Crystal Magic (Clearwater Witches Book 1)

by Madeline Freeman

  Jodi appraises me and I shift under her gaze. Does she already know those things about me? Is she judging me now? I can’t fully articulate just how much I need to be somewhere new, how I need something different. I just wish it hadn’t taken my mother’s death to make that happen.

  My stomach swoops and I take in a sharp breath. My mother is dead. Obviously I know that; I was at the funeral. Still, the thought stabs me just like it did when I first found out. It’s like remembering something from a dream: One second, you are thinking about what to eat for lunch and then it hits you so hard you see stars. My heart races and I press my hand to my chest to keep it from busting through my ribcage.

  Jodi stands and beckons for me to follow her. In the kitchen, she takes up a tea kettle and fills it with water from the tap. “Do you like tea?”

  “Um, sure.” I’m actually not sure whether I like tea. It’s not something we drink regularly at my house.

  Drank. This is my house now.

  Jodi sets the kettle on the stove and lights the burner beneath it. I expect her to go to a cupboard to pick out a box, but she moves down the hall instead. After a moment, I follow.

  “This is the greenhouse,” Jodi says, opening a door at the end of the hall. “I grow all kinds of herbs in here. In the spring and summer, I have a garden in the backyard, but I’ve got this for when the weather’s colder.” She walks past the rows of plants to the back of the room, to the wall of windows overlooking the back yard. A curtain of plants hangs there, upside down, drying. She approaches a purple flower and shakes some dried petals into her palm before walking past me to exit the room. I close the door behind me and follow her back to the kitchen.

  She searches through a drawer until she finds a device I’ve never seen before. She squeezes the metal arms together and a round mesh basket splits open at the middle like a mouth. She tips the purple petals into the mesh basket and closes it again. The tea kettle whistles and she removes it from the burner. She pours water into a cup, puts the metal device into the water, and hands it to me. After filling a glass with water for herself, she leads the way to the dining room.

  I sit across from her at the table and look down at my mug, hesitant. “Is there a reason you’re not having the tea?”

  “I made it for you.” She sips her water.

  It’s not exactly an answer. I want to press her for more, but I also don’t want to seem ungrateful or rude. I put my lips to the mug, but the water is still too hot and I don’t take a sip.

  Jodi watches me. “I can’t imagine how hard all this is for you, and I want to help you any way I can. I hope you get your fresh start here. But be careful. There’s the kind of reinventing where you lose yourself and the kind of reinventing where you find yourself. Do you understand what I mean?”

  I have no idea what she means. I attempt the tea again but it sears my upper lip. “Anything’s better than who I’ve been.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  I want to tell her she has no idea what she’s talking about, since she hasn’t seen me in about five years, but I don’t. If she gets mad at me, she might take back her guardianship and kick me out on the street. I blow on the tea, just for something to do. It smells earthy, more like a lawn than a beverage, and I hesitate before taking the first sip. The taste is sharp but not unpleasant. As the hot liquid trickles down my throat and coats my stomach, I take in a deep breath. The tense knot in my stomach loosens just a little and my shoulders relax. “Things have just been rough. And now…” I shake my head. I’m not even sure what else to say.

  Jodi doesn’t seem to expect me to go on. “It’s getting late and you’ve had a long—well, a long run lately. You finish up your tea and I’ll haul your stuff to your room.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  Jodi sets down her glass and walks toward the front door, ignoring my protests. I feel guilty for making her do the work for me, but she did offer.

  For the first time in a week, I can breathe. The oppressive weight of change and uncertainty lifts. My mother is gone, and I’m living with a woman who is virtually a stranger to me. But Jodi dropped everything when I needed her and she’s willing to haul my things up three flights of stairs. Tomorrow I’ll start a new school where no one knows me, where I can be a new person.

  All things considered, life could be much worse.

  Chapter Three

  I stand at the top of the stairs, surveying my new room. I’m struck anew by its size. The house I lived in before was an average-size ranch with three bedrooms and a basement. The suite that Jodi gave me is probably larger than all three bedrooms at my old house combined.

