Accidentally Evil (10 page)

Eighteen

E
very time I look in the mirror, I have to stare a few extra seconds. I love my ocean-blue eyes.

If I didn't detest Kendall so much, I'd thank her for them. Who knows what kind of spell she was attempting. Probably to make me blind. I don't know why she even bothers when she knows her spells will reflect her white magic. No matter how hard she tries, she can't cast a black magic spell. It's ironic, actually. If we could swap gifts, we'd both be happier. But maybe that's why we didn't get those gifts. Maybe this is supposed to help us somehow.

Today's the day we present our genealogy reports, and I haven't slept a wink all night. My dad and I once watched this documentary that traced the evolution of
humans. After we watched it, Dad claimed everyone was related to everyone else in some way.

Maybe he's right. Maybe all of our paths cross at some point, like some giant maze we can't get out of.

I run a hand over my hair to tame the fly-aways, and take a huge, trembling breath.

It's just a regular day,
I tell myself.

Somewhere, deep inside the recesses of my memory, I hear Kendall mocking me.

Nothing has ever bothered Kendall. Even when we were still friends, she was so confident. She never worried about her grades, friends, making her parents happy, or getting in trouble. That kind of personality always attracts a lot of people.

Kendall insists on having a take-no-prisoners mentality. She's first, and everyone else is second. It's kind of funny that she can't see that everything she does goes against the person—or witch—she was created to be. White magic witches bring peace, comfort, and prosperity to others. That's Kendall's purpose, but she doesn't realize it. Or maybe she does and doesn't accept it.

So.

If Kendall's fighting her white magic destiny by attempt
ing black magic spells, what does that say about me?

Am I doing exactly the same thing by refusing the power of my own black magic destiny?

Lady Jennica's room is buzzing. Everyone's family tree has been carefully rolled and tied with a string. We are planning to unveil them today, share them with the class, then hang them outside our bedroom doors. I've worked so hard and so long on this project, I've memorized every detail written on it.

One by one we begin sharing. Turns out family tree presentations are one big snooze-fest. About halfway through the third girl, I'm fighting to stay awake. We're picked randomly so I have to stay alert. Otherwise I might pull a little disappearing act with my inherited gift of invisibility and take a nap.

Ivy goes before me, as do Jo and Dru. The most exciting thing about any of theirs is that Ivy is related to the second High Priestess of Dowling, Griselda Blackwood. That's cool, and I'm a tiny bit jealous.

Finally, just as I'm about to pass out from boredom, Kendall is called. She walks to the front of the room, holding her family tree casually. Like she couldn't care
less about her family heritage. You'd think if you spent this much time on a project, you'd at least pretend to be ready to present. But that's Kendall for you.

She unties the string, and her family tree unravels. Then she begins reading the names.

The witches in her family tree, like mine, like everyone's, have different gifts. Some are inherited, but it seems like most of the gifts are unique. Of course, no one in her family line has the gift of inheritance.

Kendall's voice is monotone, her speech interspersed with plenty of instances of “um's” and “like's.” She reads from the paper with the enthusiasm of a man walking to his own execution. She adds nothing interesting about her ancestors. Just reads the information like she's reading a phone book.

And then.

Then.

Then I hear it.

“Sarah Elizabeth Scott.”

That name. I know that name.

Breathe.

It's on my
own
family tree.

There's no way.

How can we have the same ancestor? My mind cramps, hands sweat.

We're related.

Ivy puts her hand on my back. “What's wrong?” she whispers. Her empathy must be off the charts, because my emotions are all over the place.

I sit up but can't face Ivy. If I see her eyes reflecting my own emotions, I'll lose it.

Kendall reads the rest of the details about Sarah. The details I've already memorized. They are, of course, exactly the same. I don't have to wonder if Kendall knows we share an ancestor. If she knew, she would have made some scene or refused the assignment, or something even worse, like burned the genealogy books. And she would. She is just that evil.

The rest of her presentation moves along at a snail's pace, and I have to fight to keep my feet from racing out of the room. Ivy doesn't say anything else, but I know she's watching me. Ready to hold me down if she has to.

