B*witch

by Paige McKenzie

  He appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He was dressed in his paramedic uniform: dark green pants, matching polo over a white undershirt, and steel-toed boots. His hair was damp, probably from his shower, and there was a small piece of bloody tissue stuck to his neck. “Just finishing up my coffee. How’re you feeling, son?”

  She should have been used to the son after all these years, but she wasn’t. “Kinda crappy. Does Harmony have her raincoat?”

  “No, why?”

  “I, uh, saw on the weather that there might be rain later,” Ridley fibbed. “Do you have time to drop it off? They do outdoor recess even when it’s rainy, and you know how she is about getting wet.”

  Darnell Stone frowned at his watch. “If I leave right now, maybe. Her rain boots, too. Oh, and about later… so I’ll pick her up at one and drop her off back here, then I’ve gotta head back to work. I’ll try to be home with dinner by six, seven latest. Maybe Chipotle.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Ridley stood at the door and waited. After a few minutes, she heard him grab his keys and head out to the garage.

  She went over to the window and parted the blinds. The metallic-red Chrysler Pacifica backed out of the driveway and turned west onto Santa Ana Street, in the direction of the Growing Tree Preschool. Afterward, Daddy would have to drive all the way to the hospital via a totally different route. So no chance of running into Binx if she should show up on their doorstep.

  Whew. Mission accomplished.

  Why was Binx asking questions about Colter Jessup and his family?

  And then Ridley remembered about Agent Smith’s breakfast. Plucking her daily angel card out of Daniel’s old Cleveland Browns mug (today she got Courage), she headed downstairs to the kitchen—slowly, because she still felt weak and headachy. Once there, she gathered some carrots and kale from the vegetable bin. On the other side of the dining room, she saw that her mother’s bedroom door was closed, and that her father had left a laundry basket of clean, neatly folded sheets and towels next to the doorway.

  Back in Cleveland, everything had been different. Her mother, Joyce, had been the multitasker, the organizer of all things domestic, while juggling her high-stress job as a communications manager at City Hall. Daddy had been the deputy chief paramedic at one of the big hospitals and proudly ignorant about how to work the washer and dryer, sew a button, or prepare a simple meal.

  Daniel had been a high school senior, straight A’s, waiting to hear back from a dozen colleges. His first choice had been Howard University, which was Momma’s and Grandpa Henry’s alma mater; his second choice had been Case Western Reserve, which was near home and also where his best friend, Victor, was a freshman.

  His best friend and secret boyfriend. Daddy had walked in on the two of them kissing one day and practically given himself a rage heart attack. Daddy and Daniel had fought for days, with Daniel insisting that he had the right to date anyone he pleased, boy or girl, neither or both. Daddy had become even more enraged by this; in his bigoted mind, you were either straight or gay, and if you were the latter, you weren’t welcome in his home. (Momma had tried to intervene and negotiate a truce, but Daddy had insisted that she stay out of it.)

  And so Daniel had packed a bag and taken off one night in his beat-up old Chevy Impala that he’d bought with money saved from his lifeguarding, Domino’s delivery, and other part-time jobs.

  And then he’d gone to the quarry to blow off steam with his friends. Ignoring the NO SWIMMING/NO DIVING sign, he’d cannonballed off a cliff into the water below and crashed into a boulder, smashing his spine.

  After the funeral, Daddy had decided that the family should leave Cleveland forever and move to Sorrow Point, where there was an opening for a chief paramedic at the local hospital. A fresh start. Ridley had decided that it would be a fresh start for her, too. Back in Cleveland, she’d been able to live as Ridley only occasionally, and in the privacy of her room (although she did have an elaborate Pinterest board with pictures of her dream self and dream life). But no one at Sorrow Point High knew that the new girl, Morgan Ridley Stone (who now went by Ridley), had been assigned “male” at birth. All Ridley had to do was use magic to alter her school records and also her appearance (face, hair, body, clothes, etc.) twice a day. And to intercept any e-mails or snail mail or phone calls that her parents might receive from the school district, plus keep them from attending school events (which was depressingly easy to do). And on the rare occasion when something went awry, use a memory-erase spell.

