Crystal Magic (Clearwater Witches Book 1)

by Madeline Freeman

  A bell sounds overhead and Mrs. Cole’s attention turns from us to the rest of the students in the hallway. I quickly hang Owen’s sweatshirt on one of the hooks in my locker and grab what I need for first hour before heading down the hall, not wanting to be in Crystal’s presence anymore. I’m halfway to Miss Buchanan’s class when I hear someone behind me calling out my nickname.

  Owen.

  He jogs down the hall to catch up with me, concern creasing his eyes. “What was going on with you and Crystal and Bridget? When I got to my locker, I saw Mrs. Cole standing there. I would’ve gone to check it out, but Cole would’ve just sent me away.”

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Crystal just asked me if I was Jodi’s niece, then she grabbed me.”

  “Grabbed you?” His blue eyes widen with alarm.

  I wave away his concern. “She just grabbed my wrist. She told Mrs. Cole she thought I had her lip gloss. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine.” He stops in the center of the hall and turns me by the shoulders to face him. A stream of students jostle past us, but he remains unmoved. “I may not believe Lexie’s witch theory, but that doesn’t mean I want you on Crystal’s hit list. If she bothers you again, you tell us, okay?” Another bell rings and Owen sighs. “I’ll see you second hour.”

  I nod. The corners of his mouth upturn slightly as he makes his way back down the hall toward his class. I walk into first hour and make my way to my desk, tugging at my ear. As Miss Buchanan begins class, I pull out a notebook and pretend to pay attention, but my thoughts keep circling back to Crystal and the man’s face.

  Why did I see it? What could it mean? Owen was so concerned about Crystal, and I want to tell him it’s not Crystal I’m worried about. I want to tell him about the flash I saw when she touched me. But I know I can’t do it. It sounds crazy, even to me, and I’m well-versed in strange occurrences.

  Chapter Eight

  The rest of the week passes and I’m able to forget about the face I saw when Crystal touched me. Though she’s continued to stare at me whenever we’re in the same room, I’ve been able to ignore her. I’m finding it’s much easier not to pay attention to something like that when my time is filled by my new friends.

  True to his word, Owen started taking me to Jodi’s shop after school every day, and I look forward to the time alone with him. He asks me about my day, and about Jodi’s shop and what I’m learning there. And he tells me about himself: He has an older brother who’s in college and a younger sister who’s still in middle school, he wanted to be a veterinarian when he was younger, he’s been on the track team since middle school, and his favorite movie is It’s a Wonderful Life.

  It’s Owen I’m thinking about on Friday during history class. History is the only class I have without one of my new friends, and it’s also the only one I share with both Crystal and Bridget. Owen, Lexie, Bria, and West invited me to hang out tonight, and although I still haven’t asked Jodi if I can go, my mind is already there. It’s a movie night at West’s house, something the group of them do regularly—and they decided to include me. If Crystal is staring at me the way she has been all week, I don’t notice it. I’m too happy.

  The hair at the back of my head prickles, as if brushed by a breeze, and I rub my hand over it to smooth it. None of the windows are open and the only heating vent is on the other side of the room. I turn to my textbook and start reading the chapter. Mr. Martin assigned the reading five minutes ago and I still haven’t read past the first paragraph because I’m so preoccupied. I take in a breath, pushing my excitement about tonight to the back of my mind. Jodi might not let me go if I have homework, so I should get the assignment done.

  No more than three sentences into the paragraph, I feel the breeze again, this time more tightly aimed, shifting the hair by my left ear. I close my eyes and take in a slow breath, trying to convince myself I’m imagining things. But when another blast comes, I bang my fist against my textbook and turn around. “Will you knock it off already?”

  The boy seated behind me looks up from his book, his eyes wide. He’s mousy, with curly dark blond hair and a sprinkle of acne across his cheeks. In short, he’s nothing like the kind of kid who would go out of his way to bother a person. He looks like the kind of kid who’s usually on the other side of that equation.

  “I’m sorry,” he says automatically. “Did I kick your desk? I won’t do it again.”

