Everwish: The Primati Witches Book One

by Amelia Oz

  "Queen Clara asked Mom to deliver an enchantment that would tone down your beauty so that you wouldn't start getting the wrong attention. It also masks your natural aura—the thing that really makes you attractive. She said that the fewer people noticed you, the better chance you would have of staying under the radar."

  I leaned back against my art table, my nails curling against the wood.

  "Do you realize how messed up that sounds, Amanda? Because if a girl is pretty, she will automatically be a tramp or fall for the first guy who pays her any attention? What happened to free will? Why is it the—" I jabbed my chest with my thumb "— girl's fault?" I didn't care about the pretty part but it did make be angry that I was the one who got messed with. Amanda beseeched me with earnest eyes.

  "Stella. It's the curse, not you. The curse intends to make you fall in love and for your best match to fall in love with you. There was no guarantee a deterrent would work. Love is in the eye of the beholder, after all. They just needed to try to narrow down the odds—and number of suitors. What if a photographer took your picture?"

  I wasn't willing to concede anything in my current frame of mind.

  "What did you give me to drink, anyway? If you say anything about eye of newt, I'm kicking you down the stairs, injured or not." She gave a trembling, relieved laugh.

  "No newts. I think the main ingredients are trace copper and a special lichen. Like most enchantments, it's more about the intentions of the witch that creates the spell. In appearance, it's a finely ground powder that smells a little like moldy pennies but is tasteless."

  Beyond disgusting, but I could deal with moldy pennies much better than about a million other things I could think of. I watched as she returned my wastebasket where it belonged. I hated what Marion and Amanda had been an accomplice to. That they somehow "reported" on me to strangers. My heart hurt.

  "So, our friendship was a lie? Marion being nice to me, you being my friend—you were just my jailors?" Amanda rushed to stand before me. When her palms grasped my forearms, I tugged away without thinking. The hollow sensation in my chest intensified at her hurt expression.

  "No! Never! We became friends naturally. On our own. Nothing can take that away from us. If we weren't real friends, Mom would have found other ways to get you the drinks. Maybe worked as a barista, considering how much coffee you drink." Her joke fell flat and I ignored the tears in her eyes.

  "She truly loves you. I do, too. And I am so, so sorry for deceiving you. I wanted to tell you so many times. Telling you before now would have just put you in danger. I know you. You would have run away or taken out ads in every major newspaper looking for Clara. What does your gut tell you is truth?"

  My gut told me that the affection from them both was genuine—even if my brain screamed "traitors." Amanda's expression turned a little more desperate, her eyes pleading.

  "No one even knows about Thomas. I found out about him on my own. I was the one who asked him to tell you about the curse. If Mom found out, or Clara does, Mom and I could be expelled from the coven. In case my memories are viewed, Thomas and I speak in vague terms, and no one would guess who he is without context. It's why you and I cannot speak about him in detail right now," Amanda confessed with a meaningful squeeze of my hand.

  "I just can't wrap my mind around how easy it's been for you and Marion to manipulate everyone. I mean, your mom goes to a Baptist church every week. How does that support being Wiccan?" I scoffed. Trying to unravel all the lies was giving me a headache.

  Amanda frowned. "We are not Wiccans. Wiccans are humans who, for the most part, have no real power. They call themselves witches and form a religion. Mom never lied about her beliefs. Primati witches are only one part of the Primati, Stella. You have a lot to learn. I have a lot to learn myself, and we're inherently secretive. Just take it slow and keep an open mind."

  "I need time to think about all this," I whispered.

  "We don't have time, Stella. I understand you feel betrayed. Everything I've done has been to protect you. I hope you will eventually see that. Right now, we have to figure out something much more important. Can we call a truce and tally up later?"

  This was so like Amanda. Rational and busy planning everything and everyone.

  "That depends. What will happen to me now that I am not gagging back your mom's ugly juice?"

  "It's not ugly juice, Stella. I don't remember exactly but apparently there were signs that you would strongly resemble the first of your family line—Lila. Her beauty was otherworldly and led to obsessive love. To answer your question—I just don't know. I guess with time your looks might change. But you will always be you, Stella."

