I tried a different tack. “So what do you want to do with your life? Is that irrelevant too?”
“No,” she said. “But it is indeterminate.”
I was tired of not being able to follow half of what Poppy said. I just waited.
“Graduation is an impermeable barrier,” she said. “The line between high school and college—I can’t see that far, and I know I can’t. I’ll be transcending. It is as incomprehensible to me what I will want five years from now as high school was to me when I was three. Can you imagine picking out your high school classes when you were three? The job of Current Poppy is to strategize me into the position from which I will have the maximum amount of opportunities to optimize my future. Future Poppy will take over when her time comes.”
“That’s actually reasonably brilliant,” I said.
“It’s challenging to stay focused and yet flexible,” she said. “I maintain a sort of tunnel vision for exactly that reason. All that Present Poppy has to do is complete one grand magical working to be accepted into Larkspur and stay in the right direction for the future. Future Poppy will worry about what I do when I get there.”
I wondered what Future Cam would think about what Present Cam was doing. It probably depended on whether or not I got Present Cam killed.
I texted Pink to tell her we would be late to get Wulfie. She texted back that he was busy jumping on all of Rimelda’s beds.
“Too bad Pink can’t make a hologram for us so your ‘mom’ could call school and say we got sick,” I said. “You don’t have anything like that already, do you?”
“Never needed it,” Poppy said. Then: “Ooh, ask Pink if Rimelda would call in and cover for us. I bet she’d do it. She’d love to get one up on some random authority figure.”
It was worth trying anything at this point. I texted the idea to Pink and got a smiley face in reply.
Three hours and forty-two minutes to go, or so said Poppy’s phone. Plus or minus traffic, of course. I looked sideways at Poppy. She was concentrating on the road.
“The hexes are definitely striking in order,” I said.
“Check.”
“The nastiest spell you’ve ever done, backfiring on you.”
“Check.”
“It’s got to be Malkin’s hex,” I said. “Ingrid didn’t even have an escape plan. Neither she nor Valda nor Esmerelda would have intentionally suffered through the hex they got.”
“Maybe we’re looking at it backwards,” said Poppy. “What if the witch who cast it is someone who isn’t till the very end? And they plan to stop the hex before it gets to them, after they knock everybody else out? Who was at the other end of the circle?”
“Me,” I said.
“Oh.”
“But on my right was that French lady,” I said.
“Claudette,” said Poppy. “I think she technically lives in British Columbia, but she’s got, like, places in Quebec and L.A. and the South of France. She teleports a lot.”
“I’ll say,” I said. “Did you know she was chasing a Bigfoot Saturday night? Before the coven, I mean.” I filled Poppy in on our pizza place adventure, which made me abruptly think of Jenah. I wished I could tell her about everything that had happened. But sometimes it was tough to get her alone.
“I’m sure Claudette would be happy to have Sarmine out of the way,” said Poppy. “But would she turn on the others like that? Maybe.”
Mostly, I was glad Claudette was near the end of the circle and we could put her off for a bit. “How are your mind-reading shields?” I said.
“I know the theory,” Poppy said ruefully.
We kept wrangling through witches and circle placement and spell stoppages until we had run ourselves in circles. The car fell silent, except for the panting of one eager puppy who was particularly enjoying running back and forth between the windows.
Now that we were pretty sure that the hex the witches were getting was the worst thing they’d ever done, it set me free to imagine dire things about my mother. I mean, was vanishing someone really the worst thing Sarmine Scarabouche had ever done? She’d done twenty worse things to her own daughter before breakfast.
I finally just had to say it, to lance the wound by putting the words out there. “Did my mother really vanish?”
“As opposed to…?”
“If she didn’t cast the hex, then she got the hex. The worst spell she ever cast, coming back to bite her. What if it wasn’t vanishing?”
“What, you think she vaporized somebody?”
I couldn’t decide. “Maybe, if she thought they deserved it.”
