Spell Struck: Book 2 (The Teen Wytche Saga)

by Ariella Moon

  "The teacher was psycho. Otherwise, easy peasy."

  Easy peasy? "Only one psycho teacher so far? Are you sure you go to Jefferson?"

  "I do, for the moment."

  "Then let me introduce you to our director." I led Aidan up onto the stage, where Mr. Peters was immersed in conversation with Pilar. They stopped speaking as we approached. Pilar blinked at Aidan with those doe eyes guys find so irresistible. Mr. Peters sized him up too, in a less obvious, detached teacher way. I could tell he was picturing Aidan on stage, haloed by the spotlight. I didn't want to think about what Pilar was imagining. Whatever it was, she flipped her curtain of shiny brown hair and fanned herself with a copy of Romeo and Juliet.

  Mr. Peters pulled an assignment sheet from his nylon bag and handed it to Aidan. "Sarah can go over this with you." He extracted a couple of scripts. "All I have left is The Taming of the Shrew and Romeo and Juliet. You can use them, or pick out something else from the list. You'll need to analyze three plays."

  "I'll start with these."

  "Good." Mr. Peters pushed back his round wire-framed glasses. Raising his voice, he asked the assembled students, "Anyone not have three plays yet?"

  Aidan and I and a few others raised our hands.

  "Then get thee to the library, young thespians. No wandering off. The rest of you, work on your papers here. This will be the last day I give you class time. Don't abuse the gift!"

  Nazario and few others saluted and said, "Yes, sir."

  "Where's the library?" Aidan asked.

  "I'll show you."

  We stepped back into the cold gale. I wished I had a fairy tale cloak like the ones they show in the movies, trailing in the snow. I'd look like Red Riding Hood, but without the wolf, and my cloak would be lined with sheep's wool to block the wind and hide my energy field. Maybe I should have worn a coat this morning.

  We passed beneath the flagpole. The California state flag, and the stars and stripes rippled and snapped high above us. The cord jangled against the metal pole, making it hard to hear each other. Conversation ceased. I ducked my chin and plowed forward, clutching my torso.

  A weight settled across my shoulders as Aidan's jacket enveloped me. Its brown suede and quilted lining smelled of cookouts. "Thanks, but you'll freeze."

  "No I won't." He rubbed his arms to warm them. "Is that the library?"

  "Excellent deduction."

  Mischief danced in his eyes. "I know. Right? A normal guy would never notice the huge lettering on the side of the building."

  "Exactly." I pulled open the door. The wind caught it and would have slammed it against the wall if Aidan hadn't grabbed it. My debt to him mounted.

  I stepped into the bright warmth of the library and inhaled its musty book smells. Heat from the furnace thawed my cheeks. Reluctantly, I slid Aidan's jacket from my shoulders and handed it to him. "Thanks again."

  "Any time."

  Looking into his smoky eyes set off more winged fairies. It's just the love spell. I pointed to a distant book aisle. "Shakespeare is this way."

  A freshman boy, texting while pushing a book cart, almost sideswiped us. Aidan pushed aside the cart, averting a collision. The library aide glanced up, eyes wide. "Sorry, man."

  I expected Aidan to tell off the kid. Instead, he said, "It's the invisibility cloak. Happens all the time."

  The kid blinked a couple of times before breaking into a full metal-mouth smile. We eased past him, and Aidan asked me, "Why are you taking Latin?"

  I reverted to my tough girl act. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

  He leaned against an end display of theater books. "So, it wasn't an idle choice?"

  He appeared so genuinely interested. I heaved a sigh. "In part, I was being contrary. You know, take the one language guaranteed to not help me get a job or enable me to read subtitles at the movies."

  His lips curved upward. "See a lot of foreign films, do you?"

  "No."

  "Well, there you go. So what was the other part, the one where you weren't rebelling?"

  "I thought it would help me with English."

  Aidan shifted forward. "Is English your second language?"

  "No. But I'm a lousy speller." And it kills me because Amy always got perfect grades in English.

  Aidan kept staring, as if he knew there were more to the story and was giving me time to find the words. "All right. I confess. I missed a lot of first grade because of a serious illness." I shook my head. "Somehow I never caught up."

  "Your parents didn't help you?"

