Spell Struck: Book 2 (The Teen Wytche Saga)

by Ariella Moon

  A full-on storm pelted the bedroom window in the foreclosed house. The sound stirred me from a deep sleep. Rain. Good. June won't expect me to rebuild her step today. I swallowed, and it felt like crumpled paper pushing through sand. No telling when Papo would let me out, or when Kali would be able to sneak back.

  Legs stiff, back and injured arm sore, I staggered to my feet. The movement cleared my head enough for me to assess my immediate needs. Water. Food. I scanned the barren room and realized I had stumbled into the master bedroom. I investigated the bathroom, thankful for the skylight, and rotated the tap. As expected, not a drop remained in the pipe.

  I glanced at the mirror and my reflection jolted me. I looked worse than the runaways in the Haight. Dark circles rimmed my eyes. Bruises dotted my jaw like angry finger marks. It appeared as though rats had chased each other in my hair, tangling it. I shoved a long lock behind my ear to examine the damage and hissed through clenched teeth. No wonder my ear hurts.

  I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets to warm them and encountered something round and rough. Salem's cookie! It disappeared in two bites, but the sugar burn and soothing chocolate taste lingered like a kiss. Thank you. Thank you. I closed my eyes and conjured up Salem's delicate face. If I escaped to the library, would there be emails waiting for me from blackwingedtinkerbell? How had things gone with Amy?

  The Grey Grimoire careened into my mind, twisting and twirling as though carried by a psychic funnel cloud. The spell book's silver vines sparkled like fairy dust. I'm a work of art, a piece of history, it whispered. You don't want to destroy me.

  "No!" Such thinking would lead to disaster. I squeezed my eyes into slits. In the wrong hands, the grimoire would be a weapon. I could not risk Papo and Magdalena stealing it.

  I pressed my palms against my forehead. I'm missing a clue. There has to be a sure-fire way to destroy it. The answer dangled just beyond my reach. I needed an ally, someone who might want the grimoire destroyed and who was immune to its magical influence. I drummed my fingers on the cultured marble counter. Salem had said someone had given her the spell book. One of her friends? I riffed through my mental notes on Evie, Parvani, Jordan, and Zhù. Forget Parvani. She didn't seem like the kind of person who'd relinquish a valuable object or recognize its potential harm. No, it had to be one of the others.

  "So," I asked my bedraggled reflection, "what do we do next?"

  Find water. You need to hydrate, stave off hunger. My concave stomach gurgled. Besides, the cookie had increased my thirst. I returned to the bedroom, crossing to the window. Rain slanted against the glass at a low angle. No way could I remove the screen without getting soaked. I had spent enough wet, miserable winters on the streets of San Francisco to know my clothes would mildew and my jeans would stiffen and chafe long before they'd dry out. I didn't want to be the kid whose clothes stank; who coughed until his stomach hurt and he thought his ribs would crack. Not again. Not ever again.

  I fished my birthday watch out of my pocket. Two forty-five. I had slept off and on since dawn. Papo and Magdalena would have gotten up hours ago. Play it smart. What are your options? I could escape out the window and go to June's. I couldn't go to Salem's because of Amy. I wasn't sure how to get to Jordan's house. Papo would stake out the library. Though I was tempted to risk it long enough to check my emails and do an online search to locate the diner where Kali worked.

  Kali. How could I flee and leave her behind? How could I convince her to go?

  Parched, I pocketed my watch and eyed the rain hitting the window. My hand closed around the window's release mechanism. I was about to pull when a rustling outside the bedroom door stopped me. Papo. I pulled my messenger bag off my shoulder. Gripping the wide strap, I steeled myself to use the heavy bag as a weapon or to deflect a blow. I was done being Papo's punching bag.

  The door rattled, and I heard muffled grunts. It sounded as though the van seat was being dragged away, not just set aside. Were Papo and Magdalena preparing to drive off? Why go to so much trouble, unless Papo had removed the driver's seat?

  Moments passed, then silence. I listened for the van's engine, but I heard nothing besides the wind sluicing through the birch trees and the rain lashing the house. Despite the cold, sweat erupted on my hand as I gripped the strap. Could I do it? After five years of Papo's intimidation, Bronwyn's abandonment, and Magdalena's treachery, could I stand up for myself?