  My breath catches. How many times did I say those same kinds of things to people when I hadn’t done anything? Guilt presses down on me and I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I think I was imagining things.” I offer him a smile before I turn back to my desk.

  Except I’m not imagining things. Another gust of air ruffles my hair as soon as I look at my textbook. Who could be doing it? If it’s not the boy behind me, who is close enough to do it without me noticing?

  Surreptitiously, I knock my pencil from my desk to give myself an excuse to turn. When I reach for the pencil, I cast a quick glance in Crystal and Bridget’s direction. They’re seated in their usual spot at the back corner on the opposite side of the room, but their eyes are on me.

  I grab the pencil and return to facing forward. Why are they staring at me? It had to be due to my outburst a moment ago, didn’t it? They couldn’t be blowing at my hair from all the way over there; it’s impossible.

  The pages of my textbook begin to rustle and before I can do anything, several pages turn. It’s suddenly in the middle of the last chapter. I flip back to where I was and start reading again. Air whispers past me again and I gather my hair up and pull it over my right shoulder. My pencil slides off my desk and rolls toward the front of the room.

  I tap the shoulder of the girl in front of me. “Would you mind handing me my pencil?”

  She rolls her eyes at me before acquiescing, and I thank her. I set the pencil in the groove at the top of desk and turn my attention back to my reading. As I turn the page, my pencil falls again, clattering as it hits the floor. Mr. Martin looks up from his desk, his eyes scanning the room. “Let’s keep our belongings on our desks, please.”

  I grit my teeth. I consider asking the girl in front of me for my pencil again, but I’m sure she wouldn’t be particularly amused by a second request. Instead, I get up from my desk and move two people ahead of where I sit. My pencil has rolled that far. I smile apologetically at the boy whose desk the pencil is under and reach down by his feet to pick it up.

  On my way back to my desk, the pages of my book rustle again. I reach forward and slam my hand on the book.

  The noise is louder than I anticipate and Mr. Martin clears his throat. “Is there a problem, Miss Barnette?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek as I sit down. “No, sir.”

  “Then I recommend you sit down and finish your assignment.”

  “Yes, sir.” I tuck the pencil behind my ear and put my hands on either side of the book to keep the pages from moving.

  I manage to read the rest of the chapter without incident. When I get to the questions at the end of the chapter, I reach for the pencil, but before I touch it, it slips from behind my ear and clatters to the floor.

  “Miss Barnette, are you having some sort of seizure?” Mr. Martin quips from the front of the room.

  The class erupts in laughter and my face burns. It’s one thing to be harassed by students; it’s an entirely different sort of embarrassment when the teacher turns me into a joke. My fingers tremble as I reach for my pencil and I bite my lower lip. Pressure builds in me, starting in my stomach and pressing outward.

  The book on my desk begins to tremble and I press my hand down on it to make it stop moving, but it doesn’t. It shakes so violently, my desk begins to bang against the floor. The boy behind me looks up, horrified, and jumps from his desk. Several other students are on their feet as their desks begin to rattle against the floor. A girl in the front of the room screams.

  The entire room is quivering and my classmates curse as textbooks slip off desks an
d fall to the ground. The only people who seem unfazed are Crystal and Bridget, whose eyes remain fixed on me.

  The shaking stops as abruptly as it started. My wide-eyed classmates look around the room, dazed.

  Mr. Martin, his complexion ashen, clears his throat at the front of the room. “Is everyone okay? Is anyone hurt?”

  Voices swell in an indistinct murmur as people hold out their arms and legs for inspection, as if expecting to find unfelt pieces of shrapnel lodged in their skin.

  Three beeps echo through the room and four girls jump, clutching at their chests.

  “Attention teachers.” Mrs. Cole’s voice is controlled over the PA. “We appear to have experienced a small earthquake. If any of your students have been injured, please have them report to the office. If your classrooms have sustained any damage, please e-mail me.”

  Mrs. Cole’s voice seems to have broken most of my classmates from their shocked states. When the announcement ends, conversation erupts.

