“You’ve been completely unable to subdue her?” he asks finally.
“Completely. She’s Bruce Lee, the Hulk, and Neo from The Matrix all rolled into one.”
“Yes. Thank you for the entirely incomprehensible pop-culture references.”
I smile. He knows perfectly well who Bruce Lee is, at least.
“But the fact remains that you must do the spell. Something about the way this girl died is imbuing her with terrible power. It’s just a matter of finding secrets. I remember a ghost that gave your father some trouble in 1985. For some reason it was able to kill without ever being corporeal. It was only after three séances and a trip to a Satanic church in Italy that we discovered that the only thing allowing it to remain on the earthly plane was a spell placed on a rather ordinary stone chalice. Your father broke it and just like that, no more ghost. It will be the same for you.”
My father told me that story once, and I remember it being much more complicated than that. But I let it go. He’s right anyway. Every ghost has its own methods, its own bag of tricks. They have different drives and different wants. And when I kill them, they each go their own way.
“What will this spell do exactly?” I ask.
“The consecrated stones form a protective circle. After it is cast, she’ll have no power over those within it. The witch performing the ritual can take whatever energies possess the house and reflect them into a scrying bowl. The scrying bowl will show you whatever you seek. Of course it’s not as simple as all that; there’s some chicken feet and an herbal blend which your mother can help with, then some chanting. I’ll get the text to you via e-mail.”
He makes it sound so easy. Does he think I’m exaggerating? Doesn’t he get how hard it is for me to admit that Anna can take me anytime she wants? Toss me like a rag doll, give me noogies and atomic wedgies, and then point and laugh?
“It isn’t going to work. I can’t cast the circle. I’ve never had the knack for witchcraft. Mom must’ve told you. I messed up her Beltane cookies every year until I was seven.”
I know what he’s going to tell me. He’s going to sigh and advise that I get myself back to the library, start talking to people who might know what happened. Try to figure out a murder that’s been cold for over fifty years. And that’s what I’ll have to do. Because I’m not putting Thomas or Carmel in danger.
“Hm.”
“Hm, what?”
“Well, I’m just thinking over all the rituals I’ve done in my years of parapsychology and mysticism—”
I can actually hear his brain turning. He’s got something, and I start to get hopeful. I knew he was worth more than just bangers and mash.
“You say you have some adepts at your disposal?”
“Some what?”
“Some witches.”
“I’ve got one witch, actually. My friend Thomas.”
On Gideon’s end, there is an intake of breath followed by a pleased pause. I know what the old scone is thinking. He’s never heard me use the phrase “my friend” before. He’d better not be getting emotional.
“He’s not that advanced.”
“If you trust him, that’s all that matters. But you’ll need more than him. Yourself and two others. Each must represent a corner of the circle. You’ll cast the circle outside, you see, and move into the house ready to work.” He pauses to think some more. He’s very pleased with himself. “Trap your ghost in the center and you’ll be completely safe. Tapping her energy will also make the spell more potent and revealing. It might just weaken her enough for you to finish the job.”
I swallow hard and feel the weight of the knife in my back pocket. “Absolutely,” I say. I listen for another ten minutes as he goes over the particulars, thinking the whole time about Anna and what she’s going to show me. At the end of it I think I remember most of what I’m supposed to do, but still ask that he e-mail me a set of instructions.
“Now who will you get to complete the circle? Those with a connection to the ghost are best.”
“I’ll get this guy, Will, and my friend Carmel,” I say. “And don’t say anything. I know I’m having some trouble keeping people out of my business.”
Gideon sighs. “Ah, Theseus. This was never meant to keep you alone. Your father had many friends, and he had your mother, and you. As time goes by, your circle will get larger. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
The circle’s getting bigger. Why does everyone keep saying that? Big circles are more people to trip over. I have got to get out of Thunder Bay. Away from this mess and back to my routine of move, hunt, kill.
Move, hunt, kill. Like lather, rinse, and repeat. My life, stretched out in a simple routine. It feels empty and heavy at the same time. I think of what Anna said, about wanting what she can’t have. Maybe I understand what she meant.
Gideon is still talking.
“Let me know if there’s anything you need,” he says. “Even though I’m just dusty books and old stories from an ocean away. The real work is for you to do.”
“Yes. Me and my friends.”
“Yes. Smashing. You’ll be just like those four chaps in the movie. You know the one, with the oversized marshmallow.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My mom and I sit in her car on the edge of the school parking lot, watching buses roll in and unload, spilling students onto the sidewalk to rush in through the doors. The whole process is like something in an industrial plant—a bottling factory in reverse.
I told her what Gideon said and asked for her help making the herbal blend, which she said she’d do. I notice that she’s looking a little frayed around the edges. There are dark, pinkish-purple circles under her eyes, and her hair is dull. Usually it shines like a copper pot.
“You okay, Mom?”
She smiles and looks over at me. “Sure, kiddo. Just worried about you, like always. And Tybalt. He woke me up last night, jumping at the attic trapdoor.”
“Damn it, I’m sorry,” I say. “I forgot to go up and set the traps.”
