Accidentally Evil (4 page)

Six

I
go through the rest of the day pretending I don't know something's wrong with Ivy. My mind has gone wild with possibilities.

Is it her grades? When mine came over the summer, I was terrified to open them. But my grades were good, and Ivy's smarter than I am.

Maybe she got a boyfriend over the summer and she's sad she had to leave him.

When I get to our room after our last class, I'm still trying to decide what to say.

Ivy takes one look at me and frowns. “Who died?”

Died? Did someone
die
? “You tell me,” I say.

“What?” she asks. I can tell she's genuinely confused. She sits down next to me on my bed. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say.

“Really? You're trying to lie to
me
? About your feelings?”

I smile back at my best friend. She knows me way too well to buy a lame answer like “nothing.”

“Spill it,” she says.

“Lady Jennica asked me something weird today.”

“Oh yeah? What's that?”

“She asked if I'd had any trouble with my gifts over the summer. She seemed surprised I hadn't.”

“What do you mean? You didn't play with your magic this summer at all?”

“Am I the only girl who actually followed the rules?”

Ivy smiles at me. “You're too good to be a witch. Especially one with black magic gifts.”

“Don't remind me.”

Black magic. Of all the girls at Dowling, I am the least likely to use black magic. As one of the few witches with the gift of inheritance, I am an inherently “black” witch.

Miss A would call it fate. Dad would call it ironic. I call it bad luck.

“That's all she wanted?” Ivy asks.

My mind snaps back to my conversation with Lady Jennica. “That was most of it.”

“What else? Did she ask you about Kendall?”

“No,” I say. I take a deep breath, swallow hard.
Say it!
“She asked me about you.”

Ivy looks confused, and a quick flutter of hope blinks inside my belly. Maybe Lady Jennica was wrong. Maybe Ivy's fine and someone else is in trouble. Or dead.

“Why?”

“She wanted to make sure you were okay. She said you were probably better now that you're here with me.”

I look straight into Ivy's eyes. “What's going on?”

Tears fill her eyes and she cries, so quietly, I can barely hear her. But the tears roll down her face, and she swipes at them angrily.

“Please tell me what's wrong, Ivy. I'm kinda freaking out right now.”

I'm surprised when my own tears surface. I've never been a sympathy crier, but I've also never had a friend like Ivy.

“It's my parents,” she says between swipes. “They're getting divorced.” Her voice chokes on the last word. My heart breaks for her. I want to hug her, tell her it's going
to be all right. But I don't know if things will be okay.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper. It's the truest thing I can say.

She shrugs. “It's okay. I shouldn't be surprised. They haven't gotten along for a while. I just thought—” She stops midsentence, her voice catching on unshed tears.

I don't need the gift of empathy to feel her pain. I hold her hand and squeeze. “You should have told me.”

Ivy shakes her head. “No sense ruining your summer too.”

Her thoughtfulness is one of my favorite things about her. “Well, now I know and we're back at Dowling. You know I'm here for you, right?”

“I know,” she says, a sad smile on her face. She takes a deep breath, stands up and goes to the sink in the bathroom. She washes her face and comes back out. Her face is still pink, but she looks good. She taps the watch on her wrist. “Dinnertime. I was going to check my e-mail, but that will have to wait.”

I put a hand over my empty rumbling stomach. “Perfect timing.”

We walk to the dining room and take our seats. The blessing is said, and plates are served. Mine last, again. Of course. Just as we begin eating, the headmistress taps
a fork to her crystal water glass. The
ting
,
ting
,
ting
stops conversation, and silence falls through the room.

“Dowling sisters,” she begins, her smile deceptively warm. “This is a very special year at Dowling.”

I look at the girls around the table. They all look as confused as me.

The headmistress laughs quietly. She loves knowing more than everyone else in the room. Just like her daughter.

“This year Dowling will host Samhain, the Third ­Harvest celebration.”

“Samhain?” I mouth the word to Ivy, who shrugs. “Third Harvest” triggers a small memory from one of our History of Witchcraft classes, but I don't recall the term “Samhain.” And I sure don't remember the significance of the Third Harvest.

“It is a tremendous honor to be selected for this special event. We will invite former Dowling students as well as our brother school, Riley. Other covens will be invited to join as well.”

You can practically feel the air being sucked out of the room when everyone gasps. The Riley boys are coming? My nerves go from cool to chaotic. Talking to Cody
over e-mail is one thing. . . . Seeing him again in person is another.

I stretch to see Kendall and Zena at the front of the table, but they're facing the headmistress. I can imagine their faces are set in entitled smugness. They've probably known about this for months. There really should be a rule about the headmistress sharing information with her vile daughter. Even after her daughter cast a spell that nearly killed me, the headmistress has never checked on me or apologized for her daughter's behavior.

I look to Ivy, then Dru and Jo. They're as surprised as me, but they seem infinitely more excited.

“Did you hear that?” Ivy whispers loudly. Too loudly. Other girls at the table turn to shush her. Ivy rolls her eyes and leans closer to me. “You know what this means? You get to see Cody again.”

My hammering head nods. “Uh-huh.”

