Witch Ways

by Tate, Kristy

  “I want you to sing just like that, but this time, keep your shoulders squared.” Pinching my chin in her fingers, she pulled my mouth down. “And drop your jaw. Imagine your mouth is a hollow auditorium, and you need to fill it with sound. Got it? Do you think you can face the audience now?”

  I nodded, which was hard since she still had hold of my chin.

  “Good.” After taking my shoulders and steering me to the center front of the stage, she nodded at Mrs. Olson. “Let’s try it again.”

  Looking at the back of the auditorium, ignoring my former best friend, the guy who wanted to be my boyfriend, Josh, and all the Oz creatures surrounding me, I sang about happy little bluebirds without a warble.

  Mrs. Olson left her piano, strode across the stage, and hit me in the stomach.

  “Ow!” I complained, staring at the tiny woman with balled fists. She balanced on the balls of her feet, doing a fair impression of a prizefighter—if there were eighty-year-old prizefighters who wore floral cardigans and strings of pearls.

  “I’m going to do it again!” She punched the air with her curled fists.

  “What? Why?” I could easily take her on, but why would I?

  “Because that tightness you feel in your diaphragm right now,” she placed her hand on my belly, “is how I want your muscles to feel when you sing. I want you to belt out that frou-frou rainbow song as if you’re expecting a blow to the gut any second.”

  She raised her fists and her eyebrows. “Go ahead, sing.”

  “Are you serious? I don’t even have my starting note.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t need your starting note—just belt out the words.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “No, no, no.” Mrs. Olson dropped her fists. “Not like that.”

  “Like what then?”

  But no one answered my question. All the monkeys and Munchkins began to scream as the piano rolled straight at me. I pushed Mrs. Olson out of the way of the careening piano and stumbled after her. The piano whizzed by.

  Janette screamed as the piano barreled into her. She flew—more airborne than any of the flying monkeys had ever been. Her head struck the edge of the piano. As she lay on the stage, still and lifeless, blood oozed onto the floor.

  Dylan vaulted onto the stage, and Josh thundered down the aisle. Oz creatures gathered around.

  Andrea clomped over in her black witch shoes, muttering, “Oh, dear. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She looked at me, before refocusing on Janette.

  Mr. Oliver knelt beside her and picked up her wrist. “Her pulse is fine.”

  “Someone call Emergency,” I said, noting the warble in my voice had returned.

  “Done,” Bree called.

  Seconds later, sirens wailed. We all stood in reverent silence, gathered around Janette, as if protecting her—too little, too late. The EMTs arrived, and I turned away. I didn’t want to see the blood dripping from Janette’s hair.

  Dylan wrapped a comforting arm around me, making me forget I no longer liked him. His solid warmth helped ease my shivering.

  “I should call Uncle Mitch,” I said, my teeth chattering. “He would want to know.”

  “I’ll do it,” Josh said, pulling out his phone after giving Dylan a dark look.

  “You have his number?” I asked.

  Josh didn’t look up. “He called after our night in the woods.”

  I briefly saw Bree’s curious and hostile face, before Dylan turned me so I faced his chest.

  “Do you want to go home?” he whispered in my hair.

  I nodded.

  “I’m going to go to the hospital,” Andrea said.

  “But what will happen now?” Bree asked.

  All eyes turned to Andrea, and she shrugged in response. “I’m sure Janette will be fine.”

  “She didn’t look fine,” Lincoln said, as he pulled off his monkey wings and threw them on the stage.

  Josh dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s follow the ambulance.” He turned to me. “Evie, there’s room in the van.”

  “I’ll take her,” Dylan said.

  Bree’s hostility wafted up onto the stage and smacked me in the face. I blinked. I knew that Bree shouldn’t mandate whom I did and didn’t like. It really bothered me she’d choose her infatuation with Dylan over our friendship, and yet, I didn’t think I liked Dylan, not in the way he wanted me to. Even now, when I was shaken and upset, I found him smothering, like a really big friendly dog trying to share my space.

