Spell Struck: Book 2 (The Teen Wytche Saga)

by Ariella Moon

  Kali closed her door and stomped her boots against the concrete.

  "Oh." A vertical furrow formed between Mr. Miller's brows.

  I gathered up my bag and opened the door. More cold rushed in. "Don't worry, Mr. Miller. I will carry her number on me. Thanks again for everything. Bye, Salem."

  "Wait!"

  I paused, one leg out the door.

  "How can I get hold of you?" Salem flicked an embarrassed glance at her dad. He faced forward again and drummed his fingers against the wheel. "You know," Salem continued, "for the Drama assignment."

  "I'll be pretty busy this weekend." Creating trinket boxes so Papo doesn't use me as a punching bag. I hoisted my satchel over my shoulder. "If I make it to the library, I'll email you. What's your address?"

  "Blackwingedtinkerbell@mymail.com. What's yours?

  "

  "Snatched2008@mymail.com." I climbed out, because I could tell by the shift in Mr. Miller's energy he was getting impatient.

  "I wouldn't have taken you for a Guy Ritchie fan."

  Huh? I shrugged, clueless to the reference, and started to push the door closed.

  Salem remained locked on me. Her eyes shined with end-of-the-world desperation. Not because of Drama, I figured, but because of Amy. "Good luck," I mouthed.

  She nodded. I pressed the door closed and stepped back. Mr. Miller rotated his hand in a single wave before backing the shiny car out of the driveway. As the headlights swung onto the street, the gloom enveloped me like a skeleton's soulless hug.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kali hugged herself against the cold. "You fainted? Are you coming down with something?" She pressed her icy palm against my forehead, then the back of her hand against my cheek.

  "Magdalena and Papo launched a psychic attack."

  The color leached from her face.

  "They're getting stronger somehow."

  "How?" Kali shivered. "What if the grimoire is real? What if they're drawing power from it?"

  The thought festered like hex hives in my gut. "The spell book doesn't exist." I hated lying, even to protect her. "Magic—"

  A warning prickle danced up the back of my neck. The unmistakable rumble of the van pushed beyond its limit roared into my consciousness. As soon as the thought registered, the van stormed the driveway, an assault weapon on balding tires. Kali shrieked. Adrenaline hijacked my brain. I dropped the takeout container, grabbed Kali, and pulled her out of the way.

  The tires squealed, or maybe it was the brakes. The van lurched to a sudden stop and the smell of burnt rubber seared my nostrils. Papo's feral expression through the pitted windshield pushed a lever I had long kept in neutral. As he unbuckled his seat belt, I yanked open the driver's side door and grabbed him by his bomber jacket's lapels. His sneer morphed into wide-eyed surprise. Adrenaline pumped untapped strength into my arms and I hauled him out of the van and pushed him against it.

  "You could have killed Kali!"

  Whatever shock had kept Papo from defending himself dissolved. He jabbed in mad dog fury, breaking my grip, and bounced me against the van.

  "Stop!" Kali screamed.

  Pain stabbed my right shoulder and shot down my arm.

  "So now you're a tough guy, Nico? I don't think so." He pulled back for the punch. I flinched sideways and the blow struck the side of my head. Heat and pain rushed to my ear. A high-pitched ringing erupted inside my head.

  "Enough," Magdalena commanded. "We still need him."

  Still need me?

  Papo raised his fist again in silent warning, then let it drop. "I was aiming for you, not Kali." His beady-eyed glare pinned me. "You're behind on your trinket boxes and altars. You think the booth at the Crystal Faire was free?"

  "You wrecked his arm," Kali wailed.

  Down the street, Artemis's and Mitzi's high-pitched barks pierced the night.

  "Everyone inside." Magdalena glared at Papo. "He better mend quickly. The clock is ticking."

  Ticking toward what — the Crystal Faire or the grimoire?

  Kali's hand shook as she retrieved the container of orange chicken and rice. For the first time, hatred smoldered in her jade-green eyes.

  Papo angled his head and cracked his neck, but the tick beneath his right eye betrayed his wavering bravado. His energy bristled as he led the silent procession through the entry gate. Sheltered by the hedge, the three of them pulled out their flashlights. I clutched my arm and fought back the vomit rising in my throat.

  "Light a fire," Papo ordered Kali once we were inside and the candles had been lit. "And give me the food."

