Henny lit up. “Well,” she said eagerly. “I always use the computer lab during lunch. Because sometimes I do hand-drawn comics and need the scanner, or sometimes it’s nice to see my stuff on the big screen instead of my tablet. You know? Anyway, a couple weeks ago he started coming into the lab. Every. Day. During. Lunch. I mean, that’s awfully suspicious, right?”
“Or he can’t afford his own computer,” I pointed out.
Henny shot me a dirty look. Our bond was already deteriorating. “He is not the sort of person who would need to use the computer lab,” she said frostily. “He clearly has ulterior motives.”
“Of course,” soothed Jenah.
Henny’s face went all blissed out and she said, “Last week he asked me what the Internet password was.” She opened her eyes. “And he could have found that on the board, you know?”
Patiently Jenah said, “Who’s your crush, Hen?”
She sighed, and her brown skin flushed right up under her glasses. “Leo.”
“Mmm-hmm,” said Jenah. “You’re not going to make this easy on us, are you?”
The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Who’s Leo?” I said.
They both looked at me like I had sprung fully formed from the toilets a moment before and had no knowledge of anything. “Football quarterback,” they said in unison.
“Ah. And how do you expect me to get the football hero to fall for you?”
“Love potion,” said Henny.
3
A Mystikal Spelle of Great Power
“So what, some kind of Look at Me spell?” I said.
“Love potion,” Henny said firmly.
I had never particularly thought about love potions before. And yet, the second Henny said it, I immediately knew what I thought.
Not a good idea.
Being a good witch meant not doing things to people like Sarmine and Malkin and all the rest did. It meant asking people what they want. And there was no getting around it. Forcing a boy to fall in love with a girl was not going to be fair to the boy, no matter how great a match the girl thought it was and how much she wanted it.
Of course, Henny had us over a barrel. She could spread the word about us immediately.
Was this another case like the newt eyeball dilemma? I could only do good in one place by doing harm somewhere else?
I opened my mouth to say something weaselly like, “Let’s think about it overnight,” when a commotion drifted up to our ears from outside the bathroom window. We all ran to the tiny window to see a green cloud of smoke billowing up in the air, just off campus.
“Didn’t that kid in the cafeteria say Brandon’s car got hit by a delivery truck?” said Jenah.
“Would that cause clouds of green smoke?” I said.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” said Henny.
The three of us clattered down the stairs and out the door. A largish group of kids in the same lunch period as us were clustered at the edge of the parking lot. It’s technically a closed campus, so everyone was nose to the edge, so to speak.
The parking lot was jammed full, as usual. You have to be a senior to get to park there at all, and even so you’re not guaranteed a spot. Juniors’ and sophomores’ cars crowd the streets around the high school. The school is at the top of a hill, so everyone and their brother drives (and I mean that literally; car culture around here means a car for each driver in the family, plus a spare).
At any rate, the green smoke was not on school property. It smelled terrible—a mix of burning plastic and something medicinal. I shoved closer to see a black, shiny, massive SUV—no delivery truck anywhere in sight. Green gas belched from the SUV’s windows, its sunroof, its tailpipe thingy, and from the lug nuts on its tires. Also it was wheezing like an elephant slowly collapsing under the weight of eighteen other elephants.
The wheeze became a shriek. The smoke thickened. Then with one final gust, the tires popped off as the car shuddered and collapsed on itself. Then the fire truck finally arrived, sirens going.
Through the crowds ran a tall, tanned, white kid I recognized as a popular sophomore, one of those summer birthdays who had been held back long ago and thus could now drive before everyone else. Total obnoxious prepster sort. Caden, that was his name. He was wearing pristine sneakers and perfectly ripped jeans. “My car!” he shouted as he ran. “Who did this? You’re gonna pay!”
One of the firemen held out an arm to keep him from getting too close. Caden began swearing and threatening lawsuits.
The bell rang for the end of “A” lunch and everyone but me straggled back. Caden was busy telling everyone how his father’s dealership was going to replace his car immediately, and then sue whoever’d done it.
Me, I stayed staring at the dead SUV for another five minutes. I didn’t see any familiar faces in the crowd. No pointy hats hiding behind the bushes. And yet … normal cars did not belch green smoke. Despite not having a license myself, I felt relatively certain of that. No, the witches were involved somehow.
Which meant I had identified another victim.
* * *
On the bus ride home from school, I sat and worked on a list of what I knew:
WITCHES
VICTIMS
HOW TO MAKE THEM HAPPY
Esmerelda
Henny
Love potion (Is this ethical?)
Valda
Malkin
Sarmine
(not S or E)
Caden??
Fix his car?
I knew Esmerelda had Henny. I mean, as sure as I could know without seeing the card. But if I started second-guessing myself I was never going to get anywhere. I didn’t know who had drawn Caden, but Sarmine had promised that she would help me, and Caden certainly had not been helped by his car explosion, so I could cross her off of his list. He must have Valda or Malkin.
Oh, fantastic. This was worse than working through spells. I should draw one of those logic puzzle grids and check off the boxes. Which Witch Has the Dudebro?
