I lift my chin and walk as fast as I can in the direction of Essex Street.
I arrive at the Ropes Mansion Garden in record time. As I pass under the vine-covered trellis, I spot the Descendants. Alice, Mary, and Susannah stand around the sundial in the center of the circular garden, just like the first day I had a real conversation with them. Back when I still believed that there was a logical order to the world and that magic was something you found in bedtime stories.
They turn and watch me approach. Three gothic-chic stunners in a sea of spring green.
I drop my bag on the ground and join their circle. “Are you guys feeling better?”
Susannah tucks a stray piece of auburn hair into her bun. “Much better.”
“Speak for yourself,” Alice says. “While you were being cared for by your mom and your girlfriend, Mary and I had to fend for ourselves.”
“My parents were visiting my aunt,” Mary explains. “They didn’t get home until late.”
I look at Susannah. “Hang on, you have a girlfriend? How did I not know this?”
“Because you’ve barely talked to us in six months. What were you expecting, a memo of updates?” Alice’s matter-of-fact harshness hits me like a slap.
“I…” I have no idea what to say. She’s right. It didn’t occur to me, when she said it last time, how distant I’ve been. Actually, that’s why Jaxon was frustrated with me, too. Maybe I really have been closed off.
Susannah dismisses Alice’s comment with a small wave of her hand. “I’ll introduce you to her.”
“Now, moving on…,” Alice says.
Wouldn’t it be amazing if we did spend our time talking about the awkward things we said on dates, rather than the weirdo packages delivered by dead people who may or may not want to harm us?
Susannah pulls her already slim-fitting black coat tighter around her body. “Even though we were sick, we did find out something about that key Alice got.”
“Oh?” I ask.
“The engraving 1ST CL ST RM D33 is old shorthand for ‘first-class stateroom D33,’ ” Alice says. “It was Mary who figured it out. Before we ate that death food, she went to her aunt’s antique shop and asked some questions.”
I almost don’t want to ask. “And room D33? Was that a room on the Titanic?”
“You bet,” Mary says.
I press my lips together. “Was it the Harpers’?”
“It certainly was,” Susannah says. “At the very least, there’s a connection between some of these strange occurrences.”
“Actually, there’s another connection to the Harpers….So I told you I saw the drowned man last night. I was in a restaurant with Jaxon, and he blinked in right next to my table.”
Mary’s eyes widen. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. That’s so creepy.”
“Beyond. He shoved a dog collar at me. And I think he had an Irish accent?” I pull the cloth restaurant napkin out of my pocket and unknot it. “I didn’t touch it just in case.”
Susannah examines the old leather collar with dulled metal accents. “It looks like an antique.”
I nod. “And take a wild guess whose dog survived the Titanic?”
Mary frowns. “The Harpers’?”
“They had a Pekingese. And guess how I found out? Wardwell told me—not the class, me—right in the middle of his lesson. Only to be followed up by Niki talking about William Stead, who I saw in my Titanic dream last night.”
Alice’s eyes widen. “That’s it. I don’t care what you all thought you were doing this weekend, ’cause you’re not doing it anymore. Someone or something is trying to communicate with us, and we need to figure out what it means before Redd’s warning becomes a reality.”
Susannah leans against the soft cushions on Alice’s black couch. “How physically close to us is this person that they can do things like put a spell on a raffle ticket or tamper with the paintings in your house? And why haven’t I been able to sense who they are?”
“You don’t always sense people,” Mary says. “And right now our entire school is exploding with Titanic mania. If someone is casting spells related to the Titanic, it’d be pretty easy to cover up or blend in.”
“I mean, it’s kinda genius to saturate our school with the Titanic right as these weird things are happening,” Alice says. “That can’t have been accidental.”
“Is there anyone at our school who could do this kind of magic?” I ask.