  She was reading my mind again. Knowing what to say as she had since we were kids.

  I lowered my head. "You know I'm going to have to get back at you in some horrible, terrible way—right?"

  A huge smile broke across her face, and she clapped her hands in excitement like the nerd she was. "I know. I'll deserve it, whatever it is."

  "So now what?"

  "We have to open a three-hundred-year-old cold case, Stella. I've overheard things that make me think whoever was behind Lila's family being murdered will also try to harm you. Someone hired Marcus. Everyone seems to blame the druids, but I'm not convinced."

  "You mean Thomas and his family?"

  "I can't imagine Thomas hurting a fly—can you? Whoever they are, I think they will do everything possible to kidnap you before the curse does its job. Not that I will allow that to happen. That curse will have to go through me and my clan first, Stella."

  Silvan's voice called up the stairs. "Ladies, I'm bored. Can we get pizza?"

  He just ate! Amanda mouthed. We shared a tentative smile.

  "Do you mind if I stay here tonight? I'm not ready to join my parents yet, and I'd rather be here with you." Once more she touched the amethyst resting at the end of its golden chain.

  "On one condition. No more lies from here on out." I meant it. I held out a pinkie and she solemnly hooked it with her own.

  "Yes," she agreed. I moved towards the door but froze, pivoting back to my friend.

  "One more question." She nodded, biting her lip.

  "How does one kill a sorcerer?"

  Chapter 19

  Judgment Reversed

  Stella

  ncle Vang and his burley sons blocked the road to Mahari's house. The sun had just passed behind the horizon, and barrels of fire burned on either side of the street. As their neighborhood was just outside city limits, and exclusively comprised of family, there would be no pesky complaints to the HOA or police.

  Amanda clasped and unclasped her hands while she looked down at her lap to avoid seeing the fire. I made a mental note to continue research on her phobia. Last night had gone uneventfully after the call with Marion. After a pizza run, we'd said goodnight to Sam and made Silvan a fluffy pallet on my bedroom floor with old quilts and a sleeping bag. I'd only woken once, when the low rumble of a motorcycle invaded my dreams.

  We'd slept late and to my surprise, Nancy had been pleasant with Amanda and Silvan around, even taping up Amanda's ribs and placing salve on her bruises.

  Tonight was the evening of the total solar eclipse and Mahari had insisted I come to spend the night. They were having a family party.

  "I feel weird," Amanda informed me for the tenth time.

  "You are weird," I retorted with a grin.

  "Ha-ha. What if they kick me out?" They might actually. I hadn't waited on a response to my request to bring Amanda. Oh, well.

  The side mirror reflected my smirk when I rolled down the window.

  "Hey, what's up, assholes?" I called out.

  Uncle Vang peered into the car. "You have such a potty mouth, girl. Someday someone's going to do something about it."

  "You're right. Someone should do something about it. Shall I tell Mahari it should be you?" By rights, Uncle Vang should be the next head of the family, but Mahari
didn't trust his ability to lead. I'd heard he was kicked in the head by a horse in his youth and experienced a personality change afterward. All I knew for sure was that he was a bully, and you shouldn't show weakness to bullies. His five sons, also known as the Vano boys, took after their father so it wasn’t likely the kick that made him a jerk.

  Amanda whimpered and I turned to see my cousin Joseph licking her car window. Really. The things they did to get a rise out of people. I shook my head. Vang waved us through and I drove past a series of yards with children running around with sparklers. Amanda shrank in her seat. "Aren't fireworks illegal this time of year?" she muttered.

  At the end of the cul-de-sac, I parked in front of the pink monstrosity that was Mahari's house. A separate trailer in the back of the property was kept as a bathroom station. Mahari was old world Roma and felt bathrooms should not be anywhere near living quarters. She found it repulsive that Ganji prepared food in the same building where they used a toilet. It was one reason I usually stayed with Silvan and my aunt Lemontina in their modest ranch across the street. They used their entire house and had zero hang ups.