My phone cackled in my pocket and I drew it out to see the witch’s list of afternoon chores popping up one by one. Too much to hope that Sarmine would have cut out all my obligations. No, I would still have to dust the salamander skeletons while saving the world.
Not to mention trying to carry on a romance. Given that it was almost impossible to sneak out of the house when your mother was a wicked witch, this was going to be my first “real” date, even though it wasn’t entirely real since it apparently involved the rest of Devon’s band and did not involve the words “alone somewhere under a full moon.” Still, you take what you can get.
Once I got home, I let Wulfie out to do his business, then cycled through a bunch of piddly witch tasks like salamander dusting and roasting some pixie wing/pumpkin seed mixture. I also quick-crammed a half PB&J since I hadn’t gotten lunch. Finally I had to go to the RV garage and stir some new bubbling mixture the witch had going in a cauldron. It smelled like rotten bananas.
The RV garage used to be home to our dragon, and seeing her old quarters made me remember today’s spell. A pinch of ginger, a pinch of thyme—thank you, Henny—one of my hairs, and one dragon’s tear. Dragon’s eyes naturally water—very slowly—and Sarmine and I had collected her tears for as long as she had been with us. Dragons are one of the elementals, and their magic is particularly powerful. It had been good business for Sarmine.
I walked over to an old spice rack that held a number of vials of dragon’s tears. Sarmine had said she would supply me with some of the ingredients, right? So I took one, though my heart sped up as I did so, and I glanced over my shoulder for the witch. Old habits die hard.
I sighed as I put the vial in my pocket. I’d rather have Moonfire back than any number of her tears, no matter how powerful. It had only been ten days since she left, but I missed her. I was sure she was happier now that she had found some sister dragons. Still, I hoped someday she’d come back and see us. You know, if you set the robin free it should come back to
visit you and all that. My eyes were getting misty, and several of my own tears plopped down into the banana mixture. I hurriedly backed out of the stinky, humid garage and shut the door. At least if I was going to cry I could do it where it smelled nice.
But instead I wiped my face as I realized the witch was working in the back garden. The witch doesn’t like tears. Looking sad and lonely while asking for a favor might work on other parents, but not Sarmine Scarabouche.
I had been running through various scenarios in my head all day for asking Sarmine if I could go on a date with Devon tonight. I mean, the strategy that seemed most likely to work was to lie to her and say that I was hot on the trail of Esmerelda or Valda and I needed to see what they were up to.
But I didn’t want to start out my career as an ethical witch by lying to people. Sarmine had promised to be straightforward and try to help me with the bet. And I would like to start us off on a good footing. And also, I thought it only fair to tell her what I was going to do, because I felt that it was totally okay for a tenth grader to get to leave the house once in a while and go have pizza, right? Right? So I was going to be honest.
And if she said no … well. Maybe I’d make a run for it.
I took a breath. In a rush I said, “I’ve walked Wulfie and stirred the cauldron and dusted the salamanders and roasted the seeds and pruned the deadly nightshade and now I’d like to go meet Devon and his band for dinner at Blue Moon Pizza.”
Sarmine rocked back on her heels and considered my request while holding the remains of a squash vine. Being a witch requires a lot of random ingredients, and what better way to make sure that they are organic and pure than growing them yourself? Also, we eat a lot of vegetables.
“That is a reasonable request,” she said at last.
“So I can go?”
She nodded. “But a witch always uses her time wisely,” she said. “I happen to be in need of some inferior Parmesan for a spell. Please pick me up two packets while you are there.”
“Okay,” I said. That also seemed like a reasonable request. This was great. Here we were, two reasonable people. I turned to go.
And then I turned back. “Whoops,” I said. “Can I also borrow some money? To chip in for the pizza?” I didn’t know if Devon planned on paying for me, but I certainly didn’t want to look like I thought he was supposed to.
The witch raised her eyebrows at this.
“I do a lot of chores around here,” I pointed out. “And I do not get an allowance.”
“I train you in the ancient arts of True Witchery,” the witch countered. “For which I receive no compensation.”
“If I do not have a ten to chip in for pizza,” I said, “I will have to throw myself on the mercy of a boy.”
The witch relented. “Very well,” she said, and she drew off her gardening gloves and pulled a ten from her leather fanny pack. “You agree that this does not constitute as setting a precedent?”
“Right, right, just because you did it once doesn’t mean I get money ever again,” I said, rolling my eyes so hard I practically sprained them. “Thanks, Mom.”
She actually squeezed my hand, not in a death grip way but an affectionate way, before putting her gloves back on and turning back to her squash.
I took my ten and hightailed it back inside the house, practically dancing for joy. This was big. This was huge. I was going somewhere to do something other than track down elf toenails for the witch. A thousand band members tagging along could not dampen my bliss.
I showered the rotten banana stink off me and dug through the clean laundry hamper for my favorite jeans. I had a pretty nice blue sweater that didn’t have any pixie juice stains or anything so I put that on. That was about as fancy as it got. No matter how Jenah encouraged me, I just couldn’t get motivated to change my style for more than a day or two. Maybe Henny and I weren’t so dissimilar after all.