  She just wanted the world to see her for who she really was, twenty-four seven, though.

  Once she had those two spells down…

  Back upstairs, Ridley offered the kale and carrots to Agent Smith. He wrenched them out of her hand and began attacking them methodically. Ridley’s familiar held nothing back, ever.

  Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she scrolled through her phone and found her playlist. She hit play on one of her favorite songs, “Sleepyhead” by Passion Pit. Listening to the words, she remembered the angel card she had selected from Daniel’s Cleveland Browns mug.

  Courage.

  Hmm. Maybe it was a message from the angels (and Daniel himself?) to deal with what was real. Today.

  Or maybe tomorrow. Or later this week.

  Ridley lay back down and closed her eyes and let the music wash over her.

  A car in the driveway.

  Her father must have doubled back. Ridley’s eyes flew open as she jumped out of bed and hurried to the window.

  But it wasn’t the metallic-red Pacifica. It was a silver SUV.

  Ridley’s entire body tensed. Was it… could it be… Brandon Fiske? Maybe her memory-erase spell from last week had worn off. Maybe he’d remembered about their encounter in the Seabreeze development.

  She flattened herself against the wall, breathing hard. Was he here to hurt her? Hurt her family?

  “Pleukiokus,” she said quickly. “Pleukiokus, pleukiokus, pleukiokus.”

  But a protection spell wasn’t enough. She needed to be ready to defend herself. Where was Paganini? Was it still in her backpack, which was in her closet, which was all the way across the room? She needed to use magic that didn’t require her wand; should she try muto again?

  She heard the car shift into reverse and back up out of the driveway. She craned her neck ever so slightly to peer out of the window. The SUV was heading down the street, in the direction of the high school.

  Her breathing slowed. It’s okay, she told herself.

  But it wasn’t okay.

  Maybe she should really shore up her courage and just come out to her family, already. That way, she would be free to give up witchcraft; she wouldn’t need vertero or dissimulatio.

  Although coming out would present a whole other set of challenges and dangers. Daddy wasn’t the only one who was a bigot when it came to the LGBTQIA community. Also, was she really ready to say goodbye to her coven sisters? She needed them more than ever to face what was ahead.

  23

  (UN)FAMILIARS

  Some things, like Life and Death, are sacred and should be left to higher powers.

  Mortality is its own gift. Nature is neither cruel nor kind; it simply is.

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

  At a few minutes past noon, Greta hurried down the East Wing corridor. She had arranged to meet Div, Aysha, and Mira in the parking lot, which was more private than the cafeteria; Binx and Iris would be joining them, too. The hallway swirled with students on their way to lunch, to clubs, and to rehearsals. They were all a blur to Greta, though—a blur of random bodies, fuzzy auras, and clashing conversations. She barely registered the stares and whispers as they walked by.

  Everyone knew. Everyone knew that Penelope was dead. That Greta, Iris, Binx, and Ridley were the ones who’d found her body.

  And found Gofflesby, too, although no one but Greta and her friends really cared about that.

  Gofflesby was a
t home in Greta’s bedroom, hopefully resting. They’d taken him to the Sorrow Point Animal Hospital that night, to get him treated for whatever trauma he’d experienced, but by the time they’d arrived at the reception desk, he was wide-awake and energetic. So they’d turned around and driven home.

  Back from the hospital, Gofflesby had promptly devoured five entire cans of cat food—a record for him. Then he’d continued behaving oddly all weekend. He’d been racing around the house as though hopped up on caffeine, climbing curtains, scratching up the wood floors, breaking teacups and other fragile items. Last night, he’d disappeared into the basement for hours and then, at around two a.m., appeared on Greta’s pillow with a dead, bloody mouse in his jaws. Totally out of character.

  The other strange thing was, his cough was gone. His breathing was normal, like it used to be before his illness.

  Was it a coincidence? Or had something—or someone—cured him during his disappearance?