“It’s okay. I heard something move up there last week, and it sounded a lot bigger than a rat. Can raccoons get into attics?”
“Maybe it’s just a bunch of rats,” I suggest, and she shudders. “You’d better get somebody out there to check it out.”
She sighs and taps the steering wheel. “Maybe.” She shrugs.
She seems sad, and it occurs to me that I don’t know how she’s getting on here. I haven’t helped her with much on this move—not around the house, not with anything. I’ve barely even been there. Glancing into the backseat, I see a cardboard box filled with enchanted candles of various colors, ready to be sold in a local bookshop. Normally I would have loaded them for her and tied the proper labels on with lengths of colored cord.
“Gideon says you’ve made some friends,” she says, looking into the school crowd like she might be able to pick them out. I should’ve known Gideon would spill. He’s like a surrogate parent. Not like a stepfather, exactly—more like a godfather, or a sea horse who wants to stuff me into his pouch.
“Just Thomas and Carmel,” I say. “The ones you’ve met before.”
“Carmel’s a very pretty girl,” she says hopefully.
“Thomas seems to think so.”
She sighs, then smiles. “Good. He could use a woman’s touch.”
“Mom,” I groan. “Gross.”
“Not that kind of touch,” she laughs. “I mean he needs someone to clean him up. Make him stand up straight. That boy is all wrinkles. And he smells like an old man’s pipe.” She fishes around in the backseat for a second, and her hand comes back full of envelopes.
“I was wondering what happened to all my mail,” I say, flipping through them. They’re open already. I don’t mind. They’re just ghost tips, nothing personal. In the middle of the stack is a large letter from Daisy Bristol. “Daisy wrote,” I say. “Did you read it?”
“He just wanted to know how thi
ngs were going for you. And to tell you everything that’s happened to him in the last month. He wants you to come to New Orleans for some witch spirit skulking around the base of a tree. Supposedly she used to use the thing for sacrifices. I didn’t like the way he talked about her.”
I smirk. “Not every witch is good, Mom.”
“I know. I’m sorry for reading your mail. You were too focused to notice it anyway; most of them just sat on the mail desk. I wanted to handle it for you. Make sure you weren’t missing anything important.”
“Was I?”
“A professor in Montana wants you to come and slay a Wendigo.”
“Who am I? Van Helsing?”
“He says he knows Dr. Barrows, from Holyoke.”
I snort. “Dr. Barrows knows that monsters aren’t real.”
My mother sighs. “How do we know what’s real? Most of the things you’ve put away could be called a monster by someone.”
“Yeah.” I put my hand on the door. “You’re sure you can get the herbs I need?”
She nods. “You’re sure you can get them to help you?”
I look at the crowd. “We’ll see.”
* * *
The hallways today look like something out of a movie. You know, the ones where the important characters walk in slow motion and the rest of the people just whip by as different flesh- and clothes-colored blurs. I caught glimpses of Carmel and Will in the crowd, but Will was walking away from me, and I couldn’t get Carmel’s attention. I never saw Thomas, despite going to his locker twice. So I try to stay awake during geometry. I don’t do a great job. They shouldn’t be allowed to teach math so early in the morning.
Midway through a lesson on proofs, a folded rectangle of paper finds its way onto my desk. When I open it I see a note from Heidi, a pretty blond-haired girl who sits three rows back. She’s asking if I need help studying. And whether I want to go see the new Clive Owen movie. I tuck the note into my math book like I’ll answer it later. I won’t, of course, and if she asks about it, I’ll tell her I’m doing fine on my own, and maybe some other time. She might ask again, two or three more times maybe, but after that she’ll get the hint. It probably seems mean, but it isn’t. What’s the point in seeing a movie, starting up something that I can’t finish? I don’t want to miss people, and I don’t want them to miss me.
After class I slide out the door quick and get lost in the crowds. I think I hear Heidi’s voice call my name but I don’t turn around. There’s work to be done.
Will’s locker is the closest. He’s there already with—as usual—Chase hanging on his hip. When he sees me, his eyes do this shifty thing from right to left, like he doesn’t think we should be seen talking.
“What’s up, Will?” I ask. I nod at Chase, who gives me this stone face like I’d better be careful or he’s going to pound me at any minute. Will doesn’t say anything. He just glances my way and keeps on doing what he’s doing, switching out his textbooks for his next class. I realize with sort of a jolt that Will hates me. He’s never liked me, out of loyalty to Mike, and now he hates me, because of what happened. I don’t know why I haven’t realized it before. I guess I never give too much thought to the living. In any case, it makes me glad to tell him what I have to tell him, about being part of the spell. It’ll give him some closure.
“You said you wanted in. Here’s your chance.”
“What chance is that?” he asks. His eyes are cold and gray. Tough and smart.
“Can’t you get your flying monkey out of here first?” I motion toward Chase, but neither moves. “We’re doing a spell to bind the ghost. Meet me at Morfran’s shop after school.”
“You’re such a freak, man,” Chase spits at me. “Bringing this shit in here. Making us talk to the police.”
I don’t know what he’s whining about. If the cops were as casual as they were with me and Carmel, what’s the big deal? And I have to believe that they were, because I was right about them. Mike’s disappearance spawned only one small search party that combed the hills for about a week. There were a few newspaper articles that quickly fell off the front page.
