Moon Magic

by Madeline Freeman

  My muscles go rigid as I lower myself onto the couch. “I’m sorry. I told him not to.”

  He brushes his fingertips over the back of my hand for an instant. “I’m glad he did. After everything I said at the coffee shop, I was afraid you’d pull away again. I shouldn’t have said… I regret some of the things I said.” He sits further back on his cushion, angling himself toward me. After studying me for a long moment, he blows out a breath. “It’s been really hard calling her Miss Tanner, you know? Instead of Mrs. Cole? Especially now that she’s the principal.”

  This turn in conversation jars me. Is this why he’s come? Does he need to talk to someone about the other reality, the one I lived and he remembers? I’m not sure how to respond, so I remain quiet.

  “Sometimes I think about the harvest dance—you know, when she died?” he continues. “It’s crazy how something could be one way there and another way here, but so many other things are the same in both timelines.”

  I finally find my voice. “Is that what you want to talk about?”

  His expression clouds. “I still think of you that way—as the new girl in town with this…spark. The girl I couldn’t ignore,” he says, not really answering my question. “But you’ve changed, haven’t you? You’re not her anymore.”

  My cheeks heat and I scoot away from him, closer to the opposite end of the couch. Of course I’ve changed. That girl may have had her faults, but she never intentionally caused a person harm. The times before I moved to Clearwater when flare-ups of my abilities hurt someone, I was eaten up with guilt, even when I didn’t understand I was the cause. But after I took a man’s life with my own hand, I felt nothing. Is he here to rub my face in how hard my heart has turned? “No, I’m not,” I agree through clenched teeth.

  Owen flinches at my tone but presses on. “A lot has happened to both of us… I think I—we—need to accept that if we ever want to stand a chance of moving forward.”

  The anger and irritation coursing through me evaporates in an instant. Moving forward? Is he saying what I think he’s saying? No, I must be misunderstanding him.

  There are a million questions I could ask, but only one bubbles to the forefront of my mind: “What about Laurie?”

  His face tightens at the sound of her name. “She likes me. I mean, it’s pretty obvious. But I don’t like her—not like that. We were assigned to work on a history project together and I think because I’m a nice guy she read something between us that’s not there.”

  Did she ever. I wonder if he realizes she’s expecting a “promposal” any day now. “Why haven’t you just told her you don’t feel that way?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but friends have been kind of thin on the ground for me. The people I was hanging out with before I got the other memories… I don’t really have a connection with them. I try, but…it’s hard. Bria and West are polite, but they don’t remember me like I remember them. It’s better with Felix, but he’s been busy with Lexie—finally.” He offers a genuine smile, but it fades too quickly. “We used to be friends. I mean, I thought we were.”

  His accusation stings. “Of course we were,” I insist, leaning in closer.

  “You completely shut me out.” His voice is measured, but I can still detect an undercurrent of hurt. “Friends don’t do that—friends rely on each other. But you didn’t. You pulled away and I couldn’t figure out why. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I—”

  Owen shakes his head. “You told me you were ready to talk. I’m ready to listen now.”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. There’s so much to say, I have no idea where to start. I could simply do what I was planning at school—take off my bracelet and push information into his head, but now that he’s here and willing to listen, that course of action seems too impersonal. But how do I tell him how very different I am from the girl he almost kissed the night of the harvest dance? How do I explain I’ve become a remorseless killer? And what if telling him changes the way he looks at me?

  Owen nods like I’ve confirmed something he suspected. He stands and strides toward the hallway, but he turns back before he’s completely out of the room. “Laurie thinks I’m going to ask her to prom. I really doubt I’ll be going at all, but if I were, she wouldn’t be the girl I’d choose. Right now, there’s only one person I want to be with. But I can’t promise that’ll be the case forever.” His mouth twitches like he wants to say more, but after a second he seems to think better of it. “Talk to you later,” he murmurs as he starts for the front door.