  "Are you ready?"

  She shook her head. I couldn’t blame her. Over the years, Amanda's exposure to my Dad’s family had been brief and unpleasant.

  "Come on," I urged, getting out of the car. I wore a black halter top that covered my chest but left my back, arms, and stomach bare. It would make my grandmother crazy to see so much skin exposed in public. My black silk harem pants were another thrift store find. Black boots and a multitude of mala bracelets completed the look, as did my loose hair, kohled eyes, and tiny gold hoop earrings.

  Amanda's bruises were more vivid than the night before, having deepened into a mottled purple and green, but the extra sleep had helped. She'd borrowed a summer dress she'd given me last year. It was white-eyelet cotton with capped sleeves that ended at her knees in a swish. Her shiny hair was parted in the middle into a low ponytail and she looked terrified.

  "Stella!" Mira called. She wove her way down the steep incline of the front yard towards us, Medea on her heels.

  Amanda patted the cross-body purse I'd loaned her. It held a can of bear spray that I'd instructed her how to use it on my family as makeshift mace, if the situated warranted it.

  "You found Amanda? Wow. Where have you been?" Mira asked, breathless.

  "Uh. I was with my parents," Amanda shared with a nervous eyeroll towards me.

  Mira stared pointedly at me. I shrugged. "She thought she was helping by staying out of sight.”

  "Hey, Mandy," Medea said. Amanda winced at hearing the hated nickname but didn’t correct her. Oh, boy. I knew Amanda was traumatized but hoped I wouldn't be knocking heads for both of us all night.

  "Cut it out, Medea. Amanda is Stella's guest. She can have sanction for tonight," Mira told her sister. Sanction is what my cousins called a truce of any kind. They were rare but honored. Medea's overly plucked eyebrows arched at Mira but she snapped her teeth shut.

  "Where's your overnight bag?" Medea asked. That's right. I'd been instructed to spend the night.

  "I didn't bring one," I said bluntly. If they pushed me on this, we were so outers.

  Medea and Mira glanced at each other but surprisingly dropped the topic. We trailed the M&Ms up the hill and around the house to where the party was already underway.

  The cul-de-sac was surrounded by more than thirty miles of state park, and the backyard was really more of a big field. A handful of house trailers dotted the perimeter, and in the back corner was a collection of painted caravans that Mahari amassed out of nostalgia. Campfires dotted the field, surrounded by chairs filled with raucous adults drinking and laughing.

  The children were allowed to stay up late during new moon celebrations. Italian wedding lights illuminated a circular area where the children took turns riding ponies bareback under the watchful eye of several older cousins.

  Near the back of the house, tables were filled with breads, vegetables, meat rolls, and bowls of sour cream and pickled red cabbage. We wandered closer and Amanda's eyes widened at the huge black pots hanging over fire pits. My aunts attended them, and from the smells I recognized paprika soup and a garlicky goulash. Desserts, water, and soda cans were dedicated to one round table. My favorite cousin exited the house and walked towards us.

  "Hey, ladies," greeted Silvan. He was dressed in trousers and a white button-down shirt with shiny black shoes. He already had his favorite violin in hand, its spruce and maple wood gleaming in the firelight.

  "Hi, Silvan. You look very handsome tonight." Amanda complimented. Flushing, he carefully clutched his violin and horsehair bow in one hand and offered a deep bow.

  "I thought I'd dress the part tonight," he said, his hair flopping in his face before he brushed it back, straightening. He looked kind of grown up to me tonight.

  "Where are you playing tonight, Maestro?" I asked.

  He nodded towards a flat wooden stage area where several men and women were warming up instruments.

  “Can I help you set up or anything?" Amanda offered. I suspected her offer was as much to get farther away from the M&Ms as it was to hang with Silvan. He flushed, and Medea and Mira smirked at one another. He held out his instrument. "This is it, really. Not much of a setup. You can hang out with me by the stage if you want. It's about time I collected a proper groupie."