  Kali handed over the takeout carton, then stalked to the fireplace.

  Papo jabbed his finger in my direction. "No heat for you. Go to one of the bedrooms and close the door. Don't come out until I say so, or I'll make sure the next time I'm driving, I won't miss."

  Kali stepped forward.

  Papo stabbed his finger at her. "Not a word." Kali shrank back. To me he said, "If you're lucky, I'll let you out sometime this weekend."

  I threw Kali a don't-do-anything look before fumbling down the cold, dark hallway. My good hand skimmed the wall until I came to a bedroom. The door closed behind me with a loud click, the sound penetrating one ear. The other ear, hot and swollen, still rang. Alone, pain buckled me and I slumped onto the floor. Carpet. Thank goodness. I pulled my messenger bag across my lap for warmth and waited while my eyes adjusted to the blackness. Moonlight weakened by the mist filtered through the uncovered window, enough to confirm the room was bare.

  I strained to hear something, anything. Murmurings floated in like ghosts from the living room. No noise from the end of the block — June must have quieted the dogs. I flexed my hand. Fresh pain shot up my arm. How would I fix June's step tomorrow? No way would I be a no-show.

  And what about Salem? She needed my help, too. I eased myself down onto my good side and curled up like a two-year-old. Sleep. I needed sleep. Afterward, I'd figure things out. My eyes fluttered closed and my mind drifted to June's kitchen. No matter how much I concentrated, I couldn't draw its motherly warmth around me. So I tried to conjure up Bronwyn, my single known living relative. I wondered what the San Francisco police officer had told her all those years ago. Your nephew is fine. No need to worry.

  Liar.

  Chapter Twenty

  I spotted Mom first. The unforgiving light in the meet-and-greet area near the baggage claim highlighted the dark circles under her eyes and the tight set of her lips. Added worry, like a poisonous flower, bloomed in my stomach.

  Then Amy shuffled into view. Her light gray hoodie, emblazoned with the scarlet MIT logo, billowed around her pipe cleaner thin body. The jeggings encasing her legs disappeared into clumpy sheepskin boots. My gaze trailed back up to her face. She had wrapped a black wool scarf around her neck and chin. Her eyes locked onto mine. They weren't my sister's. They belonged to some wild animal that had been cornered and caught.

  I took Dad's hand and squeezed it.

  "Hey." Amy hugged me like I was her long-lost best friend instead of her loser little sister. Every bone in her back pressed against my hands and arms and her hipbones jutted into me. She stank of airplane, anxiety, and sweat. When she released me, she raised her pale, trembling hands to her mouth.

  "Hey." I glanced up at Mom. Dad had enwrapped her in a comforting embrace. He whispered something in Mom's ear, and she slumped against him, eyes moist. "Must be past three in the morning, your time," I said to Amy.

  "Yeah. Mom's whipped." She stuffed some of her scarf into her mouth and sucked on it.

  "Welcome home, Splash." Dad embraced Amy. "Let's get your luggage and get you ladies home."

  Mom's small, unassuming suitcase arrived first, igniting hope that we'd get out before the bars closed and the drunks hit the highway. As the conveyor belt circled with no sign of Amy's bag, Dad rocked on his heels. Amy brought her hands to her mouth again, fingertips pressed together as though she held an invisible sandwich. The odd mannerism reminde
d me of an underfed squirrel.

  "Where's your coat?" Gads, I sounded like Mom.

  "In the outer pocket of my suitcase."

  Mom rolled her eyes. They must have argued about it before checking their luggage.

  Amy perked up. "There it is!" She pointed to her large, designer knock-off bag.

  Dad strained to extricate it from the conveyor belt. "What's in here?"

  Amy shrugged. "I dunno. Everything?"

  Dad and Mom exchanged wary glances. I unzipped the bulging outer compartment, pulled out Amy's wool coat, and handed it to her. She slung it over her arm.

  Fine. Freeze if you want. I clasped the handle of Mom's bag. Her body sagged like worn-out leggings. I worried about her making it to the car. No way did she look capable of hauling her luggage. Dad zipped up Amy's case and towed it to the exit. We followed him, suitcase wheels whirring over the linoleum. Warnings to remain vigilant and not to park in the drop-off zone blared over the loud speaker.