  His footfalls recede and the door creaks gently as it swings open and closed. When it latches shut, I curse aloud. What’s wrong with me? He gave me the chance I’ve wanted and I completely blew it. This whole day has been a disaster. Not only could I not help Crystal get the information she needs, I’m apparently not even capable of helping myself.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Sasha

  Feeling like a stalker is not nearly as awkward as it should be. That fact should disturb me more than it does as I sit in my parked car just down the street from Crystal’s house. If it wasn’t for the chill in the April air, I’d be outside, where it would be easier to intercept her before she gets in her car and takes off for school.

  She still hasn’t figured out whatever the Amaranthine want to know. Brody’s casual walk-by of Hannah’s Herbs last night while I visited with Anya was enough to confirm that.

  The front door to her standard-issue single-story house swings open, and I’m out of my car before she’s off her porch. She catches sight of me as she crosses the well-manicured yard to her car—I can tell because she picks up her pace. She digs her keys out of her purse, but before she can press the button to unlock the doors, I murmur a spell that makes the metal in her hand heat up, giving her no choice but to drop everything.

  She doesn’t bother bending down to pick them up, content to scowl as I approach. “What do you want?” she asks, her voice venomous.

  I fight the urge to remind her she’s no match for me in her current state. I want to keep things as friendly as possible and I’m already off to a crappy start. “Sorry,” I say, the word grating my throat on its way out. “I didn’t know how else to get you to stop and talk to me.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “I repeat: What do you want?”

  She doesn’t trust me, and I don’t have sufficient time to build that relationship, so I play the only card I have. “I know you’re in danger.”

  Her eyes widen. “How do you…?”

  I can’t very well tell her the truth, that I brought the Amaranthine to Clearwater, so I lie. “Elliot told me about the accident you and your parents were in—and about how you talked with some guys afterward. It seemed weird to me, so I did a little digging and found out the kind of people they are. If they’re talking to you, it means you have something they want, and if they’re threatening your family, it must be because you haven’t given it to them.”

  Her gaze hardens. For a moment, I’m sure she’s going to tell me to buzz off—or perhaps something slightly more colorful—but then her shoulders sag. “Nothing we’ve tried has worked. It looks like I need magic to get the information, but unfortunately I’m not a witch anymore.” Her tone is laced with bitterness.

  I bite back a smile. She’s touched on exactly the topic I wanted to discuss. “About that. Have you read over the information I gave you?”

  Guilt mixed with defiance flickers across her face. “I’ve looked at it.”

  Her noncommittal answer is less than helpful. I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt. “If you’ve looked at the spell, you probably realized it takes a lot of power—maybe more than all the witches in Clearwater could provide, and that’s assuming they’d all help.”

  She narrows her eyes. “And this is supposed to help me how?”

  I take in a breath through my nose before responding. I don’t want to snap at her—she’d probably ignore everything I have
to say on principle after that. “You might not need the help of a bunch of witches if you can convince just one witch to perform the spell during a celestial event. That way, she could channel the power and—”

  “I know how it works,” she snaps. “I’m not an idiot.”

  All evidence to the contrary. I fight to keep my face neutral—pleasant, even. “There’s a lunar eclipse tomorrow night. If you can convince—” I stop short. I almost said Krissa’s name, but I don’t want her to know just how much I’m aware of her current situation. “If you can get one of your friends to do the spell then, that person should be able to harness enough energy. And even if none of them will—I could do it, if you wanted.”

  Too late I realize I’ve crossed a line. Crystal’s expression darkens to suspicion. I could kick myself. Now she’s probably wondering why I’m pressing this so hard. After all, why would I care what the Amaranthine do to her? To backpedal now would only make her more suspicious.

  She bends at the knees and taps her keys once to test their temperature before picking them up. “Thanks for your concern, but I’ve got things under control.” She presses the button to unlock her car and I watch, mute, as she circles to the driver’s side.