  I lie down on the sleigh bed to test the mattress, pulling the yellow duvet around me. A wave of fatigue washes over me and I sit up reluctantly. I should unpack before I go to sleep.

  I drag the garbage bags that contain my clothes over to the closet. My family never traveled much, and after my dad left, Mom and I didn’t really have the extra money to take vacations. When it came time to pack up my belongings, Jodi and I shoved everything we could in garbage bags and the two odd boxes we found lying around the house. Everything I owned fit in the back seat and trunk of Jodi’s car.

  There are hangers inside the closet, but my tee-shirts don’t seem like the kind of clothes one would normally hang up. Instead, I pull the clothes from the bag and arrange them on the shelves at the side of the closet. Out of the second bag, I pull out three pairs of Converse and toss them to the floor.

  One of the shoes makes a strange hollow sound as it hits the wood. Curious, I bend down. One of the floorboards is warped, rising up above the level plane of the rest of the floor. I push it downward and it rocks under my hand. It’s not just warped—it’s loose.

  Before I consciously make the decision to do so, my fingers pry at the board, wrenching it free of its place. Putting it aside, I peer into the hole it leaves behind.

  The reveal is anticlimactic at best. Within the small space is one thing: an envelope, yellowing around the edges. It’s clearly been there for some time. My fingers twitch as I reach toward it. The envelope bulges in the center. What could be in there?

  Guilt sweeps over me as I pick it up. This isn’t mine. I should take it down to Jodi. My muscles tense, ready to stand, but I freeze. I need to see what’s in this envelope.

  With a shake and a tilt, something slides out of the envelope into my waiting palm. A ring—a large, weighty one. It’s silver and tarnished, set with a smoky dark gray stone about the size of my thumbnail. The stone is flat, but when I rub my thumb over it, I feel small bumps and ridges.

  I bite my lower lip and, after a moment’s hesitation, slide it onto my ring finger.

  A flash of bright white light fills my vision, blotting out the room. I close my eyes and shield my face, but the light lingers. I blink and the light dissipates, replaced by a shadow that encroaches in my periphery.

  I dig my fingernails into my palms and bite my lower lip, willing the darkness away, willing the pain to anchor me. It’s been five years since a vision has overtaken me. I squeeze my eyes closed, taking a deep breath.

  When I open my eyes, the darkness is gone. I look around the room. It’s my room, but it’s not my room. The bookshelf is stuffed full of mass market paperbacks and the sleigh bed is covered with a navy comforter. I’m not sure how, but I know I’m seeing the same place in a different time.

  A young man in his early twenties with sandy brown hair and broad shoulders emerges from the stairwell and my heart hammers in my chest. He grumbles under his breath, clearly agitated by something. He turns toward me and I suck in air, afraid of what he’ll say. What I could tell him to explain my presence in his space? But his eyes look through me and my body relaxes.

  Until I look at his face. I recognize him. I’ve seen his face a thousand times, tucked away in the photo albums my mom kept in her closet. He’s younger here than he is in any of her pictures, but there’s no denying that the man standing at the top of t
he stairs is my father.

  Shadows encroach on my periphery again and I panic, not ready to leave this vision just yet. Not ready to leave him. It’s no use; the image of my father fades before my eyes. I come back to myself, to my room, my time, gasping for air. When I look around, I gasp again: my shoes, my clothes, the pillows on my bed are all hovering in midair. I crouch to the floor, covering my head. “I don’t want this!”

  A breeze washes over me and a chorus of dull thuds echoes through the room. I allow my eyelids to open a crack. My things are no longer floating. My shoes and clothes are scattered haphazardly over the floor of my closet, but I don’t care. I press myself to standing and head for the stairs; I can’t be alone in the room any longer.

