Accidentally Evil

by Lara Chapman

  “This time,” she says, “you will only light your candle if you want to vote that we host a tattoo booth at Samhain.”

  I light my candle, as do most of the other girls in the room. Zena and Kendall, of course, keep their candles on the table. We don’t have to count candles to know the tattoo booth is a winner.

  “Well, congratulations, girls. We’ve had our first Crafter vote.” Miss A is pleased with herself, and with us. “Next step is to determine who’s in charge of what.”

  Miss A makes quick work of leading us in decisions about who will create the artwork, who will create the booth, who will buy the supplies. We’re back in our room by nine, charged with excitement but exhausted.

  “That was different,” I say. I put my iPhone on the speakers and put on my favorite playlist. Katy Perry, Maroon 5, and Lorde.

  “Did you see the looks on their faces?” Ivy asks.

  “It was beautiful,” I say.

  Ivy yawns loudly, contorting her face into a funny expression.

  “Did you notice how Miss A said ‘retirement’ today? Like it wasn’t really a retirement?” I ask. “Did that seem weird to you?”

  Ivy drops to her bed and curls up with a big pile of pillows. “Everything at Dowling is weird, Hallie.”

  “Yeah, but this is different. And then she got this sad look on her face. I don’t know. I just think there’s more to that story.”

  Ivy opens her eyes just a peek. “Yeah, I did notice that. What difference does it make?”

  “Well, it has me thinking. Why did that Seaver woman leave? Seems to me that being a headmistress is a pretty easy job. And you get to live here for free. Doesn’t sound too awful, if you ask me. Think she was old? Or maybe she did something wrong?”

  Ivy opens her eyes completely and sits up lazily. She pulls her favorite pillow to her chest. “Leaving Dowling—the building—is one thing. Girls do that all the time. Leaving the coven altogether is another.”

  “Did your sister tell you that?”

  Ivy’s face is unreadable. There’s something—maybe a lot of things—she’s keeping to herself.

  She smoothes the fuzz on the pillow, focusing way too hard on making each piece lie perfectly straight. “Ivy,” I say. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

  She held back the news of the divorce. Who knows what else is locked away in her head.

  “Is it your parents?” I ask.

  Ivy looks up at me, tears making her eyes sparkle. I move from my bed, sit next to her, put my arm around her, and sigh. “Talk to me. You’ll feel better if you do, I promise.”

  Her voice is controlled. “When my sister left, she left. She didn’t really graduate like I told you. She rejected her gifts and has never given time or money back to the coven.”

  “What? Why would she do that?” You learn early on at Dowling that even when you leave, you’re still connected to the coven. You have obligations to Dowling forever. It’s what keeps the coven going.

  Ivy shrugs. “She was tired of being told what to do, what to wear, how to act, what kind of magic she was allowed to practice.”

  “Everyone has to deal with that,” I say. “No one likes that part.”

  “She was in trouble all the time for not following the rules. When a Dowling girl rejects her gifts, it’s considered a disgrace to the family. Usually, they just shun your entire family. Like you don’t exist anymore.”

  My mouth drops open. “That seems so . . .”

  “Severe? Harsh? Extreme?” Ivy supplies.

  “Yeah. All of that.”

  We sit in silence a few minutes. Then I realize something. “If your family was shunned, how are you here?”

  Ivy lets out a bitter, resentful laugh. “I’m the only one who can restore our family’s name. I must stay at ­Dowling until I’ve completed every level, then fulfill all my duties to Dowling after I leave. And I also have to fulfill all of Linette’s as well.”

  That burden must feel like she’s carrying the Statue of Liberty on her back. Up fifty flights of stairs. Barefoot.

  I should know—I’m in the same boat. If I don’t make it through Dowling, my family loses their Dowling heritage too.

  I don’t know what to say. Mom says that sometimes you don’t need to say anything to make someone feel better. Just be there.

