Wicked Betrayal

by Chelsea Luna

  He could have laughed or gloated or reveled in the triumph of Peter cheating, but he didn’t. His face morphed from complete shock to absolute rage.

  James moved in between us. “You’re dumber than you look, Peter.”

  Peter shook the rain out of his hair. A gleam of hungry anticipation flashed across his darkened blue eyes. “Now is not the time, Lover Boy.”

  Peter’s face was full of emotion, but it was hard to tell what he was feeling. Confusion? Definitely. Probably at getting caught red-handed. Sadness? Rage? I couldn’t tell.

  “Please don’t fight with him,” I whispered to James. Peter was chomping at the bit to fight James. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I gently pushed James away. “I have to get out of here.”

  “Lex, where are you going? Talk to me. I don’t know what happened. I swear.”

  James grabbed my blood soaked hand and pulled me away from Peter and Olivia. The rain fell as I followed James around the restaurant and away from my worst nightmare.

  * * *

  “Prenarium celtatious frostiexium!”

  I wiggled the three blackened toes on my left foot. Nothing happened. I waited. Again, nothing. I read the paragraph again.

  “Prenarium celtatious frostiexium!”

  Nothing.

  “Prenarium celtatious FROSTIEXIUM!!!”

  My blackened toes stared back at me. I slammed the spell book shut and launched it across the floor. The heavy book crashed against the wall.

  “Ahem.”

  I didn’t make eye contact with Grandma Longfellow. I was too embarrassed that I’d let my frustrations get the best of me.

  Grandma Longfellow peered over a pile of books. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “The spell isn’t working. Look, my toes are still black.”

  I glared at my foot and touched the damaged area. The skin felt waxy under my fingers, but I had no actual feeling in my toes. I’d received those beauties on the night of the Bell Tower accident when I decided to stand barefoot in calf-deep snow like an idiot. According to Dr. Cooper, I was lucky I didn’t lose all of my toes.

  I’d found a spell to counteract frostbite and was - until about five seconds ago - pretty confident that I could reverse the damage. Apparently not. How was I supposed to defeat Liam? I couldn’t even repair a little bit of frostbite.

  Grandma Longfellow rose from the chair. Her pure white hair fell loose around her shoulders. She tenderly touched my father’s covered feet when she passed his bed. She crossed the bedroom and, despite her age, gracefully lowered herself to the floor beside me.

  “Let me see the spell,” Grandma Longfellow said.

  I crawled over the hardwood floor and retrieved the spell book. I found the correct page and handed her the book without saying a word.

  “You’re agitated. And I suspect it’s not entirely due to one failed incantation.” Grandma Longfellow tilted her head. Her steel grey hawk eyes never blinked. I once thought those eyes were icy and cold, but not anymore. She was worried about me.

  “Peter and I… well, it looks like there is no more Peter and I.” Saying the words aloud felt like a stab to the heart.

  It was Sunday afternoon, not even two full days after Olivia’s party, and I still had trouble convincing myself that what I’d seen on the pier outside the Royal Mariner actually happened.

  “Do you need to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Was it something you did? Or were you unkind?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “No, not at all.”

  “Would you like advice from an old woman?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sometimes it’s not meant to be.” Grandma Longfellow’s wrinkled mouth shifted into a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Alexandria.”

  I waited for her to add something, but she didn’t. “Is that it?”

  “It’s a simple concept. Sometimes it’s not meant to be. Thus, it’s out of your control. Right?”

  “I guess.”

  “Now let’s focus on what you’re doing wrong with this spell. It’ll be warm soon and I don’t want my granddaughter sporting blackened toes at the beach.”

  “But you’re not a witch.”

  “And you can’t read.”

  “What?”

  Her gnarled finger tapped the page. “You’re reading the spell incorrectly.”

  I read the line again. Sure enough, I’d misread the spell.

  “Prenarius celtatioelle frostiexium.”