“Or maybe the worst thing she ever did was teleport somebody to some terrible locale,” said Poppy. “She moved them to Death Valley. That’s why she vanished. And as soon as your mom finds some jackalope whiskers, et cetera, et cetera, she’ll pop right back.”
“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t think my mom had ever done the teleporting spell, but I didn’t say that.
Poppy put a comforting hand on my arm. And she wasn’t a touchy-feely person like her mother, so that touch was like the equivalent of a bear hug. “Look. How about after dinner we’ll go back to your house. We’ll see if we can find any more clues. Okay?”
I guess I needed to hear a plan, a concrete plan, because that cheered me up a bit. “Okay,” I said, with more energy.
Poppy, who also liked concrete plans, put both hands back on the wheel. “And now,” she said, “back to our other problem.”
“There’s only one?”
“One of our other problems,” she amended. “What is the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
The good thing about being a beginning witch is that I haven’t actually done that much. I shook my head, listing off the few things I’d managed. “Self-defense,” I said. “The basic one that just stops a bad spell.”
“Oh, with the pears?” She nodded. “Go on.”
“Power spell. Charisma spell. Some random practice spells for Sarmine. Love potion.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Long story.”
“I’m not seeing a lot of bad ways these spells could be used against you,” she said. “Maybe you’ll be fine.”
But then my heart sank. “Oh, wait. Turning Devon invisible.”
“Could be worse.”
“Turning him into a turnip.”
“Definitely worse.” She tossed me her phone. “Will you write that down? Cam might get a backfiring hex.” Her aplomb was admirable. “Oh, and you’re certain about where my mother was standing, right? Esmerelda wasn’t lying or anything?”
She said the thing about her mother in an equally callous tone, but I knew how Poppy felt about her mom. Which led me to think that she wasn’t just being callous about my backfiring hex. See, I could do this “understanding people” thing, too.
“Your mom was near the end,” I assured her, and I opened up her notebook app and notated it, then read it off to Poppy.
Hexes So Far
1. Sat Midnight: Sarmine Scarabouche (Cam’s mom). Vanished.
2. Sunday Noon: V. Valda Velda (grumpy stompy witch). House tried to destroy her.
3. Sun Midnight: Esmerelda Danela (pissy blonde witch). Old and ugly.
4. Monday Noon: Ingrid Ahlgren (tough blonde with dog). House exploded.
5. Mon Midnight: Ulrich Grey (Unicorn Guy)
6. Tuesday Noon: Fiona Laraque (Sports Team, Canadian)
7. Tues Midnight: Jen Smith (Leggings, Canadian)
8. Wednesday Noon: Penny Patel (Boring Skirt, Canadian)
9. Weds Midnight: Rimelda Danela (Esmerelda’s 100-year-old mother)
10. Thursday Noon: Hikari Tanaka (Sparkle)
11. Thurs Midnight: Lily Jones (Poppy’s mom)
12. Friday Noon: Claudette Dupuy (ice-cold French-Canadian witch)
13. Fri Midnight: Camellia Hexar (Cam) (duh.) Might get a backfiring hex??
“That’s
three whole days till your mom,” I said. “And four till me.”
“And two and a half till Sparkle, and Unicorn Guy is tonight,” she said. “Ugh, the thought of going out to his place to warn him slash check on him is killing me.”
“He is such a creeper,” I agreed.
“Ooh, wait,” said Poppy. “Sparkle.”
“Two birds with one stone?” I said.
“High five,” said Poppy.
I dialed Sparkle’s number and put her on speakerphone. “She’s probably in fourth hour already,” I said. But she picked up. I could hear the echo of the gymnasium and the thumps of balls in the background.
“This better be important, Cam,” she said.
“Because you’re getting in trouble for us?”
“No, because I don’t want anything to do with W-I-T-C-H stuff when there are regular people around. You know that.”
“I know that spelling it probably doesn’t help,” I said.