  "No." An old bitterness crept into my voice. "They were too busy driving my older sister to some reoccurring mystery appointment."

  "Hmm." Aidan pulled a copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream off the shelf, but didn't open it. "Want to know why taking Drama terrifies me?"

  "Okay. I'll bite. Why does it terrify you?"

  He lowered the slim volume. "Because in first grade I had to have speech therapy. The cord connecting your tongue to the bottom of your mouth?"

  I nodded.

  "Mine was too long." He tucked the book under his arm. "They cut it with silver scissors this big." He held his index fingers about a foot apart.

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope. Total truth."

  "Then what happened?"

  "The doc handed me a red medicine ball to suck on."

  "Your speech is perfect now."

  "Thanks. Five weeks of speech therapy. I worked hard. But in my head, I'm still a mush mouth." He lowered his chin. "So what do you say? I'll help you with reading and spelling, and you signal me if I'm making a fool of myself in front of the class. Deal?"

  I was pretty sure he was conning me. Maybe the cord thing had happened to a friend or family member. How else would he know enough details to halfway convince me? But why would he make up such a tale?

  "I think the real story involves a silver tongue, not silver scissors. But okay." We clasped hands, and the nerves in my palm and fingers, scuffed by Aidan's calluses, jolted awake. His heat and strength flooded my hand and spread up my arm. My heart leapfrogged a couple beats. If this was the love spell, then I had totally outdone myself. "Deal."

  Aidan held my gaze. "The deed is done."

  Chapter Eight

  Reality struck like a cold shower ten seconds after I crossed the threshold into Art. Explore! Create! Follow Your Muse! The colorful posters along the wall had nothing to do with me or my life. I wasn't here to explore my creativity or strike deals with some girl I'd never see again after the Crystal Faire. I was here to work. Papo's bottom line — as long as my art brought in money, he'd keep a roof over my head. The roof might be the van or a foreclosed house, but it was still a roof. Papo relished reminding me it was more than anyone else had offered. Dad had never talked about his relatives; I assumed he didn't have any left. Whenever I had suggested Mom's family might want me, might be looking for me, Papo would laugh or cuff my head.

  "You think so, Nico? You think your aunt is desperate to find her missing nephew? Then why didn't she rescue you when your dad hit the bottle and you were starving on the streets? Huh? Because she didn't care. She ain't got any kids. Why would she want some street rat?"

  Part of me resisted Papo's brainwashing. After all, when cancer had stolen Mom, Bronwyn had been away at college, barely twenty years old, with no family left except me. But over time it had become harder to remember the truth. Bronwyn had sent a cop to check on me. My gut twisted. One memory was clear: how Dad had glared at me.

  "Tell him, Aidan. Tell the officer how you have plenty to eat and a safe place to sleep."

  I hesitated. Dad acted all cool and confident, but I saw the fear in his eyes — fear that I'd tell the truth.

  Dad kept pressing. "Bronwyn is just a kid. She's always been a worrywart. Go on, son. Tell him."

  The baby-faced cop jabbed his thumbs into his belt. His glance wandered to two women crossing the street. His energy trailed them like a dog sniffing a scent.

&nbs
p; "You okay?"

  "Huh?" Obvious concern furrowed Salem's brow. I forced my energy to rise and lighten, resurrecting Aidan the Charmer. "I'm fine. Just thinking about the assignment."

  "Did you decide to go with your dream or your nightmare?"

  "Dream." As soon as I can conjure up one. Gotta please the clients. "How about you?" I glanced at the clay figure Salem held in one hand. "Is she your dream, or your nightmare?"

  Salem's thin shoulders rose, then fell. "Kind of both, at the moment. I don't think I made her strong enough to carry the stone sphere above her head."

  "So make the sphere out of something lighter, like balsa wood."

  Salem leaned down and extracted something from her backpack. "But I love this stone." She placed it on the table and it rolled toward me.

  "Chrysocolla." I hefted the polished blue-green stone. Dense energy weighed it down, as if it embodied Salem's deepest secrets. I dropped it in her outstretched hand.

  "What do you think?" she asked.

  "It's beautiful."

  "But will it work?"

  I frowned at the fragile-looking statue. "Did you reinforce the arms with anything?"

