  Jett focused on the audience. "If I draw your name, please come onstage and stand beside me. Bring one person to stand as witness."

  Several people squirmed in their seats. Jett continued. "You may wonder why the first row has been set back at such a distance. Fire fortunes warp the time-space continuum. While the fortune unfolds, air pressure will build up around the stage. For you, the audience, the lights will remain on." He gestured to Lucia to step away from the light switches. She took three giant strides forward.

  "I make no guarantees about what will happen within the vortex." He assumed an ominous tone. I wondered if the experience would differ for each person. Maybe Jett didn't want to plant any ideas. Audience members either leaned forward, intent on his
every word, or shifted in their seats.

  "Morningstar, please pull the first name."

  Morningstar averted her gaze while she rummaged through the scraps of paper. The audience held its collective breath. Isis scraped her shoes together. Morningstar handed the name to Jett and took the hat.

  The color drained from Jett's face and his hand shook.

  "Uh-oh," Isis whispered.

  Jett swallowed, then read the name out loud. "Private First Class Hector Hernandez."

  A stir of excitement spread through the crowd. Two guys with military haircuts jumped up. I recognized them, especially the redhead. My gaze swung back to the stage and collided with Jett's panicked look.

  I rose to my knees. The redhead sat down, smiling, arm pumping as his buddy and a dark-haired young woman approached the stage. Jett imperceptibly shook his head. I rocked back on my heels, half sitting, ready to sprint to the front if need be. I thought back on the day the two Marines had visited the store — the day of the bet. The redhead had mentioned his friend's daughter.

  "Private?" Jett asked.

  "Yes. And this is my wife Emilia. She'll be my witness."

  "Welcome, both of you."

  Before, when Jett had demonstrated the fire fortunes to me, the two Marines had been oblivious to the whirling room, the darkening of the register area, and clanging of the chime. What would it look like to the forty-seven people in the audience, and the board members who had migrated closer for a better look?

  They'll think we're fakes. They're going to demand their money back. Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun will be ruined. Jett will have to be homeschooled.

  "Uh, why do I need a witness?" Hector asked.

  Jett didn't blink. "Because you are about to enter a different reality. You may see things the audience cannot see. If you experience it with someone else, they can validate what you saw." Jett's arm gesture included the audience. "And these good folks won't think you are so crazy."

  Well done!

  "And if nothing happens," Jett added, "then you can both say I'm a fraud."

  Several people in the audience laughed.

  Jett raised the crystal sphere. "Emilia, please remove the scarf from the stand. Hector, please lift the stand and show it to the audience." They both did as Jett had asked. "Now place the stand anywhere on the table within reach and cover it once more."

  When they had done so, he replaced the crystal on the stand. "Gather close," Jett instructed the couple, "and keep your eyes on the crystal ball. Audience, please remain silent and do not, under any circumstances, approach the stage."

  Mac and Uncle Esmun took their positions, ready to stop anyone who tried to storm the stage. None of us knew what would happen if the vortex was penetrated. Mac had speculated it wouldn't be good. The trick had been to locate spots outside the vortex, but not block the audience's view — even though there might not be anything to see.

  Isis stood and leaned against me. Jett placed his fingertips on the crystal ball. His face twisted. Isis sucked in air and clutched my shoulder. The flames sketched on Jett's knuckles pulsed blood red against his suddenly bone-white skin. The chairs in the front row rattled.

  Hector and Emilia went wild-eyed. Emilia clapped her hands over her ears. Her long, dark hair flew up and whipped around her head as though buffeted by a strong gale. The velvet tablecloth rippled and flapped. Jett's lips moved. Everyone leaned forward to catch his words, except for the people in the front row. They clung to their seats or each other. All of them leaned to the right as though pushed by an unseen force.

  It ended as abruptly as it had begun. Emilia's hair tumbled to her shoulders. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, and they embraced. Morningstar stepped forward with a bowl of water and a towel draped over her arm. Jett plunged his fingers into the cool water and hissed air through his teeth.

  The red-haired Marine stood and shouted, "Did it work? What did you see?" Several people in the front row glared over their shoulders at him. The rest scooted their chairs back.

  "It was awesome!" Hector said. "Like a movie playing inside the crystal, only it was surrounded by flames."

  Jett, looking relieved and a little dazed, dried his hands on the towel. The tension eased out of my body, and I sat back down.

  "Care to share with us what you saw?" Arthur asked, his fedora askew.

  The couple exchanged a proud look. Emilia said, "We saw our baby girl graduate from college."

  Hector added, "From medical school!"

  Everyone clapped. Hector pumped Jett's hand. Then Emilia hugged him before they returned to their seats. Jett's glance swerved to us. Isis waved. I gave Jett two thumbs up.