  An icy coolness started at the tips of my toes and seeped over my foot. It felt like I’d stuck my foot into a tub of ice water. The coldness was so intense that I reached to warm my toes, but Grandma Longfellow stopped me before I could touch them.

  The skin on my damaged foot turned a bright shade of purple. The color seeped into the undamaged area rendering the appendage the color of a ripe eggplant. Before I could panic that I’d permanently dyed my foot the color of Barney the Dinosaur, the frigid feeling dissipated and gradually warmed. With the change of temperature, came the change of color, and my foot regained its normal skin tone.

  I wiggled my recovered toes.

  “See? You can do it, you’re just not focused.” Grandma Longfellow rose from the floor and returned to her workstation.

  I put my sock and shoe on my repaired foot. Grandma Longfellow was right. I needed to focus. As devastating as it was, I couldn’t dwell on what happened with Peter and Olivia. Not now. My screwed up love life could wait. More important things were at hand - like finding the spell reversal to wake my father from his magically-induced coma.

  Last month, Grandma Longfellow had arranged for Ethan’s transfer from the Ipswich Mental Hospital to her house. I smoothed the folds of his blanket. The machine beeped, but his heart rate and blood pressure were steady.

  Ethan’s dark hair contrasted against the white pillow. My grandmother had shaved his beard this morning, but it already showed signs of rapid growth. A shadow covered his chin and cheeks. His eyes were closed and had been so since the day I found out Aunt Vanessa spelled him. He’d opened them twice that day, to confirm my discovery, but he hadn’t opened his eyes again. Of course, I’d tried everything, but it was no use.

  I said a quick prayer for my father and tapped the aquarium of fireflies beside his bed. “What haven’t you read through yet?”

  Grandma Longfellow pushed a dusty stack of books in my direction. The Longfellow collection of spells and genealogical histories covered the table.

  The search for the reversal to the unknown spell had been going on for weeks. Talk about hunting for a needle in a haystack. It was highly unlikely that the reversal was in any of these long lost books, but we didn’t have much else to go on.

  Of course, I was doing my own research on the side. But sitting with Grandma Longfellow and pouring over her collection of books seemed to calm her. I had a deep suspicion that the reversal was in a book containing dark magic. The problem was I had no idea where to search for stuff like that.

  I opened the bulky volume to page one. “What did the hospital say again about the initials ‘VR’ in Ethan’s visitor blog?”

  Grandma Longfellow shrugged. “I asked them a long time ago. They told me it was a visiting doctor specializing in neurosurgery. If I would’ve known it was Vanessa….”

  I reached across the table and patted her hand. If only I would’ve known, too. No one could have guessed that a family member had betrayed us. There were no signs. No clues. Vanessa gave an Oscar winning performance at my Grandma Claudia’s funeral. Little did I know she was the enemy. Scratch that. One of my many enemies.

  “Does Vanessa still want you to visit New Orleans for spring break?” Grandma Longfellow asked.

  “I’ve been dodging her calls.”

  “You should talk to her about the reversal.”

  “I can’t call her up and accuse her of spelling dad. She’s obviously crazy.”

  “Maybe you should visit her,” Grandma Longfellow s
aid.

  “How? I can’t trust her. I’ll take one look at her and who knows what I’ll do. I have to be a hundred percent sure I can control myself before I deal with her.” I didn’t want to think about Vanessa anymore. Even saying her name made me furious. “Dad didn’t say anything else before he collapsed?”

  “Not a word. Ethan walked through the foyer, took three steps and fell on his face.”

  “We’re missing something.”

  “What?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Something happened between the time Ethan told Emma goodbye at Grandma Claudia’s house and the time he stepped through your front door. He drove - what - five miles? When did he encounter Vanessa? How did she manage to spell him in such a short period of time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did Vanessa have enough juice to perform such a complicated spell? She’s half blooded and she was only eighteen at the time.”

  “I don’t know,” Grandma Longfellow said again.

  I exhaled. “You’re not going to like this.”

  “What?”

  “We have to tell Emma.”

