“Philips thinks Hamilton and I have switched bodies.”
Mom tsks. “Oh, it’s not as bad as that.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Of course he’d think that. Given—” She stops herself and straightens a stack of papers. “Your godfather has always had a creative imagination.”
“Professor Philips is your godfather?” Madison asks.
“He is. What Mom was trying not to say is he’s a witch.”
“Andrew.” Mom’s voice holds a warning.
“I don’t want secrets with Madison. She’s a Bradbury. She needs to know the truth.”
“But she’s still twenty. Your impatience is probably what created this mess. Don’t make it worse by telling her more than she can handle all at once.”
“Wait, Philips is a witch, too? Is that why you said he never ages?”
Mom presses her lips together. “You shouldn’t know any of this.”
“She can be trusted.”
“It’s not a matter of trust. With knowledge comes power. She’s not ready.”
“I won’t tell anyone. I haven’t even told Sam about Andrew with the bonfire. Or the rain.”
My mother gives me a withering stare.
I shrug in response. “If Madison is fated to be mine, I don’t see what the issue is.”
With a sigh, Mom closes her book. “Fates can be changed. You know how magic is limited by belief. In the wrong hands at the wrong time with the wrong intentions, dark magic can form.”
Madison gives us a weak smile. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. I definitely have zero magical ability. No special skills or talents. Except for never getting lost.”
“Ever?” Mom asks.
“Sometimes I get turned around when it’s raining or snowing, but otherwise I always seem to know which way is north.”
Mom writes something on Madison’s chart. “Interesting.”
“You keep saying that.” My crankiness returns.
“Have you heard of magnetoreception?” Mom asks Madison.
“Like Magneto in X-Men?” I love that her mind goes to comic books and superheroes.
“Sadly, no.” I shake my head. “It’s a sensory ability to perceive direction. Like a homing pigeon.”
“Are you calling me a bird brain?” Madison squeaks.
“No, of course not. But perhaps your ancestor’s ability to shape shift has left a mark on you.”
Madison pales. “I thought that was all lies and rumors. Mass hysteria started by the original group of mean girls.”
“Within every legend is a seed of truth.”
Madison rests her face in her hands. “At some point I’m going to turn into a bird or cat or armadillo? With a full moon or something?”
“Oh my dear, I’m not saying you can change your form, but perhaps you have some latent animal instincts that could be beneficial.” Mom pats Madison’s forearm. “Don’t look so petrified. These are good abilities to have.”
I’m not sure Madison would agree.
“I’d like for you to come by the shop a couple of times without Andrew. We can work on discovering what abilities you’re hiding.” Mom adds her herbal concoction to tea strainers resting atop two mugs. She pours the boiling water from the kettle over the top and the scent of dill fills the space.
“I’m not drinking tea that smells of pickles.” I stick out my tongue and gag. I can’t stand when a pickle is anywhere near my food. Pickle essence contaminates everything.
“You will. In fact, I’m not sure one cup will have any effect on you at all. You should probably drink this daily until we get you sorted out.”
“Dill?” Madison sniffs her mug.
“It can break a witch’s spell. I’m testing a theory.” Mom shoves the other mug into my hands. “Drink.”
“This tastes like pickle juice. Watery, bland, leftover pickle water.” I scowl before taking a sip.
“Besides the dill, there is thyme for courage, marjoram and rosemary for love, and a pinch of cumin, to keep either of you from wandering.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I want to spit out the tea, but know better than to do it in front of my mother. Dutifully, I sip from my cup.
Mom gives me a sympathetic smile. “It’s not you I’m worried about. Poor Madison is the one who has to deal with your charming personality change. Could you blame her for wanting a little distance?”
“I don’t. I won’t,” Madison protests, giving me a sad, reassuring look.
I jump off the counter to stand, wrapping my arms around her from behind.
Resting my chin on her shoulder, I glare at my mother. I know our situation isn’t her doing and she’s trying to figure out a solution, but my bad mood returns.
“We should go. I’ve had enough tea for one day.”
“Let me know if anything changes.” Mom scribbles some more notes in her book. “You should add dill to all of your water. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with. Or who. I’ll bring it to the coven. You might want to slow things down between the two of you. Try some time apart. See if that lessens your bad mood and the other effects of the curse.”
The curse part is obvious, but I struggle to admit she might be right about spending less time with Madison. As much as I don’t want to be apart from her, I don’t want to drive her away by being an out of control asshole.
Is this a love spell gone awry or is there something else at work?
Seven
A week later, Sam, Madison’s best friend, is standing in my doorway.
Neither my mood nor my relationship with Madison have improved since meeting with my mother. After shouldering a guy because he asked Madison if she was in line for coffee, intentionally causing him to spill the hot liquid all over his torso, I finally admitted defeat. I’ve always lived by the coven’s motto of “do no harm” and now I’m burning an innocent man with scalding liquid. I’ve gone medieval.
I’m a menace. Unless I want to lose Madison, I need to get my shit together. No matter how much I focus on controlling my feelings, I end up creating a scene. At first, I believed she liked my passion and inability to be close without pawing her. But being a spectacle and the subject of campus gossip isn’t what either of us wants. We’re both miserable and end up bickering or feeling awkward around each other. Not exactly the beginning I’d been waiting all these years to have with her.