  The parking lot reeked of jet fuel. When we reached the car, I handed Mom and Amy blankets I had pilfered from our scarlet earthquake backpacks. Mom's face brightened. "Thank you, sweetie!" She pulled the fleece up to her chin and closed her eyes. "Wake me when we're home."

  "You brought Flipper!" Amy hugged her toy dolphin then blew me a noisy air kiss.

  "Einstein wanted to come, too," I explained. "But we thought Flipper would be better behaved."

  "Good decision." Amy nosed the toy, then hugged it to her chest.

  Dad's glance in the rearview mirror signaled a thumbs-up. I basked in the unaccustomed warmth of parental approval.

  Amy's elated expression collapsed as suddenly as it had appeared. "You're the best sister. Ever. I'm going to miss you when I'm gone."

  "By 'gone' you mean when you return to school, right?" I glanced at the front seat. Mom softly snored, and Dad was focused on passing a large truck while avoiding some maniac weaving through traffic at high speed.

  "My stomach hurts." Blinking back tears, Amy scrunched closer and leaned her head on my shoulder. Her long, greasy ponytail fell across my chest.

  Shock and worry crash-tested inside my brain. I wanted to text Evie or Aidan, but it was one in the morning, and neither of them had cell phones. Besides, Amy would have had a clear view of whatever I texted. So I stared out the rain-splattered window into the fog and blackness and mentally ran through the suicide prevention checklist. I was sure it included neglect of personal appearance, sleep problems, and anxiety. And I had a bad feeling there were other things on the list I needed to worry about.

  The rain increased. Fat drops hit my window and were pushed aside by the wind. The rhythmic whoosh-whoosh of the windshield wipers lulled Amy to sleep. Her head dug into my shoulder, but I didn't dare push her off.

  We reached the Bay Bridge and crawled across it. Dad tuned the stereo to the local soft rock station and set the volume down low. He kept checking the mirrors for cops and drunk drivers. A half-hour later, we arrived home. Amy fell to her knees when she saw Einstein. He sniffed and backed away a couple of times before deciding she was indeed Amy, then followed her to her room.

  "Night, sweetie," Mom said after Amy had left. "I like your new look." She squiggled her finger in front of her lips and eyes, indicating my lack of goth makeup. Even with my purple and black hair, I looked more like Amy than Amy did.

  "Happy dreams," I replied.

  Mom gave me a tired wave before she sleepwalked down the hall.

  "Thanks for coming with me tonight," Dad said.

  "You're welcome. Someone had to ride shotgun." I toed the parquet floor with my boot. "Dad?"

  "Toothpick?"

  "I'm worried about—"

  "Let your mom and me worry about Amy. Your job is to do well in school. Okay?"

  "I'll try. Thanks for helping Aidan today."

  Dad's head bobbed. "You're welcome." He tweaked my nose. "I'll be keeping an eye on you two."

  "No you won't. Amy is back. I'll become invisible again."

  Dad's face scrunched up, as if he had no idea what I was talking about. Perhaps he'd never noticed the lack of pictures of me since I'd gone goth. Or the fact he had made it to all of Amy's polo matches but none of my plays. As if being Queen of the Light Board was something anyone could do.

  Dad narrowed his eyes, imitating my gunslinger squint. "Don't count on it." He pointed two fingers at his eyes then pointed them at me. I arched my brow at him, the one without the stud, and shot right back with the same I'll-be-watching-you gesture. Dad's eyes, although bloodshot with fatigue, twinkled. Then a huge yawn propelled him down our L-shaped hall to my parents' room.

  I made a quick trip to the bathroom, then retreated to my bedroom. Psychic sand and fatigue weighed down my body. No wonder. It was two in the morning, according to the green numbers on my digital clock. I slid open my closet door and eyed the tote containing the grimoire. Nothing seemed amiss. Not wanting to tempt fate, I eased the door closed.

  Yawning, I changed into my black jammies, pulled the suicide prevention pamphlet from my backpack, and crawled beneath my top sheet and down comforter. I skimmed over the signs of serious depression because Amy had already been diagnosed. Fatigue blurred my vision. I fought to stay alert and finish the suicide warning signs. Taking unnecessary risks. My eyelids closed. With effort, I forced open my eyes and located the spot where I had left off. Giving away prized possessions. There was more, but the sleep fairy emptied her bucket of knockout dust over my head. My chin plummeted toward my chest, and I tumbled into a deep sleep.