Several more girls present their family trees. Then it's my turn.

My heart is pounding. I fumble as I try to untie the
string that is holding the scroll together, until Lady ­Jennica does it for me.

“You okay?” she whispers to me under her breath.

I don't answer, just unroll the family tree and face the class.

I had learned so much about my ancestors that I wanted to mention, things that aren't written on the paper, but that plan is toast. I'll be lucky to read the names without hyperventilating.

My voice squeaks out the first name, then the next, and the next. I don't relax. I can't.

I keep my eyes on Ivy, whose face is willing me to read the names and get back to my desk. There will be time enough for screaming and crying later.

And then it's time for me to say her name. I don't look at Kendall to see if she's watching me. I just take a breath and force the name out.

“Sarah Elizabeth Scott.” I barely hear my own voice, and the hair on my arms stands up, as if the power in this room is supercharged.

“Wait a moment,” Lady Jennica says, eyes squinted. “That name . . .”

“Was on mine,” Kendall says, her voice icy. Furious. Like I
want
us to be related.

I close my eyes, wishing I were related to anyone at Dowling besides her. Even Zena would be better than Kendall. At least she didn't single-handedly ostracize me in elementary school.

Lady Jennica puts her hand on my back, holds her other hand up to quiet the now chaotic class. But I don't hear them talking, don't hear a single thing except the rapid-fire pulse in my ears, the sound of my life crumbling down around me.

“I told you these projects could be surprising,” she says. She gives a nervous laugh. She's as surprised as I am. “Well, now, that
is
a surprise. How exciting. Right, class?”

The room is still, quiet. But the energy is so thick, I can barely breathe. I make myself look at Kendall. Her face is red, her eyes like fire.

“All right, then,” Lady Jennica says. “Let's move on, shall we? Hallie, please continue.”

I zip through the rest of my family tree. It's not like anyone is listening anyway. The two worst enemies at Dowling
are related. No one really cares about anything else.

Soon enough I'm done with my presentation, and Lady Jennica rolls it up nicely for me. I guess she knows my hands are shaking too badly to do anything but wrinkle it.

“There now, Hallie,” she says. “You be sure to hang that on your door when you get back to your room.”

The thought of advertising that I am—in some infinitely distant and insignificant way—related to Kendall sends me reeling. I don't want to post it. I don't want to.

Lady Jennica pushes me back to my desk, and I sit down with a loud
whumph
.

“It's okay, Hal. Nothing's changed.” Ivy gives me her best fake smile. “It's okay.” She says the words, but neither of us believes them.

The class finishes the presentations. Not that I hear any of them after mine. I'm not sure anyone does. Lady Jennica finally dismisses us, and I can't get out of the room fast enough. But I see Kendall at Lady Jennica's desk and realize they're both looking at me.

I try to avoid them, get out of the room before either of them can grab me.

It's futile, of course. “Hallie,” Lady Jennica says. Her voice is soft, almost apologetic.

The room clears out slowly, everyone wanting to hang back and hear what is said to the enemies-turned-relatives. Lady Jennica shoos them out and closes the door behind them.

She turns back toward us and manages a half smile. “Okay, girls. I know you are both upset about this.”

Kendall lets out a loud scoff. “You think?”

I don't give her the satisfaction of reacting. Just keep my arms crossed and remind myself to breathe.

“This is rare. To have two witches connected at the fifth level who are so different.”

“You can say that again.” Kendall can't let a second go by without a jab.

“Different in terms of skill,” Lady Jennica clarifies. I keep my eyes down. If I look at my teacher, I may start crying. “Typically those who are related have skills that are . . . ­better aligned. Black magic witches are related to other black magic witches, and vice versa. It makes me wonder . . .”

When she doesn't finish her sentence, I finally look at her. “Wonder what?”

She doesn't say anything, just looks at me, then Kendall, then back at me. She shakes her head slowly. “I don't know, to be honest.”

“This has been extremely helpful,” Kendall says under her breath.

I want out of this room, out of this building, out of this situation.

