“Same bee in her bonnet she used to have,” muttered someone.
The witch next to me shifted uneasily. “You don’t think—”
“Hush.”
“Look at her.”
Sarmine’s face, always rather cold and pointed, had grown even more cold and pointed. Her chin was set. Her eyes were the sort of ice I had long ago learned to associate with Sarmine being a towering inferno of rage.
She paced back and forth at the head of the circle, her black robes swishing, punctuating her anger. In a low voice, she began, “As it happens, my next item does concern the transition of power here tonight.” She paused and glared at us. She was really chewing the scenery. I would have been impressed, if I weren’t so worried about what was going on. “A couple of days ago, I received a strange box. Label falling off. No return address. When I opened it I saw something strange inside. This knife.”
Sarmine held the tiny thing aloft, and I recognized it as the minute ivory dagger Malkin had carried. Cold shuddered down my spine.
“As you all know, sometimes when a witch departs this world, certain spells are set in motion,” said Sarmine. “Her last effects are parceled out to allies, relatives … other witches. It is one of the reasons I can swear to you that she is dead, and I have brought her last gift here tonight as proof.”
She picked up a large cardboard box and balanced it on top of the cauldron. Everyone was tense, but no one made a move to stop her. Curiosity trumped caution.
“You wonder why I haven’t opened it all the way yet?” she said. “Because, wrapped around the knife was a letter. With strict instructions not to open the rest of the box until I had summoned a coven and called all of you here. Else she would curse me with guinea pig rabies, blah blah blah. So. Twenty-four hours later, here we are.” Sarmine opened the flaps of the box. “Let’s see what last surprise the dearly departed Malkin has for us, shall we?”
There was finally a move at that. Lily, the witch two down from me, rose from her seat. “Sarmine, don’t!” she shouted. She raised her wand high. Another figure, short and stout, lifting her wand—that was Valda. Automatically I raised mine, and so did another couple of witches—it was hard to see, hard to tell. Were they trying to stop Sarmine or trying to strike while she was distracted by Malkin’s “gift”?
I couldn’t tell. It was hard to tell anything. Because as we raised our wands, Sarmine touched it, whatever it was, the thing inside the box. A tremendously bright light filled the room, dazzling all our night-adjusted eyes. It crackled and snaked across the room until all our wands were lit by it, like an electrical current. Blinding pain in my eyes—I squinted—the cauldron with the box perched on it was erupting in a tower of green-white flame.
It blazed through the whole RV garage, lighting up the green fog in a nauseating glow, crackling out to all of our wands. Or was it crackling in from someone’s wand in particular? Everyone was shrieking, the German shepherd was howling, while a rigid Sarmine was shouting desperate words of power at the blazing light. Thunder cracked out of nowhere, and then, with a horrendous, earsplitting boom, everything went black.
* * *
The lights came on. The swinging lightbulb, bare in the middle of the garage. The fog was gone. The garage was all shelves and paint cans and dustpans. The carved chairs had turned back into our patio chairs and card table chairs and a piano bench.
The cardboard box had fallen off the cauldron. It lay there, turned over, packing peanuts spilling out of it. The glass candleholders still ringed the cauldron, all of them lit white.
No, not all.
The one at the head of the circle, the one in the twelve o’clock position, the one where Sarmine had been standing, was different. It was black, the light snuffed out, gone.
Sarmine had vanished.
3
Vanished, of Course, Never Thinks of Anyone but Herself
Oh no. Oh no. “Sarmine?” I whispered, into the chaos.
Voices clamored around me, fragments reaching my ears:
“That was Malkin.”
“What did Malkin send?”
“Definitely Malkin.”
“Where’s Sarmine?”
Malkin had sent something horrible to Sarmine, hadn’t she?
“Disappeared, of course.…”
Unless I had done it. I had disappeared Devon, hadn’t I? Hexed him, turned him so invisible no one could turn him back.
Had I ever washed that powder off my hands?
I swallowed. “Come back?” I poked my wand into the spot where she had stood next to me. “Mom?”
