by Tara West
“Omigod!”
Aunt Bertrice smirked. “Hmm. Not so stupid now?”
My knees weak, I sank into a chair and didn’t answer. My head felt light and floaty. Happy.
Aunt Bertrice returned to her side of the table and then folded her hands as she regarded us. “Girls, this is just one spell. There are so many more spells you will need to—and shall—learn.”
“But if we’re here learning to do magic, what about Sophie?” I asked quietly. “She doesn’t have any kind of guidance back home.”
Aunt Bertrice’s face fell. “Yes, I know. I, too, am worried about your friend. She’s veered woefully from her path.”
“What do you mean?” Krysta asked.
“Sophie isn’t handling her change in powers well.” Aunt Bertrice paused to eye me. “She needs guidance as much as you two do, if not more so.”
I made a face. “Is there a spell we can do for her?”
My great-aunt looked thoughtful. Wicce stood and brushed his long, lean body against her arm. She looked down at him, a smile dawning.
“Ah. Good idea, Wicce. Thank you.”
I glanced at Krysta and was mollified to find she was looking wide-eyed at my great-aunt, too. Were they talking to each other?
She flipped forward in the big book next to her, and stabbed a finger at the page. “A-ha! Perfect.”
She began to move around the room, taking small glass jars from shelves as she muttered to herself. “Chicory for removing obstacles... gingko for clarity... larkspur for protection...”
I glanced at Krysta and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged.
Aunt Bertrice set the jars on the table and popped off the corks. “These herbs represent a variety of traits I think Sophie could use right now. We’ll each toss a handful into the fire and say an incantation for her.”
Aunt Bertrice grabbed a ceramic bowl from a low end table behind her and set it in the middle of the table. She dumped equal amounts of all three herbs inside, and then gave the mixture a swirl with one finger. Next, she rummaged under the table and emerged with a round black tablet and dropped it in the little cauldron.
“Charcoal,” she told us as she touched a match to it.
A moment later, she motioned us to step forward. She positioned her book so she could see it and said, “Repeat after me. While you do, keep an image of Sophie in your minds.”
Krysta and I exchanged a look but agreed. “Okay.”
Aunt Bertrice took a pinch of the herbal mixture and tossed it onto the charcoal. It fizzled and began to emit a heady, yellowish smoke. “To Sophie, we ask strength.”
We grabbed our own pinches and dropped the herbs into the cauldron. I thought of my best friend’s face, her smirk, and her laugh. “To Sophie, we ask strength.”
“To Sophie, we ask no fear.”
“To Sophie, we ask no fear.”
“Clarity at arm’s length.”
“Clarity at arm’s length,” we replied. I giggled at the bad rhyming. Aunt B was right—she seriously couldn’t rhyme to save her life.
“We banish Sophie’s fear.”
Krysta touched the back of my hand as we repeated, “We banish Sophie’s fear.”
The room was boiling by the time we finished the chant. A bead of sweat trickled down my back beneath my T-shirt. “Why is it so hot?” I gasped.
Aunt Bertrice swiped the back of her hand across her forehead even though she didn’t look overtly sweaty. “Magic.”
“Did it work?” Krysta asked.
“We will see. Magic sometimes takes time to work its will.” She took one more pinch of herbs and tossed it to the charcoal. “Blessed be!”
Krysta and I followed suit.
“Aunt B...” Krysta spoke up.
“Yes, dear?”
My best friend cleared her throat and shifted, rubbing her arms with both hands. “Is there a spell to summon a spirit?”
Crap. I just knew Krysta was asking because of her mom, and that was such a bad idea. Adela had passed away so long ago that Krysta never gotten to know her.
Aunt Bertrice took her time replying. “There are spells, Krysta, but they’re very dangerous and much too advanced for a young witch.” She slapped her palms playfully on the table, breaking the somber mood. “Now! Let’s talk about herbs.”
I would be glad to move on, but one last glance at Krysta told me she wasn’t going to give up. The look on her face said it all.
