Wicked Cool (The Spellspinners)

by Diane Farr

  She looked at me. “You didn’t see the news last night?”

  “Are you kidding? I disconnected the satellite.”

  Meg bounced upright in the chair. “No way! Why?”

  “Why?? So Nonny wouldn’t see the news, that’s why.”

  “Zara, you can’t keep it from her. It was on the front page of the newspaper this morning.”

  I shoved my hands into my hair and clutched my skull. Trying to keep my brain from exploding, I guess. “This bites.”

  “No, no, no. It’s not so bad. Holy cow, it’s a good thing I came by this morning. I was counting on you watching the news.”

  “I don’t watch the news!”

  “Well, duh, if your best friend is going to be on—”

  “Talking about me! Megan, that’s the last thing in the world I want to watch.”

  “Zara.” She was using her I’m-speaking-to-an-idiot voice. “You need to know what I said. Because if anybody asks you what happened yesterday, you have to say the same thing.”

  “Which is what?”

  “I told the reporter I thought it was a freak gust of wind.”

  “A freak gust of wind.” I looked at Meg sideways. “Did anybody buy that?”

  She shrugged. “They must have. They put it on the news.”

  Hope stirred faintly. Maybe I’d escape undetected after all. “Did Donald buy it?”

  “No.”

  “Arrrgh!”

  “Zara, get real. Who’s going to listen to Donald?”

  “Who isn’t? It happened to Donald.”

  “See, that’s exactly why I counted on you watching the news last night. You would have been proud of me.” She shoved her glasses higher on her nose. “I made it sound like nobody should listen to Donald because it happened to him. Like, he couldn’t possibly know what really happened. He was up in the air, for crying out loud.”

  I stopped pacing and dropped into the swing. I had to admit, that was pretty good. “Wow.”

  “I had to cover for you, you know, after ...” She looked unhappy. “After I went bonkers like that.”

  “Did anybody ask about me?”

  “Um. At first. Zara, I’m so sorry—”

  “Never mind about that. Just tell me what happened.”

  So she did. She told me that Donald kept sputtering, “Zara did it, Zara did it,” until Meg informed him that he sounded ridiculous. Then he seemed to realize how foolish he looked, you know, insisting that his sister’s best friend somehow made him float through the air, and he shut up. There were plenty of witnesses, but they seemed just as confused as Donald. Bottom line, the reporter seemed to glom onto the wind gust theory because nobody had a better one.

  The news team quickly moved on to the “dangerous state of disrepair” at the water slide. After all, the whole thing started when the hand rail gave way. And the broken rail, swinging giddily out over a sheer drop to pavement below, was a pretty dramatic visual. It made for much better TV than some inarticulate teenage boy with a nutty story.

  Meg said it seemed like the TV people didn’t know what to do with the supernatural angle, so they moved on to more familiar turf. I have to be grateful that (a) Donald floating to safety was too strange to believe, (b) the TV cameras weren’t rolling when it happened, and (c) Donald O’Shaughnessy is untelegenic. Meanwhile, Meg noticed that the reporter had jotted down “Sarah” in her notebook instead of “Zara,” so even if KCHG tried to track me down, it might take a while.

  “So am I out of the woods?” I asked Meg. And here’s the thing: I really expected her to say yes.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”

  Something in the way she said it rang alarm bells in the back of my brain. Megan leaned forward, the better to study my face. “Zara,” she said softly. “Why did you do it?”

  “Um,” I said. “Because I could?”

  That wasn’t the right answer. Or was it? Meg looked like a cat at a mouse hole. “I’ve never seen you use the Power without thinking.”

  I frowned. “You’re aware, right, that if I’d taken time to think about it, your brother would be in the hospital right now? Or even the morgue?”

  Meg was unfazed. “Of course I know that. What I’m saying is, this is something new for you. Power on the fly, as it were.”

  “New? You say it like I’m going to make a habit of it.” I laughed uneasily.

  Meg wasn’t laughing. “Well? Are you?”

