Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Also by Madeline Freeman
About the Author
Crystal Magic
Clearwater Witches, Book One
Madeline Freeman
Copyright © 2014 Madeline Freeman
Cover Art © 2015 Steven Novak
All rights reserved.
First eBook Edition: March 2014
Second eBook Edition: April 2015
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For information:
http://www.madelinefreeman.net
Dedication
To Dad:
For never forgetting the name of my first novel,
and for making me believe I can do anything I set my mind to.
And for the One
who makes the moon reflect the sun.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Rachel Schurig and Mary Twomey for talking me through things, reading crappy drafts, listening to my dithering, and pretty much being the best people ever.
Thanks to Leah at Invisible Ink Editing for cutting through the sludge to help this story shine.
Thank you to Steven Novak for the beautiful artwork.
Chapter One
He thinks I’m lying.
With his mouth, Mr. Delaney, the assistant principal, says he wants to help me and would like to hear my side of the story. But his mind is already made up. He surveys me across the top of his disastrously chaotic desk, his gaze making me uncomfortable, like I’ve done something wrong.
“I didn’t do anything,” I say. It is my constant refrain whenever I’m seated in this chair. I fix my eyes on a blue ballpoint pen, which rests precariously at the edge of the desktop in front of me.
Mr. Delaney wonders what his wife is making for dinner. But what he asks is, “If you didn’t do anything, then why does Kayla Snow have a welt on her forehead the size of a golf ball?”
I dig my nails into the palms of my hands as Mr. Delaney’s mind circles around to golf and whether that new golfing video game will improve his swing. I have to focus. If I can focus, I can block out the flashes. The pain of my nails pressing into my flesh anchors me to the moment, to my own mind and body. “When I was leaving Mrs. Capella’s class, someone bumped into me from behind and my books flew out of my hands. One of them hit Kayla in the back of the leg.”
Mr. Delaney’s thick eyebrows hitch upward, as if trying to connect with his graying hair. “That’s not what Kayla said happened. She said you threw a book at her leg.”
The pen on the desk rattles gently and I cover it with my hand, biting my lower lip. It shivers against my skin for a few seconds longer. I take in a breath, tamping down my anger and frustration, and the pen stills. My emotions have already gotten me into enough trouble today; I can’t afford to have something happen here, in front of Mr. Delaney. “She probably thinks I threw it. Like I said, her back was to me. Anyway, she turned to me and… she called me a freak and a few other choice things, and I apologized, even though I wasn’t trying to hurt her. And when I tried to pick up my book, she kicked it out of reach.”
“Hm.” Mr. Delaney’s eyes express a willingness to entertain my version of the story, but his thoughts betray him. He thinks I’m making this up. Kayla Snow is on student government and the cheerleading squad. She’s never in trouble. I, on the other hand, have been in this office three times already this year—and it’s only October. His thoughts flick to the district’s alternative school and out of the corner of my eye I see the monitor of his computer begin to flicker. I bring my hand to my mouth and bite down on the side of my thumb. The screen goes back to normal. The sharp shock of pain anchors my mind, but I don’t have to be able to read Mr. Delaney’s thoughts to know my behavior worries him. Biting yourself isn’t normal, but neither am I. And sometimes pain is the only thing that makes me focus, keeps the chaotic thoughts of others from assailing my mind.
“I’ve already called your mother,” Mr. Delaney says, his eyes shifting from me to the door to his phone. He’s worried I might break into a fit and he might need help—or a quick escape. “We’ve barely been in school a month and this is the fourth incident you’ve been involved in.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Destruction of school property is one thing, Kristyl.” He turns to his computer and pulls something up on the screen. “A broken desk, a broken window, and a broken data projector.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t break those things.”
“Oh, they just all happened to break while you were near them?”
I bite the insides of my cheeks. I was given warnings for each of those instances because in each case, no one could prove I’d been responsible. The desk I sat in during English fell apart when I stood up after an hour of enduring murmured taunts by the girls around me. The window I sat beside during history cracked clean in half when the teacher assigned a group assignment and every group refused me entrance. And in science, the projector slipped off its cart and crashed to the floor during our notes about plate tectonics when the students in class decided that calling me “Crustal” instead of “Kristyl” was hilarious.
“I don’t know how those things happened. Just like I don’t know how Kayla got hurt today. She kicked my book and I crawled over to get it and she kicked me in the hip.”
“She kicked you?” His tone is dubious.
I nod. “I didn’t want to get into a fight so I grabbed my book and ran out of the room.”