Chapter Eight
Sophie
“AJ Dawson? AJ Dawson? Has anyone seen AJ Dawson?” Mr. Sleznick droned in that annoying nasal pitch of his.
I moaned before jutting my hand in the air. “She moved, Mr. Sleznick,” I said, unable to keep the ire out of my voice. “I told you that yesterday.”
“I’m sorry.” Mr. Sleznick held a bony hand to his ear while his crooked frame bent even farther forward. “Did someone say something? I don’t remember calling on anyone.”
I rolled my eyes. “You just asked if anyone had seen AJ Dawson.”
My teacher’s eyes narrowed behind thick glasses. He extended a wrinkled arm to his side and tapped on a huge yellow sign on the wall with his yardstick. “Read the rules, Ms. Sinora. Do not speak unless called upon.”
“You asked a question.” I clenched the edge of my binder as I fought the urge to swear out loud. “I was just trying to help.”
“Did you hear something?” Mr. Sleznick held a hand to his ear and cocked a sideways grin. “A little bird maybe? I think we have a bird problem.”
“The only one with the problem is you, Mr. Sleznick,” I growled.
My teacher’s wan face colored, and even the liver spots on his forehead turned a bright shade of crimson. “Detention. Today.”
“Whatever.” I shrugged, unable to say more lest my temper get the best of me. “And tomorrow,” he said through stiff features.
“Fine,” I added.
If Mr. Sleznick only knew how much I was holding back. He’d called out AJ’s and Krysta’s names every day for the past four days. And every day I had to remind him they’d moved. Yet, he continued to torture me, as if he knew my whole world had caved in on itself when my best friends abandoned me. Well, I was getting sick of it.
“Mr. Maeson. How nice of you to join us,” my teacher sneered.
I turned to see the weird messy-haired kid I now knew as Ethan Maeson sulking into the classroom—the boy I’d been too terrified to make eye contact with, let alone pop inside his head, since the first day of school.
“This is your third tardy, so it looks like you’ll be joining Ms. Sinora after school.” Mr. Sleznick flashed a smile that looked more like the snarl of a rabid animal. “We’ll have a cozy little rule-writing party.”
I’d never before hated a teacher, but Mr. Sleznick was about to be the first.
***
A chill swept up my spine as Ethan set his backpack on the desk in front of me. Why did he have to sit there when there were thirty empty desks?
Mr. Sleznick had stepped out, so I was all alone with the boy who somehow knew I could read minds.
I put all of my effort into focusing on my sentences and ignoring Ethan, something I’d learned to master over the past several days.
I will follow Mr. Sleznick’s classroom rules.
I had written that stupid rule for at least the fiftieth time and my hand was cramping. A few times, I almost added ‘stupid classroom rules’, but knowing Mr. Sleznick, he’d just triple my detention.
“Where’s Sleznick?”
I dropped my pencil, looking up into Ethan’s gaze.
He hovered over me, watching, waiting.
This was the first time Ethan had addressed me, and looking at him, much less speaking to him, felt awkward. It was hard enough trying to tune him out during lunch and history class without him talking to me. Over the past few days, I’d learned pretending Ethan didn’t exist was the easiest way to keep from accidentally popping into his head. How he knew I’d invaded his thoughts, I
still had no idea, and, honestly, I was too afraid to know the answer.
For some odd reason, I felt my face flush beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. “He said he’d be right back,” I said before averting my gaze and pretending to be engrossed with the rules in front of me.
“Five hundred sentences? That will take all day!”
I jerked when Ethan slammed his fist on the desk. He must have read Sleznick’s punishment on the board.
Then another involuntary shiver snaked up my spine. What was it about this guy that he was always giving me the chills? I didn’t say anything as Ethan threw his backpack to the ground.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened and I saw Sleznick step into the room.
“There should be no talking,” he said as he made his way toward his desk at the front of the room.
Ethan mumbled something, though I couldn’t hear what he said. My first instinct was to pop inside his mind, but instead I clutched my pencil while slowly counting to ten.