  The door swung open. My breath halted low in my throat. I stood straighter. After several staccato heartbeats Papo shifted into view, his hands on his hips, his jaw jutted toward me.

  "How many altars and boxes do you have ready?"

  "Six." I mimicked Salem's drop-dead stare and kept my tone even. "And one in progress."

  "Not good enough. The Crystal Faire is in three weeks. You need to triple." His feral features morphed into a sly expression and he threw back his shoulders. "Guess you'll have to quit school."

  The threat didn't work this time. Instead of cowering to do his bidding, I advanced on him, contained like an undetonated bomb. When we were nose-to-nose and Papo's foul breath on my face churned my stomach, I said, "Not unless you can supply me with the materials and tools I need."

  Papo's lips parted, revealing his snaggleteeth.

  "I'm going to the library to look up thrift stores. I need more bling for the boxes. It's the one thing school doesn't supply."

  "Yeah? How are you going to pay for the baubles?"

  "You still owe me my share from the Renaissance Faire." I opened my left hand, palm up. My right hand kept a death grip on the messenger bag.

  "I don't have it anymore."

  "Then we're done." I edged him aside with my shoulder.

  "Wait."

  The breath threatened to burst from my throat.

  "I'll give you fifteen. No more."

  I faced him. "You owe me fifty-three dollars."

  Papo's eyes lit with an unspoken word: sucker. He dug into the front pocket of his threadbare jeans and extracted a clip of damp bills. After licking his fingers, he peeled off ten ones and a five and extended his hand. "Take it or leave it."

  I moved my hand toward his, but kept my eyes trained on him, not breaking eye contact. I knew as soon as I reached for the cash he'd yank his hand away and erupt with his snotty, triumphant laugh. Not this time. I waited for the eye flicker. When it came, I thrust my arm up and snatched the bills as he jerked them away.

  The laughter in his eyes died.

  "Now you owe thirty-eight dollars." I pocketed the bills.

  Everything I knew about Papo warned me not to turn my back on him. But I had to appear fearless, keep walking. Every muscle in my back tensed. I forced myself to place one foot in front of the other, to keep my shoulders back, my hands fisted. I strained to hear out of my good ear. Even the slightest warning would help me deflect a blow.

  Despite the bunker-like chill, sweat pooled under my arms. I hoped Papo couldn't smell it — smell my fear. I reached the end of the hall and forced myself to focus ahead. A backward glance would signal weakness. I took longer strides, swung my arms, and puffed myself up. The front door beckoned from three long yards away. No sign of Magdalena, but I thought I heard Papo closing in.

  "Nico." The word came out sharp. Angry.

  The front door was in arm's reach. I paused but didn't turn around.

  "You're an orphaned street rat. Without me, you'd be nowhere. You'd be dead like your parents, or worse. You owe me, boy."

  Don't count on it. I threw back the deadbolt and strode out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I stuffed Amy's damp towel in the hamper, then headed for my room. Rosemary and citrus scents wafted from the hall bath. Mom had pushed things a bit by coaxing Amy into a bubble bath. Goddess knew Amy needed a good scrubbing, but what if she decided to drown herself?

  Mom hovered in the hall, her ear practically pressed to the bathroom door. "I told Amy her 'spa package' included a back scrub," Mom whispered, like we were co-consp
irators. "I'm waiting for permission to enter."

  We both held our breaths and listened. Mom knocked on the door. "Hey, Water Bug. Are you ready for your back scrub?"

  "Sure." Amy's voice sounded faint and dull.

  "Please get her some fresh clothes," Mom whispered. "I'll throw her old stuff into the hall. Start a load immediately."

  "Gotcha." Einstein trailed me to Amy's room. Her suitcase lay closed on the floor. I opened it, then recoiled when the stench of dirty clothes assaulted me. Einstein stretched closer and sniffed. "Okay," I told the dog. "Everything here has to go into the wash."

  Amy's dresser yielded a floral demi-bra, purple undies, black leggings, and a cornflower-blue fleece dress. With the cheerful clothes in hand, I headed back to the hall. Mom had vanished. Like a serving maid, I waited. Soon the bathroom door cracked open and Mom exchanged Amy's disgusting clothes for the fresh ones.

