Wayward

by Ashley Girardi

Chapter Nine

  Cynthie waited for me at the bottom of the steps after school. Noelle and Jade flanked her on either side, like a less morally upright version of the three musketeers.

  "Are you forming a posse?" I asked sarcastically, approaching them.

  "You're so witty, Helena. Stop it." Cynthie said with a tight smile. She gestured to her cherry-red convertible, pulled up to the curb behind her with the engine idling. "Let's go."

  "I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "We discussed this at lunch." She waved her hand impatiently. "You're one of us now."

  "No thanks." I pushed past her.

  "I don't see your car. Planning to walk home?"

  I gritted my teeth. "I'm riding shotgun."

  The car was a two-door so Noelle and Jade climbed in first. I was barely settled when Cynthie peeled out of the parking lot, wrenching the wheel hard to make a sharp turn into traffic.

  "Drive much?" Noelle yelled from the backseat, trying to keep from crushing Jade into the side of the car.

  Cynthie winked at me. "I like to think of speed limits as helpful suggestions."

  We sped down Mulholland Drive with the top down. Wind whipped through my hair and blew hard against my face. It was almost as good as being on the back of a motorcycle.

  I felt a small pang of regret as we slowed to pull up the long driveway. Cynthie rolled up to the house and killed the engine. I pushed open my door and, to my surprise, she followed suit. Noelle and Jade scrambled out behind her.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

  "We always hang out after school," Noelle said cheerfully. "This is as good a place as any."

  "I don't think so." I turned to Cynthie. "Why can't you go to your mom's penthouse?"

  "We don't have the penthouse anymore." Her mouth set in a grim line. I'm sure your parents won't mind."

  "No."

  "You can't stop us." She eyed me coldly. "Grab the bags, Noelle."

  Cynthie and Jade swept past me into the house before I could utter another word of protest. Noelle went to the trunk and popped it open. She pulled out two shopping bags and gave me a mocking smile. "Let's go put on a show."

  I heard Cynthie's voice as we entered the house. I traced the sound to the kitchen, where she and Jade sat with my mother on barstools pushed up to the marble-topped island in the center of the room.

  "Helena." My mother's voice chided me as I entered. "I wasn't expecting guests."

  "Neither was I, Mother." I grabbed Cynthie's arm. "They won't be staying long."

  Cynthie smiled at Leonora. "It was a surprise. We thought we might help Helena pick out a dress for End-of-Winter. I'm sure she got some great stuff from Jean-Luc's."

  I wanted to smack the sycophantic smile off of Cynthie's face but managed to resist the urge. "I have a lot of homework. Maybe we should reschedule."

  She ignored me. "Have you picked out something for yourself yet, Leonora?"

  "Not quite." My mother looked over at me and sighed. "We'd welcome your help, Cynthie dear. It's always been so difficult to get Helena excited about these sorts of things."

  "I'm excited right now." I gripped Cynthie's elbow and propelled her out of the room. "Let's go."

  Cynthie gave my mother a cheerful wave as I pulled her out of the kitchen.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" I hissed when we reached the top of the stairs.

  "There's no point in doing what your mother wants, if she's not around to see it."

  I swallowed my anger as I pushed open the door to my room. Noelle pushed past me and threw the shopping bags onto the bed.

  "This place is like a prison cell," she said, her lip twisted in disgust.

  "I'll be sure to tell my mother what you think of her decorating, Noelle."

  Noelle ignored me and flung open the doors to the walk-in closet. She pulled out a red sweater dress and held it up the light. "At least she still picks out most of your clothes. This isn't so bad."

  Jade sat gingerly on the edge of my bed. Cynthie opened one of the shopping bags. I half-expected her to pull out makeup or hair products. I'd watched too many 90's teen movies.

  Instead, she carefully removed a small book. It was thin with a brown cover. She opened it and flipped through the pages.

  I tried to look over her shoulder. "What's that?"

  "Back off." She slammed the book shut with a snarl. Calming when I moved back, she held the cover up for me to see. It was inscribed with a name that I didn't recognize. "This was my grandmother's journal."

  "Your grandmother?"

  "The most powerful magic-worker in generations." She shot me a disdainful glance. "More powerful than anyone in your family."

  "She died?" I'd never heard of her.

  "Nobody knows." Cynthie shrugged. "She disappeared almost thirty years ago. I found this when we cleaned out the library."