  Grandma Longfellow’s eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not.”

  “Think about it. Emma was there. She could tell us how Vanessa acted that night.”

  “I thought your mother and aunt didn’t like each other.”

  “They don’t,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “I have no idea. Sibling rivalry? But that’s just another reason why we should tell Emma. She doesn’t like Vanessa. She’ll want to help us.”

  Grandma Longfellow didn’t like the idea of bringing my mother into this, but we had no other choice. As of right now, only five people in the world knew Ethan was alive. Grandma Longfellow, Vanessa, Peter, James and me.

  Emma was the only one who really knew Vanessa. She understood what Vanessa was capable of. We needed my mother’s help.

  “I don’t like it.” Grandma Longfellow’s lips pressed into a tight line.

  “We don’t have time to be picky. If there’s a chance she can steer us in the right direction, then we have to take it.”

  Grandma Longfellow’s steel grey eyes flickered to my father’s bed. She frowned. “Fine, bring her in.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Every student at Hawthorn Prep heard about what happened at Olivia’s party. Sadie and Lucas were sympathetic, but they wanted my firsthand account. I couldn’t build up the courage to relive that night. So I closed up like a shell and battled through Monday with my mouth shut and my head down.

  I avoided Olivia throughout the day. Not because I was embarrassed or afraid of her, but more because I couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t accidently harm her with one of my witchy episodes. And as much as I hated Olivia, I didn’t want to hurt her. To be honest, I wasn’t even surprised by Olivia’s actions. It was typical Olivia behavior and I shouldn’t have expected anything less.

  Peter, on the other hand, was a different story. I couldn’t understand it. Not only was his betrayal incomprehensible, it was downright cruel. Wicked, even. The ultimate wicked betrayal.

  But his reaction was even stranger than the betrayal. I’d assumed Peter would’ve showed up at my house that night, or at least the next day, but I hadn’t heard from him.

  No calls, no texts, no Peter.

  The sixth period bell rang. I dropped the wet paintbrush into the can of water and stared at my easel. The assignment was a landscape scene. I’d painted a storm over the ocean. It wasn’t too far off from what I’d conjured on Friday night. I’d created a pretty nasty storm. A potentially dangerous storm. And that was precisely why I had to get control of my emotions. Someone was going to get hurt if I didn’t get my act together.

  I gathered my books and headed to the parking lot. I didn’t want to stop by my locker for fear of running into my friends. No locker meant no raincoat and, of course, it was storming out. I didn’t flinch as the raindrops pelted me. Who cared if I got wet?

  I sloshed through the parking lot to my car. I slung my bag onto the passenger seat. Before I could slip inside the dry oasis, a glimpse of bright yellow caught the corner of my eye.

  Four cars down, Olivia Humphrey held an oversized canary yellow umbrella. She grinned at me. I bolted to the white Lexus. Her smile faded, but she didn’t run away. She used the car door as a barrier between us.

  “Are you going for the wet dog look?” Olivia twirled the umbrella. “It’s not that appealing on you.”

  “You couldn’t resist, could you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ve hated Peter your whole life and now you’re trying to take him from me?”

  “That’s the problem,” Olivia said. “You think you can have it all. I’m here to remind you that you can’t.”

  “If you haven’t noticed, Olivia, I don’t have anything.” Now that Peter was out of my life, I was completely alone in my utterly miserable existence.

  “You want this super boyfriend who worships the ground you walk on and James on the side?”

  “Is that what this is about? James?”

  Olivia smirked.

  “I don’t have James on the side,” I said. “We’re friends. We’ve always been friends. Nothing more. I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you two, but that’s no reason to go after my boyfriend.”

  “Whatever. Everything isn’t working out perfectly for Alex. Boo hoo.”

  “We were friends once. What happened?”

  “I have to go. I’ll tell Peter you said hello.” Olivia collapsed her umbrella in my direction. Rain pellets sprayed all over me. “Woof woof, doggy. See you later.”