  "Thank you," Mom mouthed.

  "You're welcome," I mouthed back.

  The laundry was little more than a closet with bi-fold doors between the kitchen and the garage. I dumped the stinky heap on the floor, then retrieved the rest from Amy's suitcase. Half her clothes were M.I.T. red. I set the scarlet items aside and threw everything else into the initial load. The water had just begun to surge when my cell rang.

  "Hey, Evie. What's the plan?"

  "Parvani can't make it until six. Mom says we can order pizza. Sound good?"

  "Perfect. Dad said I could go as long as I'm caught up on my homework." I glanced at the kitchen clock. "I should be in good shape by six."

  "Great. I'll clean my room."

  My lips lifted in a smile. "At least clear a path to the bathroom and the door."

  "Promise. Bring your sleeping bag. You know Parvani will claim the extra bed."

  "Of course she will. Thanks. See you later."

  "Bye." Evie ended the call.

  Mom entered the kitchen, huffed an exhausted breath out her nose, and then collapsed into the closest chair. "Thanks for starting the laundry."

  "Believe me, it was my pleasure." I pulled a chair away from the table and sat. "Are you sure it's okay to leave her alone in the bath?"

  Mom stared at me a moment. "Frankly, no. But I had to give her some privacy so she could get out of the tub." Mom propped her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes. "Brilliant idea you had to play Beauty Parlor. Sneaky and effective."

  "Two of my better qualities. Hey, Dad said I could spend the night at Evie's. Can one of you drive me over there around six?"

  "Sure." Mom glanced around the room. Her expression sagged, as if stress and the lack of sleep had pushed her to the brink. The needle on my worry meter jumped beyond highest alert.

  "Where is Dad?" I asked.

  "In the study, reviewing insurance papers."

  "Oh." I figured she meant medical bills.

  Mom squeezed my hand. "Things will get better."

  My voice cracked. "But what if they don't?"

  "We're doing everything in our power to help Amy."

  "But why isn't anything working?" My voice rose to a thin whine.

  Mom shook her head. "Sometimes it takes time to find the right combination of drugs and therapy."

  "That sucks." I shifted on the seat cushion. "Sleep with your door open while I'm gone."

  Mom's eyes widened. "Why?"

  "Amy cried all night. She tried to give me Flipper. And, you know, the pamphlet said…"

  Mom placed my hand between both of hers. Reassuring warmth flooded up my arm. "I will listen for Amy tonight. You are off duty. I want you to go to Evie's and have fun. Leave the worrying to your dad and me."

  "I have a bad feeling about all this."

  "I know, sweetie." Mom released my hand. "But your job is to finish your homework. I'll go check on our little mermaid. You did great today." She rose, pressed a noisy kiss onto the top of my head, and left. I stared after her, knowing I hadn't done enough. I needed to do better.

  A fresh concern hit me. What about Monday, when my parents left for work and I had school? Who'd keep an eye on Amy? Thanksgiving break was two weeks away. My parents couldn't afford to miss work, not with Amy's medical bills and our travel bills.

  Maybe I can fake an illness. Aidan streamed into my mind, and the Drama kids who needed me to coordinate the lights for their Shakespeare scenes.

  Teen Wytche — no, I had to start thinking of it as the Grey Grimoire — was still my best bet. We had to crack its secret code this weekend.

  I glanced out the window in the direction of Evie's house. I sure hoped Evie and Parvani would have better luck with it than Aidan and I had.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  About a block from the foreclosed house, my nape prickled and I sensed dense, dark energy behind me. I glanced over my shoulder — no one was there, at least not in this realm. But it remained present, like an evil and relentless ghost. I tried to shake it.

  Instead of heading downtown, I hiked toward Brook Street. With no umbrella to protect me, the rain soaked through my jeans and plastered my hair to my scalp and neck. I opened my mouth to the downpour. Dehydration cramped my legs and blurred my thinking.

  I rushed from one tree overhang to the next. Runoff from the hill edged the curb, carrying leaves, candy wrappers, and a plastic beverage bottle. Passing cars churned up water from the flooded roadway. I stepped back to avoid a fresh soaking and collided with the mass of dark energy. Heebie-jeebies shuddered through me. I waited, teeth chattering, fingers numb, for the light across from the elementary school to turn. I flipped my collar against the cold and hiked to the corner of Moraga Road and Moraga Boulevard. My injured arm ached, and pain stitched my ear.