  "What's in it?" I asked, hoping I sounded casual.

  "Amazing things. Everything she knew, she wrote in here. It's the closest thing my family has to a grimoire." Her gaze turned calculating. "I could show you."

  "What do you want in return?"

  "I thought we were friends now, Helena." Cynthie fingered the leather cover gently as if it were still living skin. "Friends do nice things for each other."

  "Right, you wouldn't know nice if it bit you in the ass and left fangs." I regretted the words the instant they passed my lips.

  "Fine." Cynthie grabbed the shopping bag and stuffed the journal back into it. "If that's how you feel then I guess we're done." She gave me a disdainful once-over. "You aren't strong enough for it, anyway."

  "Wait." The journal was like a siren song. My fingers itched to touch it. The dark voice that whispered inside of me was desperate for its secrets. "What do you want me to do?" I imagined myself standing on the edge of a precipice. Could I walk the cliff's edge without falling into darkness?

  Cynthie opened the book, running the tip of one finger slowly down the binding. "There's only a few things in here that I haven't tried." She held it out so the open pages were inches from my face.

  I reached out to take it but she pulled it back with a cold smile.

  "Uh-uh. Don't touch."

  With an exasperated sigh, I leaned closer to read the faint script. Much of it was practically illegible, spidery words twisted and faded on the page. I read the title words slowly and it took a long moment for their meaning to clear the fog in my mind.

  I shoved Cynthie away with a snarl. "Get out of my house."

  Her eyes were wide and innocent. "What's wrong?"

  Anger and fear churned in the pit of my stomach. Fear of Cynthie and the things that she wanted to drive me to do. "I don't want anything to do with this."

  "I managed to find all of the ingredients," she said softly. "I'll even supply the blood so your precious skin is safe."

  "Then you don't need me," My mouth set in a thin line.

  "It takes four people to complete the circle." She pressed the journal closer. I turned my face away as if the words could jump from the page and do me physical harm.

  Fear and desire tightened my chest and set my heart to race. I wanted to grab the journal from her hands and drown in its secrets. I also wanted to run as far as my legs could take me.

  I read the twisting words on the page again as they coalesced into a simple and ominous title. A Spell for Summoning.

  "You know you want to," Cynthie whispered.

  Half an hour later, the four of us gathered around a ragged circle drawn on the hardwood floor of my bedroom with white chalk. The bed and dresser were shoved against the wall to make room.

  Noelle and Jade kneeled on the floor at the east and west sides of the circle with an unlit candle sitting before each of them. I stood to the north. I placed a glass bowl on the line of the circle in front of me to mark my place.

  Cynthie stared at me from across the circle, taking the position representing south. A red candle the size
of my forearm held her position. As long as that candle stayed lit, the circle would hold. In theory, at least.

  "You're going to say the incantation." She passed me the journal, watching like a wary predator as I held it in my lap.

  The paper was thin and brittle underneath my fingers. It felt as if it would fade to dust if handled it too forcefully. I could only translate half of the words and I tried to pronounce the unfamiliar ones.

  "Stop stalling." Cynthie's voice cut through my thoughts.

  "Okay, jeez." I bent to wrap my fingers around the thick glass bowl at my feet. I shoved it at her with more force than strictly necessary. "After you."

  A knife sat next to her on the floor. Wrapping her fingers around the hilt, Cynthie moved the blade to rest against the opposite wrist. She gave me a condescending smile. "It has to be warm."

  With a quick movement, she slashed into the meaty flesh in the heel of her palm. For a moment, the cut was only a stretch of whiter flesh. It filled slowly with dark blood that inched down her skin in a thick line.

  "Gross," Noelle said sourly.

  "Shut up or you're next." Cynthie picked up the bowl and held it close to the edge of her wrist, catching the flow of blood. "Get on with it."

  I nodded at Noelle.

  She picked up the matches and lit the small white candle in front of her. Trembling slightly, she held her hand over the candle just out of reach of the flame but hesitated.

  Cynthie bared her teeth in a silent growl as she wrapped a length of white cloth around her still bleeding wrist. "Don't make me do it for you."

  Noelle quickly lowered her arm so the flame licked over the delicate skin of her wrist. Making a small sound of pain, she pulled her arm back and whispered into the circle. "An offering of flesh."