  “I’ll ride with the Hendersons,” I said.

  “Are you sure?” Dylan tipped my chin up to meet his.

  I pulled away from him, and straightened my shoulders. “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” It sounded more like a threat than a promise.

  I nodded.

  Walking across the stage, I carefully avoided the blood staining the wooden floor. Josh and Lincoln followed while Bree clomped up the stairs with her crutches.

  Once we were in the car, she started. “I thought you said you didn’t like him!”

  “Shut up, Bree,” Josh said as he started the van.

  Grateful, I looked at him in the rearview mirror. He didn’t look any friendlier than Bree sounded.

  “Yeah, shut up, Bree,” I mimicked Josh.

  She responded by folding her arms and staring out the window.

  A few scattered raindrops hit the windshield. None of us spoke, not even Lincoln. The sound of the rain grew. A few awkward moments later, Josh turned on the wipers, and their noise combined with that of the rain.

  I spotted Uncle Mitch’s car in the hospital parking lot. As soon as Josh parked the van, I bolted, hoping to find Uncle Mitch.

  He stood in the admission waiting room, surrounded by the rest of the Thornhill Thespians. When he saw me, he opened his arms and I ran to him. Seconds later, he enveloped me in a warm hug and kissed the top of my head.

  “What happened?” he asked. “I already heard it from a bunch of the monkeys, but I want to hear it from you.”

  I tried to tell him everything I could remember.

  “So, what made the piano move? And at enough speed to send Janette flying? If she weighs one hundred and thirty pounds, the piano had to be traveling at—”

  I interrupted him. “Uncle Mitch, I love you. But right now I don’t want to do math.”

  “But—?” He scratched his head.

  He was right. The piano had never voluntarily moved before.

  Uncle Mitch continued, “A stationary object remains at rest until you apply a force to it. Once you set it in motion, the object continues to move at a constant speed until it strikes another object. The more mass an object has, the more force you must apply to make it accelerate, to change its speed, direction, or both. And we all know a piano of that size and age could possibly weigh a thousand pounds.”

  A nurse came out of the double doors that read “No Admittance.” “Are you friends and family of Janette Starks?”

  We all nodded.

  “The doctor would like to speak to a family member,” the nurse said.

  Uncle Mitch stepped forward. “I want to be a family member, does that count?”

  The nurse grinned. “Sure. Follow me.”

  With Uncle Mitch gone, I didn’t know where to sit. I chose a seat as far away from Bree as possible and picked up a magazine. Josh sat down next to me, his solid bulk sending warmth. He didn’t say anything, and I was glad. Even the monkeys and Munchkins were somber and quiet. A TV in the corner played an old rerun of a sit-com full of canned laughter, but not one of the Thornhill Thespians even smiled.

  A few minutes later, the “No Admittance” doors swung open and Uncle Mitch reappeared.

  “She’s going to be okay,” he said.

  We all sighed in relief.

  “But her skull is fractured,” Uncle Mitch continued.

  “Ew,” Lincoln said. “Does that mean her brain might fall out?”

  Un
cle Mitch cleared his throat, trying not to smile. “I hope not. She’s regained consciousness. Other than a headache, she seems fine.”

  “Can we see her?” I asked.

  “When can she come home?” Bree asked.

  Uncle Mitch held up his hand for us to be quiet. “She needs to stay here for a few days for observation. After she’s released, she’ll need to take it easy for at least a month.”

  “No more pies,” one of the Munchkins said in a sad whisper.

  “What about the play?” Bree asked. “Opening night is in six weeks.”

  “They should cancel it,” Josh said.

  “Nonsense,” Andrea said. “I don’t think Janette would want that.”

  “All of the proceeds are going to the theater renovation,” Mr. Oliver said. “And I’m sure we’ve already spent a lot of money we’d lose if we just called it quits.”

  “Andrea—you can direct us,” Mr. Oliver said. “You have lots of talent and experience.”

  Andrea shook her head. “No, I really can’t.”