Susannah sighs. “Honestly, no one we know of. The packages, the paintings, your nondreams, the key, the seasickness spell that someone put on me. Whoever is orchestrating this is excellent at magic. That’s not someone we would have missed.”
“So then what if it’s not one person? What if it’s a group and some of them happen to be at our school?” I ask.
“Interesting.” Alice sits in her black armchair with her feet on the coffee table. “Now, that is a possibility. Although as far as we know, no one else at Salem High does magic besides us. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t have overlooked some low-level caster.”
“Maybe Wardwell?” I say.
Mary shakes her head. “There was an accused witch with the last name Wardwell. But this Wardwell isn’t related. It’s just a name coincidence. And we’ve never sensed anything magical from him.”
“Well, what about Niki and Blair?” I ask.
Alice grunts. “Niki’s closest connection to any magical family line is that we go to the same dentist.” Alice looks at me. “So basically, nada magic over there. And Blair wouldn’t know a spell book if I hit her in the face with one.” Alice grins. “Although maybe we should test that theory?”
“If I can do a spell, anyone can do a spell,” I say.
“Ehhht.” Alice makes a buzzing noise like I got the wrong answer on a game show. “Not even close. You’re a Descendant, and I saw you in the woods doing complex spells when you didn’t even know how. You could probably fart wrong and a spell would come out.”
Mary giggles. She’s burritoed in a blanket on the love seat, and her curls bounce as she laughs.
“Well, I would never have suspected my stepmother,” I say. “And it wasn’t just me. Susannah talked to Vivian and didn’t suspect her. And, Alice, you thought it was me for the longest time, which it clearly wasn’t,” I say. “Blair gave Susannah that raffle ticket. Niki mentioned both Henry Harper and William Stead the day after I saw them in my nondreams. How do you explain Niki saying those things in class? You said yourself that you haven’t really known her since third grade. Can you be sure what you know and don’t know?”
“I’m with Sam,” Mary says. “I think we should take any shred of evidence we can get. I think this has already escalated to a guilty-until-proven-innocent-level situation.”
“Same,” Susannah says. “I could have absolutely been sensing Blair yesterday morning in homeroom and just not been able to pinpoint it.”
Alice sighs. “Okay, okay. Let’s look into them. But let’s talk more about these nondreams. There’s got to be clues there we’re not seeing.”
“I’ve told you basically all of it.” I run the events of the nondream back through my thoughts.
“Does it feel like you’re going back in time?” Mary asks. “I mean, I know you’re not, but you said you feel like some old-fashioned version of yourself.”
“It feels real while I’m there, but the moment I wake up, I can see how not real it is. But it doesn’t feel like a dream, either. I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s like an idealized version of the Titanic, too bright and happy to be factual. The telltale sign that something’s off about it is that I have obviously never been on that ship and yet the people there act like I have.”
“Hmmm.” Susannah presses her lips together. “I’m not positive, but it could be a spell. Magic has a way of being almost right, but not quite.”
I shudder. “If it’s possible that it’s a spell, what does it mean that my mind wasn’t as conflicted this time? After the dress, it w
as like the two halves of my brain were fighting, one accepting being on the Titanic and the other sensing something was wrong. But this last time, I was more…comfortable, like I was acclimating.”
“Maybe that the spell’s working?” Susannah says. “That your resistance to it is wearing down?”
“That is just downright creepy,” Mary says.
We’re all quiet for a second, and Susannah and Alice share a look. I can’t help but think about my conversation with Redd.
“What I want to know is how you got there?” Alice says. “You said you weren’t wearing the dress this time.”
I shake my head. “I did touch the painting and the letter, but I wasn’t instantly transported there like with the dress. Unless the dress has lingering effects? Also, I was dreaming about the Titanic before the package with the dress in it showed up, just not the same way. That first dream was more like the ones I used to have about Cotton, like a premonition. I saw the painting and the dress and a little silver book. Two of those three things have already shown up.”
“Maybe that first dream was a warning?” Mary says.