  With a small smile, Cynthie lit her candle. She dipped a finger into the bowl of her own blood and flicked her fingers over the candle's flame so droplets fell and sizzled softly. "An offering of blood." Cynthie licked her finger clean and placed the bowl in the center of the circle. She winked at me.

  Jade picked up a bowl of dried chicken bones and placed them in front of her. She lit her match and dropped it into the bowl. Smoke rose in a delicate tendril from the center. "An offering of bone," she whispered.

  "You're not going to rip out a femur?" I asked sarcastically.

  Jade's eyes narrowed. She slid the matchbox across the floor so it skittered to a stop in front of me. Only one match was left. I flicked it hard against the box. It didn't light. I tried again, striking hard enough that flakes of red phosphorous rubbed off and floated to the ground. I tossed it away in disgust.

  Ignoring the other girls' contemptuous gazes, I wrapped both hands around the base of the candle and pressed it close to my face. My lips brushed against the wick as I spoke.

  "An offering of spirit."

  I blew softly, imagining as I did it that I breathed out a living flame. I felt it burn through my chest with raw heat. My eyes opened and I held a lit candle.

  "Impressive," Jade murmured.

  Cynthie made a low sound deep in her throat and Noelle softly gasped.

  I set the candle down, careful not to disturb the flame. It flickered and curled in the air but remained lit. I picked up the journal and opened it to the page that Cynthie had marked.

  The words were guttural and unfamiliar. As I spoke them, pressure built around us, thick and creeping. It was a language of the underground, spoken by things that slunk in the dark to hide their movements from human senses. Most of the words were beyond my ability to comprehend.

  A sharp wind picked up, seemingly unimpeded by the closed door and windows. It licked at the candle flames and rustled the pages of the journal. I couldn't lose my place. An incantation only half-spoken was a dangerous thing.

  Cynthie cupped her hands around the flame of her candle to protect it from the wind. She stared at me, her expression wild. Noelle hunched over her position as if she could somehow make herself a smaller target. Jade remained still, but her eyes widened.

  I took a deep breath and spoke the final word of summoning.

  A horrible force built in the air. It pressed against my chest and paralyzed my limbs. I half-collapsed on the floor and gasped through the pain. Invisible hands pressed in on me from all sides. Noelle screamed into the thick silence and Cynthie's hands fisted in her hair as if the pain could bring her back to herself.

  At the moment when it was almost too much, when it felt like my chest would cave in and my lungs would rupture, the burden eased.

  I knelt on the floor with my hands splayed in front of me. My fingertips touched the chalk line of the protection circle. I heard a rattling breath and looked up into several rows of sharp teeth.

  Backpedaling quickly, I landed on my butt several feet away. The creature launched itself at me. It hit the invisible wall of the circle and recoiled, making an angry sound of pain. It sniffed at the chalk outline and growled.

  Noelle had scurried to the farthest part of the room and now she curled on my bed, huddling against the headboard. "Will it get out?' She asked in a whisper, as if afraid to draw the creature's attention.

  "Of course not," Cynthie snapped, but her voice lacked its normal sureness. "This is what was supposed to happen."

  "What in the hell—" I hovered on the edge of the chalk circle, careful to keep every part of me on the outside of the line. The creature followed me on all fours, drool oozing out of its mouth. "This is a demon, Cynthie."

  The creature's skin was a mottled gray and beaded like a reptile. It stood no higher than my waist but its hands were the size of dinner plates. Its open mouth was filled with hundreds of razor-sharp teeth, underneath a nose turned up like a pig's. A red stripe ran down its back like a banner of fresh paint or fresh blood.

  "Don't be ridiculous." Cynthie's voice shook only slightly. "It's probably a bog or maybe an imp."

  "Send it back," I said, glaring at her.

  She skirted around the circle and grabbed the shopping bags off the bed. "My mother will slay me if I'm not home by dinner."

  "I don't think so." I blocked the door. "You're not leaving until you fix this."

  "Noelle and Jade have to get back before dorm curfew." Cynthie pushed past me with a hard shove and opened the door. "Besides, this is a simple problem. I'm sure you're fully equipped to handle it."

  Noelle squeezed by me, Jade following behind her. They practically ran after Cynthie down the hall. "I'm borrowing the sweater dress," Noelle said over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

  I heard Cynthie's voice from the staircase. "We'll do lunch."

