Moon Magic

by Madeline Freeman

  After our meals are finished, Elliot takes the liberty of washing our dishes and stowing the leftovers in my nearly bare fridge. He insists we watch a movie. I can’t think of a logical reason to decline, so the two of us crowd around the screen of his phone since I don’t have a TV.

  I should be enjoying this time, but the message awaiting my reply tugs at the back of my mind. With a quick reply, I’ll set in motion a plan that has the potential to put one of Krissa’s friends in danger. And if there’s anything I learned about her in the time Seth had us watching over her, it’s that Krissa will stop at nothing to protect those she cares about.

  That flaw will be her undoing. I’ll make sure of it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Crystal

  Although my mother raises an eyebrow at the book-shaped package that arrives for me in the mail, she doesn’t ask what it is. For my sixteenth birthday, my parents gave me a debit card linked to the account they put my weekly allowance in. Since then, it hasn’t been unheard of for me to receive things I’ve ordered in the mail. So long as I don’t overdraw, they’ve never had a problem with it.

  As much as I want to take the package back into my room and scour the contents as soon as Mom hands it to me, I know better than to appear too eager. That’s a sure invitation for questions. Instead, I feign interest at small talk as Mom prepares dinner. I chat at the dining room table when the family sits down to eat. I even stick around through two sitcoms after the meal before finally excusing myself to my room.

  The package sits atop my desk exactly where I left it. I know I should spend some time working on additional missing math assignments, but the lure of what has arrived for me is too strong. Shoving the math book out of the way, I exploit every available inch of desktop. I rip open the brown paper packaging and slide the leather-bound volume into the empty space.

  It’s not the first grimoire I’ve purchased, but it’s the first that has the same feel as the one passed through the Taylor line. One had appeared to be nearly brand-new, simply distressed to look aged, and another was literally a store-bought journal with fluffy kitties on the front. Needless to say, neither of them had been particularly helpful. Another seemed more legitimate, but it had not provided any useful information. However, as I run my fingers over the cracked leather, a thrum of anticipation courses through me. This one will help me, I know it. It has to.

  I crack the spine gently, not wanting to dislodge any of the yellowing pages. Some are so thin and brittle I worry I might cause them to crumble as I turn them. Some of the spells are in languages I can’t decipher, and others are so worn with age they’re impossible to read. But the majority of the book is mercifully intact.

  I pore over each page, reading through commentaries of people who are long since dead, hoping one of them has the solution to my plight. Many of the spells are similar to ones I know already from my family’s grimoire. Others are so obscure as to be irrelevant for my life. And still others make my skin crawl to read. One claims to provide the caster with the life essence of another person. Another promises to inflict horrific pain on a person who has done the caster wrong.

  Just what kind of grimoire did I buy? Are there really people who cast spells like these? While it’s true that I don’t have the purest track record when it comes to my own use of magic, I never actually hurt someone with a spell. Scared them, sure, but that’s entirely different.

  It’s long after my parents call good night through the door and after my eyes have already gone scratchy with the need to sleep that one spell in particular catches my attention. It’s a siphoning spell. According to the commentary, the purpose is to allow one person to draw abilities from another. As I read the incantation silently, a shiver goes through my body. This is the kind of spell Seth used on the Devoted. After I woke up from my possession, I was filled in on many aspects of that night—one of which included how Krissa’s dad fought Seth, and how he couldn’t get the upper hand due to the fact that Seth was drawing energy from the members of the Devoted. Lexie described what it was like to watch person after person collapse to the ground, dead, after he drained everything from them.

  I could never use a spell like that. I could never kill someone so that I could have abilities.

  But the only reason the Devoted died was because Seth was battling with Krissa’s dad. At the time, I asked why the Devoted would allow Seth such unrestricted use of their abilities. Anya explained that in addition to the Devoted being prepared to do anything for Seth, the siphoning spell wasn’t inherently dangerous. If Seth hadn’t needed to heal himself over and over again during the battle, he wouldn’t have had to draw such a mass of energy.

