by Tate, Kristy
I found Josh in the shadows beneath the maple tree. He wore a faded pair of low-slung jeans and a T-shirt that clung to his muscled chest.
“Hey,” he said softly, looking over his shoulder to make sure we couldn’t be overheard. Bending his head toward me, he whispered, “Do you have my key?”
I had totally forgotten about the dirt bike’s key, but now that he mentioned it, I could mentally see it sitting on my desk beside a stack of books. “I’ll have to get it, but Bree’s in there.”
“I know. You want me to climb the tree?”
I imagined Josh in my room, and knowing he didn’t belong in there, I shook my head. “I’ll get it.” I glanced up at the tree before looking down at my sweatpants and slippers. I took hold of the lowest branch.
Josh put his hand on my arm and his warmth tingled through me. I turned to look at him, wondering if he felt the strange heat of our connection, too.
“Wait. What if you fall?”
“I won’t. I’ve been climbing this tree for years.”
“Yeah, but that’s true for Bree, too, and she fell.”
I shook his hand off my arm. “Do you want your key, or not?”
“Just go up the stairs like a normal person,” Josh said.
“Bree will ask me what I’m doing.”
He rolled his eyes. “Then let me get it.”
“No. I don’t want you in my room.” My thoughts went to the spell books on my bed. They were just some of the things I didn’t want Josh to see.
“I have sisters. I know the sort of stuff they have in their room.”
Heat crawled up my cheeks, and to keep him from seeing it, I lifted up into the tree.
“Evie!” Josh reached for my ankle, but I kicked at his hand.
“I’m not going to fall,” I said without looking down at him. A branch reached out and snagged my T-shirt. A waft of cold air blew across my bare belly. I let go of the tree to pull my shirt down.
Below me, I heard Josh inhale deeply.
“I’m okay,” I said, resuming my climb. I swung through the window, snagged the key off my desk, and wondered how to carry it down. Because I didn’t have any pockets, I put it in my bra before I went back out the window.
Josh stood below me in a puddle of light shining through the kitchen window. He had his arms folded across his chest, and a worried look on his face.
I inched out onto the thickest tree branch, and then shimmied down to land beside Josh. Hypersensitive to his following my movements, I reached into my bra and pulled out the key. It felt warm.
I placed it in Josh’s outstretched hand, and knew immediately from the way his eyes widened he felt the heat, too.
He curled his fingers around it. “Thanks,” he said before he turned to leave.
I watched him go before I went to the corner of the yard where the jasmine grew. Long ago, I had helped my Grandma Jean with the flower-beds. She had paid me for every weed I pulled. She told me only two types of jasmine could grow in frosty New England, and most jasmine love tropical warmth. This was shortly after my mom had left, and I had wondered if my mom had preferred the tropical warmth, too.
Not wanting to think about my mom, Grandma Jean, or Josh and his muscles while I concocted a love elixir, I grabbed a handful of jasmine, plucked a wilting flower off a rose bush with yellowing leaves, and headed back for the house.
Bree had a black pot and a large slotted spoon on the counter. “Was Josh in your yard?”
My thoughts scrambled.
Bree cocked her head. “There’s nothing going on between you guys, right? You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”
I thought up a lie. “He said you have to go home before nine.”
“Argh! I’m sixteen!”
“I’m pretty sure Josh doesn’t care. You should ask if you could stay the night.”
Bree sat down at the table and pulled out her phone.
While she called her mom, I carefully added the ingredients to the pot, keeping my face turned just in case she could read my not-so-brotherly thoughts about her brother.
Uncle Mitch, looking rumpled and preoccupied, shuffled into the room. “What are you making?” He lifted his nose in the air, sniffing.
“Tea,” I said. “Can Bree stay the night?”
Uncle Mitch nodded, came to the stove to inspect the love elixir, grabbed a soda from the fridge, and headed back to his science lab without another word.
“It smells like heaven,” Bree said.
I looked down the hall, making sure Uncle Mitch had closed his lab door. “Do you think sex feels as good as this smells?” I asked.