“Listen up,” said Poppy. “That hex that got Sarmine? It’s not just her. It’s hexing every single witch who was at the coven, with the worst spell you’ve ever done. Yours is coming Thursday noon.”
“Thursday noon?” said Sparkle. If I hadn’t known her better, I would have said she said it in a small voice. But Sparkle is never small-voiced. Anyway, the next second she said dryly, “It’s almost worth it to see some of them get one-upped. I can only imagine what happened to Esmerelda.”
“It was rather awesome,” said Poppy.
“Sparkle,” I put in. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
Sparkle snorted. “Too many to list. I’m screwed if that hex gets to me.”
“But have you ever killed anyone?” said Poppy.
There was silence while Sparkle thought about this, which wasn’t super encouraging. “No,” she said.
“Not even Past Sparkle?”
“Past Sparkle once hexed the food at the cul—at the place she lived, so everyone got terrible food poisoning,” Sparkle said. “But no one died from it. Also I never went by ‘Sparkle’ the first time around, so it’s weird to call that person ‘Past Sparkle.’ She usually went by ‘Kari.’”
“Past Kari was nasty,” said Poppy.
“Look, however many people you are, the point is you’re going to be extremely unhappy but you won’t die,” I said. “Correct?”
“I think so, yes,” said Sparkle. Her lack of certainty was irritating. I kind of like to be more certain about how many people I have and haven’t killed, and I also like that number to be zero. “Can I get back to volleyball now? My team is losing without me.”
“One more thing,” I said. “Can you warn Unicorn Guy? He’s next on the list.”
“Ugh,” said Sparkle. “I loathe Unicorn Guy. He’s creepy and fetishy.”
“We know,” Poppy and I said in unison.
“Please?” I said. “We warned you. Just leave a note on his door if you want. Tell him Ingrid’s house exploded. That’ll convince him.”
“You promise you’re not going to do anything dumb like talk to Claudette?”
“Not without you,” I said.
“Oh, all right,” said Sparkle. “I guess I can weasel some unicorn hairs out of him while I’m there. Where are you calling from, anyway?”
“Long story,” I said. “We’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“I’d just as soon you didn’t,” said Sparkle, and hung up.
I went back to Poppy’s notebook app. “So, do I write that down for Sparkle’s possible hex?” I said. “Maybe food poisoning, maybe murder, IDK, who, like, cares and stuff?”
“Might as well,” said Poppy.
I studied the list again. “It’s a good thing you weren’t part of the coven, or you’d be on here, too.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking that.”
“What if, though? What do you think would happen to you? You’ve been working spells a lot longer than I have.”
“That’s the thing,” Poppy said. “Are these spells measuring the nastiness of the intent? Or just the spell, period? Because I haven’t done many mean things—” She blushed.
“Except…?”
“Well. I was eight and just learned I was a witch. So don’t hold it against me?” Her voice was suddenly soft and pleading.
“Cross my heart,” I said.
“I depantsed someone.”
“You … what?”
“Depantsed someone.”
I doubled over laughing. “Boy or girl?”
“Boy. They deserved it.”
“I’m sure they did.”
“I had braids at the time. He kept pulling them. Extremely inappropriate.”
“This is so Anne of Green Gables. Did you hit him with your slate?”
“No, I told you, I depantsed him.” She was laughing now. “I would love to see Anne do that to Gilbert.”
“What would Marilla say?”
“Marilla! No, that neighbor lady, what’s-her-name, she would have said send me back to the orphanage.”
“You can’t leave me hanging. How did it go down?”
“He was in the cafeteria.… It was still really mean. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“I forgive Past Poppy,” I said.
“And I had been researching this spell at home, because I was so mad, but I wasn’t actually going to do it, just hold my ingredients and imagine how satisfying it would be—”
“And he did it one more time.”
“No. He did it to my friend!” She wiped away tears of laughter. “I still can’t decide if I was angry on her behalf or jealous that he’d switched targets. Eight-year-old Poppy was maybe not as feminist as she could be.”
