Visions of the Witch - [Whispers 04]

by Tara West

  “I was really calling to see what you were up to tomorrow night. Do you want to hang out?”

  I was so lost in thoughts of my dreams it took me a few seconds to comprehend what he’d said. “What?”

  He paused. “If you’re busy, it’s cool. I thought we could grab dinner, maybe walk on the waterfront.”

  “I’m not busy!” I squeaked, whipping around to face Krysta again. I motioned to the phone, and then motioned to the window. She looked at me as if I were crazy, turning her palms to the ceiling as if to say, What are you talking about?

  “Cool. Um, do you want me to pick you up from wherever you’re staying? Or do you want to meet at the shop?”

  “I’ll meet you at the shop,” I told him quickly. I wasn’t sure if I wanted Aunt B to meet him yet.

  “Cool. Deb will be working if you think Krysta wants to hang there.”

  “That’s good to know. I bet she will.”

  We picked a time and said goodbye, and I tossed the phone to the couch cushions.

  “Sooo… that was Tony…” I said nonchalantly.

  “Omigod!” Krysta bounced in her seat. Cemi meowed at her and thumped to the floor, then huffed from the room.

  “We’re going to ‘hang out’.” I put bunny ears around the words.

  The way Krysta shrieked, you would have thought she was even more excited than me.

  ***

  Krysta

  “The banishment is going to be one of the most important spells in your repertoire, now and for the rest of your life,” Aunt Bertrice said, handing us both black candles.

  I set the votive on the table in front of me and watched as AJ did the same. She had seemed so upbeat since she talked to Tony. I hoped it was a good sign for things to come.

  “Why is it so important?” I asked Aunt B.

  “Banishment works two-fold. Consider this, for example, you would like to be financially more successful. You could do an invocation and ask to come into money, but that would mean you would be taking from someone else.”

  “How?” AJ spoke up.

  “The law of energy manipulation says it can’t just be made. Everything is connected. For you to gain more money, you would draw that money energy from someone else. And without meaning to, what if you drew that money energy from someone who truly needed it? Such as a single mother trying to feed her children and keep her house from being foreclosed on?”

  AJ and I exchanged worried looks. “I wouldn’t want to do that,” I said.

  Aunt B nodded sagely. “Right. So—and trust me, this is all opinion, girls—the longer you practice magic, the better you will get at forming your own beliefs. A banishment is the better method. You can banish your habit of unnecessary spending. Or you could banish the bad luck that has brought you financial difficulties. There are many angles to banishment you can choose from to reach your goal, and in doing so, you will not take from someone else.”

  AJ twirled her candle between her fingers. “Isn’t banish a negative word?”

  Aunt B gave a husky laugh. “Most people would think so, huh? But no, dear, it’s not. Like anything with witchcraft, it’s simply misunderstood.”

  I spoke up. “What can be banished?”

  Aunt Bertrice frowned, her eyes distant as she considered the question. “Anything, really. Concepts such as fear and negativity. People, in a general way, such as banishing a bully’s harsh behavior.”

  “What about ghosts?” I asked softly.

  AJ looked at me, eyes wide. “What are you thinking?”

  “Banishing from this plane of existence. Like putting them back where they belong.”

  Aunt B nodded slowly, her arms crossed over her chest. “You might be on to something, Krysta. But that is going to be far beyond your range of abilities right now. Let’s start small, and we’ll come back to that in a few months, okay?”

  I shrugged, though I wanted to argue and beg for her to teach me now. “Okay.”

  “We’re going to practice with smoke.” Aunt Bertrice struck a match and held it to a sage bundle until the leaves smoldered. Wispy smoke curled into the air. “You will light your candle and use it as a focal object. Imagine the smoke gone. It can disappear in a ‘poof’ or it can fade from existence. Picture the air in front of us free of smoke, and while holding the image in your mind, say some banishing words.”

  “Aw, Aunt B!” AJ groaned. “I hate coming up with something.”

  Aunt Bertrice laughed. “You’re not confident in your abilities. That’s okay, dear. Don’t worry about the quality of the words; your intention is the most important part.”