  “No! What are you talking about?” My voice went so high, it cracked. “Yesterday was a one-shot deal. I mean, come on! How often am I going to witness a near-death experience?! One that I might be able to fix? Trust me, once is enough.”

  “I’m not so sure.” She still looked serious. Thoughtful. “When you think about it, there are probably several times a day when you encounter situations—”

  “Stop right there.” My palms were starting to sweat. “Do you remember that time you made me try to save the sparrow?”

  “Well, yeah. But the sparrow was dead before you started.”

  “I know it was dead! It was nuts to try to bring it back. I about killed myself trying. I am NOT planning to grow up to be God, thank you very much. I do not have power over life and death. Don’t even go there.”

  “I wasn’t going there.”

  “Well? Where were you going?”

  I knew, the instant I said it, I would regret having asked that question.

  Meg had her cat-at-the-mouse-hole look again. “In my opinion, you used Power yesterday without thinking at all. You couldn’t help yourself.” She spread her palms, almost apologetically. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

  My silence told her she was right.

  “That’s a first for you, Zara.”

  “It’s an only. I already told you.”

  “Yeah, but until yesterday, we both thought you couldn’t throw Power without thinking. You had to call it up, right? Summon it. It wasn’t just there.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I sounded all defensive. And not especially convincing, since I did, in fact, know what she meant. “I’ve always been able to do stuff without summoning Power.”

  Meg shook her head. “Not like this. Come on. This wasn’t like turning the lights on or off, or pushing the vacuum cleaner around with your mind. This was Power.”

  She was right, of course. There’s a difference between the things I can just do, and the things that require Power. The fact that my eyes were all lit up afterwards proved that I had, in fact, summoned Power.

  And it was a wee bit scary that I didn’t remember doing any summoning.

  “What’s your point?”

  “I’ll tell you my point.” Her eyes were sparkling behind her glasses. Meg lives for this stuff. “Either you’re getting stronger, or the Power is.”

  Silence reigned for a couple of heartbeats. A mockingbird blasted out a complicated song from my peach tree. Finally I said, “Should I kill myself now? Or wait until school starts?”

  Meg snorted. “Oh, stop. This is not necessarily a bad thing.”

  “Not for you. You love it.” I hopped up off the swing and started prowling around the porch. Agitated? I was way past agitated. Frantic, more like. “Megan O’Shaughnessy, Girl Scientist. You get to observe and take notes while I ride the bucking bronco. Trust me, it’s not so much fun over here on the bronco.”

  “I’m only trying to help. Since, excuse me, you’re a bit clueless.”

  I wrapped my arms around my neck and moaned. “I know. I know. Except I’m not ‘a bit’ clueless. I’m totally clueless.”

  See, that’s the irony of my life. I’m powerful, but clueless.

  It’s not fair. You’d think I’d have a leather-bound book handed down to me through the ages. Or a locket with a hidden compartment. Or, better yet, a fairy godmother. Something! But no. I’ve been stuck out here in the boonies with no key to the puzzle.

  I don’t know who— or what— I am.

  I’m pretty sure I’m
not a witch. It’s my impression that you have to do stuff to be a witch. You know. Witchcraft. You have to learn to chant complicated spells or whatever. Enroll at Hogwarts. Sell your soul to the devil. That sort of thing.

  I think I’d remember if I sold my soul to the devil, thank you very much. I may be clueless but I’m not impaired.

  Frankly, I don’t even know if there are such things as witches. I have never yet met anyone who can make something happen by chanting and waving a wand, or lighting candles and drawing a bunch of lines on the floor.

  I, on the other hand, can make stuff happen. Pentagrams and wands? Completely optional.

  So if I’m not a witch, what am I??

  Meg has done her best to help me figure it out, but hey. When you’re stumped, you’re stumped.

  I love Nonny, but she is SO not my fairy godmother. She’s only an aunt. A fairy aunt would be great, of course, but if I have a fairy aunt, it’s sure not on my mother’s side of the family. Nonny and I don’t even look like we’re from the same gene pool. She’s short and square and earth-motherly. She is also deeply tanned, from years of working outdoors. She has major laugh lines. In a few more years she is going to look like one of those apple dolls they sell at craft fairs.