  At first, I thought the sobbing was in my dream. When I realized it wasn't, I fought my way out of dreamland like a swimmer kicking to the surface of a dark, bottomless lake. The room whirled. When it calmed, turtle-like shadows, impossible because there were no lights, scurried across the ceiling. I propped myself up on my elbows and listened. Crying — ragged, muffled, and tinged with hopelessness — shuddered through the wall separating my bedroom from Amy's.

  The clock read four-seventeen. "Artemis, Demeter, and Hecate." I slipped into the plush indigo bathrobe I had received last Hanukkah and cracked open my door. Bluish light from the bathroom nightlight spilled into the empty hall.

  "Amy?" I opened her door. Einstein streaked out, brushing against my legs. The scream rising in my throat flattened into a gasp. After two calming breaths, I whispered, "What's the matter?" I mean, besides everything. When Amy didn't answer, I followed the sobbing to the edge of her bed. The covers rustled as she made room for me to perch. My nostrils flared as I breathed in rank body odor and dirty clothes.

  "Is there anything I can do to help?"

  Amy stopped mid-sob and sniffed. I handed her a tissue and waited while she honked into it. "S-s-sorry I woke you."

  "It's okay. I'm sorry you're having a hard time."

  She blew her nose again, then dropped the soggy tissue on the floor.

  "Want to talk about it?" I asked.

  In the light cast by her atomic spa clock, Amy shook her head. Clutching Flipper, she appeared younger than eighteen, younger even than me.

  "Why are you still wearing your sweatshirt?" Heat radiated from her body. I loosened my robe.

  Amy shrugged.

  "I can loan you something if you can't find your nightgown."

  "I'm fine."

  "Okay." At least she had stopped crying.

  "You stole my dog."

  "What?"

  Amy pointed to the tissue box, so I handed it to her. "Einstein likes you better than me." Tears welled in her eyes again, as if the dog was one more item in her loss column.

  "Einstein loathes me. He tolerates me because I feed and walk him, which is not my favorite chore." At least not in the rain or when I'm buried in homework. I rose from the bed. "Since you're home, I relinquish the duty." I couldn't have this discussion, not on two hours of sleep.

  I made it to the door, escape within sight, when Amy said, "You always had it so easy."

  "Excuse me?" Ar
e you crazy?

  Amy sat up in bed and tossed another wadded tissue on the floor. "Our parents dumped all their pressure and expectations on me. Mom and Dad never expected anything of you. You got to cruise through life."

  My jaw dropped. "They never thought I was capable of anything. You were the Golden One. Just ask your old teachers, the ones who thought I could be just like you if I'd try harder."

  Amy snorted. "Well, I'm not the Golden One now. Just ask my current teachers."

  "But you were Jefferson's valedictorian. Your grade average was above a four point zero."

  Her lips spread into a hard, bitter smile. "Just like everyone else at M.I.T."

  I took a couple of steps toward her. "So what if everyone there is smart? It doesn't make you dumb."

  "Yes it does. I'm stupid. I'm a complete and utter failure." She slugged her pillow. "Forget it. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters." She faced away, dismissing me.

  I shook my head. How could she believe such things? I remembered Amy pressuring Mom and Dad to let her play water polo, take violin lessons, and run every club at school. Amy had put all the pressure on herself. And she thought I had it easy! Is she insane?

  I clenched my teeth and strode out of the room. Back in my bed, angry thoughts kept me restless and twisting. After a half-hour, I flipped on the light and powered up the computer. After signing on to my email account, I composed a new email.

  From: Blackwingedtinkerbell@mymail.com

  To Bcc: Snatched2008@mymail.com>Eviesemail@mymail.com

  Subject: Amy is home.

  Hey. It is 4:30 in the morning. Hope you are having a better night than I am. The Golden One has returned. Not sure either of us will survive.

  ~Salem

  I pushed send.

  If only they were up and Aidan had a computer.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Muffled, insistent tapping woke me. My eyes flew open, and several facts hit in rapid succession. Cold. Pain. Darkness. Disoriented. Banished.

  My head felt lopsided. Panic seized me. Flat on my back, shivering, my fingers dug into shag carpet. The action grounded and oriented me. I'm in the bedroom of the foreclosed house. I rolled toward the tapping. Dim moonlight backlit a familiar face at the window.