Everyone is swallowing the story that he up and ran away. It’s only expected. When people see something supernatural, they rationalize it down to earth. The cops in Baton Rouge did it with my dad’s murder. They called it an isolated act of extreme violence, probably perpetrated by someone traveling through the state. Never mind that he’d been fucking eaten. Never mind that no human could have taken such big bites.
“At least the cops don’t think you’re involved,” I hear myself say absently. Will slams his locker shut.
“That’s not what matters,” he says in a low voice. He looks at me hard. “This had better not be another runaround. You’d better show.”
As they walk away, Carmel appears at my shoulder.
“What’s with them?” she asks.
“They’re still thinking about Mike,” I say. “Is there something strange about that?”
She sighs. “Just that we seem to be the only ones. I thought, after it happened, that I’d be surrounded by a herd of people asking a million questions. But not even Nat and Katie ask anymore. They’re more interested in how things are going with you, whether we’re a hot item and when I’m going to bring you around to parties.” She looks at the passing crowd. A lot of girls smile and some call out to her and wave, but none of them comes over. It’s like I’m wearing people repellent.
“I think they’re getting sort of pissed off,” she goes on. “Because I haven’t wanted to hang out lately. It’s shitty I guess. They’re my friends. But … everything I want to talk about I can’t say to them. It feels so separate, like I’ve touched something that’s taken the color out of me. Or maybe I’m in color now and they’re black and white.” She turns to me. “We’re in on the secret, aren’t we, Cas? And it’s taking us out of the world.”
“That’s usually the way it works,” I say softly.
* * *
At the shop after school, Thomas bounces around behind the counter—not the one where Morfran rings up sales of hurricane lamps and porcelain washbasins, but the one in the back, stocked with jars of things floating in murky water, crystals covered in dust cloth, candles, and bundles of herbs. Upon closer inspection, I notice that a few of the candles are my mother’s handiwork. How crafty of her. She didn’t even tell me they’d met.
“Here,” Thomas says, and pushes something up to my face that looks like a bundle of twigs. Then I realize they’re dried chicken feet. “They just came in this afternoon.” He shows them to Carmel, who tries to make an expression that is more impressed and less disgusted. Then he bounces off behind the counter again and disappears, rummaging around.
Carmel chuckles. “How long are you staying in Thunder Bay after all this is over, Cas?”
I glance at her. I hope she hasn’t fallen into her own lie to Nat and Katie—that she’s not caught up in some damsel fantasy where I’m the big bad ghost slayer and she’ll constantly need rescuing.
But no. I’m stupid to think so. She isn’t even looking at me. She’s watching Thomas.
“I’m not sure. Maybe a little while.”
“Good,” she says, smiling. “In case you didn’t notice, Thomas is going to miss you when you go.”
“Maybe he’ll have someone else to keep him company,” I say, and we look at each other. There’s a current in the air for a second, a certain understanding, and then the door jingles behind us and I know that Will’s here. Hopefully without Chase.
I turn around and wishes are horses. He’s alone. And three sheets of pissed off, from the looks of it. He stalks in with his hands stuffed into his pockets, glaring at the antiques.
“So what’s the deal with this spell?” he asks, and I can tell he feels awkward using the word “spell.” That word doesn’t belong in the mouths of people like him, rooted in logic and so in tune to the waking and working world.
“We need four people to cast a binding ci
rcle,” I explain. Thomas and Carmel gather around. “Originally it was just going to be Thomas casting a circle of protection in the house, but since Anna would shred him a new face, we came up with Plan B.”
Will nods. “So what do we do?”
“Now we practice.”
“Practice?”
“Do you want to mess up inside that house?” I ask, and Will shuts up.
Thomas stares at me blankly until I give him the nudging eyes. This is his show now. I gave him a copy of the spell to review. He knows what needs to be done.
He shakes himself awake and grabs the written copy of the spell off the counter. Then he walks around each of us, taking us by the shoulders and positioning us where we need to be.
“Cas stands in the west, where things end. Also because then he’ll be the first one in the house in case this doesn’t work.” He places me in the west. “Carmel, you’re north,” he says, and gingerly takes her by the shoulders. “I’m in the east, where things begin. Will, you’ll be the south.” He takes his place and reads over the paper for probably the hundredth time. “We’ll cast the circle in the driveway, lay a formation of thirteen stones, and take our positions. We’ll have Cas’s mom’s herb potion in bags around our necks. It’s a basic mixture of protective herbs. The candles get lit from the east, counterclockwise. And we’ll chant this.” He hands the paper over to Carmel, who reads it, makes a face, and passes it to Will.
“Are you fricken serious?”
I don’t argue. The chant does seem stupid. I know magic works, I know it’s real, but I don’t know why it has to be so damn fruity sometimes.
“We chant it continuously as we go into the house. The consecrated circle should come with us, even though we leave the stones behind. I’ll be carrying the scrying bowl. When we get inside, I’ll fill the bowl and we’ll get started.”
Carmel looks down at the scrying bowl, which is a shining silver dish.
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