  Whatever I look like at her age, it’s a cinch I will never resemble an apple doll. I’ll look more like Morticia Addams. Or maybe the Evil Queen from Snow White.

  Note to self: avoid red lipstick and shiny black fabric.

  My father, whoever he was, must have looked like Bela Lugosi.

  I’m straying from the point again.

  Megan was trying her best to get my attention. “Zara, stop pacing. I’m telling you something important.”

  “Oh, great. Fire away. I’m having such a lovely morning.”

  “Will you stop?” She actually jumped up and grabbed me by the arms to hold me still. When I saw the look on her face, I did hold still.

  Meg looked if she were ready to impart the world’s most thrilling secret. I thought she was going to pop out something really good. Instead, she said: “How old are you?” As if it were this totally important, amazing question.

  I looked at her like she was crazy. “Almost sixteen. In case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. What’s just around the corner? Your sixteenth birthday, that’s what.”

  “Yeah. So?” I didn’t get it. “What does my birthday have to do with anything? Please tell me this isn’t about a surprise party. Because I don’t want a surprise party.”

  She let me go. “It just may be,” she said darkly. “But not in the way you think.”

  “Meg, for Pete’s sake, will you just tell me?”

  “Okay, okay. Sorry.” She shoved me down into the nearest chair and perched on the chair across from it, sliding her glasses higher on her nose. Her nose is short and her glasses are heavy, so they slide down a lot. “It’s just kind of complicated. And I don’t really know what you should expect. I just think—have thought for a long time, actually—that something’s going to happen on your sixteenth birthday.”

  “Well, duh.”

  “No, not like that. Not like presents and stuff. I mean, you’re going to have presents and stuff—”

  ”Well, duh,” I said again.

  She shoved my knee, laughing. “Stop! This is serious. I mean about your powers. Something’s going to happen.”

  Her words sent a chill right to the base of my spine. I tried not to shiver. “Like what?”

  See, I already knew she was right. The minute she said it, I knew she was on to something. And I did not have a good feeling about it. Even with the sunshine and the peach tree and the mockingbird and Meg there and all, a kind of darkness seemed to be gathering at the edges of my vision. I had to blink a few times and look away, fighting the creeps again.

  “That’s what I don’t know.” She looked apologetic. “I was hoping you knew. Because, based on what happened yesterday, it may already be happening. Whatever it is.”

  “And you were hoping I knew? I don’t know squat. That’s my problem. That’s always been my problem.” I took a deep breath and told myself not to panic. “What are the kinds of things that could happen on my sixteenth birthday? Give me a run-down.”

  She looked thoughtful. “Well, there’s sticking your finger with a spindle and sleeping for a hundred years. That’s a classic.”

  I threw a cushion at her.

  “Right,” she said, grinning. “I didn’t say it was likely.”

  “Could you stick to the likely things? Please.”

  “Okay. Your powers could grow a hundredfold.” I must have gone even whiter than usual, judging from the look on Meg’s face. She quickly added, “Or you could lose your powers completely. That’s possible, too. But after yesterday’s little demonstration, I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  I didn’t know which would be worse. I know I complain about the powers a lot, but that’s mostly because it’s such a pain to hide them. Truth be told, I’d much rather have them than lose them.

  Not at a hundred times their current strength, however.

  “I don’t like either of those options,” I told her. “Keep going.”

  “You could find an important object.”

  “Now you’re talking. That’s more like it.” I breathed a little easier. Maybe I’d get my leather-bound book at last.

  “Or you could meet someone.”

  Not as good as the leather-bound book, but better than losing my powers. “Like a fairy godmother? That wouldn’t be bad.”

  “Depends on who you meet, I guess. It could be an enemy.” Her voice went all dark and mysterious. “Your mortal enemy.”

  “Get out! Why would I have a mortal enemy?”

  Megan shrugged. “How would I know? Maybe that reporter is your mortal enemy.”