  “You go first,” AJ told me, making a face.

  Aunt Bertrice tsked. “No, AJ. That attitude won’t do, at all. Put yourself out there. Step outside that comfort zone.”

  AJ heaved a world-weary sigh and reached for the matches. She lit the black votive candle and stood very still, her eyes on the wick. Aunt B had taught us yesterday that when we used a candle as a focal point, we had to focus only on the cold blue heart of the flame, never on the bright orange outside. The inner power, she told us, was greater than the outer.

  It was several moments before AJ finally spoke. “Banish smoke!” she whispered, her gaze flicking to the smoking bundle.

  Nothing happened.

  “Ugh! What did I do wrong?”

  Aunt B tapped a finger on the table top, eyeing her. “I don’t know, dear. I’m not a mind-reader. What do you think you did wrong?”

  AJ was quiet, staring at her candle as if it held answers. “I thought about Tony.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Um, why?”

  “Well, not on purpose!” AJ shot back, a hint of her previous anger showing through. That was just what we needed, something as inane as practicing a simple spell to revert her back to Angry AJ. “I was imagining the smoke disappearing and then suddenly I remembered his phone call, and then I thought about where we would go tomorrow.…”

  Aunt Bertrice reached across the large table to pat AJ on the arm. “It happens. All the time. The longer you practice magic, the more hold you’ll get on your thoughts. You’ll be able to shut them off easily so you can focus entirely on your spell. Krysta, your turn.”

  I lit my candle and picked out the blue at the center of the wick. The flame burned steadily in my peripheral. I blocked out the steady hum of the heater kicking on, and on the canvas of my mind, I began to paint a picture of the table as I knew it.

  Mahogany. Long, really wide. Aunt B on the other side in her pale linen slacks and cotton T-shirt, a hemp necklace around her swan-like neck and her white braid snaking down her chest. AJ to my right, leaning heavily on the table in sweats and a tank top. Between the three of us, the sage lay in a small ceramic bowl, the smoke curling into the air as if from a dragon’s nostrils.

  In my mind, I erased the smoke. From top to bottom, I swiped my hand over the painting and wiped it away until nothing separated me from Aunt B.

  “As within, so without, I banish thee,” I murmured, breaking contact with the candle.

  Between us, the sage still smoldered, but the smoke was gone.

  Aunt Bertrice was already nodding, a big, broad smile on her face. “Very good, Krysta. You’re a natural.”

  Fluffy weight sat on my bare toes and I looked down at Cemi. Her heart-shaped face gazed up at me proudly. AJ snorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Aunt B regarded me thoughtfully as she snuffed the sage bundle on the bottom of the bowl. “You may be on to something, dear. You’ve said your powers aren’t changing?”

  The reminder was like a slap in the face, and my shoulders sagged. “Well, I thought they weren’t. But something weird did happen yesterday.”

  “That would explain things,” Aunt Bertrice murmured, her gaze sweeping my face. “Maybe there’s something happening inside that is going to prepare you to utilize your powers in entirely new ways.”

  Cemi bumped me on the ankle with her head as if she agreed.

&nbs
p; I could only hope Aunt B was right.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sophie

  I heaved a sigh as I shrugged off my backpack and camera bag. Yesterday, I’d managed to dodge Ethan when he’d asked me to come back and take pictures, but today I had no choice. My yearbook teacher wasn’t happy with my previous photo shoot, since apparently I’d forgotten to get shots of the ‘star performer’. Great, even my yearbook teacher was kissing Vanessa’s butt.

  Ethan and several others were up on the small stage, rehearsing their lines. Vanessa was sitting in a desk at the foot of the stage, intent gaze on the actors as if she was both star actress and director.

  That girl got on my nerves. I inwardly smiled as I thought about using her most unflattering shots in the yearbook. Although I suspected finding pictures of Vanessa glaring, scowling or just looking smug wouldn’t be that hard at all.

  As I was screwing on my wide-angle lens, the drama queen sauntered up to me. “You can go home now.” She waved at me with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “I’ve already asked your teacher to send a new photographer.”

  My mouth fell open. Then, annoyance replaced shock as she smugly smiled while jutting both hands on her hips. “Excuse me?”