  Olivia sped out of the school’s parking lot. I don’t know how long I stood there watching her drive away, but it was long enough to become completely drenched.

  “Alex?”

  “Oh, hey James.”

  James shielded me with his umbrella. “You’re going to catch pneumonia. What are you doing out here?”

  “I forgot my raincoat,” I said stupidly.

  “Are you still coming over?”

  I’d forgotten about our plans to search through his Grandpa Jonah’s witch hunting files. I had to keep my mind occupied and an afternoon in a basement digging through documents was exactly what I needed. “Do you want to go now?”

  “Sure. Want a lift?”

  My clothes were soaked. “No, I’ll follow you.”

  James walked me to my car. I sloshed through the puddles covering the asphalt parking lot.

  I slid inside. My wet clothes squished against the leather seat. “I might need a towel when I get to your house.”

  James held the umbrella over my open door. “I think I can manage that. See you in a few minutes.”

  The drive from Hawthorne Prep to James’ house required a ride by the Hazel Cove Cemetery. The thirty acres of cemetery encircled by a towering stone fence had only one entrance - through elaborate wrought iron gates. Pretty creepy, huh? I said a prayer for all the departed souls and an extra one for my Grandma Claudia who was murdered last winter by a conjured spirit.

  I turned off Pennington Drive and onto the west side of Main Street. I drove by familiar houses until I reached the entrance to the Hallows. It was an exclusive gated neighborhood with massive colonial homes, black street lanterns and enormous oak trees.

  I’d lived in the Hallows for seventeen years. You’d think that I would’ve missed living there, but I didn’t. I had no desire to enter my old neighborhood. It reminded me too much of life with my stepfather Victor and I didn’t want to rehash those memories.

  Unfortunately, I had to drive by my old house to get to James’ house. I veered left onto Apple Orchard. I didn’t look to see if my childhood home was still for sale or if another family occupied it. The large trees in the front yard edged into my peripheral vision, but I sped by without stopping.

  My cell phone buzzed.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hey there, str
anger.”

  I squeezed the steering wheel. “Hi,” I said quietly. Why didn’t I check to see who was calling?

  “Are you all right? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks,” Vanessa said.

  “I’m fine. Just busy.”

  “Are you and your cute boyfriend coming to visit for spring break?”

  My heart tightened. Peter.

  “New Orleans is perfect this time of year,” Vanessa said. “It’s not too hot.”

  “I can’t. I, uh, have to study for the SATs. You know me, always waiting until the last minute,” I lied.

  “Bummer. I was looking forward to seeing you, but education comes first.”

  “It’s too bad I can’t make it. But I’m driving now, so I should go. I don’t want to crash.” I turned onto Cedar Mill Road.

  “Oh,” Vanessa said. “Well, don’t be a stranger. I want to hear about any new spells you’re learning.”

  “Sure, I’ll call you later this week,” I lied again. “Bye.”

  I hung up before she could say goodbye.

  Traitor.

  Talk about betrayals. Peter. Vanessa. Could no one be trusted anymore?

  My knuckles were white from clenching the steering wheel. I was so angry that I drove past James’ house. He watched me speed by from the porch.

  I pulled a u-turn and parked in the driveway behind the Range Rover. I ran up the sidewalk to the two-story colonial brick with thick front columns.

  “Forget where I lived?” James unlocked the door.

  “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “I see that. Come inside before you freeze.”

  “Speaking of freezing, I fixed my toes.”

  “Just in time for sandal weather. You’ll need a spell to cure pneumonia if you keep playing in the rain like that.” James held the door open.

  The hardwood floors were dark and shiny. Rugs, furniture and an odd amount of vases decorated the foyer and formal living room. There were no pictures. No normal things that indicated someone lived here. It reminded me of a museum. Unwelcoming and cold.

  “I’ve never been inside your house,” I said.

  “It’s kind of bare. We never decorated. My dad was too preoccupied with trying to kill you.” James’ twin dimples emerged. He tossed me a towel from the hall closet.