“Better.” Bree lifted the spoon and held it to her nose, inhaling deeply. “I want to taste it.”
“You can’t!” I grabbed the spoon out of her hand and put it back in the pot. “Promise me you won’t.”
She laughed, but didn’t reach for the spoon. “I thought you said this is malarkey?”
I stood in front of the elixir, protecting it. “It is, but still . . . we need to honor the malarkey.”
Bree flipped through the book, paused, and read. “You know it says here that white witches have a moral code.”
“Witches have a moral code—who knew?”
Bree nodded. Looking serious she read from the book. “White witchcraft is strictly benevolent. Many neo-pagan witches profess ethical codes that prevent them from performing magic on a person without their request.” She looked up at me. “Do you think I should ask Dylan before I give him the love elixir?”
“What do you think?”
“I think no.”
“I agree with you.”
“Does that make us black witches?”
“No. That makes us smart . . . or at least less dumb.”
After the elixir had steeped for several minutes, I slipped on a pair of oven mitts and carried the pot outside. With the book of spells tucked under her arm, Bree followed me on her crutches. She looked up at the stars. “Do you think the moon is high enough?”
“I don’t know. It’s also supposed to be waxing, and I don’t even know what that means.”
“It kind of sounds like a candle,” Bree said, hobbling after me.
Hoping Josh had long since disappeared, I stopped in the middle of the lawn and put the pot down at my feet. “Do you want to do it?”
She nodded. “You’re the witch.”
“No, I’m not!”
“Well, you’re the one with witch genes.”
“But you’re the one who wants Dylan to fall in love with you.”
Bree sighed. “But all I’ve got in my gene pool are knitters and choir directors. It’s not going to work for me.”
“You don’t know. For all you know, you’ve got a bunch of gypsies, or shamans—”
“Whoever heard of a redheaded gypsy or shaman?”
I grabbed the book from her hand and opened it to the love potion. Steam curled from the pot at my feet.
Clearing my throat, I began.
Goddess of love, blessed divine
Send me my love in perfect rhyme
Each to heart, and heart to heart
Together forever, never to part.
Open his eyes that he may see,
I am his and he is mine,
We belong until the end of time.
Quiet filled the night. The bugs stopped chirping, the owl fell silent, and the wind gently tossed leaves on the trees.
“What are you doing?” a voice in the dark asked.
I jumped and Bree screamed as Lincoln stepped out of the shadows.
“What are you doing here?” Bree demanded.
“Looking for night crawlers,” Lincoln said.
“Night crawlers?” I asked.
“Why?” Bree wanted to know.
Lincoln held up a tin can. “Josh promised me that if I could fill this up with night crawlers he would take me and Zack fishing tomorrow.”
“Is Dylan going with you?” Bree asked.
Lincoln narrowed his eyes at her
. “You can’t come. We’re taking dirt bikes to Polly’s Pond.”
“I don’t want to go with you!”
“Good!” Lincoln said. “‘Cause then I’d have to catch even more night crawlers, and they’re hard.”
“Here,” I said, walking over to the garden bed and squatting so I could turn over a few rocks. The worms wiggled in the moonlight. “See, night crawlers.”
“Thanks!” Lincoln said, using his tin can as a scoop.
I wondered if Josh would thank me. After all, I was pretty sure that telling Lincoln to find night crawlers was a con to get him out of the house, and that the fishing trip was just as fictional as witches, love potions and elixirs.
“You better go home before Mom or Dad catches you out after dark,” Bree said after Lincoln had a can full of night crawlers.
After he was out of earshot, I confided in Bree. A little. I didn’t tell her about my fingertips sparking, because I couldn’t. I could never admit to anyone, even myself that I might have really had something to do with the science room burning down. And I absolutely couldn’t tell her about getting lost, meeting Lauren Silver, and the whole shoe thing.
“Remember how you fell out the window after I said you should?” I began.
Bree nodded.