Sleznick abruptly rose and grabbed a stack of papers off his desk. “I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
He was going to grade papers on the toilet? Gross!
My gaze again shot to Ethan who was still grumbling under his breath. This wasn’t going to work. There was no way I could sit alone next to this boy while forcing myself to stay out of his head.
Why was he grumbling? What was he saying?
That’s it! I’d had enough! I couldn’t pop into Ethan’s brain, but I could certainly go inside my teacher’s. After the time I’d convinced Sleznick not to give us that quiz, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t manipulate his mind again. But as my mom would say, ‘dire circumstances called for dire measures.’
I turned, focusing my gaze on the back of Sleznick’s balding head. They’ve learned their lesson. They can go home.
And just as Sleznick was reaching for the door handle, he stopped and spun around. “You know what? Never mind.” He waved a hand at us. “You’ve learned your lesson. You can go home.”
“What about the sentences?” Ethan asked.
I narrowed my eyes at Sleznick. They don’t need to write the sentences.
“You don’t need to write the sentences.” My teacher shrugged. “Just don’t let it happen again.” Then he turned and marched out the door.
Wow! Sleznick’s words were almost exactly like mine! Not only had I projected thoughts into his head, I’d actually forced words from his mouth. Holy crap! My powers really were strengthening —big time.
“Okay?” There was no mistaking the questioning tone in Ethan’s voice before he hastily packed his things. “I need to get to play rehearsal, anyway.”
“Play rehearsal?” My hand flew to my throat.
When Ethan’s gaze shot to mine, I flushed ten shades of red.
“Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “Play rehearsal.”
“Oh,” I answered on a whoosh of air. My chest deflated, and I felt like a balloon that had just been popped. As one of the photographers for the school yearbook, I had been assigned to cover the fall play. Something called ‘The Crucible.’ Hopefully, the drama club put on more than one play. Hopefully, Ethan wasn’t in the one I was supposed to photograph.
“What’s wrong with you?” His brows drew together, two chestnut slashes over even darker lashes. For the first time I noticed his eyes were a crystal blue. Gawd, I loved blue eyes. Too bad the guy was a freak.
“Nothing.” I shook my head, purging all thoughts of Ethan Maeson out of my brain. If he knew I could read minds, there was no telling if he was a mind reader, too. If such another person even existed. After all, up until this point, I’d pretty much thought I was the only telepathic freak on the planet. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
If at all possible, Ethan’s gaze intensified. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t see ghosts.” Was he getting me confused with Krysta? Did this guy somehow know we all had gifts?
“Neither do I,” he laughed. “It’s an expression.”
“Oh,” I said through a shaky breath. “I thought you meant that I could…” Then I slapped my hand over my mouth. What was I doing talking about paranormal powers with this guy? “Never mind.” I stood and shoved my binder into my backpack with trembling hands. I needed to get away from this guy. Quick.
He leaned closer to me, and for the first time, I breathed in the heady musk of Ethan’s cologne. It was dark, yet not overpowering. If this guy hadn’t been such a freak, I would have loved to linger in the smell of him. Why hadn’t I noticed his scent before? Maybe because I was always too busy trying to ignore him.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
For a moment, I thought I heard concern in his voice. Like the weird kid with messy hair who somehow knew I could read minds actually cared about how I felt. Not likely.
“Yeah,” I answered as I slung my pack over my shoulder. “I need to go home.”
“So you’re not taking pictures of the play?”
“How did you know that?” Arching my head back, I pointed an accusatory finger. “Wait a minute? Are you popping in my head?”
Ethan scrunched those dazzling eyes and looked at me as if I’d just grown a second head. He pointed at the small blue bag beneath my desk. “Your camera bag says ‘property of the school yearbook’. My drama coach said a yearbook photographer was taking pictures of rehearsals. I figured it was you.” Then he scrunched his features even more. “Popping in your head? What does that mean?”
