Banish

by Nicola Marsh

  “Actually, the evening was pretty incredible.”

  He picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. “But?”

  Impressed by his intuition, I said, “How do you do that?”

  The pen twirled faster. “Easy. I read between the lines, pick up on what people don’t say rather than what they do.”

  I smirked. “Psych major coming up?”

  “Maybe.” He threw the pen on the desk and gave me his full attention. “What happened later that wasn’t so great?”

  I didn’t want to talk about this, not with Seth. He was my one link to normality in New York. I’d thought Ronan had been too, until a dead body popped up on one of his music videos.

  I attempted a deflection and flipped open a chemistry textbook. “I’m sure you’d rather figure out probable exam questions than listen to me drone on about my love-life.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Love-life? You like the guy that much?”

  “Figure of speech.”

  “Phew.”

  His exaggerated swipe of his brow was designed to make me laugh and I managed a wan smile, feeling somewhat disloyal dismissing my feelings for Ronan so easily.

  Problem was, I didn’t know how I felt about him, especially after last night. I liked him. A lot. He could have booted me out of his apartment, labelling me a nutcase after I’d gone ballistic, but he hadn’t. He’d tried to solve the mystery with me, had plied me with coffee and macadamia cookies while scrutinising his music video repeatedly.

  His dedication to revealing the truth had impressed me, but during every moment I’d sat next to him in his workroom, surrounded by wall-to-wall computers, I couldn’t help but think a guy that talented with hard drives could do anything, hide anything, from me and I’d be none the wiser.

  Seth leaned across the desk and flipped the book shut. “Face it, I’m not going to solve any chemistry problems ’til I hear what’s bugging you.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I debated telling him for all of two seconds before realising something. I finally had a friend; a friend who cared enough about me to pick up on nuances; a friend I might need to provide a purely objective viewpoint on the craziness of last night.

  For as much as I’d protested Angie’s innocence, once Ronan had planted the idea in my head I couldn’t forget what she’d said about my having faith in her beliefs after the tarot fiasco.

  You will.

  How far was my aunt willing to go to convince me to believe? Was this the price I would have to pay for staying with her? Converting to broomsticks and pentagrams?

  “Sure you want to hear this? It’s kinda long and tedious.”

  He held up two fingers to his forehead. “Scout’s honour.”

  Somehow I couldn’t picture this scruffy, blond, spiky-haired, blue-eyed boy in scouts. He was too wired, an over-achiever, perpetually on the move and very focused on his grades. The thought of him camping in the woods or making fire didn’t gel.

  “Ronan wrote me a song and made a clip.”

  He mock barfed and I glared at him.

  “Hasn’t he sent you clips before?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but never one especially for me.”

  He pretended to play a violin and I swatted him.

  “The clip was great, but there was something at the end…”

  His chuckle died as he noted my sombreness. “Like what? More gag-worthy lovey-dovey stuff?”

  He pretended to stick two fingers down his throat and I couldn’t help but smile. He was being a pain but at least he was making telling him easier.

  “Okay, wise-ass, I won’t tell you I saw a dead body.”

  The twinkle in his eyes faded, replaced by scepticism. “Were you two smoking anything earlier? Snorting—”

  “There was blood. A lot of it,” I blurted, needing him to believe me more than anyone. I didn’t have many friends left in this world and I really valued the ones I had.

  His eyes widened. “You’re serious?”

  “Deadly.” I winced at the unintentional pun. “I saw this girl lying on her side, facing away from me. Looked like she’d been cut up pretty bad.”

  I’d never seen him so solemn and the fact he was truly listening urged me to continue. “Crazy thing was I only saw it once. Then I replayed the clip again and saw it on the eighth repeat.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Yeah.” I gnawed on my pinkie nail, belatedly noticing I had chewed it to the quick last night.

  “So what did Mr Music have to say for himself?”

  “He didn’t do it.” My vehement rebuttal came too quickly, like I was trying to convince myself as much as Seth.

