B*witch

by Paige McKenzie

  Aysha put down her veggie burger. Her brown eyes flashed at Greta. “We’re having a private conversation—” she began.

  Div set her iced tea down and held up her hand. “It’s fine. Please. Join us,” she said smoothly. She didn’t want Iris and Penelope to get the impression that she and Mira and Aysha were mean or unwelcoming.

  “Thanks, Div.” Greta sat down next to Iris. “Hey, Iris! These are my friends that I told you about. Binx and Ridley. And you must be Penelope,” she said. “I’m Greta.”

  Penelope nodded. “Yup, that’s me! Hey, Ridley, when is our history quiz? I forgot to write it down and I’m sort of terrified it’s tomorrow.”

  “It’s on Monday, so you have plenty of time. How was that pumpkin spice latte?”

  “Yummy, as always. Maybe we could grab one later?”

  “Sure!”

  Div frowned. Ridley and Penelope already knew each other? And Greta knew Iris, too? This was not good.

  Greta didn’t suspect that the two new girls might be witches… did she? She hadn’t mentioned a word about it in the car yesterday, and keeping secrets was so not Greta. Unless she’d changed. Div eyed Greta with interest, wondering.

  Iris stood up and sat down again. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Greta! It’s awesome to see you again! I didn’t know you guys all knew each other! I’m so, so sorry I’m late for our lunch. I mean, I know that I told you I’d be late, but I still feel bad. You and Aysha asked me to lunch at the same time… well, not at the exact same time, but super, super close… so I thought I’d try to hang out with both of you somehow, and your friends, too, but now it’s even better because we’re all hanging out together!”

  “No worries,” Greta assured Iris.

  Div pretended to pluck a loose thread from her white jeans. So Greta did suspect. Maybe she even knew for sure, and she was making her move to recruit them to her coven first. She stifled a swear and dug her nails into her palms.

  On the other hand, maybe this was a good thing—maybe this was the confirmation Div had been looking for. If Greta believed that Iris and Penelope were witches, that backed up Aysha’s impressions from yesterday… the amulet, the tarot cards…

  Just then, Div spotted Axel Ngata across the cafeteria; his Antima buddies Orion and Brandon weren’t with him. He hovered beside a table where a freshman girl sat by herself. He leaned down and said something to her that made her shake her head agitatedly. The girl tried to pick up her tray and leave, but he wouldn’t let her.

  Div narrowed her eyes. Did Axel think that girl was a witch? Or was he just harassing her for no good reason? Whatever the case, the guy needed to be put in his place.

  Prurio, she thought as she stared directly at him.

  Axel stopped what he was doing and began furiously scratching his arms and chest and scalp, as though he’d been attacked by a swarm of fleas. The girl took the opportunity to make her escape. Good.

  At the same moment, Colter Jessup walked into the cafeteria with the lacrosse coach. Their heads were bent in conversation, and the coach was tracing diamond shapes in the air. Lacrosse plays? Colter and Mira used to date. Div had never liked the guy and was not unhappy when they broke up. There was just something too perfect about him.

  Penelope seemed to notice them, too. Her face lit up, and she waved. “Colter! Over here!”

  At the mention of Colter’s name, Mira’s head snapped up, and she swiveled in her chair. She watched intently as Colter said goodbye to the coach and came over to their table.

  Penelope wiggled her fingers toward him, and he took her hand and curled his fist over hers. Oh, that, Div thought, suddenly bored. Penelope probably didn’t know that Colter and Mira used to be boyfriend-girlfriend, and Mira was probably learning about him and Penelope for the first time. Relationship drama. Div herself didn’t date unless it served some practical purpose (who had the time?). Like last year, when she’d needed Hakeem Johnson to let her spend time at his family’s farm so that she could practice necromancy spells on (dead) animals. Or like in eighth grade, when she’d pretended to return Greta’s crush so Greta would stay in Div’s coven. (That scheme had worked for a little while, anyway.)

  “Colter, these are my new friends. Like, brand-new friends,” Penelope was telling him. “This is Ridley and Greta and Iris and Binx… and this is Div and Aysha and Mira. Did I get all your names right? Or maybe you guys already know each other?”

  There was a chorus of Hi’s.