“And then something else weird happened. When I was at school . . . this is going to sound so out there.” I bent over to pick up the pot. It had probably had enough steeping beneath the waxing moon. “Never mind. Just forget it.” I started for the kitchen with the pot in my hands.
“Just say it.” Bree limped after me on her crutches. “You can’t start something like that and not finish it.”
“All right.” I climbed onto the porch and held open the screen door for her. “On my first day at Faith Despaign, I imagined a big dog chewing up the student’s shoes and it happened.” I put the pot down on the table and slipped off the oven mitts.
“What happened?”
“People started screaming. Students started pushing and shoving each other. And this great big, slobbery Great Dane showed up.”
Bree dropped into a chair. “Of all the things to visualize—why a Great Dane?”
“I don’t know. There were so many people, no one was paying any attention to me . . .”
“That’s too silly. You couldn’t have had anything to do with a dog showing up at the school.”
“I know, right? It’s like the whole ‘tell the universe what you want and it magically happens for you’ thing.” I shook myself. “I need to find something to keep this in.” I looked in a cupboard and pulled out two empty mason jars.
“You should let that cool some more before you try to pour it,” Bree said. “You know the whole ‘tell the universe’ thing doesn’t work, right? Remember how Candace was so into that? She was telling the universe multiple times a day she wanted Bryce Collins—until he got Mellissa Hopkins preggers. Then she didn’t want him anymore.” Bree propped her bad leg up on a chair. “Besides, why would you tell the universe you wanted a dog to chew people’s shoes?”
“I didn’t really. Just like I didn’t want you to really fall out the window, but the point is I said it, and then it happened.”
“And now you find out your grandmother is a witch, and she thinks you have powers.”
I sat down beside Bree. “I don’t think I want to have special powers.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“If you had special powers, what would you ask for?”
“My own bathroom.”
“That’s fair.”
“What about you? Other than the dog and my falling out of trees and other stupid stuff.”
I thought about it. Dylan Fox’s smile flashed in my mind. I dismissed him, because I couldn’t tell Bree I thought of him like that. I put the oven mitts back on. Carefully, I poured the still steaming elixir into two mason jars—one for Bree and one for me. It smelled like flowers, the earth, and the night sky.
“I guess I really want to talk to my mom.” I went to the sink to wash the pot. “I know that sounds lame.”
“No, I get it. You’re freaked out about your grandmother—and the whole science room thing. You don’t want to ask Birdie questions, because you don’t trust her. You know what your uncle is going to say—the M word. But your mom—she might have some answers, or at least, some clues about your grandmother.”
I nodded.
“How are we going to keep your uncle from drinking the elixir?” Bree asked.
“Easy. We’ll tell him it’s for females.” I took a scrap of paper and wrote “DO NOT DRINK, FOR GIRLS ONLY” on it. “For a scientist, he’s wussy about all things female. If I mention tampons, he pretty much leaves me alone for a week.”
I really thought my note would work, and that the elixir wouldn’t.
I was doubly wrong.
CHAPTER TEN
I woke the next morning to the sweet smell of Janette’s lemony blueberry muffins. Rolling over, I faced Bree. She’d obviously just woken up as well. She had bed-head, mascara smudges, and a look of envy on her face.
“You are so lucky Janette Sparks is in love with your uncle,” she said.
“I know, right? And he doesn’t even appreciate it as much as he should. He’s definitely an “open a can of soup” type of guy. For him, food is fuel.”
“Janette can feed me anytime.” Bree inhaled deeply and lay back against the pillows with her eyes closed. “This is heaven. You don’t even know how lucky you are. At my house right now, I can guarantee you the littles are watching the cartoon network at top volume, Gabby is probably practicing her trumpet, Josh and Candace are fighting over the bathroom, Dad’s griping about someone spilling cereal on the floor, and the dogs are eating the spilled cereal.” Bree gave a happy little sigh. “And I’m here. The sun is shining. I can primp in a bathroom without anyone knocking on the door, and best of all, Janette’s muffins are here, too.” Bree’s eyes flew open. “Do you think your uncle will eat all the muffins?”