  I could lie—tell her I’m doing this for Anya. But then she might talk to my sister about it. Or I could tell her I’m desperate for her friends to like me—but I doubt she’d believe that for a second. Or I could go with the truth, tell her my loved ones are being threatened, too. But before I can do anything, she’s in her car. All I can do is stand and watch her drive away.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Crystal

  Bridget hasn’t changed her seat in sixth hour all year, so I know it’s my fault we don’t sit together anymore. After I lost my abilities, I tried pretending things were the same as always, but difficulties emerged almost immediately. First, Krissa slowly stopped talking. She withdrew mentally long before she moved to the complete opposite side of the room. When Krissa stopped interjecting into our conversations, I was left to listen to Bridget wax on and on about all the things she was learning from Anya about writing spells. I tried to be happy for her: Like the Bridget from my reality, this one was never particularly good at working spells without the help of an outside force. But since she learned of her talent for crafting her own, it seems she’s been unstoppable.

  But I couldn’t be happy for her. I was too jealous. Maybe it’s awful of me, but it’s the truth. And one day when she was absent, I told the long-term substitute she and I had been in a fight and asked if I could sit somewhere else. When Bridget returned the next day, I lied about it. Like a coward.

  For the past several days, Krissa and I have been sitting together during history class, and every day my stomach is a knot of guilt. Bridget has noticed, of course, and I’ve seen the hurt flash in her eyes more than once. As she glides into class today, she keeps her head resolutely turned from us.

  I could tell her what’s going on—enough people know already—but I don’t want anyone else involved unless it’s absolutely necessary. The deadline Kai set is quickly approaching and I don’t want to give him any more targets.

  Krissa slips in the door just as the tardy bell rings and stealthily makes her way down the aisle to the empty desk beside me. Her stealth is unnecessary, as Mrs. Jennings is nowhere to be seen.

  The classroom buzzes with voices, students taking full advantage of a few extra moments to gossip and finish up conversations. I’m thankful for the noise—it makes it easier for Krissa and me to talk without being overheard.

  I’ve been screwing up my nerve all day. Despite having had several chances to mention the Influence spell to Krissa, I haven’t. Every time I’m about to, I stop. I think part of me is afraid she’ll be able to tell I’m lying about where I got the information. If she knows it’s from Sasha, I can’t imagine she’ll entertain it for even a moment. But I’m growing desperate. I’m willing to try anything. Sasha’s appearance at my house this morning only underscored how incredibly screwed I am. Although I didn’t tell her, I have gone over the spell in great detail, and I already realized the kind of power it would require. I’ve been considering calling on the circle—Lexie and Griffin have already thrown their hands in to help, after all—but Sasha made a good point about the eclipse. If someone were drawing on its power, she wouldn’t need the help of the whole circle, especially if that someone were as strong as Krissa.

  “I spent all last hour in the library,” Krissa says, scooting her desk closer to mine.

  “You skipped health again?” I can’t help raising my eyebrow. I don’t think she’s been to her fifth hour in a week.

  She shrugs. “Mrs. Stanton thinks I have permission to be out of class, and I’ve been keeping up with the assignments. Don’t worry about it.”

  I’m far from being worried; a wave of envy surges in me. I’d love to be skipping right along with her. Being cooped up in classrooms for endless hours every day makes me feel useless. But I can’t risk cutting class, not with my parents breathing down my neck about missing assignments. If I could work a spell to confuse my teachers just enough, and if I could use magic to complete my assignments like I used to, it wouldn’t be a problem. But I can’t do either of those things. It’s hard not to be jealous of Krissa because she can. “Did you find anything?”

  Her face provides the answer before her lips do. “I’m only finding things we’ve been over before. I swear I’ve been on any site that looks the least bit legit, and nothing looks like it’s got the oomph to do what we need. I’m willing to try the transference spell again, but I was texting with Anya and she says it could take weeks before you can hold on to my magic long enough to fully connect to Bess.” She offers upturned palms.

  Her almost carefree gesture rankles. I shove down my irritation—she’s doing everything she can to help, and I know it. She’s taking this threat seriously. Still, the fact remains that if something bad happens, it happens to me, not to her. “I don’t have much time left.”