  “You seem pretty certain.” Seth glanced away, as if he didn’t want to see my reaction to what came next. “Isn’t he a computer whiz?”

  “So what?” Overly defensive, I rushed on. “We watched it another twenty times and there was nothing there. I trust him.”

  He didn’t have to speak, for his snarky expression was saying “more fool you”.

  When he finally looked at me, I couldn’t fathom the deliberate coolness in his penetrating gaze. “What do you think happened?”

  I paused, wishing I could come up with some plausible explanation that didn’t allow for involvement by Ronan or my aunt. “No idea.”

  He picked up on the nanosecond of hesitation. “You’ve got another theory?”

  Puffing out my cheeks, I exhaled. “My aunt’s a practising witch and she’s always wanted me to convert to Wicca.”

  “And?”

  “And maybe she tampered with the video to make me think I’ve got some weird supernatural gift.” I hated articulating my deepest suspicion: that maybe the aunt who had spent her entire life trying to convert me to her way of thinking was now resorting to new methods to get me onside.

  I had been surprised she hadn’t pushed Wicca down my throat more since I’d been living with her. I’d been expecting it, with the way she’d bombarded me while I was growing up. Seeing how that hadn’t worked, maybe she’d envisaged lulling me into a false sense of security while I was crashing at her place, then pulling a trick like this to convince me? Hoping I would turn to her for help. And, in turn, welcome her ways into my life.

  An outlandish theory—one of a few since last night—but at this stage I didn’t want to rule out anything.

  Silent, Seth rubbed his chin.

  “What? You don’t seriously consider that an option?” I said.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know much about all that supernatural crap, to be honest. But maybe you shouldn’t discount it.”

  I groaned. “Not you too.”

  “What I meant was, it probably pays to consider all options in something as freaky as this.”

  He had virtually echoed my thoughts, making me feel less crazy in contemplating that Angie could be behind this.

  “I’d rather be dealing with this—” I gestured at our workbooks, “—than nebulous crap.”

  “I hear you.” He smirked at my pained expression. “Give me a good chemistry experiment any day.”

  My wistful gaze landed on the textbook as I wished the most difficult thing I had to figure out today was what reaction occurred if zinc and iodine were combined.

  “This probably sounds weird, but I may know someone who can help.”

  A flicker of hope flared to life. Any suggestion Seth had to offer at this stage would be better than my inadequate mulling. “Who?”

  “There’s a girl I met when I first arrived here. We started hanging out at the local coffee shop, became friends.” He made a chattering sign with his hand. “She talks a lot. Mentioned she’s into that Wicca crap. Runs a group for believers, or something like that.”

  He glanced at me speculatively. “Maybe you should meet with them, see if there’s any truth to all this Wicca stuff?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Incredulous, I shook my head and banged my ears with open palms. “I could have sworn you just said I should
check out some hokey spiritual group on the off-chance they’ll help me figure this out.”

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just a suggestion.”

  “A lousy one,” I snapped, instantly contrite when I saw his jaw clench and a vein throb at his temple.

  “Sorry, this stuff is making me a little cuckoo. Probably someone’s idea of a bad joke and I’m the random victim who happened to open the clip.”

  He frowned, his mouth twisted in a mutinous line. “But I thought you said Mr Music sent you the clip specifically? So how could it be random?”

  With my head imploding from the constant questions and theories surrounding last night, I shoved the textbook in his direction. “Let’s work.”

  He shrugged. “Fine.”

  I didn’t like the uncomfortable silence between us as we flipped through the book to find our chemistry homework. Seth had only been trying to help. Pity I didn’t like the questions he asked.

  Ronan had written that song for me and had sent the music clip to me. What were the chances of it being random?

  Rubbing my temples to ease the glimmer of a headache, I concentrated on the first problem for a few moments. Seth’s infernal pen tapping against the page grated and I was about to say something when he threw it down and linked his hands behind his head.