  The flash. I saw my father. He was standing in my room. It’s been years since I had a flash like this—years since I even thought about them. It’s been so long, I was able to convince myself they were all a figment of an overactive imagination—just like my mom always said. But this vision of my father didn’t feel imaginary, and there is one way to find out if I’m right. I pull the ring from my finger and slip it into the pocket of my jeans before heading downstairs.

  I find Jodi in the sitting room at the back of the house. She’s on the couch with her legs tucked up under her, reading a book. She smiles when I enter the room and places a bookmark between the pages of her novel. “Settling in okay?”

  I sit on the chaise lounge and force a nod. “Yeah, I’m getting my things put away.”

  She watches me. She’s waiting for me to continue. I’m just not sure how to ask the question I want to have answered.

  “This house,” I begin. “Did you grow up here?”

  She cocks her head to the side, her eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. “Why do you ask?”

  I open my mouth and close it again quickly. I don’t want to tell her what I saw. What if she just writes it off the way my mom always used to? “I just… wondered.”

  She studies me for a moment, her face inscrutable, then smiles. “Yes, grew up here. When my folks died, the house went to me. It was supposed to go to your dad, but… he didn’t want it.”

  My heartbeat speeds up at the mention of my father. “The room you put me in…”

  She nods. “It was his. My room has been mine for my whole life. My folks had the room that’s now the guest room. Actually, your dad’s room was originally where the office is now. When he was a teenager, he decided he needed more space and he moved to the third floor.”

  I look around the sitting room, trying to imagine my father lounging on the couches and walking through the halls. I can’t.

  “If you change your mind about wanting to stay in that room, I completely understand. I just thought… Well, I thought it’d be the place you’d feel most comfortable. But I’m open to whatever you want.”

  “The room’s fine,” I say quickly. “When he moved out—my dad—did he leave anything behind?”

  Jodi’s face softens. “Not much. Some clothes, which went to Goodwill years ago. There might be some boxes in the garage, if you want me to check.”

  I shake my head. I want to know about the ring specifically. Maybe Jodi doesn’t know anything about it. There is only one way to find out. Carefully, I pull the ring from my pocket and hold it out to her. “I wasn’t snooping,” I begin, “but this was in the closet—under a loose floorboard.”

  Jodi reaches for the ring. I don’t want to give it to her, but it seems rude not to. She studies it for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “This was his,” she says after a pause. “Well, really, it was our dad’s. And his dad’s before him. It’s been passed down through several generations.”

  “Oh,” I say. My fingers twitch. I have the urge to take the ring back, but Jodi is still scrutinizing it.

  “I wondered what happened to it. I always figured your dad took it when he moved out.” She smiles. “It actually makes me happy to know it’s safe.” She holds it out to me. “Well, it’s yours now.”

  “Really?” I didn’t expect her to hand it over to me quite so easily.

  “Of course. If you want, I could clean it up for you first. I’m sure I’ve got some silver polish kicking around here somewhere.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Jodi sets her novel on the coffee table and stands. I follow her into the dining room, where she opens the bottom cupboards of a heavy-looking hutch laden with white plates and cut crystal glasses. After a moment, she holds up a bottle triumphantly. “Aha!”

  It doesn’t take long for her to restore the ring’s shining luster, but every second that passes feels like a geologic age. I need the ring back in my hands. It was my father’s. I have so few connections to him that this new discovery is precious. It’s like having a piece of him back.

  She finishes wiping off the polish and my fingers twitch again, but before I can reach for it, she curls her fingers around it and darts from the room. “I’ll be right back,” she calls, and her footfalls thump on the stairs.

  My body lunges forward involuntarily, and only with effort do I manage not to follow her. She’ll bring it back. She said it’s mine.

  Seconds tick by, and after what feels like minutes, the stairs creak to herald Jodi’s descent. When she reenters the room, she’s smiling. She holds up her hand, and dangling from it is the ring, threaded through a fine chain of white gold. “It’s probably a bit big for your fingers,” she says, latching the clasp at the back of my neck.