  So really, the siphoning spell—in its purest form—would work more like the anchoring spell the witches used on Seth’s crystal or the binding spell Jodi’s circle performed on us: It would allow a person to draw extra energy from a source outside herself. Technically, I suppose it’s really not that bad.

  I skim the spell again. It’s just an incantation—no herbs or stones to charge beforehand, no complicated potion. Just words. Just simple words that would allow a person to access the abilities of others.

  I’m reciting the words before I’ve made the conscious decision to try the spell. I stumble through the unfamiliar vocabulary a few times before the incantation smooths on my tongue. I murmur it quietly so as not to disturb my parents, but as I say it, excitement builds in me. If I could just borrow the abilities of the other witches in town, I could get back to being myself. If I just draw a little bit from each one, it’s possible no one will even notice.

  I repeat the word again and again, waiting for something to happen, for some tingle or flash to alert me that the spell has worked. But this time, as every time before, nothing changes.

  I close the book with more force than is strictly necessary, and the pages crinkle their discontent. I almost don’t care. Part of me wants to light the useless grimoire on fire. But I know it’s not the book’s fault. It’s me. Of course the spell won’t work for me: I’m not a witch.

  Maybe it’s a good thing. Am I really to the point where I would be okay stealing magic from my friends without their consent? What does that say about me?

  Lexie’s words echo through my head. What if I never get my abilities back? What will it take for me to accept that new reality?

  Maybe I should stop now, give up before I get too desperate. But even as the thought crosses my mind, I know I won’t—I can’t. There has to be something I haven’t tried yet. There has to be a way.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Krissa

  If dread is how I usually approach the school day, today I’m experiencing a double dose.

  As much as I try to ignore it, the conversation Jodi and I had continues to echo through my mind. I’ve fought against it for months now, but maybe she has a point. Maybe it is time to reconnect with my friends—expand my circle to include more than just Griffin and Tucker. Perhaps I’m not giving them enough credit. I’ve never really considered Felix, Bria, or West to be weak.

  Although West is in my first hour, I chicken out and don’t approach him. Lexie is also in that class, but she and I were never close in this reality, so it doesn’t even cross my mind to try with her. Owen is in second hour, but I have no intention of talking to him. As much as I’m willing to try to reconnect with my friends, he is off-limits. At least for now. I don’t know how I’ll react if I find out for sure he’s with that girl I saw him with the other day. Until I know more, I should leave well enough alone.

  Both West and Felix are in my Spanish class, yet I opt to sit in back with Tucker like I have for months. Halfway through class, Tucker taps my arm with the eraser end of his pencil.

  I cock an eyebrow. “Yeah?” My voice comes out more irritated than I would have liked.

  An expression flits over his face, as if my behavior has confirmed his suspicion. “If you keep watching them like that, they’re gonna start thinking you’re stalking them or something
.”

  I try to arrange my face into a politely confused expression, but I can tell by the glint in Tucker’s eyes he doesn’t buy it. Unsure of exactly what to tell him, I turn my full attention to the Spanish book in front of me. It’s still closed on my desk, so my illusion of going back to work fails.

  “What’s up? You finally going to talk to them?”

  It’s definitely a question. He hasn’t read me—not like he could anyway, thanks to the charm I’m wearing. He’s genuinely curious. The crease around his eyes shows his concern. A pang of guilt stabs through my core. Just months ago, my perception of Tucker was that he was violent, dangerous, and cared little for anyone but himself. And while it may be true he doesn’t expand his bubble of caring much beyond himself, I’m surprised to learn it extends to me. How have I not noticed this before? When did it happen? All this time, I’ve been hanging around him largely for an escape. I figured someone like him wouldn’t be bothered by someone like me. How did I not notice him beginning to regard me as a friend?

  I chew on my lower lip before hazarding a glance at him. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

  He regards me for a moment before responding. “I think it might be a step in the right direction.”