  “If you think he had nothing to do with this, then maybe your aunt’s right?”

  I puffed out my cheeks in exasperation. “Drop it—”

  “Didn’t you say your mom is into psychic stuff too?”

  Startled, I tore my gaze away from the book and eyeballed him. Had I really mentioned Mom’s lunacy to a guy I’d known only two months?

  “When I first started here and that kid went nuts in Mr Gonzolo’s biology class? The one who started talking to herself like she had a split personality?” His steady gaze never left mine as he lowered his voice. “You mentioned your mom did weirder stuff than that, with ghosts and shit.”

  A vague memory nagged at the edges of my mind but faded before I could get a grip on it. “Uh…yeah.”

  He shrugged. “All I’m saying is that it can’t hurt to check out that side of things? If you’ve cleared Mr Music, it would be good to clear other stuff too?”

  “Stuff like seeing dead bodies that aren’t there, you mean?” I deadpanned.

  “Wouldn’t you rather know?”

  Hell no, but as we mulled over chemistry problems, my concentration shot as I incorrectly answered six practice exam questions in a row, I couldn’t ignore Seth’s suggestion any longer. Outlandish as it might sound I’d rather know I wasn’t heading down a one-way road to kook-town, something I was seriously starting to wonder.

  After getting the seventh question wrong, I swore and snapped the textbook shut.

  “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  He raised an eyebrow and I rushed on. “Check out this spiritual group or whatever. Can’t hurt.”

  Famous last words.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I SLAMMED MY locker shut in frustration.

  I’d spent the day being routed in algebra for daydreaming, failing a spot quiz in history and being made an example of in Lit when I couldn’t answer the easiest of questions on my favourite book, Pride and Prejudice.

  The day had been a bust.

  Apart from exhaustion after my nocturnal truancy, I’d been replaying that stupid video in my head. All day. When my cell beeped with a message from Seth with details of where to meet him, I almost cheered in relief. I’d confronted Ronan and sat through Angie’s tarot interpretation, surely a visit to some spurious spiritualistic group couldn’t be any worse?

  Seth had said he’d meet me there so I set off for the address he’d given me. It took twenty minutes to walk the several blocks, dodging after-work pedestrian traffic, and with every step my trepidation grew. If I didn’t dabble in my mom and Angie’s world, why the hell would I trust a guy I’d known all of two months and his mysterious friends?

  I knew. I craved answers and while nothing logical could come of this, I had to exhaust all possibilities.

  When I pulled up in front of the address Seth had texted, I took one look at the shopfront and laughed. A magic shop, with a giant 666 emblazoned in sparkly crimson surrounded by cartoon flames over the doorway. A shop complete with costumes and crystal balls and wands in the window.

  Shaking my head, I double-checked the address. Yep, Seth had sent me to some novelty magic shop with the devil’s number as its name. Guess the joke was on me, considering I was actually going through with this. I pushed open the glass door, swatted my way through a fuchsia beaded curtain and entered the dimly lit shop.

  Any Harry Potter fan would have instantly equated 666 with Ollivanders, Madam Malkin’s and Gambol and Japes from Diagon Alley, with its profusion of magic paraphernalia strewn across every visible surface. Boxes of powdered charcoal, Ouija boards and crystals of every shape and size fought for space alongside candles, mortar and pestles and runes on the three-tiered glass shelves lining the walls. The walls were covered in predictable sparkly silk with a smattering of silver stars, but it was the floor that intrigued me most. An intricate pattern of interwoven circles, pentagrams and the number 666 in gold inlay against black marble was eerie yet stunning at the same time. The navy painted roof, to mimic a midnight sky I presumed, was boring in comparison. The entire shop would fit into half a Starbucks, yet despite its crowded surfaces and murky lighting, it had a certain charm.

  “Welcome.”

  I jumped, searching the darkened rear of the shop for the body that belonged to the female voice. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Alyssa, a friend of Seth’s.” I peered into the darkness, wishing I could see who was playing some lame party trick by hiding their identity.