  So that’s what I do. I stay next to Ivy and don’t ask her any more questions. Just stay still and show her I’m here for her.

  And then I have a thought. “So maybe that’s what happened to Seaver.”

  Ivy looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Really?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  We don’t talk about it anymore. But I know what we are both thinking.

  What could a headmistress do to get herself kicked out of Dowling?

  Eleven

  Ivy grabs her favorite Hello Kitty pj’s from the dresser, then checks her cell phone messages. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  My eyes dart to my laptop. This is my chance to read Cody’s e-mail.

  “Okay,” I say. When she takes her time with the phone, I have to stop myself from shoving her into the bathroom faster so I can get to my e-mail.

  She finally shuts the bathroom door, and when I hear the water turn on, I grab my laptop and open it. My e-mail is still open, and Cody’s message is still there. My heart does some weird little jumping in my chest. Nerves.

  I look at the subject line. Samhain. My fingers hover over the computer, not quite ready to open the e-mail. I look at the bathroom door. Ivy takes quick showers. I don’t have much time.

  I double click the e-mail, and it opens.

  To: halliecat@dowling.edu

  From: codyray@rileyacademy.edu

  Re: Samhain

  Hi, Hallie. How are you? How has the first week been? We’ve been busy with all the normal stuff. Sorry I haven’t e-mailed you. We just got our laptops today.

  The headmaster told us about the Third Harvest celebration and that Dowling gets to host it. That’s kind of a big deal. We get to go if all of our assignments are turned in and we don’t get into trouble. But don’t worry, I will be there. Anyway, just wanted to say hi and that I’ll see you at the celebration.

  Cody

  My pulse pounds in my ears. I reread the e-mail. Cody will be at the celebration. Of course, I knew he would. He goes to Riley, and the Riley boys are coming. But I can’t let myself get excited about any of it. Because I worry that my friends will know we’ve been talking all summer.

  I worry that my friends will make a really big deal of it and be mad at me for not telling them sooner.

  But mainly I worry that my clothes won’t be right for the celebration.

  Ivy’s voice empties my mind of everything the second I hear her. “You got an e-mail from Cody?”

  I try to hit the escape key on the laptop to close the e-mail. I’m too late. She’s already seen it.

  Ivy doesn’t apologize for nearly scaring me to death. Or for being nosy. She grabs the laptop and pulls it closer to her.

  “Hey,” I complain. “You’re getting the screen all wet.”

  She ignores me and the water spots she just put on my laptop screen.

  Not cool.

  She puts the laptop back, then squirts a mountain of mousse into her hand and runs it through her hair.

  “So.” Her voice is normal, but she’s irritated. I can tell.

  “So?” I ask. Playing it cool is the best way to go here. I think.

  “So I’m not the only one keeping secrets.”

  “I’m not keeping any secrets. Just checking my e-mail.”

  Ivy gives me a Yeah, right look. “So is it, like, a date?”

  “What?” I point at the e-mail still on my screen. “This?”

  “Yes, Hallie Simon. T
hat.”

  I give my best scoff and close the laptop’s cover, put the computer back on my desk carefully. “Not even.”

  “Does Cody know that?”

  “It’s not like he asked me to go to the celebration with him.”

  “Well, duh,” Ivy says, hiding behind the closet door as she changes. “He’s coming here. Did you read the e-mail? He definitely wants to see you.”

  My face heats up when she says that.

  “Okay. Now it’s your turn to talk.” Ivy sits on her bed, legs folded, hands in her lap, like we’re in kindergarten and it’s story time.

  “There isn’t much to tell,” I say. It’s a small half-truth. Not really a lie.

  “How often did you talk to him this summer?” She points a stern finger at me. “Don’t even think about lying.”

  “You can’t tell a single person about this. Not even Dru and Jo.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Seriously? You think you have to say that?”

  Deep breath. And another one.

  “Spill it, Hal,” Ivy says, snapping her fingers.