  “You left the other day and didn’t even bother taking my picture.” She heaved an overly-dramatic sigh. “I put so much work into my makeup, and when I came out you were gone.”

  “I was sick,” I spat, not even trying to disguise the venom in my voice.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head with exaggerated movements. “I didn’t ask for excuses.” Then she waved both hands at me like she was shooing a dog. “Go home.”

  Anger surged in my skull. Did this girl really think she was all that special? Did she really expect me to put up with her crap? I held my ground. “No.”

  She cocked a penciled brow. “Excuse me?”

  “Nobody else on staff wants to cover the drama club,” I said before narrowing my eyes. “Now I see why. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  “Fine.” She threw up her hands. “I’ll go put on my makeup—again. But if you aren’t here when I come back—”

  “Then what?” I snapped. “I will be here for twenty minutes. If you aren’t through with your makeup by then, you don’t go in the yearbook.” Although I secretly hoped I could get some shots of Vanessa, the ugliest ones.

  Vanessa’s mouth fell open, but she must have decided to hold back whatever was on the tip of her tongue. She turned on her heel and sauntered away.

  After Vanessa slammed the door behind her, I heard clapping coming from a darkened corner of the room. A middle-aged, thin woman with a patchwork broomstick skirt and long, auburn hair emerged from the shadows. She stopped clapping long enough to point at me. “Girl, I like your spunk. You would make a perfect Elizabeth Proctor.”

  “Elizabeth Proctor?” I stepped back as she advanced toward me. “You mean like in the play?”

  “Yes,” the woman I assumed to be the drama teacher, Ms. Jahns, answered. “Our Elizabeth was promoted in ROTC and now she doesn’t have the time to be in the play.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never acted before.”

  The teacher smiled. “Neither has half the cast.” She swept an arm toward the actors on the stage, who, much to my dismay, had stopped rehearsing and were all gawking at me.

  My gaze flickered to Ethan, to his smiling blue eyes. Crud. Why was he looking at me that way?

  “I don’t think your star actress would like it if I was in the play.”

  “Nonsense,” Ms. Jahns chuckled. “Abigail doesn’t like Mrs. Proctor, so the animosity you share would help put you two into character.”

  “I don’t know,” I said while casting wary glances at some of the other students in the room. All eyes were on me, making me feel more than uncomfortable. “Does Mrs. Proctor have a lot of lines?”

  “She’s one of the key players. You’d be playing opposite Ethan as his wife.” She pointed toward Ethan.

  “Oh.” The heat that inflamed my chest and cheeks was unlike anything I had ever felt before. At that moment, I would have gladly traded my mind-reading gift with the power of invisibility. I don’t know why, but I chanced a quick glance at Ethan.

  He could have been made of stone. He stood on that stage so perfectly still. I briefly wondered if he was even breathing. Too bad I was too afraid to pop into his head. I would have liked to have known what he was thinking.

  “Tell her she should try it, Ethan,” Ms. Jahns said. “Tell her she’d make a wonderful Mrs. Proctor.”

  “No, no I’m just a photographer.” I held out both hands and backed up even farther, until my bottom was pressing against a desk.

  I gulped hard when Ethan started walking down the stage, his blue eyes boring into mine. Why did this guy do this to me? Frighten and excite me at the same time? He was just a crazy theater kid with messy hair.

  “I think you should at least try out,” he said as he bridged the distance between us. “We can go over a scene together.”

  “Take her in one of the practice rooms.” Ms. Jahns waved toward what looked like a row of doors against the back wall. “Do the dinner scene in act two.”

  I have no idea why I followed Ethan into one of the back rooms. No idea at all. I quickly scanned my surroundings. A ripped and stained sofa was pressed against the wall. A compact table flanked by two wooden chairs sat in the center of a threadbare carpet. Luckily, it was much brighter in here than in the room outside. Being pressed into a small space with Ethan was bad enough.

  I rubbed the gooseflesh on my arms as I willed my limbs to stop shaking. I couldn’t let them talk me into this. I’d only come to take pictures! Besides, a play about killing witches? No thanks. “I don’t feel comfortable doing a play where they hang people.”