My mouth fell open, and for a long moment, all I could do was stare. “Uhhhh. Nothing.” I snatched the camera bag off the floor and shoved it into my backpack. It must have fallen out when I had pulled out my binder.
Way to take care of school equipment, Sophie.
Mr. Cardwell, my old and cranky yearbook teacher, practically made me sign my life away before entrusting me with the camera. ‘Two thousand dollars,’ he’d told me, for the lenses, filters and camera, and I had almost left it behind because some weird kid had turned my brain to mush.
“So you’re not taking pictures?”
I turned to Ethan who was still standing much too close to me. “No.” I shook my head, but my limbs iced over as I remembered my yearbook teacher telling me these pictures were for a grade. “Yes.” I nodded, maybe a little too mechanically. “Yes, I am.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Again, was that concern in his voice? This was crazy. I was crazy. There was no way the weird kid was the one acting normal in this situation.
I mentally counted to three before letting out a slow breath. “Yeah.” I nodded before making the mistake of looking into Ethan’s eyes. If at all possible, they were bluer. And maybe a little cloudy. Was this guy a mind reader? I should have popped into his head and asked him. But, either way, I was afraid of his reaction.
“The choir is using the stage today. We’re rehearsing behind the cafeteria. Do you want me to show you?”
“Yes,” I lied. I didn’t want Ethan Maeson to show me where the drama club was rehearsing. I wanted to get as far away from this boy as possible, so I could sort out my thoughts without wondering if Ethan had anything to do with my muddled brain.
***
AJ
For a few hours in the afternoon, we sat down for school lessons with Aunt B. It wasn’t half-bad—it was actually a lot cooler than school. Aunt B made it kinda fun.
Afterward, I let Krysta talk me into a walk. It wasn’t like I could hide away inside Aunt Bertrice’s creepy old house forever, pretending I wasn’t hundreds of miles from home and being forced to learn the meanings of herbs and how to use them to banish or invoke our intentions. There were so many names floating about in my head: St. John’s Wort, dragon’s blood, henbane, horehound, feverfew, Solomon’s seal. Who the heck named these things?
“Where did you get that?” I asked her, squinting into the sunshine as I eyed the tri-fold map she had open.
“Why?”
“Um, so we don’t get lost.” She rolled her eyes.
“Where are we going?”
“Aunt B suggested we check out this place called ‘Bell, Book, and Candle’. She said there’s a coven of kids our age that hang out there after school.”
I checked my watch—just after three. Now that I thought about it, it felt weird to not be going to an actual school. “What’s a coven?”
“A gathering of witches who practice magic together.”
“You sound like you’re quoting a textbook.”
“Close. Aunt B.” Krysta grinned.
With Krysta’s eerie sense of direction, we navigated downtown Salem, passing bright façades of stores and cafes spilling crowds of people onto the sidewalk. A final left turn led down a short alley to a small stone cottage.
“Is that it?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
A cracked stone path led through a garden gate to the black wooden door. I pushed open the gate and followed after Krysta. “It’s weird this is sitting in the middle of the town. Looks like a house.”
“Probably left over from before Salem was a city.”
A bell over the door tinkled as we entered, and when the door shut behind us, it cut off all sound of the traffic outside.
Four faces turned to us. Three of them—two girls and a guy—sat around a round table just inside, books open in front of them. The fourth was a tall, lanky boy behind the counter who had shaggy chestnut hair that hung in his emerald eyes.
“Hello.” He stepped out from behind the cash register wearing blue jeans and a purple T-shirt that said ‘My Goddess gave birth to your God.’ “Can I help you?”
“Erm.” I looked at Krysta for help. She was the one who’d brought us here.
“Hi!” Krysta said brightly, striding forward with her map clutched tightly in her fist. “We’re not from around here. Our aunt told us to come check this place out.”
He nodded, his gaze sliding sideways to me. “Yeah. Cool. Um, can I show you around? Or you wanna just browse?”
Krysta stuck out a hand. “I’m Krysta.”
“Tony.” He shook my best friend’s hand, and then gave me a half-smile. “And you are?”