  “I know.” She leans across the aisle and scoops my hand up in hers, squeezing my fingers with gentle pressure. “We’ll figure this out. I won’t let anything happen to you or your family.”

  As she releases me, I try to convince myself she’s telling the truth. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’m pretty sure we’ve reached that point. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull the folder Sasha gave me out of my backpack and slip it onto Krissa’s desk. “I might’ve found a way.”

  She stares at the folder before turning to me, her brow knit in confusion. “What’s this?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but Mrs. Jennings chooses this moment to make her appearance. The buzz of voices, which has climbed to a volume rivaling a rock concert, halves as people start to notice her. She stands at the front of the room expectantly as she waits for everyone else to stop talking. Substitutes don’t generally command enough respect for this maneuver to work, but Mrs. Jennings made it clear when she arrived just after winter break that she wouldn’t put up with any nonsense from us.

  “Okay, everyone,” she says when the last strains of conversation die down. “Sorry I’m late, but I was finishing up a meeting with Miss Tanner in the office.”

  A few guys up front send up a chorus of oohs, like she’s just admitted to getting in trouble. She offers them a good-natured grin.

  Krissa isn’t paying any attention to what’s happening at the front of the room. She’s opened the folder and her eyes skim its contents. As much as I want to watch her, to gauge her reaction, I tear my gaze away, giving her the space to draw her own conclusions.

  “I told you when I first started that there was a possibility I wouldn’t be finishing out the school year with you guys,” Mrs. Jennings continues. “Today, Miss Tanner told me she hired a permanent teacher for this position.”

  Some girls up front whine and ask why. I tune out the answer. Mrs. Jennings has been decent so far as subs go, but it doesn’t matter to me wh
o’s teaching the class. I try to watch Krissa out of the corner of my eye as she flips a page. My attention doesn’t snap back to the front of the room until a familiar name passes Mrs. Jennings’ lips: Mr. Martin.

  Even Krissa’s head pops up at this. She and I exchange glances. It can’t be—can it? Mr. Martin was our history teacher back in the other timeline. Is it possible the guy who’s taking over this job is the same one?

  “Oh,” Mrs. Jennings says, glancing toward the hallway. “Speak of the devil. Mr. Martin, why don’t you come in and meet your sixth hour?”

  My jaw drops as a portly man in his forties walks in. His dull brown hair is combed forward strategically to hide the fact that it’s receding, and his bespectacled eyes dart shrewdly. It’s the same guy, all right. Krissa catches my gaze, her brown eyes wide. I’m not sure how to respond. We stare blankly ahead as Mr. Martin addresses the class about his vision for the rest of the year. Miss Tanner hovers by the door, obviously waiting for him to finish. She’s probably giving him a tour of the school or something. But when Mr. Martin’s impromptu speech is over, he waddles over to the teacher’s desk, his lip curling into a sneer at the state of disarray. He beckons for Mrs. Jennings to come over and the two of them start talking. Miss Tanner joins them and the class begins buzzing with low voices again, like a hive of bees.

  “Wow,” I breathe.

  Krissa nods. “Right?”

  It’s strange how things that are different from our timeline shift to match it. “It’s like some things are meant to be,” I murmur, half to myself.

  Krissa raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  I shake my head, trying to order my thoughts. “Nothing—just… Miss Tanner wasn’t the principal when we found ourselves in this timeline,” I say, being sure to keep my voice low. Not that it’s entirely necessary—there are empty desks surrounding us and the nearest pair of boys is engaged in conversation about some car in a magazine one holds. “My aunt was. But now Aunt Crystal’s gone, like she was before. Mr. Martin’s going to be our history teacher. Miss Tanner is the principal. And I overheard my parents talking the other night about how David Cole is spending more and more time with Miss Tanner now that my aunt is dead. Like maybe they’re meant to be together, but the things we changed derailed it.”