  When Ethan pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit, I let out a pent up breath of air. At least he didn’t expect me to sit on the sofa with him. For some reason, the thought of sitting that close to Ethan thrilled me and sent a jolt of fear up my spine.

  Ethan flashed a lopsided grin. Odd, how I hadn’t realized that his smile actually looked kind of cute paired with that mop of unruly hair.

  “This is history, Sophie. My dad said we must learn history so we don’t make the same mistakes again.”

  Again, I let out another breath. That’s when I realized just how tense I’d been. I’d been holding my breath for so long, I didn’t even recall my last good gulp of air. I told myself I was acting silly, dramatic, just like Vanessa the drama queen. After all, I was only alone with Ethan, my classmate, the kid who possibly might have figured out I was a mind reader. No biggie.

  Besides, if he believed the Salem Witch Trials were a mistake, maybe he didn’t have it out for witches. I willed my nerves to calm as I focused on controlling my breathing. I sat in the chair Ethan held out for me. Weird how I didn’t think guys pulled out chairs for girls anymore. My mom had always told me chivalry had died with her generation.

  I inwardly smiled. Maybe Ethan wasn’t so bad after all. “Your dad sounds pretty smart,” I said.

  Ethan’s eyes lit up and his grin widened. “He is. He’s the best dad in the world. He adopted me last year, which makes him even more amazing.”

  “What happened to your real parents?” I blurted. Then I slapped my hand over my mouth. What was wrong with me? “I’m sorry.” A nervous laugh escaped my throat. “Just ignore me.”

  “That’s okay.” He shrugged before handing me a stapled sheaf of papers. “Here’s the script. We need to rehearse.”

  I frowned while examining the top of the paper: The Crucible, Act II, Scene I. My gaze shot back to his while I clenched the corner of the script. “I have no idea why I’m doing this.”

  “Because you’re a natural,” he said with perhaps too much excitement in his voice. “I loved the way you handled Vanessa. She needed to be brought down.”

  It was then I realized he had an unusually deep voice for a teen. K
ind of smooth, and soothing, like warm maple syrup. No wonder he’d been assigned the part of the lead male.

  “So Mrs. Proctor is your wife?” I asked while nervously flitting my gaze around the room, anywhere but on his face.

  “Yes, and we are about to have dinner. Several months ago, I cheated on you with Abigail, played by Vanessa, and you still don’t trust me.”

  I jerked my head back and narrowed my gaze at him. “You jerk!” I spat, my voice laced with anger. “Why’d you cheat on me?”

  He held out his palms in a defensive gesture. “Because I’m a man. And men do stupid things.”

  “I guess so.” I folded my arms across my chest and shot visual daggers at Ethan. “I can see why Elizabeth doesn’t trust you. And with Abigail of all people?”

  Once again, heat inflamed my chest and flushed my cheeks as Ethan began laughing out loud. “Ms. Jahns is right. You are perfect for this part.”

  Oh, so this was all a joke? His character cheats on my character and he thought it was funny?

  I leaned forward, wagging a finger at him. “I’m still pissed at you for cheating.”

  When Ethan leaned forward and grabbed my hand in his own, warmth flooded me. I thought right then I’d melt in a puddle all over the chipped veneer of the table.

  “For the record, if this was real life, I’d never cheat on you.” His molten gaze locked on mine. “Never.”

  That’s when I realized just how much trouble Ethan Maeson really was.

  ***

  After at least a half hour of intense acting lessons, I emerged from the practice room with Ethan. I nearly tripped over my own feet as I followed him toward the lit stage. Ordinarily, I would have grumbled that the dark classroom was a safety hazard, but I wasn’t about to let a few minor obstacles like my two left feet spoil my excitement.

  I never knew acting could be so fun. My character and Ethan’s character were fighting because she didn’t trust him after his affair. While I was saying my lines, I swear I was getting so mad at Ethan. Really mad. Like I was actually Elizabeth Proctor. Ethan told me I had a natural talent. And I hate to sound like a total Vanessa snot, but I was actually starting to believe him.