  “Mr. Martin,” calls the boy behind me, “was that really an earthquake?”

  Mr. Martin pushes some papers back onto his desk, his fingers trembling. He looks up at the boy, some of the color returning to his cheeks. He straightens, resuming teacher-mode. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility. There aren’t any faults here in Clearwater, but it’s not uncommon for us to feel a quake centered in Canada.” He sits down in his chair, his eyes on the computer monitor. “I wonder if the USGS has a report up yet…”

  I gulp in breaths as the room erupts around me. The girl next to me pulls her cell phone out and taps out a text under her desk. The boy two desks ahead of me stands and shakes his body violently, illustrating, perhaps, what it feels like to be in a larger earthquake.

  The class has dissolved into chaos. Mr. Martin calls for us to get back to work, but he doesn’t actually look at us. A crease forms between his eyebrows as he clicks through web pages.

  A prickling sensation crosses the back of my neck and I turn. Crystal and Bridget are still watching me with inscrutable expressions on their faces. I turn away quickly. I look down at my textbook but don’t see it. It was an earthquake, I try to convince myself. I didn’t do that. I couldn’t do that.

  But what if I’m wrong?

  Chapter Nine

  The crowded hallway buzzes louder than usual at the end of the hour. I’ve taken to lingering by Mr. Martin’s door, waiting for Owen to emerge from his class, but today I dart into the stream of people passing me. I don’t want to wait until Crystal and Bridget catch up to me.

  I’ve taken only a few steps when someone grabs my arm and spins me around. Fox’s gray eyes greet me, open and wide. My first instinct is to pull away from his grip, but his fingers squeeze tighter the more I struggle. Over his shoulder, Crystal and Bridget approach. The sight of them makes my heart rate increase, and I’m so keyed up by what just happened that even the wave of peace that envelops me at Fox’s nearness is not enough to calm me. He opens his mouth, but I don’t want to hear whatever he has to say. I shove the heel of my hand into the center of Fox’s chest, and the movement is enough to knock him off balance so he loosens his grip. I don’t stop at my locker. I run down the hall to the stairs and don’t stop running until I reach Owen’s car. He and I usually walk out together, so I tap out a quick text telling him where I am.

  After I click “send,” I lean against the hood of his white Grand Prix, closing my eyes. I try to tune out the voices of others as they filter past me to their cars, but certain things lodge themselves in my ears: shaking, earthquake, scared—Can you believe it?

  I press my hands over my face. It can’t have been me. It was just a coincidence.

  Even as these thoughts surface in my mind, others appear to rebut them. It can’t be a coincidence that every time I’m upset these strange things occur around me. I’m not trying to make them happen, but is it possible I’m somehow causing them? And if that’s the case, what does that say about me, about who—or what—I really am?

  Hands settle on my upper arms and I uncover my face, afraid of who I might find in front of me. But it’s not Crystal or Fox; it’s Owen, and his eyes are narrowed.

  “Are you okay?”

  I try to force a smile, but my mouth doesn’t want to move. “I’m fine. I just…”

  He nods. “Earthquake really freaked you out, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I agree, thankful for the easy explanation. “You felt it too?”

  “I think the whole school felt it.” He unlocks my door before heading to the driver’s side. “Mrs. Wertz said she remembers feeling one back in the eighties or something. She thought a truck hit the building. I guess it’s something that happens from time to time.” His voice is soothing and I can tell he’s trying to make it sound like what happened wasn’t a big deal. He’s trying to make me feel better.

  I slide onto the seat and latch my seatbelt, wishing what happened to me in class could be explained away so easily.

  We don’t talk much on the way to Jodi’s shop, but he makes sure to remind me to ask about the movie night. I promise to text him as soon as I get a response from Jodi.

  “Perfect timing,” Jodi says as I walk into the shop. “I’m in major need of a caffeine fix.”

  I make my way to the back room and drop off my backpack on the worn couch.

  Jodi picks up a clipboard and holds it out to me. “You want a latte?”

  I shake my head, relieving her of the clipboard. “Inventory?”