“Why don't you two go on to class? Let me get back to you on this, okay?” Lady Jennica asks the question but doesn't wait for our answer. She doesn't even say good-bye. She leaves the room, with us trailing close behind her.

Kendall shoves past me and walks toward our next class.

I stand in the hall and watch Lady Jennica. Her fast steps. Her shoulders set.

She's a woman on a mission to figure this out.

Nineteen

T
he Crafter Chamber has been converted into a mini art studio. Jo and Missy are walking the room, checking to see that we're drawing the tattoos correctly. Ivy and I volunteered to do the tattoos, along with the other dozen or so girls in here. The way I see it, if I'm busy with the tattoos, I don't have to deal with Kendall. And I have something to distract me if Cody falls into her trap.

“Kendall say anything to you?” Ivy asks. She keeps her voice low, knowing that others will eavesdrop. All week, whenever I passed people in the hallway, they stop their conversations. I've always wanted to be popular, for everyone to know who I am. But not like this. Like they're just waiting for me to self-destruct because I can't
handle the pressure of being related to Kendall.

I shake my head at Ivy. “Are you kidding me?”

“I don't see what the big deal is. People in covens are related all the time. My sister and I would be in the same coven if she stayed committed to Dowling.”

“But you both have white magic skills. She's a healer and you're an empath.”

“And?”

I shrug, not entirely sure of the answer myself. “From what I've been able to read, which isn't a lot—there's absolutely nothing in the library about this—when two witches are related and one has white magic and the other has black magic, it's some sort of sign. The books don't say what kind of sign, just that certain things have to be done. Certain spells cast. None of that makes sense to me. I just want it to go away. I want to learn my spells, take my tests, and get through school with as little contact with Kendall as possible.”

Ivy shakes her head. “I don't think that's in the cards.”

Jo and Missy ring the chime sitting on Miss A's podium.

I'm surprised when Jo does the speaking. She's normally so shy, you don't even know she's in the room.
“Okay, everyone. It's nine, so we need to clean up and get back to our rooms. Thank you for helping. You're doing great.”

We begin closing up our paints and putting paintbrushes into a cleaning liquid Jo's created. I blow on my posterboard and admire my work. When Miss A enters the room, she's a flurry of motion, her satin muumuu swirling around her like she's walking in a tornado.

“Hallie?” she calls, looking around the room. When she spots me, she beckons me toward her.

My back stiffens. Miss A has a wild look in her eyes, and that usually means something big has happened.

I follow her out of the room, and when we get to the hallway, she stops and looks both ways. When she decides it's safe, she grabs my hand and drags me behind her. She pulls me into her room, shuts the door, and locks it.

“You're starting to freak me out, Miss A.”

She sits in her recliner and motions for me to sit on the coffee table in front of her. “Sorry, sugar. I just wanted to be the first to tell you. I sure didn't want you hearing it from someone else, especially one particular someone else. You know, in all my years, I've never seen anyone so full of hate. But that girl—”

I put my hand on hers to stop her rant. “What do you want to tell me?”

“I just came out of a meeting with Lady Jennica, Lady Rose, and the headmistress.”

My gut screams
Prepare yourself
. “Lady Jennica has done quite a lot of research on this whole black magic versus white magic within families—”

“We are
not
family.” I interject.

Miss A ignores my interruption and keeps talking. “I know you don't realize how rare this is. I've never encountered it in all the years I've lived here.”

“What's the big deal? So what if we have different magic? Whoop-dee-freaking-doo!”

Miss A takes a deep breath, slows her pace. “Hallie, most covens choose to practice only one type of magic or the other. We are the only exception to that rule that I'm aware of. We are the only coven and the only school that not only allows both black and white magic but also teaches both.”

“Okay,” I say. “I still don't understand why this is important.”

“The reason most covens operate that way is because combining the two types of magic is . . . well, it's difficult to maintain harmony in such environments.”

“That makes sense, actually.”

“Dowling has been able to do so successfully for centuries, and we pride ourselves on that accomplishment.”