  “You have to!” a Munchkin cried.

  Andrea shuffled her feet. “You flatter me.”

  “You mean you’ll do it?” Bree asked.

  Andrea nodded.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Even though I did not believe in witchcraft, I still looked for a healing spell in the books Birdie gave me. The early evening moon skimming the treetops peeked through my window.

  Because Uncle Mitch had just left to visit Janette at the hospital, I knew I had hours on my own. I found a number of healing spells, but chose the simplest one. I tried to follow the directions completely.

  Step one: Meditate to summon energy.

  After a quick glance at the clock ticking on the wall, I sat down cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor. Scratch wandered in to keep me company, while Amber watched with slit eyes from her perch on the back of the sofa. It felt weird to sit without thinking for fifteen minutes, but I could do it for Janette.

  Step two: On a white cloth, write the name of the person in need of healing.

  I scrambled to find a white cloth, but after a moment of indecision, I cut a small square out of one of my white T-shirts. Using a waterproof marker, I wrote down Janette’s name, and then when inspiration hit, I added Bree’s to the opposite side. I didn’t know if healing spells could be shared, but decided that since it was all malarkey, what could it hurt?

  Step three: Encircle your cloth with the earthly elements of water, earth, incense, and one burning candle.

  It didn’t take me long to find and assemble everything I needed on the kitchen table.

  Step four: Prepare the spell. The butter provides the secret balm. Use sugar and molasses for a touch of sweetness. The ginger will add spice, zest, and love of life. Cinnamon warms the heart, soul, and mind.

  Step five: When your cake is complete, offer this prayer of healing.

  Earth, Sky, Hills, and Rain,

  Bless my love, ease her pain,

  Sun, Moon, Stars and all above,

  Show thy mercy on the one I love.

  Help her sweet relief find,

  Return her to health of body and mind.

  For love of brother, sister, parent, child,

  I call for water, fire, Earth, and air mild,

  Powers of all, shed thy grace this moon night,

  Restore my love to health, vigor and might.

  Make him as he ever was and shall ever be,

  That he may serve the world and blessed be.

  I poured the batter into a cupcake tin, and while I waited for it to bake, I worked on my newspaper article. As I wrote about Hugh Thornhill, the fortune his father had made in the shipping industry, and the millions Hugh had lost in his disastrous Broadway plays, I found myself wanting to use the witch lingo in the books I’d read—smote, curse, mote it be.

  Finally, when the cakes were done, I pulled them from the oven. I didn’t know what I wanted to say to Bree, but I knew I had to say something. I tried to think of what that something should be as I filled a plate to take to the Hendersons.

  If she wanted to play Dorothy, Bree needed her leg to heal—and that took time. But now she could choose to heal our friendship . . . or not. It was pretty much up to her. And if a few of the other Hendersons ended up eating healing cupcakes, that couldn’t hurt.

  #

  Bree must have seen me coming, because she met me at the door. She wore a pair of shorts, an oversized T-shirt with a picture of a Boston terrier on it, and a slipper that looked like a little fluffy sheep on her one foot. A pink sock matching her cast covered the toes of her other foot. Her curls framed her face, and her lips twisted when she saw me.

  “I brought you cupcakes,” I told her. After glancing at my plate, I said, “They’re nothing like Janette’s, but I put a healing spell on them so you can hurry up, get better, and be Dorothy.”

  Bree blinked as tears welled in her eyes. “I’ve missed you.” She threw her arms around me, making the plate of cupcakes waver.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I said into her hair.

  She pulled away. “From now on it’s sisters before misters!”

  “Does that mean you still want to marry Marcus?”

  “It means I don’t care if Dylan Fox likes you!”

  “Really?”

  Bree nodded. “I realize no guy could ever replace you. I mean, guys might come and go, but you’ll always be around.” She paused. “At least I hope you will. Jealousy made me stupid. It made me say and think stupid things. It isn’t about who’s prettier, funnier or smarter. It’s not like we’re a couple of cookies on a plate and Dylan has to decide if he likes chocolate chip or vanilla cream.”