I felt nothing.
Nothing at all, and order was disintegrating around me. All the witches were running around, accusing everyone else. The brief unity against Malkin had dissolved.
“You always hated her.”
“Please. You took a chance to strike.”
“You thought no one would notice.…”
Reluctantly but firmly, I took my mother’s place. I raised my arms and shouted, “That is quite enough.” The noise lowered as they looked at me and my hubris. “I don’t know what’s happened either, but there’s no good hollering about it and waking the neighbors. Do you want to have old Mr. McGillicuddy call the police on you?” He had done it seven times so far, if you were counting, and I was.
No, nobody wanted that. “Down with the cops,” shouted Valda. She grabbed her broom and hurried to the side door. A flash of pink smoke rose up from the middle of the garage as Claudette winked out of sight. There was a mad stampede from everyone else to follow Valda and get out the door.
And then everyone was gone and the room was down to three. Three black-robed witches who stood there looking stupidly at nothing. At least, I was. I could hardly process it. Sarmine gone. Gone where? If it wasn’t my fault, or the fault of one of the other witches, then it was all Malkin, which was entirely believable. She had sent something that vanquished my mother. My mother! The most powerful witch I knew.
What would I do without her?
The door to the garage burst open and no one came through. I started to cross to it, numbly, and then I saw it carefully shut, the doorknob turning. A crack opened in the universe and a girl with chic tortoiseshell glasses and a determined chin poured herself into ours. At least, that’s what my brain told me.
“Ugh, why does everyone use invisible eels?” said Sparkle’s voice next to me. “I’m sorry, but they stink.” She pulled off her mask, shaking out her silky hair.
The new girl looked daggers at the black-clad witch. “I don’t see you inventing anything better, Sparkle.”
Sparkle smirked. “Surprised you’re not the only witch at our school, Poppy?”
Poppy turned up her nose. “I had my suspicions. I assume that’s how you’ve stayed so popular.”
“And I assume it’s how you made class vice president.”
“I would never—”
“Wait,” I finally said. I recognized this girl now. She was a junior. “Exactly how many witches are there in our high school?”
Poppy shrugged. “Witches cluster where there are lots of magical ingredients.”
“And more to the point, what were you doing skulking outside the garage?”
“I was not—”
“Girls, focus,” said the motherly voice of the other witch. “Poppy, we need to take Camellia back to our house till we can figure out what happened.”
I finally turned at that. Behind me was Lily, the witch who had spoken kindly to me at the door. And, of course, Poppy’s had been the other voice I’d heard then, the reason Lily had held the door open extra time. My brain was catching up. But why?
“Really, Mom,” said Poppy. “I’m sure the newest coven member will be fine here.” There was acid on those emphasized words.
“Poppy,” said her mother sharply. “Where are your manners?”
“Sorry,” said Poppy, in a not-terribly-sorry fashion. She pulled out her phone and held it high, walking it around the garage
like she was scanning for something. “Garage is clean,” she said finally. “We’re the only ones here.”
While Poppy was checking our garage, Lily had picked up the push broom and was using the handle to delicately poke the cardboard box, which lay on the floor in a pile of packing peanuts. She flipped it over—there was a large hole burned out of the bottom. Some of the peanuts had melted to it, and I now noticed a disgusting burned-Styrofoam smell in with the swamp gas and sulfur. Lily went closer to the cauldron, used the handle of the broom to lift something out of the cauldron. It was a dull bronze object that looked a little like a gravy boat. Lily dropped the broom and stepped back. The gravy boat fell next to the cauldron with a clang.
It didn’t mean anything to me, and from the looks of it, it didn’t mean anything to Sparkle or Poppy either. Poppy went back to folding her invisible robes. The material swung around in a disconcerting fashion, disappearing and reappearing parts of her. In contrast to her mother’s flowy outfit, Poppy was wearing a button-down tucked into a skirt, with a neat belt. I don’t know about you, but belt says “uptight honors student” where I come from. Overall that was a rather cute pink linen suit jacket and a plaid messenger bag, and her hair was pulled up into a curly bun. Rather dressed up for skulking, frankly. It was obvious she was the antithesis of her hippie mom, and equally obvious that she was not at all happy about the idea of me invading her home.