  “We’ve been expecting you.”

  I half-expected a “woo-hoo-hoo” cackle for punctuation.

  “Great.” Could I sound any more fake, upbeat perky if I tried?

  Stepping deeper into the shop, I finally caught sight of the voice’s owner and was strangely disappointed. I’d expected more mystery, maybe a witch’s hat and cloak, a pointy chin and a wart or two. Instead, the twenty-something redhead in a faded denim mini and white T-shirt appeared normal.

  “Head on through to the meeting room, the others are already waiting.” She pointed to a purple beaded curtain to her right. “I’ll flip the closed sign and be with you shortly.”

  Others? Exactly how many people were here to witness my scepticism?

  I pushed through the curtain and entered a dark, narrow hallway with a faint light at the end. Wish I could see the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel to this crap. Yesterday, I’d celebrated my six-month anniversary in New York by dating a hot musician. Twenty-four hours later, I was searching for ways to explain away possible insanity.

  My ballet flats barely made a sound as I strode towards the diffuse light, the murmur of voices growing louder as I approached.

  The voices stopped as I reached an arched doorway with yet another beaded curtain—octagonal rhinestones this time—and my heart sank as I pushed it aside and surveyed the scene. Four teenagers about my age, three girls and a guy, sat on plastic chairs around an oval table in the middle of the room, their hands joined. At a glance they appeared surprisingly mundane—mousy hair, average looking, grungy clothes—until their gazes focused on me and their maniacal fervour almost blinded me.

  Whatever they were doing, they were seriously into it.

  I stepped into the room, about the twice the size of the shop out front, and held up my hand in silent greeting. They released hands, breaking their cosy little circle. The guy slouched and looked away, two girls waved and the youngest, a shaggy brunette wearing a vintage poncho, shuffled over to make room for me.

  I glanced at the empty chairs at the table, and at the eager faces of the girls, and knew I shouldn’t have come. “Thanks, but I’ll just watch for now.”

  Four sets of eyebrows rose as one, as someone touched my shou
lder and murmured chicken clucks in my ear.

  I half-turned, glaring at Seth. “About time you showed up.”

  “Got held up.”

  The redhead in the mini who’d stayed back to lock up strode in behind him, her lips compressed in a thin, angry line, her cheeks flushed. She didn’t look happy.

  “Problem?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  I glanced between Seth and the redhead, trying to pick up any vibes. When he’d initially said friend, I’d wondered if he meant girlfriend. But there were no signs to indicate that and I didn’t pick up any hint of romance between them. Annoyance? Yeah, they both radiated it, though Seth was doing a better job of hiding it than the girl.

  “Your friend?” I mouthed, with a subtle head jerk at the redhead. He nodded, his hand in the small of my back giving me a none too gentle shove into the room.

  “Hey everyone.” He waved at the table occupants, who barely gave him a second glance.

  I could have sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees when Seth entered the room, and the space they’d made for me in the circle disappeared pronto.

  He ignored my probing stare and propped against the wall closest to the door, arms folded, oblivious to the tension.

  “What do I do?” I muttered under my breath, aware the disapproving glares directed at Seth had swung my way. Guess they knew Seth was a non-believer and thought I was too. Which was true. But I didn’t like the creepy way they were staring at us.

  He shrugged, apparently clueless, like me. “Listen. Learn. Join in. Whatever helps?”

  Going back in time to yesterday before I’d seen that music vid would help but with the expectant hush that had fallen over the room, I had no choice but to take a seat next to Seth’s friend, who pulled out a chair for me.

  “We have a new member to welcome into our spiritualist circle today.”

  Something about the redhead’s voice gave me goosebumps but I managed a tight smile as she introduced me.

  “Welcome, Alyssa,” she said, her smile benign.

  The others muttered a welcome but remained nameless. Fine with me. I had no intention of returning here.