“Can I talk to you about Madison’s birthday party?” Sam asks over the angry death metal blasting through my Bluetooth speaker.
Resisting a snarky can you, I close my laptop, turn down the music, and gesture for her to enter. Apparently my jealousy over anyone close to Madison now extends to her friends. “Sure.”
She enters the room and perches on the edge of my bed. I should offer her my desk chair, but I’m currently sitting in it and don’t feel like getting up.
“I’m know things haven’t been exactly smooth between the two of you lately.”
I nod. “Understatement.”
“I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out soon enough. I mean, I have faith in your mother and Madison.”
“But not me?”
“You’re the cursed one.”
“Did Madison tell you that?” What I’m thinking is a lot more rude and sounds a lot like fuck you. My anger begins to simmer.
“She hasn’t said those words, but something’s up with you. Given your mother owns the magic shop, I came to my own conclusion.” Her eyes dart nervously in my direction.
“This is temporary.”
“How can you be sure?”
She’s right. I can’t. I never assumed whatever personality switch has taken over would ever be permanent. Without waiting for my response, she continues.
“If it helps, I’m really sorry. I know how much Madison likes you and it’s clear that you like her. Maybe someone wants to keep you apart.”
“I see you believe the same theory as my mother.”
“I’ve used that same love spe
ll on Tate. They clearly don’t work.”
I resist spilling that the crush is mutual. I’m the last person who should meddle with the hearts of others. “Some people think we’ve switched personalities. Or our personalities have switched bodies. Something like that.”
“Like 17 Again?”
“Something like that.” I rub my hand over my jaw. I haven’t bothered to shave all week. What’s the point if all I do is run, go to class, and lock myself away in my dorm room like it’s a tower? “What can I do for you?”
“I’m planning a surprise party for Madison for Saturday and I think you should be there.”
“Does she want me there?” Dread gathers in the middle of my chest.
“Of course she does.” She gives me the ‘don’t be crazy’ look.
“Did she tell you specifically?” I inhale a deep breath and slowly exhale.
A small gap of silence grows between us and she won’t make eye contact.
“She hasn’t mentioned you to me all week. I’m sure she would be sad if you aren’t there.”
Something in her statement piques my curiosity. “Do you normally talk about me?”
Sam studies her nails. “Look, I don’t want to gossip about my best friend.”
“Understandable.” I’m not going to force her to break Madison’s trust.
“But I will say that up until you started acting like a weirdo, she talked about you all the time. Honestly, it was pretty sickening in a super sweet doughnut kind of way.”
I nod along although I have no idea what she means. I’m happy enough to hear Madison talks about me constantly to not bother figuring out the doughnut analogy. Sometimes I worry my feelings aren’t reciprocated.
“A happy occasion could be a good thing for the two of you. Everyone loves a birthday party. It’s probably the cake. Does Tate like cake?”
“As far as I know he’s not anti-cake. I’ll invite him.” I save her the embarrassment of having to ask.
“I’ll need you to ask Madison out on a date to get her to the party. Do you think you can handle that?” The worry in her eyes dampens my confidence.
“I’ll be so charming she won’t be able to resist.”
“Are you going to use magic?” Sam’s face reveals her excitement. Her eyes practically pop out of her head and she’s grinning.
I’m not sure how much she knows about the old witches of Salem and our magic. I lighten my tone and smile at her to let her know I might be joking. “No magic necessary. I can be charming and nice without invoking ancient spells.”
“Is there a spell you can use as back up?”
Remaining silent, I stare at her in response.
“Right. Sure. I’m sure everything will be fine.” She beams confidently at me. I can see why Tate likes her. Even when faced with negativity and impossibility, she somehow manages to create her own sunshine. “I’ll see you and Tate on Saturday.”
With a chipper wave, she leaves.
I scowl at the Doctor Who Tardis poster on the back of the door. What would the Doctor do?
* * *
Following my mother’s advice after the coffee incident, Madison and I spend most nights chatting on the phone. Old school, but it’s the only way we can have a conversation without me snarling at anyone who gets close to her or pawing at her like a monkey with a pet kitten. Sadly, this is probably the best we can do until the curse is broken. Or she breaks up with me. I’m beginning to think the latter is eminent. We’re long distance dating across a small college campus.
I’ve even moved seats in Philips’ class after our meeting with him. Hamilton happily assumed the empty chair next to her meant he should occupy it. Earlier this week he loaned her a pen, my old move. I’m sure there are indentations in the old wood table from my nails digging into the underside as I’ve tried to resist punching him whenever he opens his mouth or looks at her.
Tonight’s conversation has moved on from the daily update to our families. If she isn’t scared away from my terrible mood and behavior, there’s nothing left to lose by telling her the truth about my family.
“I changed my name to my mother’s maiden name when I turned eighteen and returned to Salem. My father couldn’t control me anymore and I’ve always felt more like a Wildes than a Bradford.”