  “Or Donald.”

  We both burst out laughing. But I noticed that Meg was laughing harder than I was. For me, the brightness had gone out of the morning. I had the craziest notion that if I were to whip around fast enough and look behind me, I’d see those eyes ... the ones I sensed in the corners of my room last night, watching me.

  I wouldn’t have seen anything, of course. I’m just saying how I felt.

  Not that I tried it.

  “It can’t be Donald,” Meg finally said, “Because you’ve known him forever.”

  “No, you’ve known him forever. He’s not my brother.”

  She gave another spurt of laughter. “Well, it’s a tempting idea, but it won’t wash. You’re not sixteen yet. Your mortal enemy is supposed to lie low until your sixteenth birthday.”

  “Why?”

  “I dunno. There’s just something powerful about that birthday. It’s in all the fairy tales.”

  So far in my life, I have found fairy tales less than helpful. Whatever bits of wisdom they might have originally contained—if they had ever had any—was evidently lost in translation during the centuries.

  I pointed this out to Megan and she admitted I was right. So then I had to admit to her that I thought she was right, too. About the birthday.

  I flopped back down on the swing, feeling glum. “So I have about a week to figure this out before it blindsides me, not to mention ruins my sweet-sixteen—”

  “Us,” said Meg firmly. “Blindsides us. You’re not alone in this. And sixteen isn’t any sweeter than fifteen. Get over it.”

  Meg had been sixteen since the middle of May, so she ought to know.

  “Great,” I muttered. “Thanks for the good news.”

  Yeah, thanks, Meg. Sheesh.

  It’s nearly 5:00 in the morning—again—and I’m just as wired as when I began. I’ve been writing this for hours, just venting. Trying to clarify my thinking. Trying to figure out my life.

  And besides, scribbling in a journal gives me a great excuse to leave the lights on.

  What is wrong with me?? I haven’t been afraid of the dark since I was, what, two years old??

  3


  I can definitely feel something on the horizon. And I can’t tell what. I can’t even guess whether it will be good, bad, or neutral—I just know it will be big.

  I’ve never slept as much as other people do, but I’m wide awake all the time now. I’ve entered this odd state where I almost feel like I’m dreaming anyway. I lie in my bed and stare out the window at the stars, listening to voices I can’t quite hear. Feeling all the time like I’m being watched. Or maybe not watched ... hunted.

  I can feel something out there. Something or someone.

  Godzilla stirring in the deep.

  Or maybe ... maybe something good. Maybe it’s not hunting me. Maybe it’s seeking me. There’s a difference, a big difference, between hunting and seeking.

  And there’s always the possibility that I’m imagining the whole thing.I’m not tired during the day or anything. So I’m not suffering in any way, not really. It’s just ... strange. Some part of me is alert and quivering, like a deer scenting smoke in the forest. A deer doesn’t know what smoke is. She just knows that when she smells it, it’s time to get moving.

  If I had the sense of a deer, I’d probably run. But how do you outrun your sixteenth birthday?

  And besides ... if I could, and I did, I might make a complete ass of myself. Because what if I’m just going through some weird-but-perfectly-normal teenage thing?? I could be just spooking myself. Or letting Meg freak me out. This impulse to flee might be a total false alarm.

  On the other hand, the woods might really be full of smoke.

  Sometimes I think I’m going crazy.

  Megan came for a sleep-over last night—the night of July 4. The night before my birthday. We still had no clue as to what would go down, but on my last night of being fifteen I needed moral support in the worst way.

  Meg tried to reassure me by reminding me how often we’d been disappointed in the past, you know, reading stuff in books and then finding out it was all bogus. She’s afraid I’m taking her warnings way too seriously. And it’s true that Meg’s enthusiasm for helping me figure out my powers has led her pretty far afield from time to time. But I happen to think that this time, Meg’s research might be spot-on.

  The night gradually got darker and darker. The air was warm and smelled faintly of jasmine. The three of us—Nonny, Meg and I—sat up on the roof and watched the fireworks going off at the high school stadium.