  "Consider me a groupie, then! Although that term is a bit sexist. Do you ever hear of a man being called a groupie? Not usually. I mean, the term dates back before Woodstock even—all the way to the mid-nineteen-sixties when young girls offered favors to get close to a band. Maybe I could be your most supportive fan? Oh! How about a very enthusiastic admirer?" Amanda's voice trailed off as they walked across the field and out of earshot.

  "Your friend is going to blow up her brain thinking and talking so much," Medea said with disapproval. I smiled, knowing Amanda’s chatter was caused by nerves. The fires were not helping her chill out. I should have remembered they often started those for celebrations.

  "At least she gave you an excuse to stay in. Aunt Lemontina and Cousin Val said you didn't leave the house all night after picking up pizza." Mira smirked.

  I knew it. It was too good to be true that they would only send Silvan to spy on me.

  "Let everyone know that Amanda is to be left alone tonight, okay?" Medea didn't respond but as she ghosted away her head bobbed once.

  "Mahari is in the blue caravan waiting for you," Mira said quietly. I jerked. This was the first time I'd heard of anyone going into the blue caravan. It was off limits.

  She nodded. "I'll walk with you."

  We took a few steps when Silvan's violin sang its first sweep. Mahari could wait.

  I wasn't the only one drawn to the rustic stage. Adults and children alike began to gather around the musicians. Silvan was already warmed up, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. He must be trying to impress Amanda as I recognized the tune selected was Havanaise Op. 83, a complicated piece that featured plenty of solo action. It was a flirty, uplifting melody, and my Aunt Cecelia accompanied him with her cello as my cousins wove in with their own violins. The guitarists sat back and watched.

  Inspired by the popping of a campfire, the song began as a slinking melody that built into a Cuban rhythm. Silvan's hands and arms danced with the rapid asides and smooth progressions. The music floated like stardust and the entire field of Romani fell silent. A breeze rippled the tops of the massive evergreens encircling the yard.

  The high notes were so delicately rendered that it seemed the trees themselves swayed with the scales. I rubbed my bare arms, shivering with the beauty of the moment. The song concluded with a single high note that trembled into the night.

  Everyone jumped and applauded. Fingers in mouth, I offered my own ear splitting whistle. Silvan gazed at the ground with a humble bend of his head. The claps faded as he began another song, a more modern tune that the guitarists picked
up easily. Mira and I resumed our walk towards the blue caravan concealed in the farthest left corner of the field.

  The vardo was an old-fashioned model with a curved wooden roof and six wheels. A small chimney rose on its left side, above a painted doorway. It was lacquered in shades of blue and gold and usually kept under protective tarps. Mahari kept it padlocked at all times and we all knew to never, ever enter it upon pain of a random uncle's heavy leather belt. I was nervous that she wanted to meet with me there. It was a forbidden place that seemed the epitome of this wild, secretive family.

  Torches spiked the ground around the caravan. The tarp had been removed, and the structure gleamed proudly in the firelight. I climbed the short steps and paused before the door, unable to knock.

  Mira placed a hand between my shoulder blades, and I was touched to have her support. Maybe we really had achieved a breakthrough after all these years. Then she shoved me hard, knocking my head against the door. I whipped around but she was already dancing away.

  "Like a Band-Aid..." she sang.

  I rubbed the goose egg already rising from my forehead, ready to leap after her. Then it was too late to change my mind. The door swung open and Mahari appeared in the doorway.

  She was not much taller than me. Her dyed brunette hair touched her shoulders and her lips were heavily lined from years of smoking. Her dark brown eyes raked the area behind me and then she turned her back to walk deeper into the caravan. I followed, closing the door behind me but leaving it unlatched.

  My imagination had always envisioned colorful silks and cushions inside. In reality, it was small and crowded with a musty smell. A battery-operated camp lantern hung above a small table, and a few candles dotted a counter top. Mahari sank into a chair at the table and motioned for me to use the only other chair.

  A bottle of rosé wine sat on the table next to a worn deck of cards and two small glasses etched with silver. The bottle was half full and her glass was nearly empty. She refilled her glass and poured a small quantity in the second glass without asking me. I folded my hands in my lap and waited.