“Like the Mayflower Bradfords?” she asks.
“The same. My father can recite each generation and connection by memory. He’s obsessed with history and tradition.”
“You’re old school New England.”
I grin to myself. “The oldest.”
“My grandmother will have such a crush on your lineage. She loves the old families.” She giggles.
“I hope to meet her some day.”
“Careful what you wish for. She’ll ask you a million questions.”
“I have relatives who fought in Concord and Lexington, too.”
“Watch out. She’ll ply you with caramels and make you sit next to her on the couch.”
“Should I be worried she’ll try to steal me away from you?”
“I’m younger and quicker.”
“How would she feel about me if she knew I was a witch?”
She pauses and I swear I can hear her tapping her fingers on her desk. When she speaks again, her voice is full of worry. “I’m not sure. Unlike you, my family never talks about magic or our infamous relative.”
Understandable. Those conversations can wait for when or if Madison discovers her own abilities. If. There’s no guarantee that after she turns twenty-one her magic will reveal itself. Assuming she’s inherited skills from her ancestor. It’s possible there’s nothing magical about her. Although my mother is never wrong about her visions.
Madison continues speaking, “You and Tate are a couple of true blue bloods.”
“Not blue enough for my father. Despite Mom’s family going back to the seventeenth century, she doesn’t have the right lineage. A hanged witch is a black mark on the family tree.” I swallow before continuing, “When things went bad with my mother, he accused her of using spells on him to make him fall in love with her.”
“That’s impossible. I thought you couldn’t manipulate emotions according to the sacred code?”
“Apparently something can. Or someone who doesn’t care for coven laws is breaking them,” I grumble. I don’t tell her about my concerns about dark magic. If I don’t speak the words out loud, the idea will have less power over me. My biggest fear is losing her because of something out of my control.
“I know you think Hamilton has some sort of secret power, but trust me, he doesn’t. Your mother had the coven look into his family. Not a single witch among them going back five generations.”
“Then explain to me again why he’s turned into Mr. Charming while I’m stuck talking to you on the phone?” In annoyance, I flick my pen across the room. “How are your sessions going with the Witch Wildes?”
“We drink a lot of tea while she asks me questions, makes me hold crystals, and stare at things.”
“Any progress?”
“I stared at the cat and silently asked him to get off my notebook. He moved about two minutes later.”
“He’s stubborn.”
“There was a fly in the window he started chasing. If he did hear me, he ignored me. Not exactly setting the world on fire with my mad magic skills.” She softly snorts. “Anything showing up in your research?”
I exhale. “Nothing. I’m drinking gallons of dill water and smell like a pickle.”
“This is temporary. Isn’t it?” Doubt creeps into her voice.
“I hope so.” I can’t reassure her because I don’t know. I won’t lie to her. I’m not even sure if I can lie to her. “I miss you. We’ve barely begun and now we’re apart.
“I miss you, too.”
“Let me take you out for your birthday. I promise to be on my very best behavior.”
She hesitates before responding. The pause kills me.
“Okay, but not a bar crawl
or anything wild.”
She doesn’t need to say it, but we both know me taking her to a bar full of drunk guys flirting with her would only end in mayhem.
“It’s your twenty-first birthday. Isn’t crazy expected? If you want to spend it out with the girls, I completely understand.”
I barely hear her sigh through my phone.
“Sam said she has plans and we’ll go into Boston another time. I’m fine with something quiet as long as I’m with you.”
Of course Sam would lie to her. I think surprise parties are more fun for the people plotting them.
“As long as we’re together, we’ll be fine.” I say the words softly to reassure myself as much as her.
Eight
“Happy twenty-first birthday!” I hold out the bouquet of flowers as a peace offering. Deepest purple, almost black flowers center the small cluster I selected myself. Roses didn’t feel right—too cliché for a girl like Madison.
“You didn’t have to bring me flowers. They’re lovely.” Madison doesn’t move to get up from her nest of books on her bed. The look she gives me is cautious—cautiously pessimistic with a flicker of hope.
“I’m here for our date.” On schedule, I’m standing on the threshold of Madison and Sam’s doorway on November twentieth. I haven’t been invited inside the room, so here I stand, pleading my case.
“You’re early.”
“I’ve missed you. I might have circled the dorm a few times to stall for time.”
She stretches and once again I’m reminded of a house cat. Other than vague answers to my half-dozen questions, neither my mother nor Madison will tell me about their meetings. Madison swears she’s not flying around Salem like a bird or stalking stone walls at night. As far as I know, the coven has never had a shape-shifter in our ranks since the eighteenth century. We’re overdue.
Madison stands and I push off the doorjamb to cross the small space to hug her. I’ve missed her vanilla scent and the way my body envelops hers. Turning the hug into a kiss, I brush my lips over hers before sweeping my tongue inside her mouth.
Screw the party. We haven’t been alone in weeks.
I walk her backward until her legs rest against the bed. Bending my right knee, I rest it on the mattress while I slowly lower her down on top of her books. With my free hand, I shove her laptop out of the way before settling on top of her.
Spellbound: A magical sequel to Bewitched Page 5