The pizza place was near the school, so I grabbed my jacket and backpack, and hurried out to catch the bus. I thought, not for the first time, that it would be nice to have a bike again. About a year ago, the dragon had sat on my bike and it had gone to that great bike graveyard in the sky. When I had asked for a new one, the witch had merely looked at me and inquired if I thought she was made out of bikes, and why didn’t I take the nice public transit from the bus stop she had so conveniently bought a house next to? So I did.
I hopped off the bus outside of Blue Moon Pizza and headed inside, my heart revving up with anticipation. The little restaurant smelled of cheese and garlic and hope.
Devon was in a booth, earbuds in and fingers drumming the table. His floppy blond hair flopped. He looked up at me … and smiled.
I slid into the booth. “Hi,” I said coherently.
“Hi,” he said.
“Where’s the rest of the band?”
“Oh, I think they went to the food carts,” he said vaguely.
We sat there for a while.
“I haven’t seen—”
“You haven’t been—”
We laughed, and I said, “You first.” Maybe that would give me time to think of something clever to say.
“I just wanted to thank you,” he said. “For … you know.”
“Getting a demon out of you?”
“Yeah.”
“All in a day’s work?”
“Sounds like some delightful days you’ve got there,” he said with a wry grin that made me remember how much I enjoyed looking at him. I mean, talking to him. He looked back down and spread his long fingers on the vinyl tablecloth. I could see the calluses from the guitar. “Look, I know I did—Estahoth did—some obnoxious things when he was possessing me.”
“Like kissing five girls? And holding hands with Reese right here over a cheese pizza?” Not like I’d thought about it or anything.
“Yeah. Those things.”
“Forget it,” I said suavely. “I know those things weren’t you. You couldn’t help it. Besides, it could have been worse.”
He coughed on his water. “So, uh. How’s things with your mother?”
“Ugh,” I said. I looked around to see if anyone was nearby, but for the moment our table was isolated. “Can you keep a secret? I mean, more secrets than the ones we already have?”
“Shoot.”
I took a breath and briefly walked him through last night’s excitement. I mean, there were definitely more exciting things I wanted to talk to him about, but on the other hand, there were only two people total with whom I could discuss witchy things at all—Henny and her blackmail did not count—and I knew I was going to need some moral support this week.
“Wow,” he said at last. “You don’t get a lot of sleep, do you?”
“Sleep is for the weak,” I said grandly. Then: “Why, do you think I did the wrong thing, confronting them?”
He shook his head. “I’m just worried about you, I guess.”
I warmed at that. But, really, this was just a little nonsense at Ye Olde Witch Corral. Sarmine was always up to something, so … business as usual, right? I mean, there weren’t demons involved this time or anything.
“So you have to fix the lives of all four victims,” he said. “Have you identified the victims?”
“Two,” I said. “It’s tricky trying to sort out who has regular problems and who has witches interfering with their life.”
He grinned. “Oh, I’ve had one of those.”
“Witches? Or problems?”
“Well, there’s this girl, you see.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And she’s a problem?”
He choked on his water a second time. “You look like your mother when you do that,” he said.
I quickly lowered them. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to remind you of the … possession incident.”
He sighed. “At least when the demon was around I didn’t mind singing in front of people.”
I touched his arm before I could stop myself. “You sang at the Halloween Dance. You can do it again.”
/> “You forget, that was a pretty exciting night.”
Exploding phoenix. Demon-banishing. A kiss. “I could find some more phoenixes to explode,” I offered. Of course what I really wanted to suggest was that I could come to every show and kiss him directly before he had to sing. Should I say that? Reese would say that, and then she would probably get kissed for it. I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t the sort of a person who could say it. Maybe I could just lean across the table and do it? I felt myself go red around the ears at the thought. “Er,” I said. Maybe it was a good time to change the subject, before I found myself floundering on things I didn’t know how to say. “How are your band things going? Do you have to sing soon?”
“Yeah,” Devon said. He tried to smile but it looked sort of woebegone. “The Halloween Dance went so well we got an invite to try out for a Battle of the Bands this week. The audition is Wednesday after school, and the top three finalists play at the football game on Friday.”
“That’s fantastic!”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“Stage fright still getting you?”
“Ugh,” he said. He ran his hands through his floppy hair. “I feel so stupid for having this problem.”
My heart went out to him. I mean, I know you can’t magically fix anxiety or introversion or whatever his problem was, but—and then I stopped. What the heck did I mean, you can’t magically fix it? Wasn’t that the whole point of being a witch? And wasn’t that what I was trying to do?
“I’m going to help you,” I said. “I’m going to find some sort of self-confidence spell that will fix you right up.”
He demurred. “I should be able to fix this on my own. And you’ve got a busy week already.”
I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, so like a birdbrain I said bluntly, “Do you not want my help?”
“I just mean,” he said, falling over the words, “I mean you shouldn’t have to. I mean.…” He trailed off, looking over my shoulder. “Oh, hang on, that’s Carlos from biology and he promised to lend me his study notes since I was sick last week. Hang on.”
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