“Hello,” she says, shaking my arm as if I'm asleep and she's trying to wake me. “That's
good
news.”

I should be happy. Really happy. But I'm too nervous—too nauseous—to find happiness. How can I be excited and terrified at the same time?

“Why do you look like you're going to puke?” Ivy forces my eyes to lock onto hers. “You okay?”

Pull yourself together, Hallie. Deep breath. And another. Now . . . talk.

“Yeah, fine. I think I'm just really tired.”

Ivy doesn't believe me, but she drops it.

I don't listen to the rest of the headmistress's announcement. Certain words penetrate my obsessive thinking.

“Dance . . . booths . . . crafts . . . contests . . . Riley.”

I need air. And water. I need to think. I need air and water and space to think.

She's still talking when I turn to Ivy. “I'm going to step out for just a second.”

I walk out of the room, prepared to face the consequences of leaving without permission. In the middle of the headmistress's announcement, no less. I'm sure I broke at least 329 rules.

When I'm safely outside the dining room doors, I walk to the entrance foyer.

Breathe.

I stop at the huge framed pictures and look at the image of Dannabelle Grimm, the last witch at Dowling with the gift of inheritance. Until me. I've been drawn to
Dannabelle since the first day I saw the picture, and even now, looking at her picture, I feel connected to her.

Dannabelle's eyes sparkle with mischief, and I envy her. I envy her confidence. Miss A tells me I'll get there one day, but I don't see how. In a million years I could never be like Dannabelle. I really think the gift of inheritance is wasted on me.

“Don't be silly,” a voice says behind me.

I spin, breath held. The headmistress. I
really
have to watch what I'm thinking.

She laughs. “You'll learn how to control that, too,” she says.

I nod, unconvinced.

“I saw you leave during my announcement. Is everything okay?” she asks.

“F-forgive me, Headmistress,” I stammer. “I wasn't feeling well.”

The headmistress looks at the image of Dannabelle behind me. “She's quite a legacy to follow.”

Deep sigh. “You're telling me.”

“The gift of inheritance comes with great responsibility, Hallie.”

Her voice is stern, almost accusatory, contradicting the smile glued to her face.

Is that a question? Do I reply? I finally manage to say, “Yes, ma'am.”

Awkward silence hangs between us.

“Controlling your gift will require considerably more time and practice than for other gifts. In fact, I'd say you will carry the heaviest out-of-classroom work.”

This isn't news to me. “Miss A has prepared me for that.”

“I would hate to see you fall behind because you're distracted.”

“I am not easily distracted, Headmistress.”

She smiles coldly. “I have noticed, Hallie. In fact, I admire your tenacity.”

Somehow the words coming out of her mouth don't feel like a compliment.

“Thank you,” I say anyway.

“The point I'm trying to make,” the headmistress says, same plastic smile on her face, “Is that I hope you will be careful about committing yourself to activities, or people, outside of school. Particularly boys.”

Is this about Cody? “No worries, ma'am. I don't antici­pate that being a problem for me.”

“That's so good to hear,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “If you were to be distracted . . .” Her eyes are dark and sharp and scary. “Well, I suppose I should be going. There's much to plan for our celebration.”

Before I can say good-bye, she's gone, the scent of ginger lingering where she stood.

Girls begin filling the hallway, dinner done. I watch each girl pass, wishing I had the same excited smile on my face that they do.

But I can't smile. I can't.

It's impossible to smile when the most powerful person in your life threatens you.

Seven

I
don't sleep a full minute that night, and climb out of bed exhausted. I didn't tell Ivy what had happened with the headmistress. She'd insist I tell Miss A. And for now I like pretending it didn't happen.

I reach for my glasses and sit up in bed. The room is still dark. I always get up earlier than Ivy. I get up earlier than most people, actually. I've always been a morning girl.

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes, remembering my conversation with the head­mistress yesterday. There's so much I don't know, don't understand. But those who know—like Lady Rose and Lady Jennica—would never talk to me about the headmistress. I have to figure out how to deal with her on my own.

I walk to the bathroom, flip on the light, and scream.

I shove my glasses onto my face, but I can't see anything. Everything's blurry, and my eyes hurt. I yank the glasses off and can see perfectly. But I'm
not
seeing perfectly, because the person in the mirror has bright blue eyes.

And mine are brown. Boring, basic, blah brown.

Bang
,
bang
,
bang
. “Hal? You okay?”

“Hold on,” I say, my voice more panicked than I intend.

I look back into the mirror. The blue eyes are still there. I lean closer. They aren't just blue; they're
blue
. I've never seen such a brilliant blue in my life.

“Hal,” Ivy says, “open up.”

I look at the glasses in my hand and realize I don't need them. I can see perfectly without them. For the first time since first grade, I can see perfectly. No glasses. No contacts.

“You're scaring me. I'm going to get Miss A.”

Ivy's voice finally sinks in. I put a shaky hand on the bathroom door and turn the handle, prepare myself for her reaction.

Before I open the door, I warn her. “Don't freak out.”

“Huh?”

“Don't go crazy on me. Okay?”

She shoves the door open, gets a good look at me, and then steps back. “What in Saffra's name—”

I hold up my glasses. “I don't even need these. I can see, as clear as day.”