  "Just heavy gage wire."

  "Then no way. Sorry." I could tell she didn't like my answer. Her shoulders heaved with a soundless sigh.

  "You'll think of something." I pulled a pencil from my pack. Papo was at the house, but I could feel his presence like a hornets' nest, ready to rupture and wound. You're not here to make friends or solve other people's problems, Nico. You're here to produce little magical boxes and portable altars to sell. Period. If I didn't, Papo would make sure I never saw the inside of another classroom.

  I gathered up my pine plank. A quick glance at the wall clock warned I had twenty minutes left to cut and piece together the box. Clamps and assorted hand tools littered a high, scuffed table in the corner. I hung tools I didn't need on the magnetic strip along the wall. Then, using a ruler and pencil, I drew a dovetail template on the wood. No nails. Iron weakens magic.

  I clamped the board to the table and pulled on the safety goggles. The handsaw wasn't as sharp as I'd have liked. I leaned into it. Muscles burning, my world telescoped down to the plank and the ragged screech of the blade. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sawdust itched my forearms. Salem, the tick of the wall clock, and the students' carefree chatter faded away.

  The plank yielded six pieces. I switched the handsaw for a lightweight coping saw and thumbed the narrow blade. Sharp. Good. A quick glance at the clock warned me five minutes remained. Maybe Mr. Castellano will let me stay late.

  I attacked the first piece, cutting away small rectangles, creating jutting teeth until the edge resembled a crenellated castle wall. The bell blared. My body jerked, startled.

  "Nice work." Mr. Castellano eyed my craftsmanship. "You've done this before."

  "A few times." I lowered my gaze.

  "It shows. Too bad budget cuts killed Wood Shop. You'd be a natural."

  "Thanks."

  Students zipped up their backpacks and headed out the door. Salem moved in slow motion, her delicate features scrunched with worry. Mr. Castellano scanned the dirty paintbrushes piled in the sink. "Amigos! Clean your brushes!"

  "Gotta catch the bus!" a boy yelled. The rest of the students ignored Mr. Castellano and hurried outside.

  "Mind if I work for a few more minutes?" I asked.

  The teacher sighed. "Sweep up the sawdust when you're through, and I'll give you ten more minutes."

  "Deal."

  Salem's head jerked up at the word "deal." She locked me in her sights, and my stomach did an anxious roll as her expression morphed from alert to hurt. Stiff-shouldered, she pivoted away from me and stashed her statue in her cubby. Then she strode to the door, chin raised, her expression closed as if we hadn't exchanged secrets and clasped hands. Maybe she thought I made deals with everyone. She probably thought they meant nothing to me. Until now, she might have been right.

  A familiar ache slid into place over my heart. I wanted to chase after her and explain, but my feet remained rooted as if Papo had shackled me to the floor. Hating him, hating my life, I ignored the crushing weight in my chest, loosened the clamps, and readied the next cut board. The clock ticked. Time was running out.

  ****

  Heat from the school furnaces had yet to reach the boys' bathroom when I snuck in before school the next morning. The janitor had placed a new cake of room deodorizer in the urinals and my eyes watered from the sharp, chemical smell. After five minutes, I almost gave up on getting any hot water from the faucet. Finally, lukewarm water trickled out and I splashed it on my chest and under my arms. The soap dispenser discharged cloud-like mounds of sage-colored foam. I slicked it on with my hands, starting with my face and neck, rinsed, then soaped my arms, pits, and chest. Water trickled onto the waistband of my jeans, meaning I'd be damp and cold all day. I clenched my teeth. Can't I catch a break? I patted myself down with several sheets of thin brown paper, then crumpled them. Three hook shots landed them all in the waste can.

  "Good shot."

  My body jerked. Caught. I swept up my shirt and stuffed my arms through the sleeves. "Hey."

  "Hey." The kid was maybe a year younger than me with curly brown hair streaked with gold, and a slim build. He held a scarred skateboard against his hip. Tension eased out of my body as I noted his laidback energy and the welcoming cast to his eyes. He thrust out his hand. "Jordan Kent. You must be new here. Any hot water yet?"

  "Aidan Cooper." I shook his hand, then pulled my rugby shirt over my head. "No to the hot water. Warm though."