  “Wait, I’m the vanilla cream, aren’t I?”

  “Well, it’s pretty obvious I’m the chocolate chip because of my freckles.”

  “But vanilla cream is boring.”

  “Well, what kind of cookie do you want to be?”

  I sighed. “I’m not sure. That’s bad, isn’t it? I really am boring vanilla.”

  Bree bumped me with her shoulder. “Dylan Fox seems to like vanilla. But you don’t like him back, right?”

  I shrugged, not really knowing how I felt. “I did like him,” I confessed. “And I liked that he liked me until . . .”

  “Until what?” Bree’s voice squeaked. “I want to know what could possibly make anyone not like Dylan Fox!”

  I glanced inside through the open door. Josh and his little brothers were crowded around the TV playing Mario Cart. Mr. Henderson sat beside Gabby at the dining room table, an open book in front of them. Gabby had a pencil and a pad of paper. In the kitchen, someone was doing the dishes. The air smelled of cinnamon cookies.

  Bree took my wrist and pulled me into a chair on the porch. “Tell me everything!”

  I bit my lip, debating. Mrs. Fox being a witch really wasn’t my secret to share, but I wasn’t used to keeping things from Bree. Taking a deep breath, I started. “Remember how Birdie thinks she’s a witch?”

  Bree nodded yes, but I read confusion in her eyes.

  “Dylan was all right with that.” I held out the plate of cupcakes.

  “What does that mean?” Bree took a cupcake and bit into it.

  “How is it?” I asked.

  Bree frowned at it. “It’s good. Not at all medicine-y. What’s in it?”

  “Nothing weird. No eyes of newts or toads.” I recited the recipe as best as I could remember.

  Bree nodded. “So Dylan’s okay with witches and that weirded you out?”

  “It was more than that, but yeah. I just couldn’t see him having a conversation with Uncle Mitch.”

  Comprehension lit Bree’s eyes. “You think he’s stupid because he believes in witches!”

  I nodded.

  “And you just brought me cupcakes you made with a healing spell?”

  I laughed. “I know . . . stupid.”

  Smiling, Bree lifted one shoulder and took another
bite of the cupcake. “Works for me!”

  The front door banged open, and Josh started across the porch and down the steps. He stopped when he saw me. “Evie.”

  “Josh,” I said, matching his tone.

  He looked as if he wanted to leave but couldn’t because I was there. As if I was somehow stopping him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Sitting.”

  “But . . . it’s dark.”

  “I know.”

  “So why?”

  “Well, it has a lot to do with gravitational pull. See, the earth rotates around the sun—”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He put his hands on his hips. “Are you walking home in the dark?”

  I looked across the field that separated our properties. “My house is right there, Josh.”

  Bree picked up the plate of cupcakes and held it out. “Here, Josh, take a cupcake. It will heal your perpetual Josh-i-ness.”

  He turned on her. “Everything is just a joke to you.”

  “Not everything,” Bree shot back, “but you definitely are.”

  I touched her foot with mine. “That’s kind of mean,” I whispered.

  Josh tucked his hands in his jean’s pockets. “Come on, I’ll walk you home,” he said, ignoring Bree.

  Bree stood up. “She’s my friend.”

  Josh’s scowl deepened. “Then come with us.”

  “I’m not going to walk across the field. My cast will get wet.”

  Josh turned his frown on me. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I guess.”

  “You don’t have to,” Bree said. “If you don’t want to walk in the dark, I’m sure my dad will take you home. Gabby might like a break from her math.”

  “No, that’s silly.” I looked across the field at my empty house. Uncle Mitch was probably still at the hospital with Janette. “You can just watch me walk.”

  Josh folded his arms.

  Sighing, I stood. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I told Bree.

  I matched Josh’s strides as we cut across the pasture. “What’s with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why are you walking me home?”

  He made a noise that sounded a lot like a growl. “Is your memory really so short?”