“So then…”
“Right in front of everyone. Right next to the steamed carrots. Boom. Depantsed.”
“And he was humiliated.”
“Yeah. And I was satisfied and guilty. You know.”
“Yeah.”
Poppy sobered up. “I guess, if that did happen to me, then I had it coming.”
“It’s a little worse to happen in high school than grade school,” I said. “And to a girl.”
“It has severe feminist implications,” she said. “This is bigger than me. Now we really gotta stop this spell.” There was an edge of hysteria in her laugh, like she knew depantsing was nothing, set against what the other witches might have done.
“Maybe that’s not the worst thing?” I said. “Is there anything else?”
Poppy shook her head. “Do you ever have—I don’t know, this sounds stupid. But kind of … teaching moments in your life?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Explain?”
“Well, that was one for me,” she said. “I felt so good about what I’d done—and so bad about feeling good. It really stopped me from going to a bad place with magic.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding slowly. “I think I know what you mean.”
“So I do know,” she said. “This is the worst thing. Most of the spells I’ve practiced have been under my mom’s supervision, you know? And none of them were bad. And the things I’ve done in secret aren’t terrible either. This … well, it wasn’t even that horrible to him. He did deserve it, and it didn’t turn him into an outcast, just made people laugh for a couple days. But for me, it was the one thing. And I think … I think this spell might be sort of centering in on things like that.”
“I don’t think Ingrid felt guilty about blowing up that lady’s house,” I said.
“Except she did, kinda, because she knew instantly what her thing was,” Poppy said. “She brought it up, not us.”
I nodded. Maybe some witches did feel guilt, after all.
Maybe that guilt was coming home to roost.
* * *
It was a long drive, made worse, first, by stopping a hundred times to let puppies do their business, and second, by rush hour traffic once we hit town. I won’t say we got along perfectly—Poppy insisted on quizzing me in American history some mor
e, on the theory that I would get to retake the quiz tomorrow, and after her app buzzed at me for the tenth wrong answer, and I told her I wasn’t doing it anymore and I didn’t care if I flunked, she got all huffy. Then she made me read her calculus problems while she tried to solve them in her head. And look, it’s not my fault that I don’t know what all the slashes and symbols are called. I’m barely keeping up in algebra. I thought we could talk about, like, anything else in the world, but Poppy insisted that calculus was the only thing that was going to take her mind off her problems, so there we were.
But even long drives come to an end. Poppy parked Ingrid’s SUV on one of the side streets near the school. We loaded four squirmy puppies into Lily’s open-air station wagon and headed off to Rimelda’s. All four puppies stuck their heads out of the busted rear window. I wasn’t sure how well that illusion would fool people if puppy heads were coming through it.
“Ugh, did someone throw their lunch wrappers through the back window?” I said.
“I wish you could drive,” moaned Poppy. “My back is killing me.”
We were flat-out wiped. I dreaded what Wulfie was going to be like when we found him. But then we had the first pleasant surprise of the evening: Pink was in the pool house, sitting next to a conked-out Wulfie, looking mighty pleased with herself.
“I ran him around the house fifteen times,” she said. “And we did the rock wall like fifty times probably, and jumped on every bed, and went swimming twice.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” I said.
“You are awesome,” said Poppy.
Pink pinkened. “I am?” She looked shyly up at us. “I guess I did a pretty good job, huh?”
“Amazing,” I assured her. “Do you want to watch four puppies next? I suspect they’ll be easier than Wulfie.”
“All right,” she said, proud and grinning. “I’ll have Grandmother get dog food. We’ve got it covered.”
Poppy and I handed off the puppies to Pink, then loaded the sleeping Wulfie into the backseat and got back in the car for the millionth time. The sun had set and the twilight was shading into dark. “Maybe he’ll stay asleep,” I said. “Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Poppy, who had more experience with babysitting small children, looked dubious. “At any rate, I’m not waking him,” she said. “Even if we regret it tonight.”
Seriously Hexed Page 13