  “We exchanged e-mail addresses at the dance last year,” I begin. “I didn’t think much of it at the time because we didn’t even have Internet access. Then when I went home, I had six e-mails from Cody.”

  “Six?” Ivy’s eyes go wide. “Nice! What’d the e-mails say?”

  “Nothing special. Just ‘What are you doing?’ and ‘Are you going on vacation this summer?’ That kind of thing.”

  It feels good to tell Ivy about Cody. Keeping it inside has been harder than I realized. “And how often did you e-mail after that?” she asks.

  I tell her how we e-mailed several times a day, how we told each other about our families, how we shared our newfound gifts with each other. “Mostly, though, it was just stupid stuff. Cartoons, funny YouTube videos.”

  Ivy tosses a pillow at me and it hits my face. “Doesn’t sound stupid to me. Sounds pretty dang cool. But what do I know? I’m just an empath.”

  I throw the pillow back at her and change into an oversize T-shirt. I don’t even bother brushing my teeth. I just crawl into the sheets and grab my journal.

  “Don’t forget your dream journal,” I tell Ivy.

  Ivy holds the journal up. “Already on it. What are we supposed to do?”

  “Tell yourself you want to remember your dreams. And think of something specific you want to dream about.”

  “That’s a long list. Do I just pick one thing?”

  “Lady Rose didn’t say, but I guess so.”

  A few minutes of silence pass. “What do you want to dream about?” I ask Ivy.

  “Can we tell each other? Or is it like the wish you make when you blow out your birthday candles and it only comes true if you don’t say what you wished for?”

  I laugh. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t quite the same thing. But you can keep it a secret.”

  Ivy sighs and turns off the light. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

  My eyes adjust to the darkness. As I turn to face the wall, Ivy does the same. The room’s silent, but I know we are both doing lots of talking in our heads.

  I sit up in bed, heart pounding so hard, I feel like it’s actually hitting my ribs. The clock on my nightstand says it’s four thirteen a.m. Why in the world am I awake?

  Then I remember.

  My dream.

  I grab the journal from my nightstand and turn the lamp on. I throw a blanket over the lamp so it isn’t so bright. Ivy doesn’t move.

  I take the pen and begin writing. I write fast, messily, afraid that I’ll lose some little nugget of information if I don’t go fast.

  Cody.

  Fire.

  The headmistress.

  Kendall.

  “It’s your destiny, Cody.”

  Then crying.

  Fire. Fire.

  I look at Ivy, sleeping so silently.

  Maybe my dream is just . . . just a dream. But Lady Rose’s words echo in my head. Dreams always have meaning.

  I look back at my journal and fill in a lingering image.

  Candles. But that isn’t where the fire’s coming from.

  Ivy turns over in bed. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I whisper. I turn off the lamp and put the journal on my desk. But my eyes stay open until dawn.

  Twelve

  I can’t get the dream out of my head. Even when Cody e-mails me again, asking about what our booth will be at Samhain, images from my dream linger. I want to tell him about the dream, but I don’t even understand it myself.

  I tell Cody he’ll have to wait until the celebration to find out because the Crafters have decided to keep it a secret.

  We’re sitting in the dining room, finishing lunch, when Missy stops at our seats. “Hey, Jo,” she says, “Can I sit here with you? I wanted to show you some of my drawings.”

  Jo was elected to oversee the creation of the tattoos for each gift. She’s a great artist, but she can’t draw them all and teach us how to draw them all by herself, so she asked for some help, and Missy was the first to offer. They look over the drawings, and it’s obvious Jo approves.

  “Look, Ivy,” says Jo, passing a sheet of paper to her. “This will be yours.”

  I look at the paper as Ivy inspects it.

  Ivy must look as confused as I feel, because Missy explains what it means. “The two Ys represent hands holding, or crossing spirits. It’s what happens when you feel what others feel.”