  Greta was so thankful to the Goddess that Gofflesby was okay. Still, her heart ached at the thought of Penelope. A sister witch, dead. Murdered. Also, what did that mean for herself and Div and any other witches who might have received a shadow message? Or were the shadow messages not even connected to the murder?

  It was all so confusing, and scary, and she felt like it was on her and her fellow witches to figure it out.

  Greta reached the double doors leading out to the parking lot. Outside, she spotted Div, Mira, Aysha, Binx, and Iris, all gathered around Div’s white car. Binx and Div had their heads bent together and were speaking in low voices while the other three witches were looking at something on Mira’s phone.

  Binx and Div?

  Greta blinked, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her. No, it really was them, talking privately… about what?

  “Hi, I’m here!” she called out in a voice that sounded too loud, too bright. Binx glanced up abruptly and turned away from Div.

  Iris waved. “Hey, Greta! Hi! Hello! Greetings!”

  Div regarded Greta coolly. “You’re late.”

  “Sorry, I forgot my English notebook in class and had to go back for it.”

  “Well, Binx has something important to share with us.” Div touched Binx’s elbow and said “Calumnia” as Binx stepped forward.

  Greta crossed her arms over her chest. Annoyance and doubt simmered in her head.

  “Um… why haven’t I heard about whatever this is?” she asked Binx.

  “I needed to talk to Div first.”

  Talk to Div first?

  This was getting more and more bewildering. Binx disliked Div intensely. She disliked all three of them; it was she who’d invented the nickname Triad of Evil. What was going on?

  “So, I ran into Ms. O’Shea this morning.” Binx’s gaze moved across the semicircle of witches. “She’s the history sub for Ms. Hua. Ridley and Greta already know this, but she’s one of us, and she belongs to a coven up north,” she added.

  Mira and Aysha exchanged a look.

  “Yay, more witches!” Iris said, clapping. Then she blushed and stopped.

  “Ms. O’Shea told me that her coven thinks one of the Jessups might be the head of a major new Antima group in town,” Binx announced.

  Greta’s eyes grew enormous. Penelope’s boyfriend might be linked to the Antima?

  “Wait, what? Colter’s family?” Mira burst out. “No way. No way. They’re super-chill and nice. They could never be part of a group like that.”

  “We should find him and talk to him,” Aysha suggested.

  “He’s not in school today. I checked,” said Binx.

  Div turned to Mira. “Is Colter aware that you’re a witch?”

  “Of course not!”

  “How well do you know the Jessups?” Binx asked.

  “Really well! Colter and I dated for, like, six or seven months. I used to have dinner with the family, like, once or twice a week. His dad always cooked; he makes the best homemade pizza. His mom’s a doctor, and she is the nicest person. His brother, Hunter, is… well, he’s hot, of course, because he’s basically just an older version of Colter. He’s smart, too; he wants to go to med school someday, like his mom. And the little sisters are just cute little brats, and besides, they’re too young to be in some anti-witch hate club.” Mira added, “My dad’s good friends with Mr. Jessup, too. In fact, Mr. Jessup’s helping Dad with his mayoral campaign.”

  “Your dad’s running for mayor? Cool!” Iris piped up.

  Really? Greta almost snapped at Iris—but why? Because Iris wasn’t in a terrible mood like she was? She needed to get hold of herself.

  “Beatrix, did this history-sub-slash-witch give you any proof?” Aysha asked skeptically.

  Binx glared at Aysha. “It’s Binx. B-I-N-X. Maybe you’ve had too many memory-erase spells cast on you; would you like me to fix that for you? And no, she didn’t give me any proof, but she seemed pretty sure.”

  Across the parking lot, a black Jeep backed up and took off noisily. Likely seniors, since they had special privileges and were allowed to leave the school at lunchtime. Greta bit her thumbnail and watched the car driving away into the distance, toward downtown. She felt overwhelmed. Frightened. Angry. Everything. Honestly, she just wanted to go home and curl up with Gofflesby, tune out the world. There was just way too much to process.