“Kayla says you pushed her, that you knocked her into the corner of a desk. Then you ran out of the room.”
I close my eyes. Of course that’s what Kayla said. And of course it’s the version of events Mr. Delaney believes. My version doesn’t make sense. Even I know that.
Mr. Delaney shifts in his chair, squaring his shoulders and sitting taller. “When your mother arrives, we’ll discuss the terms of your suspension.”
“Suspension?” My stomach clenches. “Is Kayla being suspended too?”
The corners of his mouth twitch as an internal monologue p
lays in his mind. Of course she won’t be suspended, she’s the victim here. But he wants to be diplomatic. He opens his mouth to respond, but before the words come out, his office door swings open, banging against the adjacent wall, and he jumps. His eyes slide from the door to me and he pushes back from his desk, putting more distance between us. “Why don’t you sit out in the waiting area until your mom gets here?”
I don’t argue. It would be pointless. I stand and exit his office, passing through the short hallway to the waiting area, where the secretary has her desk. She raises her heavily penciled eyebrows at me as I pass, wondering what was going on to make me throw such a hissy fit. I bite back the urge to tell her I didn’t touch the door and sit in a chair facing the hallway so I can see my mom when she arrives. I take in deep, slow breaths. I can’t afford anything else going wrong today. I close my eyes, concentrating on the rise and fall of my chest, on my heartbeat. Now that I’m not upset, my thoughts are my own once more.
The creak of the office’s main door makes me open my eyes, but it’s not my mom who enters. It’s a man with a round face and a thick thatch of blond hair atop his head. He wears the dark blue uniform of a police officer. My heart picks up its tempo, thudding rapidly in my chest. It’ll be okay, I try to convince myself—he’s just a cop. It’s not unheard of for a cop to stop by the school. He walks up to the secretary and the two exchange murmured words. Then the secretary nods in my direction.
My skin tingles and a lead weight settles in my stomach as the officer turns to me. Has Kayla accused me of assault or something? Am I being arrested? Adrenaline courses through my body and I envision myself leaping off the chair and running for my life—running away from this cop, away from this school, away from my life, away from everything. But I won’t do that. Instead, I sit stock-still, waiting for the officer to get out his handcuffs.
I study his face as he approaches, trying to determine how bad the news is, just how much trouble I’m in. His expression is clouded and I wonder if I’m the first person he’s ever had to arrest. Or maybe he was expecting me to look differently—like a hardened hooligan instead of a small, plain girl whose face is half obscured by curtains of blond hair.
He comes to a stop in front of me, rubbing his left wrist with his right hand, his eyes not quite fixing on my face. I bite my lower lip, the pain interfering with the heat building in my abdomen. “Kristyl Barnette?”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
His eyes shift and the cadence of my heart increases. “I’ll need for you to come with me.”
I nod. It takes a moment, but I’m able to press myself to standing. “Am I being charged with something?”
His eyes flash confusion. “No…”
I don’t like the look he’s giving me. I dig my fingernails into my palm, but the sensation does nothing to allay the onslaught of emotions. It’s bad, his reason for being here. But I don’t want to know how bad. I don’t want to hear it.
The officer’s eyes slide away from my face and a muscle in his jaw jumps. His mouth works, like he’s trying to figure out how to spit out what he has to say next. “Your mother is Amy Barnette?”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. The words don’t come out of his mouth, but somehow, I know. An icy wave of dread envelops me and I know why he’s here. There’s been an accident. A bad one. And my mom won’t be making it to her meeting with the principal.
Above me, the fluorescent light burns out, sparks flying from the edges of the bulb, as I realize my mom won’t be coming home either.
Chapter Two
The three-story Victorian house looms before me, an immense monolith with pale blue siding and gray accents.
My new home.
It’s been just over a week since the officer came to tell me my mom was killed in a car accident on her way to the school. If she hadn’t had to leave work to come talk to my principal, she might still be alive. The corners of my eyes prickle and I rub at them with my knuckles.
My aunt, Jodi Barnette, nudges her way past me on the walkway and walks up the half dozen stairs that lead to the wraparound porch. She twists the doorknob and bumps into the door a couple times with her shoulder before it opens. For some reason, it isn’t locked, even though Jodi hasn’t been home in more than a week.
After the police officer told me about Mom’s accident, he took me to the station so they could contact my next of kin. Both sets of my grandparents are deceased, and my mother is an only child.
Was. Was an only child.
My father… Well, the truth is, I’m not sure what to say about him. He may be dead too, for all I know. He walked out on my mom and me just after my twelfth birthday and we haven’t seen nor heard from him for nearly five years. But my dad has a sister. Jodi.