  Ivy hands the paper back. “Looks great. Thanks, Missy.”

  “Have you done mine?” Dru asks.

  “Or mine?” I ask.

  Jo shakes her head. “Not yet. There are a lot of symbols to create. But when I get them done, I’ll show you.”

  I give her a thumbs-up. The design is really the farthest thing from my mind. Right now I can only think about Cody, what my dream could mean, and how I can figure it out.

  We’re in Lady Rose’s class, and I’m clutching my dream journal. I’ve been worried Ivy would ask to look at it. But I haven’t asked her, and she hasn’t asked me.

  “Good afternoon,” Lady Rose says. The door closes with a snap of her fingers, and the candles on a long white table illuminate.

  “I trust everyone kept their dream journal last night. Remember that is personal information. Never feel obligated to share your dreams with another. The purpose of the exercise is to practice our awareness. We have incredible power over our thoughts if we’ll just learn how to control them. Meditating on what you want to dream about is a small step in harnessing that control.”

  The dream journal is on my desk, my hands still tightly wrapped around it. I really don’t want to know what my dream meant, but I can’t not find out.

  “Today,” Lady Rose says, “we will learn our first spell. I always like to start with something simple but mean­ingful. Today you’ll learn a spell to help you with studying.”

  Everyone in the room is whispering things like “Awesome” and “Thank Saffra!”

  She waits for the class to quiet down before she continues. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. Please get out your Book of Shadows and a pen.”

  I grab the Book of Shadows from my bag and put my dream journal in its place. I search my bag for a pen but can only find pencils and highlighters. I almost ask Dru to make one appear for me, but our teacher doesn’t like gratuitous use of our gifts.

  I raise my hand. “Lady Rose, may I borrow a pen?”

  She walks to me, smiling. “Here you go,” she says.

  The pen doesn’t fit right in my hand. It’s different. And old. Like, really old. It’s made of some sort of marble, and it has a metal triangle at the bottom, where the ink comes out. You might know I’d get a funky pen for the very first spell I get to add to my great-great-grandmother’
s Book of Shadows. Every student inherits a Book of Shadows from her most recent witch ancestor, and I found my book in the attic back home. Considering it’s over a hundred years old, it’s in pretty good shape. A few worn edges, and the paper is kind of brittle. But it’s durable, and Miss A promises me it will last a lifetime.

  Lady Rose stands behind the long table. “At the top of the first clean page, please write ‘Study Spell.’ ”

  The swish of pens across paper breaks the silence. I struggle with the pen. Of all the days for me to forget mine.

  “Now you need to list the ingredients.”

  Ingredients? Like a recipe?

  “A spell is sort of like a recipe,” she answers. “It has to be precise, and you have to follow certain steps. Here are your ingredients for this spell.”

  She points to the items on the table as she tells us what they are.

  “First thing you need is a yellow candle. You can use white, but yellow is more powerful.”

  I write in my book. Yellow candle. Better than white.

  “Next thing you need is something to carve symbols into the candle. I use a toothpick, but use whatever works for you.” She holds up a toothpick, then lays it back on the table next to the candle.

  Next she holds up a piece of paper and a pen. Her pen looks almost identical to the one she let me borrow. “You need a small piece of paper and a pen.”

  “Finally,” she says, holding up a small glass dish, “you need a flameproof dish.”

  She gives everyone a few minutes to finish writing before she continues.

  “Now, before I tell you how to conduct the spell, here’s a warning.”

  Ivy leans over and whispers. “Pay attention to this.”

  I give her an eye roll, but she makes sense. As a black magic witch, almost everything I try to do goes wrong.

  Lady Rose’s voice goes stern. “This is not a spell to be recited in place of studying. It is to heighten your retention of what you learn and then study.”

  I make a note in my journal. Still have to study.

  “Let’s proceed, ladies. This spell works best when studying with classmates. You can, of course, do this on your own. But the more witches in the spell, the stronger it is.”