  Including… why was Binx acting all friendly with Div? It was bizarre and out of character. Was she getting back at Greta for their argument at lunch last Thursday? Maybe Greta should just ask Binx over for tea and apologize, hash out their issues.

  When Greta turned her attention back to the group, she realized that Div was watching her. Greta couldn’t read the expression in her snakelike green eyes. Was she studying Greta? Staring her down? Preparing to strike?

  Or remembering? For a moment, Greta let her mind travel back to her final coven meeting at Div’s house. Div had suggested that the two of them cast a necromancy spell. Greta had refused because Callixta’s book was firm on the fact that necromancy was about darkness, not light. Div had, of course, overridden her.

  The lucky subject had been a dead gerbil Div had intended to feed Prada for lunch. She had arranged black candles, clear quartz, and thirteen primroses, thirteen blackthorn flowers, and thirteen daffodils inside a circle of salt, and the gerbil had been placed in the center, its body cold and its eyes unseeing.

  Div had recited the words of the spell once, twice, then instructed Greta to repeat after her:

  The dead which I seek

  Come to me as I speak

  It is not yet your time

  So come back to us fine

  Live a life

  Free from strife

  And return to this earthly plane.

  They’d repeated the chant over and over. At first, Greta had moved her lips but not spoken the words, unwilling to participate. But when the gerbil’s body twitched, she’d joined in, wanting the small creature to live. Her emotions had been all over the place… on the one hand, she hated herself for giving in to the dark side of magic, but on the other hand, she felt exhilarated that the spell had actually worked.

  The gerbil slowly and gradually came back to life. It stirred and blinked, stirred and blinked… then righted itself on all fours, looking this way and that for an escape route through the maze of candles, quartz, and flowers. For a brief moment, despite her objections about necromancy, Greta had been filled with a sense of wonder. How could it be wrong to help the helpless in this way?

  Then Div had spoken into her neck, and Prada had materialized. And swooped in and devoured the gerbil, whole. Right in front of them.

  Cruelty against animals was unacceptable to Greta. She’d asked Div tearfully: “Why bring something back to life, only to put it through an even more horrifying death?” Div’s answer had been blunt: “You’ll never achieve your full potential as a witch if you aren’t willing to get your hands dirty.”

  That day, she’d walked away from Div’s coven—from Div—and never l
ooked back.

  Until now. She hadn’t returned, exactly, but it rattled her nevertheless, joining forces with her ex–coven-mate and ex-friend (and ex-crush, if she was being honest). Even if it was temporary, even if it was an emergency.

  Binx’s voice cut into her thoughts. “… forgot to mention. Ms. O’Shea’s coven said the name of this local group is the New Order.”

  Iris raised her hand high in the air. “N-O!”

  “It’s okay, Iris, you’re not in class,” Mira teased her. “Also, why are you spelling the word no?”

  Iris lowered her hand and jammed it into her jeans pocket. “No, that’s not… I mean… the letters N and O.”

  Greta and Binx exchanged a glance. 1415. N-O. New Order. Was Iris onto something?

  “The first time Greta showed me the shadow message, her shadow message, I touched it and then had this vision.… I know that sounds crazy, but sometimes I touch stuff and I get these visions, and they might mean something or they might just be my brain making up random gibberish,” Iris babbled. “Anyhoo… when I touched the shadow message, I had a vision that the number 1415 stood for the letters N and O. I originally thought it just spelled no, but maybe it stands for New Order?”

  “Huh. That’s interesting.” Aysha spoke up. “Some white supremacist groups do that, I think. My cousin Matt, he’s technically my stepcousin, was in one of those groups for a while, in Boise, Idaho. His group was called the True Brotherhood; he told us their symbol was the number 202, since T and B are the twentieth and second letters of the alphabet.”

  “Do I even want to know what the True Brotherhood is all about?” Div asked.

  “No. You really don’t,” Aysha replied. “Let’s just say that side of the family is not welcome in our house. The last time they came for Thanksgiving, my parents made them leave halfway through because Matt couldn’t keep his racist mouth shut.”