“Not a chance. She always sends over at least six, even though there’s only the three of us, including Mrs. Mateo. You can have my second one—and probably Mrs. Mateo’s, too. She doesn’t really like Janette.”
“How can anyone not like Janette?”
“I think she’s worried that if Uncle Mitch marries Janette—or anyone, really—she’ll be out of a job. She gets huffy whenever Janette comes over.”
Bree sat up. “Oh, I hope she’s huffy! Then we can each have three muffins!”
That sounded like a lot of muffins, but I rolled out of bed, eager to scope out the baked goods situation. “Let’s go.”
I padded down the stairs with Bree and her crutches behind me. I stopped on the landing so suddenly that Bree bumped into me. If I hadn’t grabbed the banister, we both would have toppled down the stairs. I pointed at the mirror hanging in the dining room.
Janette Sparks sat on Uncle Mitch’s lap. Their lips locked. He had his hands in her hair and . . . ew . . . just ew.
“Oh my gosh!” said Bree.
I flew down the stairs and into the kitchen. One jar of the elixir was empty. I glanced around for my “DO NOT DRINK, FOR GIRLS ONLY” sign and couldn’t find it. A breeze blew in through the slightly ajar back door. I ran to the porch, and spotted my note fluttering outside on the lawn. Tripping down the back stairs, I picked up my note. Morning dew had turned FOR GIRLS ONLY into a blur of blue ink.
I stomped back into the house, picked up the empty Mason jar and headed for the dining room.
The kissing couple continued their groping. Two empty teacups stood on the table beside little plates covered with muffin crumbs.
“Stop this!” I said.
Janette opened an eye to look at me, but Uncle Mitch just tightened his hold on Janette.
I held out the empty jar, like I was holding an exhibit. “Did you drink this?”
“Of course, they did. Just look at them,” Bree said.
“Uncle Mitch!”
&nbs
p; He broke contact with Janette and looked at me with glazed eyes and bruised lips. He looked as if he’d never seen me before. “Why aren’t you at school?”
“It’s Columbus Day. No school.”
“Ah.” And then he went back to kissing Janette.
“Uncle Mitch!”
He pulled away from Janette, but kept his eyes on her lips. “Giddiness, racing heart, flushed skin and sweaty palms. Dopamine, norepinephrine and phenylethylamine releasing all at once!”
“Ew!” I said.
“Too much information, Uncle Mitch,” Bree said, trying not to laugh.
“Dopamine, the pleasure chemical, produces a feeling of bliss,” Uncle Mitch said.
“Oh, Mitch,” Janette sighed and cupped his face in her hands. “That is so romantic.”
“No, it’s not. It’s gross,” I said.
“Just wait,” Uncle Mitch said. “Someday it will happen to you.” He leaned back toward Janette to continue the make-out session.
Bree nudged me. “Ask if we can have their muffins.”
I shook my head, no longer hungry.
“The human body releases the cocktail of love rapture only when certain conditions are met,” Uncle Mitch murmured. “Men more readily produce it than women. Do you feel it?”
“Oh, I do,” Janette muttered back.
“I have got to give this to Dylan,” Bree whispered in my ear. Spinning on her crutches, she headed for the kitchen.
“This isn’t right.” I followed. “That is definitely not like Uncle Mitch. We can’t let him go on like that. He’s going to regret it,” I whispered.
Bree picked up a muffin and shook it in my face. “Is he? What’s the worst thing that can happen? He’ll end up married to Janette and have to face a life full of incredibly delicious baked goods.” She bit into the muffin and gave a moan of pleasure.
After another worried glance into the dining room, I went to the window. “Do you really think Josh is taking Lincoln fishing today?”
“Who cares about Josh and Lincoln? We have to find Dylan.” Bree licked her fingers.
“That,” I pointed at the dining room with a trembling finger, “proves nothing.”
“Right. We need more data,” Bree said. “That’s why we need to find Dylan. For science.”
Bree’s phone buzzed with a text. She looked at it and groaned. “I have to go home and watch the littles so my mom can run errands.”