  “Oh, hey, we met yesterday,” Colter said to Iris. “How are you liking your new classes?”

  “Hey! They’re good, thanks for asking. Well, maybe good isn’t the right word. They’re not not-good, if that makes any sense. Which it probably doesn’t. Sorry.” Iris dropped her gaze and nibbled on her granola bar.

  Seriously, this girl, Div thought. She glanced at Mira, who was sipping at her smoothie and not saying anything. That showed great restraint; she normally would have seized the opportunity to make an ex-boyfriend and/or his new girlfriend really uncomfortable. Miserable, even. Like last year at the spring dance when she’d used a nausea spell to make Allison Hofstadt throw up all over Jeremy Cho just as they were being crowned queen and king up on the stage. Div appreciated the fact that Mira was holding back for the sake of their coven.

  “Colter and I met at tennis camp this summer,” Penelope was explaining.

  “She’s a way better tennis player than I am,” Colter said, grinning down at her. “There was a big tournament on the last day of camp, and she and her doubles partner beat me and my partner in straight sets. Pen has a terrifying backhand.”

  While the tennis conversation continued, Div picked at her lunch—some unrecognizable casserole from the school kitchen (should she use a spell to make it taste better?)—and tried to mentally recalibrate. Her gaze bounced between Greta, Iris, Penelope, and Ridley. So Greta was likely working on Iris… and Penelope, too, through Ridley. Did Iris already know that Greta, Ridley, and Binx were witches? Did Penelope? Had Greta already extended invitations to join her coven? Div’s instincts said no on all counts, although even if the answers were yes, it wasn’t too late for Div to try to steal the two girls away.

  Binx, who had remained standing, was scrolling through her phone, which had a case featuring a demented-looking purple cartoon creature with huge red eyes. Every once in a while, she slanted a sideways look at Greta, clenched her jaw, and resumed scrolling.

  Trouble in paradise? Div wondered, pleasantly surprised. Maybe this was a good time to try recruiting Binx again. And if she could get Binx, then Ridley would likely follow. Then finally, Greta—left all alone—would have to come back to her with her tail between her legs. To the coven where she belonged.

  Greta was watching her watch the other girls.

  That’s right, I’m two steps ahead of you, Div thought.

  She picked up her phone and composed a quick text to Greta:

  Do you play chess?

  She hit send. A second later, Greta’s phone trilled. She stared in confusion at it, and then up at Div.

  No. Why?

  Div replied:

  No reason. Love your blouse, is it new?

  Greta frowned at her. Div picked up her iced tea and lifted it in a toast. She loved loved loved messing with Greta’s head.

  A moment later, Greta wrote:

  You can’t have them.

  Div raised an eyebrow. So Greta was after the new witches. It was good to know for sure. And Greta knew Div was after the witches, too.

  She replied:

  Whatever you say, Gretabelle.

  Greta looked away, her cheeks flaming. Satisfied, Div turned her attention back to Binx and began to formulate a plan. Maybe a pool party at her house this weekend with her girls and Iris and Penelope?

  Binx didn’t seem like the pool party type, though.

  Div would have to think of a different strategy for her.

  17

  REVOLUTION

  Dea
th is the beginning of all transformations.

  (FROM THE GOOD BOOK OF MAGIC AND MENTALISM BY CALLIXTA CROWE)

  Binx hopscotched up the granite paver driveway, drinking ginger ale and listening to her new Icona Pop album. Icona Pop was Swedish. Swedish people were cool; Sweden seemed cool, too. Sometimes she wished she lived there, like maybe in Stockholm, which had to be way more interesting than the super-small town of Sorrow Point, Washington (population 24,538, home of the Fightin’ Buccaneers, the city that invented the sushi doughnut… blurg).

  Still, okay… she had to admit that her house was in a pretty sweet location. On a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, killer sunsets, lots of privacy (the closest neighbors, whoever they were, lived way down the hill—the closest living ones, anyway, since there was the cemetery). Her house also had an infinity pool, two Jacuzzis, a tennis court, and a Japanese Zen garden with a meditation hut. Guess it didn’t hurt to have a crazy-rich tech-legend dad, as annoying as he might be. It helped that he now lived full-time in Palo Alto and she rarely saw him; these days, he was even more absentee than usual, with the new trophy wife and new spawn and all. (The wife, Sloane, was a game designer and coder, which sort of redeemed her for having had that affair with Binx’s dad. The spawn, Lucas, age eight months, was mostly just loud and wriggly and smelled like applesauce and diaper.)