  I pick up the ring and look down into the stone. I stare for a long while before I realize what I’m doing: waiting. When I put it on my finger before, I saw something. Now I’m waiting for it to show me something else. But that is ridiculous, isn’t it? “Thank you.”

  She nods, eyes crinkling again in the corners. She tilts her head to the side. “Is there something else?”

  The cadence of my heartbeat picks up. I want to tell Jodi about what I saw, but fear stops the words in my throat. Adults don’t generally respond positively to children who tell them they’re seeing visions. I learned that years ago, the hard way.

  I shake my head, but Jodi doesn’t break eye contact. “You can talk to me about anything, you know,” she says, and her words pierce me. The corners of her mouth upturn slightly. “You know, scientists say the linear progression of time is actually just an illusion?”

  I blink, shaking my head. “What does that even mean?”

  “Sorry, I’m kind of a PBS junky. I was watching a special a while back about how what we think about time might not actually be accurate. Apparently, even though we experience time minute by minute, second by second, it might not really exist that way. All time occurs right now. It’s just we can only see it unfolding in one direction.” She rubs her eyebrow. “It kind of makes my brain hurt to think about.”

  An empty feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. “Why are you telling me this?”

  She shrugs. “Your dad grew up here. If all time is really happening right now, that means he’s here with you. I just… I thought it might be a comforting thought.” She smiles. “Or not. Don’t worry—if you need to ignore your creepy aunt Jodi when she starts talking about space-time, feel free.”

  I force a smile, but her words don’t calm me. Instead, I’m unsettled because I think I can see through the illusion.

  Chapter Four

  Though I spend all of breakfast assuring Jodi that I am both ready and excited to start school Monday morning, a knot of dread forms in my stomach as we drive to Clearwater High School. What if things are the same here as they were at my old school? The only thing that’s changed is geography; I’m still the same person I’ve always been. What if the strange incidents that have plagued me for the last five years follow me here?

  When we pull up in front of the building, I’m frozen, and it’s not until Jodi opens my door for me that I actually make a move to get out of the car. The sandy brown brick edifice stretches three stories into the sky, its windows like blank, soulless eyes staring at
me. My stomach sinks as I start toward the front door.

  School doesn’t officially begin for another half hour, so there aren’t many people milling around as we make our way inside and to the principal’s office. A woman with shoulder-length dark brown hair and a broad forehead stands just inside the main office, looking official in her heather gray suit and white blouse. She smiles at Jodi and the two hug and exchange pleasantries. Jodi mentioned at breakfast that she and my principal are old friends, but their greeting is still weird to me.

  Mrs. Cole also smiles warmly at me, then ushers me into her office. This is such a sharp contrast to the last time I was in a principal’s office, it’s surreal. She settles behind her desk and Jodi and I take the seats across from her. On her desk is a manila folder. The tab reads Kristyl Barnette and an icy feeling washes over me. Has she looked at that file yet? She can’t have if she’s smiling at me like this.

  “Well, Kristyl, are you excited to be starting school? I understand the circumstances surrounding your move to Clearwater are tragic, but let me just say how excited Jodi is to have you here with her. I’m sure she’s told you that, but I want to assure you it’s true. Family is very important to us here in Clearwater.”

  I fix my eyes on Mrs. Cole, unwilling to look over at Jodi to confirm what she’s saying. “Have you read my file?” The words come out in a rush and I press my hand over my mouth as soon as I say them.

  Mrs. Cole’s eyes crinkle, her eyebrows furrowing. “Of course. Why?”

  I put my hands in my lap. “Nothing… It’s just… You’re being so nice to me. I’m not used to that. If you read my file, you’d know how often I was in trouble.”

  Mrs. Cole smiles. “I’m sorry your experiences with administrators have been negative. I think a move to a smaller school—a smaller community—is just what you need. You’ll get the attention you need here, Kristyl. I have no doubt the disciplinary issues from your past will remain there.”

  I nod enthusiastically. “That’s what I want. I want to be able to start over here. Does anyone else know what’s in my file?”