  "I won't forget this, Cynthie." I slammed the door shut as hard as I could.

  The imp stood still in the center of his circle and stared at me. His mouth was stretched into the paroxysm of a grin and spittle dripped from the points of his jagged teeth.

  "You are an ugly little bugger," I said softly.

  The thing bent low and lapped at the bowl of Cynthie's blood that still sat in the center of the circle. Yellow eyes followed me from over the rim as I crept to the bed, my back sliding against the wall.

  They'd left a mess of supplies scattered on the coverlet. I saw, horrified, that candle wax had left a bright red spot on the fabric. My mother would not be happy. A demon in my bedroom was one thing. Stains on the 350-thread-count bed set were something else.

  I wondered darkly if there was some way to enchant the imp so it jumped out of Cynthie's locker at school and ripped off her face.

  A candle slipped through my fingers and rolled under the bed. I heard a crackling sound as it swept through a pile of dust on the floorboards.

  "Damn," I cursed in a whisper. The imp gave a guttural bark of laughter. "Shut up," I said with a growl.

  My hands pushed under the dust ruffle and slid along the grimy floor. Imagining my mother's face, if she ever discovered the maid was sweeping dust under the bed, cheered me considerably. My searching fingers touched something soft and fla
t. It wasn't a candle.

  I couldn't see in the darkness under the bed and I forced my hands deeper, searching for a proper hold until I could slide it out. The book's cover was coated in dust, the supple leather rough like sandpaper to the touch.

  Cynthie's grimoire.

  I held the book reverently between my hands. I felt as if it would burst into a cloud of dust and slip through my fingers if I so much as turned a page with anything less than absolute gentleness.

  There was no magic to it, at least none that I could feel, just words on paper. Still, I hesitated to open it. My fingers tingled with the effort it took to resist tearing away at the pages like a drowning man with his hands on a life preserver.

  My mind swam with possibilities. This must have been the source of Cynthie's incredible strength. There could be spells for might and power. Enchantments for speed and magic.

  The temptation was almost too much to resist.

  There was no other way to figure out how to expel the demon, I reasoned. Banishing spells weren't exactly the sort of thing that came up as part of polite dinner conversation. I'd never seen it done before. Cynthie and her friends weren't exactly falling over themselves to help me.

  There just wasn't any other way.

  Inside were pages of childlike scrawl. Time and wear left much of it unreadable. The page for the summoning spell was marked and I flipped past it. Spells for protection and luck, charms for beauty and desire, hexes for defeating a rival. None of it could help me.

  Another useless page. I had little use for an incantation that ensured a bountiful harvest for two and twenty seasons. I flipped quickly to the end and closed the book with a sigh.

  The imp growled from its metaphysical cage. I watched it carefully.

  Demons and witches were linked.

  According to the stories, Wayward were the first to call demons from the underworld and take their power for our own. Whether you believed that or not, it was certainly true that the Wayward family produced powerful witches.

  Just having the name meant something. Most witches hyphenated their last names, one name that traced the female line and the other for the male ancestors. The older the family, the more prestigious the birthright. That sort of thing mattered for determining bloodprice or matchmaking.

  I only had the one name: Wayward. Both of my parents could trace their lineage to the circle of witches who first danced under the light of a waning moon. It wasn’t something anyone would ever dare say to their faces, but Ethan and Leonora Wayward were practically what the humans called “kissing cousins”. But neither would ever give the name up.

  Being a Wayward meant something. To everyone but me.

  Lesser demons, like this one could be summoned for a small time. Eventually they faded back into the ether, unable to remain without a link to our world.

  Occasionally you'd hear of particularly powerful demons taking possession of unwitting mortals—using them as hosts in the physical plane, slowly siphoning their life as energy.

  For a time, I'd thought Valentine was demon-born. But every creature of the underworld had a weakness. Valentine had none.

  Unlike shapeshifters—merely cursed humans—and witches who gained their power by birthright, demons didn't belong in this world. The link keeping them here was tenuous—easily broken.

  With all the enemies Valentine had amassed, I imagined at least one had tried a simple exorcism.

  I stared at the imp, glittering teeth bared in a macabre grin. Valentine wasn't a demon. He worked their magic, but any witch willing to bear the stink of the damned could do that.

  He had to have a weakness, every creature did. I just prayed I would find it.