  Of course, Binx wasn’t really the outdoorsy type, so the pool and tennis court, as well as the hiking trail that Ridley so loved, were wasted on her. And the only time she’d ever used the meditation hut was to almost make out with LaJon Jamison, although that had been wasted on her, too; LaJon was much more interesting as a Pokémon Go partner, and they’d ended up just talking about Gen 1 versus Gen 2 Legendaries.

  There was the basketball hoop her dad had installed behind the garage way back when. They used to have free-throw contests, with the loser having to make ice-cream cones for the two of them (which, looking back, wasn’t much of a penalty). Maybe she should dust off the old orange ball? She could challenge Ridley to a game of one-on-one.

  Her phone buzzed—an incoming call from an unfamiliar number.

  Maybe ShadowKnight, finally? She’d left two more encrypted messages for him since yesterday.

  “Uxie, who is it?” Binx asked her virtual genie/assistant.

  “This number belongs to a wireless caller named Divinity Florescu,” Uxie replied.

  Div? Did she have new news about the shadow messages? If so, why wasn’t she calling Greta?

  Binx stopped in the middle of the driveway and pressed talk. “Why are you calling me?”

  “Hey, Binx.”

  Binx, not Beatrix. And Div’s tone was friendly. Was this an olive branch? Or was it a black locust branch (which was poisonous) in olive branch clothing? At lunch today, Binx had watched the Triad being fake-friendly with the newb recruit (okay, fine, Iris) and the beautuber, Penelope. Div must believe that Iris and Penelope were both witches, and she was clearly going for a power grab to turn the Triad into a… Pentad? So she could dominate their coven into forever?

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “Yeah, but only a minute. What’s up?” Binx strolled over to a stone bench and sat down.

  “First of all, can we keep this conversation between us?” Div asked.

  “I’ll decide on that once I know what it’s about.”

  Now Binx was really curious. And nervous. What could Div want to talk about that had to be kept private?

  “I’m just going to come out and say it. It seems like Greta wants Iris Gooding and Penelope Hart to join your coven. And you guys have probably guessed that I want them to join our coven.”

  Binx didn’t respond.

  “I’ll be totally honest with you, Binx,” Div went on. “Greta’s very—how shall I put it?—admirable. Pure and wholesome and old-fashioned in her approach to magic. Flower petals and healing potions and goddesses and all that. And if that’s her thing, fine, I respect that. But I’m very worried that her approach isn’t going to stop what’s coming.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The Antima revolution.”

  “Revolution?” Binx repeated. Was the girl serious? “I mean, the Antima are disgusting and evil, sure, and they absolutely need to be stopped. But this isn’t like… you know… the French Revolution or the American Revolution or whatever. The Antima aren’t starting a war against witches.”

  “Actually, I think they are,” Div said. “Have you read any of their stuff on social media? They hate us, and they feed off each other’s rage. They spread lies about us and act like we’re the ones who are organizing a revolution to take over. And their power is growing. So is their violence toward witches. You heard what happened to that witch in Texas, right? I heard there are other incidents like that, too, but the witches don’t report it because they’re afraid to go to the police; they’re afraid of getting arrested. And do you know about all the mysterious pet disappearances lately? Dozens of cases in New York and California and Texas. I believe those are familiars being taken by Antima. And that it’s only a matter of time before pets—familiars—start disappearing here in Washington State.”

  Binx hadn’t heard about the unreported witch beatings or the missing animals. It all made her feel queasy. And scared. And angry. “Continue. I’m listening.”

  “The Antima haven’t killed any witches yet. That we know of. But it’s going to happen, and we need to stop it—stop them—before it gets to that point. That’s why I need your help.”

  “Me? How can I help?”