“And now?” I ask.

“And now we have a unique situation.”

“And it involves me, of course.”

She nods. “Indeed it does. Honey, there's something we've known but haven't shared with you. We wanted you to discover this on your own. We wanted to trust Saffra's timing. But it appears this is the time.”

Secrets. More secrets. “Am I the only one who tells the truth around here?”

Miss A reaches forward and pulls me in for a quick hug. “I know it feels that way, but you can trust me, Hallie. Maybe more than you can trust anyone else in this building.”

“So, what's the big secret? The big revelation?”

Even as I say the words, my chest tightens and every breath is a struggle.

“Hallie, sugar, you're destined to be the next High Priestess.”

The air gets sucked out of the room and takes my heart with it.

“That's . . . that's impossible.”

“Trust me. It isn't. It's in your bloodline, confirmed by your gift. To become the next High Priestess, there are many milestones you much reach and even more challenges to conquer.”

I've always been an overachiever, but this is a little too much. Even for me. “What if I don't want to be High Priestess?”

Miss A flinches as if I've hit her. “It's not a matter of you wanting it, dear. You
will be
the High Priestess. Unless—”

“Yes! Let's explore that. Unless what?” I ask.

Miss A studies me, as if she's choosing what to tell me.

“No more secrets.” My voice is firm, but still respectful, I hope.

“Well, this is where Kendall becomes part of the equation.”

I close my eyes. Of course it's Kendall. I start laughing. “I can't escape her, can I?”

“Afraid not, Hallie. You see, she, too, has the ability to be the next High Priestess. Same bloodline and all. It would be harder for her to be the High Priestess without your gift, of course. I mean, most High Priestesses have the gift of inheritance. It's what makes them different from everyone else.”

“But it can happen? A person can be the High Priestess without my gift?”

“She can. But it's much more difficult. With your gift, Hallie, you are practically unbeatable.”

Practically.

“So, what does all this mean, Miss A?”

“Well, that's the interesting thing. That's why Lady Jennica's been so serious about this research. This hasn't happened. Not in recent history anyway. It turns out that when there are two potential High Priestesses, they must each prove their power over the other.”

Me? Overpower Kendall?

“You can't be serious.”

“Now, don't get all panicky on me. This wouldn't happen for years, of course. You two are both just learning how to be witches. It may be that one of you doesn't finish your training here at Dowling.”

“Oh, I'm finishing,” I tell her quickly.

“If one of you doesn't finish training,” she says again, “the other would become High Priestess by default.”

“By default? I don't want to win by default. I want to win fair and square.”

What am I talking about? Am I really willing to go
toe-to-toe with Kendall? And what does that even mean? Do we have to fight? Or is there some Hunger Games–type competition we have to go through?

“Any win is a fair one.” Miss A's voice is definitive, certain.

“I don't understand how we have the same bloodline. We have
one
relative in common.”

“Yes, you're right. But it's not just any relative. Sarah Elizabeth Scott was the eldest daughter of Dowling's first High Priestess, Saffra Warnsly. Sarah's descendant is destined to be the next High Priestess. But she has two. You and Kendall. It would typically go to the eldest, but you are the same age.”

I stand up. I have to move when I'm trying to figure something out. “So now what?” I ask.

“Now nothing. You continue to go through training, just as Kendall will.”

“If she finds this out, she'll be even more determined than ever to ruin me.”

“Which is exactly why I wanted to tell you what was going on. I suspect the headmistress will share the news with Kendall.”

“Great,” I say. “No doubt they're working on a plan to get me out of here.”

“Even if they are,” Miss A says, pulling me back down to the coffee table, “you are stronger than either one of them. Heck, honey, you're stronger than the two of them put together.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You have the power to inherit any gift you want or need. No one in this building, besides you, can do that. No one.”

“What do I do, Miss A?” My eyes are swimming in tears.

“Sugar, you just keep on doing what you're doing. But you watch yourself with that Kendall Scott. You hear me?”

“I always do that.”

She gives me a full-tooth smile. “Well, then, this won't change a thing, will it?”