Before last week, I hadn’t seen my aunt Jodi since before my father left. When the officer located her information and called her, I can’t say I was particularly hopeful that she would be sympathetic to my predicament. In fact, I fully expected to find myself in foster care. But Jodi surprised me by dropping everything, putting her life on hold, and driving over two hours from her home in Clearwater to Fraser. She totally shocked me by taking custody of me.
But by far the biggest surprise is this house. Jodi is in her early thirties and single, and I can’t rectify those facts with the behemoth before me.
“You coming, Kristyl?” Jodi is watching me, and a flush rises in my cheeks. Here I am, standing and staring open-mouthed at her house while she hauls my meager belongings inside for me. I pick up the bags I dropped and hurry up the stairs.
“You can leave your things here for now. How about I give you a tour?” Jodi bounces slightly, swaying forward and backward. Her face is open and her lips curl upward in a slight smile.
I nod. “That’d be nice.”
She leads me through the first floor and points out the living room—which is not to be confused with the sitting room, which is at the back of the house—and the kitchen. There’s a dining room and a bathroom downstairs also. The walls are all painted in muted tones—mauve and gray-blue—and the furniture is heavy and wooden. It’s probably at least as old as Jodi.
Her bedroom is on the second story, along with an office and a second bedroom. I expect her to tell me that’s where I’ll be staying, but she takes me to the third story. I figure this room will be full of a collection of dusty boxes, but it’s not. Instead, the third floor opens up into a large suite. The space is surprisingly bright, with windows on all four walls. It feels spacious and airy despite the sloping ceiling. There is a queen-sized bed on the wall opposite the stairs and a desk to the left. Jodi walks around the stairwell to point out a small sitting area with a couch, along with the closet and a small bathroom complete with a shower stall.
“This is where you’ll stay.”
I look around the room, incredulous. “Seriously?”
“Unless you want the guest room on the second floor. That’s fine too. I just figured you’re sixteen and you’d probably like a bit of privacy.”
Jodi’s eyes are open wide, expectant. For a moment, I can see our family resemblance: she has my golden brown eyes, and our mouths are the same shape. But her hair is brown, wavy, and just brushes her shoulders, whereas mine is blond, pin-straight, and hangs down to my elbows. She bites her lower lip and a smile tugs the corner of my mouth—the lip thing is a typical expression for me, so it’s interesting to see it on her. Like maybe it’s genetic or something.
“This is great. I just… Thanks so much—again—for…”
Jodi waves a hand vaguely. “I’ve told you already. You don’t need to thank me. Kristyl, I know we haven’t been close, but we’re still family. Your dad leaving doesn’t make that any less true. I’m glad I can be here for you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I want to do everything in my power to help you through it. Okay?”
I nod.
She starts back down the stairs and I follow. It would be rude to stay up in the room a
lone. Besides, all of my things are still in the front hallway.
Jodi leads me to the sitting room and settles down on an overstuffed couch. The only other piece of furniture in here is a red chaise lounge, which I perch on, my legs hanging off sideways. I feel strange sitting like this, but it would be even weirder to recline. I could sit on the couch, but after spending two and a half hours in the car together, I figure Jodi wants me out of her personal space.
“I’ve been in contact with the high school. They’re expecting us tomorrow. We’ll go in early and get you all set up. But if you think you need a few days before you start, just say the word. The secretary said they excuse bereavement time—and no one expects you to just jump right in—”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll start Monday.” I take in a breath, relieved. Part of me had wondered if my suspension from my last school would follow me here. The last week has been a whirlwind of lawyers and funeral plans and packing. It’s strange, but I’m actually looking forward to the monotony of school. “I think it’ll be good for me.”
Jodi’s mouth twitches. “I talked with your last school. I’m a little surprised you’re so eager to jump in here.”
What do I say to that? For once, I would welcome the flashes of thoughts I’m able to pick up when I’m upset, but nothing comes to me. Does she think I’m a problem child? Does she think I’m responsible for all the things I was constantly being blamed for? I wait for a moment, wondering if she’ll go on, but she doesn’t. “I’m ready to make a fresh start.”
Jodi nods. “I think we’re all entitled to at least one of those in a lifetime.”
“I didn’t have a lot of friends at my old school. None, really. Everyone thought I was this weird kid and they all kind of kept their distance. Unless they were knocking into me—you know, accidentally-on-purpose.” I sigh. “I don’t want to be that girl anymore. I’m looking forward to being somewhere where no one knows me.”
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