  The dark entity dogged me to the County Connection bus stop. I rolled my shoulders and pushed energy at it. Instead of retreating, the presence pressed closer. Goose bumps erupted on my forearms beneath my jacket sleeves. I pulled in my aura. Magdalena.

  Her creepy, invisible spirit boarded the Number Six bus with me. I gravitated toward an aisle seat at the far back next to a turbaned gentleman. Bumping against his calm energy, I relaxed a notch. Besides, if Magdalena wanted to astral project behind me, she'd have to cling to the outside of the bus and eat diesel fumes.

  My thoughts darted through my limited knowledge of astral projection. Kali had said some people could push their spirits out of their bodies. While the person's essence flew to other places, their spirits remained tethered to their bodies by a long silver cord. How much the astral body could witness, I wasn't sure. Maybe it was like a spy drone.

  If so, I had about three bus stops to figure out how to ditch Magdalena's astral body. If she shadowed me to the library, then I wouldn't dare access my email and warn Salem. Maybe I could look up thrift stores and bore Magdalena into retreating. Maybe I should ride the bus to the end of the line. How far could she stretch the silver cord connecting her to her body?

  The bus heaved to a stop. A thin older man with a red-tipped white cane ascended the steps and showed the driver a pass hung on a multicolored lanyard around his neck. A teen with blond dreadlocks and light walnut-brown skin abandoned the front seat. "Here," she told the man. "You can have my seat."

  The man gave her a vacant nod, then tapped his cane to the seat and sat down. The girl glanced at me, then moved four rows. With a hiss and clatter, the bus door closed. The clicking of the turn signal reached all the way to the back as the driver eased onto Mount Diablo Road.

  The gentleman beside me shifted in his seat and ran his palm down his scraggly gray beard. His watery eyes studied me. After assessing me from head to feet, he closed his eyes and pressed his fingers on either side of the red dot adorning the middle of his forehead. His nails were longer than I would have expected, yellow against his earth-colored skin. White light streaked from his head, and Magdalena's menacing presence retreated a foot or two.

  The bus rumbled to a stop. Rain sprinkled the windows. The man opened his eyes to grab the seat back in front of him and hois
ted himself up. I stood, and as he passed, the man said, "It feeds off fear. Raise your vibration. Cast love at it."

  I nodded, not sure what he meant.

  At the next red light, Magdalena's astral body oozed into the aisle beside me. I am not afraid of you. I held my breath, waiting to see if I had fooled her. Instead, she clawed closer. Panic tightened like a noose. What was I doing wrong? Maybe astral bodies could smell fear or see goose bumps beneath clothes. Where attention goes, energy flows.

  Despite the chill, I unzipped my jacket and shoved my hands into the front pocket of my pullover hoodie. My left hand slid over my right and settled around the snug band of woven cloth strips encircling my wrist. The cage imprisoning my heart rattled.

  Mom patted the hospital bed and beckoned me to her side. Apprehension skated through me. She wore a tan knit hat to cover the baldness brought on by the chemo. Dark shadows encircled her weary eyes. Clear tubes disappeared into her nostrils. Another ran from her hand to a stiff bag hanging on a metal stand.

  "I have something for you, my little Buddha. Hold out your hand."

  I obeyed. Mother draped a rope of woven cloth across my palm. "Do you recognize any of the fabric?"

  The blue strip with its hint of silver stars caught my attention first. "Did you cut up your Christmas nightgown?"

  "Just a piece off the bottom. I won't need it anymore, and I wanted you to remember Christmas mornings. What else do you see?"

  I rotated the braid. "Is the yellow one from our old dishcloths?"

  Her lips curved upward. "Yes, so you will remember the meals I cooked for you and how lucky we were to have enough to eat."

  I gulped, remembering the hot breakfasts she used to make before school. How I missed them! My stomach growled, betraying its cold emptiness. I pointed to an orange strip. "Is this from your scarf?"

  "Yes. The one you gave me on your sixth birthday because you wanted me to have a present too."

  I nodded, remembering. I ran my finger over the last strip. "I don't remember this fuzzy white one."