“Did you do this? Cast some sort of spell on yourself? Did you dream about it?”

“No, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I just went to sleep like normal, woke up like normal, and then this.”

“This is like last year . . . ,” Ivy says, her voice trailing off.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Last year Kendall attempted to put a spell on us that would make us the ugliest girls in the coven. Kendall has the gift of transformation. So do I, actually. It's one of the gifts I inherited last year, and it's how Kendall got the forked tongue.

When Kendall and Zena put that spell on us, we woke up gorgeous. As in runway-ready rock-star stunning. And it stuck. We never changed back to our normal selves. Kendall was furious to learn she's a white witch, which means she's incapable of casting black magic spells, no matter how many times she tries.

“Think she did this?” Ivy asks what I'm thinking.

“Has to be,” I say. “Who else could it be?”

Ivy leans closer to examine my eyes. “It's like they're lit or something. They're so . . . bright.”

“I've got an idea,” I say, grabbing her hand. I put on my robe and toss her her robe from the back of the bathroom door. “Put this on. We're going to see Miss A.”

At six in the morning Dowling is silent. But I know Miss A is up. I don't think she sleeps a whole lot. We walk to the opposite end of the hallway, where Miss A's room is. We tap on her door lightly, so as not to wake girls in other rooms. Especially not Kendall and Zena, who are directly across from her.

She opens the door and stands proudly in a fluffy bright-pink-and-black-zebra-print robe. Rollers are tightly pinned all over her head. And her face is makeup free, which makes her look a lot different. So different, I probably wouldn't recognize her walking down the street. But there's something “real” about her like this. I think I like it.

“What in heaven's name are you two girls doing here?” she asks.

Then she looks at me, and slaps a hand over her gaping mouth. “Come in,” she says, pulling us inside and looking
down the hallway before closing the door gingerly.

She stands with her back to the door and smiles. “Hallie, you are a surprise a second, I tell you.”

I show her the glasses in my hand. “No glasses. And no contacts. And I can still see everything.”

Miss A plops down in her oversize well-worn recliner. “How'd you make that happen? Did you cast a spell on yourself?” She laughs, her eyes remembering something from years past. “Oh my, my, my, we have seen that happen plenty of times.”

I shake my head. “No. I didn't do anything. Just went to bed like normal, then woke up like this.”

“Hmm,” Miss A says. “Reckon it could be the dynamic duo across the hall?”

Ivy nods, her head bobbing in quick, almost involuntary motion. “Yes, yes. That's what I think.”

“Well, let's think about that,” Miss A says. “Why would Kendall cast a spell like that on you again? Last time she did it, it backfired.”

Ivy crosses her arms. “Those two think they know more than anyone else in the building. Zena probably convinced Kendall she should push the white magic aside and cast dark spells.”

I hadn't thought that far along, but I bet Ivy's right. Miss A agrees too, nodding.

“So now what?” I ask. “Do we report the spell?”

“That's entirely your decision, Hallie. Dowling has a strict rule about casting spells before they've been taught to you. My guess is the complaint would ‘get lost.'” She makes air quotes.

And I definitely don't want to be a rat.

“If I were you,” Ivy says, “I'd make sure they saw your eyes first thing this morning. Let them stew on the fact that they can't cast spells to save their pitiful, materialist lives.”

“And that?” I tell Ivy. “That's why you're my best friend.”

At breakfast, Dru and Jo and Ivy are still fascinated with my eyes. I am too, I guess. I don't get to see them like they do.

“It's like they . . . I don't know. Glow or something.” Dru tilts her head to one side, then to the other.

“That's it!” Jo slaps her hand on the table. “I know what you look like.”

I brace myself for something awful.

“Snow White!”

Ivy pulls back so she can get a good look at me. “You know what? You're right. Dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes.”

“Only things missing are the dwarves,” Dru says, then breaks into hysterics.

“Funny,” I say, unable to hide my smile. “You're a regular comedian.”

Ivy grasps my wrist. “There they are.”

I don't have to turn around to know she means Kendall and Zena. We watch them go through the buffet line, get their drinks, then sit down.

“Dang it,” Dru says. “They didn't even look over here.”

“It's okay,” I say. I take a long swig of my orange juice, then stand. “I'll be right back.”

Every step I take closer to Kendall and Zena, my heart rate jumps even higher. I look back at my table and see my friends staring at me in shock. Like I'm walking through the room naked. And I won't lie. . . . It kind of feels like that. Because the closer I get to their table, the more people are watching me. The feud between Kendall and me is epic and definitely not a secret.

My hands go cold and clammy, and I can feel the red
spots spreading across my chest. Thankfully, no one will see them because I'm wearing my sweater.

Can't turn back now.

I get closer, closer, closer.

Two more steps and I'm standing directly in front of Kendall. She looks up, mouth poised to hurl a well-­rehearsed insult at me.

But she doesn't insult me.

She doesn't do anything at all.

The color drains from her face, and I know I've got her.

I put my hands on the table, lean in close so my face is just a foot away from hers. I blink a few times, just to be sure she sees them, then whisper, “Surprise.”