I look at Gracie’s book sticking out of my bookbag. “Possible. Also, the dress, the painting, the dog collar, the key, and the letter all point to Henry and Myra. There’s no ignoring those connections.”
“I totally agree,” Alice says.
“We should go through my spell book. Maybe there’s a spell in there that could help us,” I say.
Mary grins. “You’re all about spells these days.”
“I draw the line when dead people send packages to my dad. I’m all in.”
Alice raises an eyebrow at me.
“So here’s the thing about that spell book,” I continue. “When everything weird was happening last fall, Mrs. Meriwether and I used it to make a potion to reveal the identity of the person who was casting against me. I’m pretty sure she still has the leftover potion. But I can’t just ask her for it without my dad finding out. All the same, we might want to have it for worst-case scenario.”
“You know a potion that will tell us who cast a spell against us?” Susannah asks. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. It must be a really old spell.”
“Yeah, and you’re just telling us this now?” Alice looks dumbfounded. “Even though you knew yesterday that there was probably a spell on that dress?”
“It’s not that simple,” I say. “It didn’t give me the first and last name of the person who made the spell. It showed me a feather, a symbol that I didn’t even fully understand at the time and definitely didn’t associate with my stepmother. And right after I used the potion, she rushed home and tried to get me to go somewhere with her. When I wouldn’t, she took you guys. I’m fully convinced she knew I was trying to figure out her identity. So I think we can pretty much assume the moment we use that potion, we’ll send the person doing these things into action. I don’t know what the consequences of that would be, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to find out.”
“Huh,” Alice says. “That I get. But you’re right. We should have it on hand just in case.”
“I know.” And how am I going to get it without my dad finding out? I hesitate. “Have you guys noticed anything else weird about me? Anything at all? I mean, if I’m not resisting the Titanic in my dreams, I just want to make sure there’s nothing in my waking life that’s off.”
“We would have told you,” Alice says.
Mary looks at me sympathetically. “I’m thinking a sleepover at Sam’s. Since that’s where most of the action is”—she smiles—“and, well, the food.”
I smile, too. I haven’t had friends sleep over since I was tiny. “I think that’s a great idea.”
Alice screeches to a stop in front of my house. “Figure we’ll be back here in an hour or so, once these two get their stuff together. Mary is the slowest packer of all time.”
Mary rolls her eyes.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Susannah asks.
“Yeah, I wanna talk to Mrs. Meriwether before dinner,” I say.
“Just…don’t do anything magical without us,” Mary says.
I get out of the Jeep. “Don’t worry. I’m not going near anything Titanic-related until you get back.”
Alice lifts her eyebrow. “You say that, and then you try on a dress and touch a painting, a letter, and who the hell knows what else.”
“Be careful, Alice, or your face will get stuck in that scowl,” Mary says.
“Are you really saying that right now? What are you, five?” Alice says.
“Scared you, didn’t I? You’re relaxing your mouth.” Mary points at Alice’s lips. “Right…there.”
Alice bats Mary’s finger away. “You seriously need to work on your personality. It’s embarrassing,” Alice says, but her eyes smile.
Alice pulls away from the curb. One look at Mrs. Meriwether’s empty driveway and I turn on my heels and head toward town.
Potted plants are just starting to appear on porches, and there is a new energy to the air. The streets are buzzing with people.
At the rate I’m walking, I reach Sugar Spells Bakery before I’ve sorted out my strategy. Mrs. Meriwether is in the window, crafting an elaborate forest of flowering trees and wood spirits out of sweets. I pull the door open and bells chime. The scents of melted chocolate and warm pastry dough waft toward me.
“Samantha!” Mrs. Meriwether says. “What a lovely surprise.” She steps away from the window and rubs her hands on a floral tea towel.
“Do you have a minute to chat?”
“Always.” She uses sign language to talk to Georgia, the tall middle-aged woman behind the counter, and leads me to the only empty table.