  Before I can ask him what he considers to be the right direction, the bell rings to dismiss class. I stand quickly, my eyes following Felix and West’s progress out the door. At once I feel silly: It’s not like I don’t know where they’re going.

  If I’m going to do this, I may as well get it over in one fell swoop. West, Bria, and Felix all sit at the same lunch table. After getting his memories from my old timeline, Owen spent about a month sitting with them. But after I stopped sitting there and it was clear I wasn’t coming back, he drifted away. Now he sits with his friends from the track team. Not for the first time, I wish I’d been paying more attention to him. Does that Laurie girl sit at his table? I have no idea because I’ve been content to hunker down at a table in back with Tucker, keeping my head down and not paying much attention to what was happening around me.

  I still haven’t made my way up the aisle. Tearing my eyes from West and Felix, I turn my attention to my desk. The day’s assignment sits there, completely unfinished. I’m fairly certain we were supposed to turn it in at the end of class. With a sigh, I touch my pen to the paper, reciting a well-practiced spell that uses the information in my mind to fill in the answers. I haven’t been paying as much attention as I should lately, so I know some of the answers will be gibberish. Still, it’s better than nothing.

  Tucker is at my elbow as I start toward the teacher’s desk. “Pretty sure I’m gonna cut out now,” he says, keeping his voice low.

  I place my assignment in the turn-in tray before glancing at him. “Yeah? I thought you had a test next hour?”

  He shrugs as the two of us exit the classroom and join in the stream of bodies heading down the hall. “I’ll be back for that. I just won’t be in the lunchroom today. So, you know, there’s no need to keep me company.”

  I roll my eyes at the obviousness of his words. He doesn’t want to give me an excuse not to go sit with my old friends. Again, I’m surprised at how well he knows me. Although for the moment I’m resolved to go sit with them, it’s entirely possible that by the time I get down to the lunchroom that resolve will have cracked and I’ll find myself back in my comfort zone, away from everyone. Of course, I would tell myself it was so as not to abandon Tucker. So instead, he’s abandoning me. Before I can respond, he bumps my shoulder with his and takes off toward the nearest stairwell.

  I take more time at my locker than is strictly necessary. By the time I’ve traded my Spanish supplies for my paper-bag lunch, the bell to indicate I should already be at my next destination has already rung.

  As I walk toward the lunchroom, I play the scene out in my mind. However, my brain can’t seem to get past the point where I sit down at the table. For a moment, I consider slipping off my well-crafted bracelet charm so I can reach out and brush the minds of my former friends. However, in addition to the fact that allowing myself to feel their thoughts and emotions would likely open a floodgate I’m ill-prepared to handle, the three of them are psychics and would no doubt sense my intrusion. It’s not worth the gamble. I can’t imagine they’d be pleased if my first contact with them in months was a brain scan. No, I’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way.

  My pace is so slow as I emerge from the hall into the commons that connects to the cafeteria that one of the room monitors warns me to hurry along or she’ll be forced to give me a detention. While I don’t think she really has that power, I do pick up my pace. If I allow myself to dawdle any longer, it’s likely the period will be over by the time I reach the tables.

  When I round the lunch line, the table I seek comes into view. Felix and Bria are both laughing, presumably at something West said. I’ve missed seeing them smile like that. The only time I really see any of them anymore is in class, and that seldom affords them the opportunity to laugh with abandon.

  I stop so abruptly that someone behind me collides with my back. He grumbles profanities as he steadies himself and walks around me, but I barely hear him. I take in a deep, steadying breath before hitching a smile onto my face and starting purposefully toward the table. This will work. After all, these people are my friends. They’ll probably be happy to see me. Happy I’m finally coming back to myself. I’ll smile and I’ll laugh, and I’ll keep the darkness that lurks in the corners of my mind at bay. I won’t taint them.