Come to that, I wasn’t sure how happy I was about going to their house. On the one hand, there was the sweet, sweet relief of letting Lily take over. On the other, Poppy. In addition to the skulking, we weren’t exactly in the same social circles, and that was always awkward.
“Honestly,” I said, “I’ll be fine here. I don’t know what’s happened, but…”
I trailed off. My mother was gone. “I’ll be fine” didn’t really cover it.
“Nonsense,” said Lily. She wrested her gaze away from the fascinating gravy boat. “You are coming with us. Hikari, will you be all right?”
“I’ll redo the wards around my grandfather’s house,” Sparkle reassured Lily. She looked straight at me, her dark eyes boring a message into me by sheer willpower. “It’s safer if we all stay at home until this is resolved.”
I swallowed. I knew she was thinking of Claudette and Leo.
“Good idea,” said Lily.
Sparkle looked down at her feet, unusually hesitant. “I could use a ride though,” she admitted. “Leo dropped me off.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” said Lily, and Poppy rolled her eyes, presumably less at the fact of Sparkle not having her own transportation and more at the fact of being stuck in the same car with Sparkle. If so, that was remarkably similar to how I generally felt about Sparkle, so that was a good sign.
“I’ll have to get Wulfie,” I said. The werewolf pup was probably in my bedroom, eating my shoes and hoping I wouldn’t find out. “Sparkle, could you round up his food? It’s by the basement stairs.”
“Dog food stinks,” said Sparkle, but went to do it.
We locked up the RV garage and I ran to my room to get my backpack and a couple changes of clothes. I scooped up Wulfie and his dog bed and came down to find Lily, Poppy, and Sparkle all standing around the living room not talking to each other. Sparkle was holding the dog food with a grumpy face, Poppy was examining Sarmine’s shelves of witch books, and Lily had a worried look that said she was still running through the events of the evening.
I locked up the house and we piled into Lily’s station wagon. She turned on NPR, Sparkle gave directions, and nobody said anything else until we dropped Sparkle off at her grandfather’s tiny place.
It was well past one a.m. at this point and after all the excitement I was wiped. Wulfie snored on my lap all the way to Lily and Poppy’s house, over in the college district. I’d been up since my usual time of four a.m. to do Sarmine’s early-morning chores, and sheer exhaustion was hitting me even while my mind was racing through the same unproductive channels.
My mother was gone.
She might be a witch, she might be terrible to live with, but … she was my mother. Our relationship had been improving. We were growing better at understanding each other. Oh, it all sounded so dry and factual, but the truth was, I was worried. Maybe I wasn’t good at expressing that, even to myself, but it was true. I needed her back. She was a strange rock, but she was my rock.
I staggered inside their house and up some old wooden stairs after Poppy. Settled Wulfie into his dog bed on the floor, changed into the first thing I pulled out of my backpack and, despite the unfamiliar surroundings, fell fast asleep.
* * *
I woke Sunday morning with the uncomfortable realization that everything had gone to heck in a handbasket. I remembered right away where I was, but it wasn’t my bed, wasn’t my room, and that didn’t happen very often.
Next to me, Poppy stirred. Sleepy brown eyes blinked open and she registered who I was. Her expression plainly read, Ugh, what have I gotten myself into. She rolled out of bed, presumably to get as far away from me as possible. Despite the fact that we had gone to bed at two a.m., after a disastrous evening, she was in a nice set of lavender-striped PJ bottoms and matching lavender tank top, her curly hair held neatly by a silky scarf. I was in a baggy off-white T-shirt gifted by one of Sarmine’s suppliers (“Need Newt Nibbles? Try Newt’s New Newt Needums!”) and a pair of old gym shorts. If I knew anything about my hair, it was sticking up in pieces. I don’t know that either of us was particularly encouraged by what we saw.