  "I'll take it." He peeled off his gym jersey and draped it over his backpack. "I came early to run laps. You?"

  "Hot water heater broke last night. Flooded the garage."

  "Wretched." He stuck his forearm under the running water.

  "Yeah." I hoisted my messenger bag over one shoulder.

  "Cool about the half-day today."

  "Seriously?"

  Jordan glanced at me in the heavily scratched mirror. "Teacher in-service day. Each class is, like, super short. We get out at noon."

  And Papo won't expect me until three. My brain sprinted through the possibilities and settled on scoping out the New Age store and studying at the city library. My stomach rumbled, anticipating a lost opportunity to mooch lunch off someone. "Thanks for the intel. Guess I forgot to check the calendar. I'm still trying to get settled." I pulled a one-eighty and headed for the door.

  "Wait a sec." Jordan dried his arms and armpits, then knelt and unzipped his backpack. The muted flannel shirt he extracted had been left half buttoned, and he pulled it over his head before fishing two protein bars from his pack. "Here." He tossed me a bar then tore open the wrapper encasing the other.

  My mood brightened. "Thanks."

  "No problem." He downed his bar in two bites, then slid into his jacket. "Some of us are going to the theater near the skate park after school. Hang with us if you'd like. It's the new Shay Stewart movie."

  "The pirate sequel?"

  "Yeah. My girlfriend Evie is nuts about him."

  "I met an Evie at lunch yesterday. Salem's friend?"

  "So you're the one she talked about."

  My ears burned. "Nothing bad, I hope."

  Jordan shouldered his backpack and picked up his skateboard. "No. More like they think you're mysterious." Jordan's gaze flicked over me. "Most of the kids are afraid Salem will hex them or something."

  "I'm not like most kids. Though, I admit she has a wicked Drop Dead stare." Come on! Can't you see she's throwing a Scary Goth Girl glamour? "I can handle her."

  "Tread carefully. Salem is going through a rough time. Hurt her, and you'll have her friends to answer to."

  "Understood."

  Jordan knuckle-bumped my shoulder as he squeezed past. "You can catch a ride with me if you'd like. We're meeting by the cyclone gate across from the field. Be there by twelve-fifteen."

  "Maybe. Thanks." If only
I had some money. I raked my fingers through my hair. I tried to remember the last time I had stayed anywhere long enough to have male friends. Girls were easy, but guys? It must have been before Mom died. Like everything else good in my life.

  Chapter Nine

  Good thing the teachers had low expectations on early dismissal days, because I couldn't concentrate. This morning's nightmare kept replaying in my head. Over and over I replayed the dreamscape, a vast institutional building run by faceless shadows.

  Each door I flung open led to another empty, hospital-like corridor. "Amy? Where are you?" I ran across the white tile to the next steel-and-glass door, then the next one. "Amy!" I sensed her nearby, curled up, unable to call out. I needed to find her before she faded into the void. My heartbeat drummed in my ears. I opened one last door. Before I could peer into the dim room, my alarm shrilled, waking me.

  "Earth to Salem."

  "Huh?" My heart pitched into the next block. I shook my head as if my mind was an Etch n' Draw and I could clear the picture. The girl sitting next to me on the stage nudged my arm. Below us, Mr. Peters cleared his throat.

  "Where is my technical crew?"

  I, Queen of the Light Board, raised my hand. A scuffle sounded behind me. Sean, Grand Master of Sound, a carrot-top with Asperger's Syndrome, popped up like a prairie dog.

  "I prefer you two not pair up for this assignment. But each of your teams will receive bonus points if you work the booth for the other teams' scenes."

  I nodded my head, though I had no idea what he was talking about.

  "That's all, people." Mr. Peters waved a fistful of assignment sheets. "Turn in your summaries. Get your assignments, find a partner, and get to work."

  Dazed, I remained rooted to the stage while everyone else got to their feet and clomped down the stage steps. What was the assignment? How long had Mr. Peters been talking? I should have listened. Now I was at a bigger disadvantage than usual. Alone on stage, I rose to my feet.

  Aidan hustled up the stage stairs. He must have been among the first to grab an assignment sheet. Pilar followed, taking each step slowly as she teetered on super high heels. They made her legs look amazing, but must have been torture on her feet.