  West says something else when I’m still too far away to catch it, but it results in Felix and Bria hooting with laughter. Felix bangs his fist on the table, and Bria wipes beneath her eyes. For a moment, I can imagine this is any other day, that I’m just joining them like I did yesterday and the day before. The smile on my face softens, becoming more natural, as I stride closer before claiming the empty spot to Bria’s right.

  I open my mouth, ready to ask what’s so funny, but before I can, the laughter dies from their faces. Instead, I’m greeted by looks of shock. Felix’s expression seems tinged with anger. My insides go cold as the smile freezes and cracks on my face. Whatever reaction I was expecting, this certainly is not it. Have I done something to offend them? Should I have asked before I took a seat? I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. It takes three tries before I manage. In all that time, not one of them has spoken. I don’t even think they blinked.

  I release a shaky breath. “So,” I begin, my voice thin, “what’s so funny?”

  I wait for a response, my gaze drifting from one face to another, but their shock seems so complete it has stilled their tongues. I gulp. Apparently this is all on me. I wish my brain had been able to come up with a plausible chain of events once I sat down at this table. Now, it’s all I can do to find something to say. I turn to Bria. “Are you ready for the test in math?” It’s a ridiculously lame topic, but it’s all I can think of.

  She doesn’t take the bait. She swivels her gaze to Felix, as if waiting for his permission before speaking. Which doesn’t make sense. It’s not as if Felix is the leader of the group.

  It takes a second before my brain comprehends what’s happening. Felix and I were the closest. Bria is gauging his reaction to my appearance. In fact, I realize with a jolt, the three of them may be engaged in mental conversation right now. It’s possible they’re processing my appearance together, just beyond my level of awareness. Not for the first time today, I question the wisdom of having cut off the part of my abilities that allows me to sense other people. If I only knew how they were feeling right now, it might ease the tight knot of tension tying itself around my insides. But letting them in runs the risk of letting everything in, so I choose not to break the dam.

  I turn to West. “How do you think you did on the essay?” I ask, referring to the assignment we turned in earlier this week. I wish my questions weren’t so impersonal, but beyond schoolwork, I have no idea what’s been going on in their lives. Guilt flo
ods me. I should’ve been paying more attention. Even in my self-imposed isolation, I could have watched them more closely to see what was going on with them.

  Like Bria, West doesn’t respond, although his mouth twitches like he wants to. Again I get the sense he’s holding back, waiting for Felix.

  With effort, I turn to look at him. He and I were so close. Once I found myself in this reality, he was the first person I really connected with. He was the first one who accepted me for being me, not for being who everyone thought I was. He’s the only one I told my secret to, that I wasn’t from this timeline. After what happened with Seth, I shut him out completely. For the first time, I wonder what that did to him. With everything going on in my head—my lack of guilt over cold-blooded murder—I figured it was best for everyone if they didn’t have to deal with me. But what if I made the wrong choice? What if I hurt Felix by shutting him out? What if he doesn’t understand it was for his own good?

  I swallow, catching his gaze with mine. His hazel eyes are clouded over, and I’m pretty sure I’m glad I don’t know what he’s thinking. “Is it okay that I’m sitting here?” I figure there’s no use trying for small talk with him. I might as well cut to the chase.

  Felix’s jaw works like he’s chewing on possible responses. He’s quiet for so long I’m convinced he’s not going to say anything. The muscles in my legs tighten, readying my body to stand, when he finally speaks. “You think it’s that easy?”

  I’m not sure what he means. Am I supposed to do something before I can sit here? Do I have to give them an apology? I don’t know what he expects.

  Before I can formulate a question, he’s talking again. “What, you thought you could just come and sit down and pretend like it’s a normal day? It’s been months, Krissa. You haven’t spoken to us in months.”

  In the silence following his words, I know I’m expected to mount a defense. They want me to explain what’s been going on, but I can’t find the words. What explanation can I possibly give that would be good enough to cover over the pain in his eyes? “I needed time,” I begin lamely.