  “By joining my coven. And convincing Ridley to join, too, if you think she might be open to it. I’m not sure about Greta,” Div said, almost as an afterthought. “But yes, maybe if you and Ridley join, Greta will come to her senses and realize that we need to take extreme measures… extreme magical measures, not pretty little flower petal potions… to put an end to the Antima. And if I can get Iris and Penelope, too, then we’d have eight witches. Imagine the power we could generate against the Antima, casting group spells with eight witches!”

  Binx switched her phone from one ear to the other. “Put an end to the Antima how?”

  “I’m not talking about killing Antima members, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re better than that. I’m talking about using our craft to change them. Inventing some crazy-powerful group spell, like memory-erase combined with mind-control combined with… I’m not sure yet. Something fantastic, something that will force the Antima to stop hating and hurting witches.” Div added, “We can start with the Antima at our school, and work our way up from there. And we can inspire other witches across the country to do the same.”

  Binx didn’t respond right away. She realized that she had jumped to her feet, that she had goose bumps, that she was actually excited by Div’s idea. Which was weird. This was Div. Still, the leader of the Triad had managed to come up with an interesting (and possibly effective) plan to defeat the Antima.

  “Okay. I’m not going to say I’m not intrigued, but…”

  “But?”

  “I can’t do that to Greta. I mean, don’t get me wrong. She and I, we don’t always get along, and we’re really different people.” Understatement. “But it seems super-disloyal to bail on her and switch to another coven. Especially when it’s—” Binx hesitated.

  “I know. My coven. Greta and I aren’t exactly BFFs.”

  “Yup.”

  Binx didn’t voice her other concern, which was that she’d be forced to be coven-mates with Mira and Aysha. She couldn’t imagine working side by side with them, even if it was for an important goal like taking down the Antima.

  Although something had to be done about the Antima, obviously. She was thinking more and more that Libertas might be the answer.

  “Will you at least think about it?” Div was asking her.

  “Yeah, but I’m not going to change my mind. Sorry.”

  “We’ll talk again.”

  Div ended the call.

 
Wow. Binx shook her head slowly. She was definitely not going to tell Greta about this. She couldn’t. There was already so much tension between them and the Triad, plus now there were the two new witches to fight over, not counting Ms. O’Shea (because that would be weird). Meanwhile, they all needed to focus on smoking out whoever had penned those shadow messages and also figuring out who’d enchanted them with the numbers. They couldn’t afford to get distracted by Div’s takeover attempt.

  Although… hadn’t Binx herself told Greta that they needed to think about the big picture and not just focus on their little coven? That conversation from lunchtime still irked her. Also, how dare Greta question Binx’s judgment re: ShadowKnight and Libertas? Did Greta think she was a total and complete newb?

  A breeze rustled the leaves and flowers of a nearby blueblossom bush.

  No, not a breeze. There was someone… no, something… hiding in there.

  What the—

  Before Binx could react, the thing charged at her. She shrieked and stumbled backward. Her ginger ale splattered everywhere, including on her new pink sweater with the smiling panda bear face and the words HELLO PANDA HAPPINESS on it. Whatever it was, it was four-legged. Was it a coyote or a bobcat or a fox or a…

  As she regained her balance, she saw what it was.

  A dog. A scruffy brown dog. A puppy, actually.

  It skidded to a stop in front of her, paws every which way, and dropped something at her feet.

  A dead crow.

  “Okay, no. That’s gross. That is so so so gross. I’m calling your owner… who is your owner?” Binx dabbed at her ginger-ale-soaked sweater with the back of her hand.

  The mutt looked up at her and barked. It didn’t appear to be wearing a collar. It dog-smiled at her with its tongue hanging out. Its tail wagged like an out-of-control windshield wiper.

  “Yeah, this is not cool. Do you hear me? Not cool. Ugh!”

  Shaking her head, Binx began scrolling and typing. “Okay, pupster. I’m guessing you belong to the neighbors down the hill. Uxie, please GPS them and cross-check the street address against the phone directory… and the Sorrow Point real-estate sale records… and the county deeds office and… gotcha!” Binx nodded as a name and address flashed across the screen. “All right, mini-dog. You must belong to the Noonan family at 1928 Cliffside Drive. A landline—what are they, like, ninety years old? I’m calling them right now, okay? And then you and your, uh, dead poultry friend are out of here.”