  One down. One to go.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Onstage, Morningstar spritzed Jett's hands with liquid sage. The sharp, woodsy scent filtered through the audience. I glanced again at the front door, still hoping Thor would appear.

  Jett wiggled his fingertips to air dry them. "Tonight's event is a fundraiser for our schools and for Spiral Journeys. So I thank you all for being here and supporting these good causes. I see my principal in the audience. If she wins the next fortune, I hope hers shows me graduating!"

  The audience laughed.

  "He's good," I whispered to Isis.

  She nodded, wide-eyed.

  "Are you ready for the next fortune?"

  The audience cheered. Several people in the front row scooted their chairs back farther, crowding the row behind them.

  "For me," Jett explained when the gathering had quieted, "fire fortunes are like electric shock therapy. It takes a lot out of me. When the fortunes show something bad, it wrecks me. So I'm sorry I can only perform two tonight. But after this next and final fire fortune, please stay in your seats. We'll be drawing names for some cool giveaways, including free readings from members of the Spiral Journeys Board and gift baskets full of magical stuff."

  Jett held the hat aloft while Morningstar combed through the entries.

  "Nothing bad." Isis crossed her fingers and closed her eyes.

  My gaze flicked from the redheaded Marine to Arthur's fedora. Jett had the audience's rapt attention. They all leaned forward in their seats, including Betty. I crossed my fingers. Please let Jett end on a good note.

  Inside the black tote, the spell book pushed against my knee and trembled.

  Morningstar withdrew a name and handed it to Jett. His anxious expression hardened into fear. His gaze dropped to the front row.

  "Oh, crap," I muttered.

  "You better call in the angel," Isis whispered.

  "It's not an angel. It's a dragon."

  She threw me a sure-it-is look.

  "Besides, I can't summon it. It appears when it wants to."

  Jett's lips twisted, and his Adam's apple bobbed as if he had swallowed back vomit. "Betty Dean."

  The spell book rumbled.

  Isis ducked behind me. "What's the matter with it?"

  "It got hit by some bad magic, and the writing disappeared," I whispered over the clapping and exclamations of disappointment.

  "What's the matter with it now?"

  "I'm not sure." I held my breath as an elated Betty and worried-looking Arthur joined Jett beside the table. Morningstar carried away the top hat.

  Betty raised a shaky hand to quiet the audience. Her hunched shoulders rose toward the turquoise teardrops on her earlobes before sinking again. "I hoped Jett would pick me!" She patted Arthur's forearm. "This is Arthur. We married in Louisiana forty-nine and a half years ago."

  Isis leaned over my shoulder. She cupped her hand over the side of her mouth and whispered in my ear, her breath warm and somehow sweet. "In princess stories, true love makes everything better."

  True love. I remembered how the spell book had chirped when Thor had held my hand. My heart knifed. The rumbling within the black tote grew louder. I clutched it to my chest to deaden the sound. The bookcase hid us from the rear two-thirds of the audience, but I sensed unhappy glare
s emanating from the other side.

  Onstage, Betty and Arthur lifted the cloth and small stand to prove there were no hidden wires or video equipment. Jett touched his fingers to the crystal ball. I waited for his condemned man expression to morph into one of pain, signaling the fortune had begun. Betty leaned over the table for a better look. Arthur clasped her hand.

  The spell book pushed against the black nylon, knocking my arms apart. The zipper began to open.

  No. No. No. I grappled with the zipper tags, trying to force them closed. They jerked from my grasp. Isis crouched behind me, her side pressed hot against my back. With a zzzzz sound, the zipper unraveled and the textbook-sized grimoire thudded onto the carpet.

  I jerked back, knocking into Isis. She sidestepped to regain her balance. The spell book inched across the carpet toward the stage.

  I glanced up at Jett and the magic struck.

  Jett's eyes shut, and his head kicked back. Arthur's fedora flew off his head, revealing beads of sweat. The first two rows tilted to the right as though on a roller coaster. Betty, her eyes wide, covered her mouth with her hands. Arthur's arm slid around her waist. He steadied himself with a wider stance and pulled her against his side.

  The grimoire commando-crawled toward the stage. It shrank and splintered, taking the form of small, square photographs of a youthful Betty and Arthur at Mardi Gras, well-worn envelopes inscribed in a careful hand, and newspaper clippings featuring Arthur and Betty's engagement photo, their marriage announcement, and a news story about the desegregation of Louisiana schools.

  Onstage, Betty's gaze was riveted on the crystal ball. Her hopeful expression collapsed. Tears coursed down Arthur's sunken cheeks.

  My heart constricted as though squeezed by a blood pressure cuff. A woman in the audience cried, "Oh, no!" Several people sniffed.

  I glanced at the floor. As though cloaked in its own vortex, the spell book — a tumbleweed of handwritten letters, photographs, and news clippings — advanced unnoticed. My muscles clenched. It had already reached the third row.