Her café looks exactly like the inside of a thatched fairy-tale cottage in the woods inhabited by a happy witch who can’t stop baking. Old glass lanterns and bundles of dried flowers hang from the ceiling. The walls are covered with arched shelves filled with worn books and twine-wrapped bottles of spices. And there’s an occasional crooked broom hiding behind a trunk or a birdcage filled with candles. Tourists practically faint from joy when they find this place.
I take my seat at the rustic wooden table. I wonder if Jaxon made the furniture in here?
“What a treat to see you,” Mrs. Meriwether says.
I stare at her. And for the life of me, I can’t think of a single sentence to lead into this conversation that isn’t totally awkward. “Um…so…I wanted to ask you…” Can I have that potion we made? Not because I’m doing magic…obviously. What would make you ever think that…because I asked for a potion? Sheesh. Judgy. I don’t see the connection at all. Also, if you could never tell my dad this, that would be great. “Um.”
Mrs. Meriwether smiles. “You act like you’re going to propose.”
“Well, I actually…” I’m officially an idiot for not planning this out better. “The other day at breakfast you said I should have training. Did you ever have training?”
Mrs. Meriwether laughs. “Oh gosh, no. I really don’t do magic. I make some mean spell-inspired desserts and healing poultices, and I used to help your grandmother with her protection spells. But that’s all. I wish, though. I always wanted to learn magic as a little girl. I was just never good at it in a traditional sense.” She studies me for a second. “Are you thinking about what I said? About practicing and learning?”
Georgia walks up with two steaming coconut-rose milks. Mrs. Meriwether signs thank-you to her. I copy the motion.
“I don’t think my dad would like it if I learned magic, to be honest. And by ‘not like,’ I mean hate.”
Mrs. Meriwether blows on her drink. “You know, after your mom passed away, your dad didn’t want anything to do with Salem. I think he blamed this place for her death. And, well, he blamed magic, too.”
I sip my rose milk. “That’s kinda what I always figured. I just…I was thinking about that ‘Origin of a Spell’ potion we made last fall. Do you still have that, by th
e way?”
Mrs. Meriwether puts down her drink and focuses on me. “I do.”
“I was curious about it, how I even made it work. Do you think I could take a look at it?”
She pauses. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with those mysterious packages I’ve been hearing about, would it?”
I swallow a hot gulp of my drink and cough. “The ones from our eccentric relative? No. I’m just thinking about what you said about the training, and I thought I might check out the spell.”
Her look is questioning. “So you were thinking about the training, then?”
Crap. I’ve trapped myself. “Yeah.”
“Should we talk to your dad about it? I’d be happy to be there with you if you want.”
Double crap. “Maybe not yet?”
“No problem. Whenever you’re ready. You just give it a good think, and then we’ll tell your father and I’ll give you the potion.”
It’s times like these that I wonder if Mrs. Meriwether has some secret supermom handbook. She totally backed me into a corner. My choices are now what? Either tell her there’s a problem I need the potion for, or tell my dad I want witch training? “Great.”
Susannah helps me put an extra comforter on one of the four-poster beds while Alice works on the other one. My dad comes into the spare bedroom carrying a pitcher of water and four glasses on a silver tray. He sets it down on a round table between two armchairs.
“Silver tray, huh? I can see why Mom called you ‘Charles the fancy.’ ”
He suppresses a grin. “Hmmm. Maybe you’re right. And maaaybe I should just take this box of homemade Meriwether éclairs down with me when I go. They might be too fancy.”
“What?” I stop tucking in the comforter and look at him.
Mary comes into the room, freshly changed into maroon plaid pajamas.
My dad pulls out a pink pastry box tied with string from behind the pitcher. “It’s a real shame I’m going to have to eat these fancy éclairs by myself. We’ll just tell Mary that you didn’t want them.”
Haunting the Deep Page 12