  “Nope,” she says, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she turns and heads toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

  I stare at the clipboard in my hands. It takes me a few seconds before I realize what she’s given me. It’s a list of herbs with descriptions of each one. Along the top of the page she’s written one word: Memorize. Beside the name of each herb is a list of uses, along with a blank column labeled Your Thoughts.

  I stare at the list. I had no idea there were so many herbs in the world. Some of them are familiar to me: lavender, sage, thyme, basil. But there are others I’ve never heard of before: blood root, slippery elm, motherwort. I have no idea how I’m ever going to remember all of these, but if Jodi’s asking me to do it, I know I have to give it a try.

  I pick up the first herb on my list: oregano. It smells hearty and robust, like Italian food. One use is to relieve a nervous headache. I study the small round leaves and inhale the scent again, trying to commit both to memory.

  The bell above the door tinkles, but I don’t turn, figuring it’s Jodi returning from the coffee run.

  “Hey, I don’t think I’m going about this in the most effective way,” I call, setting the bunch of oregano back in its place. “What’s the easiest way to memorize all these herbs?”

  “I find experience is always the best teacher.”

  The voice isn’t Jodi’s and I jump, clutching the clipboard to my chest. Fox stands in the middle of the store. My breath catches and my hand goes to the ring around my neck. I pinch it through the material of my shirt. My heart thuds against my chest and I can feel the ghost of Fox’s fingers pressed against my upper arm. Why did Jodi leave me alone? “What are you doing here?”

  Fox takes a step nearer to me and my worry begins to ebb. His gray eyes are fixed on my face and there is no malice in them. “I wanted to check on you. You ran off so fast after school I didn’t get a chance to ask how you are.”

  My cheeks flush with pleasure at his concern for me. “Why would you care?”

  He shrugs. “An earthquake is pretty out of the ordinary for Michigan. I wanted to see how… how you felt about it. If you have anything to say about what happened.”

  A giggle escapes my lips and I look up at him through my eyelashes. Part of me questions my behavior—just a second ago I was nervous at his appearance and now I’m giggling? But the concerned part of my mind is so small I’m easily able to ignore it. “What would I possibly have to say about it? Everything started shaking. It was pretty scar
y.”

  “Well, Crystal and Bridget seemed to think you might know something about it.”

  I bristle at the sound of their names and take a step away from him. “So that’s the only reason you’re here? Because of them?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not what you think. Actually, I’m here to apologize for the way those girls’ve been treating you. All the creepy staring—I told them it’s gotta stop.”

  A flutter builds in my stomach. The anger I felt a moment ago is completely gone, replaced by a gentle fuzziness, a pleasant warmth. I smile. “What, are you their ambassador?”

  “Unfortunately, they didn’t send me. They’re kind of bitches, you know? But I wanted you to know we’re not all like that.”

  Fox steps closer, an arm’s length away from me. I have the urge to reach forward and run my hand through his dark hair. So clearly can I imagine the feeling of the silky strands against my fingers that it sends a thread of cold through my system. I manage to turn away from him, rubbing my hands together to keep them from reaching for him. This is ridiculous. Never in my life has a guy affected me like this. Why do I feel so out of control around Fox? I take a few steps away, toward the end of the herb rack. “I know you’re not all like this. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve found some friends.” In my mind’s eye I see the faces of Lexie and Bria, West and Owen.

  Owen. The image of his eyes cuts through the fog enveloping my mind.

  Fox has a gentle smile on his face. “I’ve noticed. Quite the group you’ve fallen in with.”

  Irritation flares within me. “I’m not sure why you care who my friends are.”

  “I care because you’re a fascinating creature, Kristyl Barnette. I don’t think you realize just how amazing you are. And I just want to be around you.”

  Part of me melts. I want to run into Fox’s arms, to bury my face in his chest. The urge surprises me so much, I shake my head to clear it away. This isn’t right. I don’t want this—I don’t want Fox. I haven’t even spoken to him since the last time he was here in the shop. Then why can I see myself with him so clearly? I take a few steps backward. “It’s Krissa.”