I stood, and we faced each other from opposite sides of the room. Sarmine gone. Who knows where. Can’t unhex boyfriend. In charge of Wulfie. Stuck at the house of someone new. A junior. Wearing my Newt Nibbles shirt.
I’m usually good at making plans and getting going. But that morning I didn’t know where to start.
Plus, it was totally awkward. I mean, I didn’t know Poppy. I knew of Poppy. She was one of the popular smart crowd her year. You know them. Not the cheerleaders and jocks and rich kids. No, the ones who run for president and captain the debate team and run the school paper and so on. The ones who are Going Places and Know What They Want to Do with Their Lives and Have it All Together.
About the only thing I had figured out so far was that I didn’t want to turn into my mother.
I looked at Poppy, still standing there, considering me. What I managed to say, with my usual grace and charm was, “Need a Newt Nibble?”
Poppy just looked at me, like I was the dumbest thing to be in her room in ages. I supposed I probably was. “Look, Camellia.”
“Cam.”
“Cam,” she acknowledged. “History makes strange bedfellows.”
“I’m sorry if I kicked,” I said. “I’m only used to Wulfie—”
She steamrollered through that. “Stalin and Churchill. Hamilton and Jefferson. Sometimes two warring factions—or, at least, unfamiliar factions—have to join forces to Put Things Right.”
“You mean, like, I’m Sherlock Holmes and you’re Watson?”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she said. “If there’s a Sherlock, that’s going to be me. You may be Watson if you like.”
I wasn’t sure I did like, but I was willing to set that aside if Poppy was going to help me find my mother. Poppy clearly was a student of True Witchery, like Sarmine was always pushing me to be. “I’m not sure where to start,” I admitted. “I don’t feel like I have any clues.”
“We have loads of clues,” Poppy admonished me. “Let’s lay out what we know.” She put on her vintage glasses and picked up her phone to take notes. “Begin.”
Um. Okay. Start at the beginning. “There were thirteen witches in the RV garage last night,” I said.
“And one standing just outside it,” Poppy added.
“Fourteen,” I agreed.
“The witch known as Sarmine Scarabouche…” said Poppy.
“Disappeared,” I filled in.
“Appears to have disappeared,” correct
ed Poppy.
“Oh god, you don’t think she…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
Poppy looked severely at me, her dark eyes framed by the heavy plastic rims. “No, I don’t think she’s dead,” she said. “Witches are like cockroaches. Hard to kill them off. And your mother seems like one of the cockroachiest.”
I was more relieved than you would expect to hear my mother described as “cockroachiest.”
“Now look,” said Poppy. “A spell was cast. Probably by Malkin, but possibly by one of the witches in the circle. I saw at least one of the Canadians raising her wand.”
“And your mother,” I said.
“And you, and several other witches,” she said calmly. “And it would be just like any of them to capitalize on your mother’s distraction and try to overpower her. Does she have any particular enemies?”
I just looked at Poppy.
“All of them. Right. So the first thing to do is start interviewing witches to obtain further clues. The problem, of course, is that it was dark and everyone was masked. I couldn’t see very well through your garage window. I assume your mother keeps it well coated with dragon soot on purpose.”
“Naturally,” I assured her. Frankly, I assumed I had been supposed to clean it post-dragon and forgot, but I didn’t say that. Poppy’s certainty about everything made me feel out of my league.
She nodded. “Let’s draw up a diagram. Can you tell me where the witches were located in the circle?”
“Located!” I said. “I don’t even know all of them.”
She looked at me, stunned. “This is the Cascadia Coven,” and though she didn’t say it, her tone clearly held the words “you idiot.” “That’s like not knowing everyone on the Supreme Court.”
I didn’t tell her that my knowledge of the Supreme Court might not be totally complete.
“They elected you as one of them. You!”
I was starting to get annoyed. “Maybe they should have handed out a citizenship test,” I retorted.
“When I think of all the hours I’ve put in.…” Poppy took a deep breath. “Focus. The point is finding your mother. Now look. When you have a big school project, you break it down into steps, right?”
Seriously Hexed Page 4
