Accidentally Evil (6 page)

Ten

S
amhain is going to be a stellar event, girls. We are so fortunate to host it. Our contribution has to be wicked good.” Miss A laughs at her clever wording. “We have a few choices that we need to discuss, then vote on. The celebration is on Halloween, of course, as all Third Harvest celebrations are.”

“What kind of things can we do?” A girl in the back of the room named Missy asks the question. We have all the same classes but don't really know each other. Miss A claps her hands in front of her chest. “Well, it's been a while since we've had one of these. I was just a teenager at the last celebration Dowling hosted. It was a joint party celebrating the Third Harvest and the ‘retirement' of a former headmistress, Janice Seaver. She was
the headmistress before Fallon and McCarty. Each head­mistress brings their own . . . style.”

I can hardly imagine Dowling without Headmistress Fallon at the helm. I wonder if things were a lot different without her around.

“Things were different back then,” Miss A says, with a wink to me. “Not better or worse, just . . . different.” A look of sadness crosses her face, and then—poof—it's gone.

She launches into a frenzied list of all the ideas she's come up with.

Kissing booth (cheek only, of course). Lame.

Face painting. Um, no. We aren't six.

“What can we do that guys will like too?” Ivy asks in our circle.

“What about tattoos?” I ask loudly enough for the other girls to hear. “We'd use washable paint.”

The room goes silent. Then a low hum begins to fill the air.

Miss A watches the excitement grow, ignoring Zena and Kendall, who are sitting with their arms crossed in defiance. Even if they love the idea, they'll never admit it.

Missy, from the back of the room, speaks up again.
“We could come up with symbols for each gift, and that could be the tattoo you receive.”

Jo jumps to her feet. “I can do that! I love to draw.”

Miss A holds up her hands. “All right, girls. Sounds like we have a solid idea. Let's take a vote.”

She waits for the room to quiet, which takes a few minutes. My tattoo idea makes everyone forget how tired they are, how much homework remains undone, how homesick they are.

“There are candles on the tables around you. Please take one.”

I look at the table, and sure enough, there are four candles. Were these candles here earlier? I'm almost positive they weren't. But it's Dowling. Anything can happen here.

We each grab an unlit candle.

“If you would like to vote that we offer a tattoo booth, please light your candle.”

I look at my friends for a clue about how to do that without matches or a lighter, but they're as confused as I am.

“My bad,” Miss A says, giggling. She always tries to talk like the cool kids, as she says, but it always sounds silly. Why doesn't it sound that ridiculous when we say it?

“I forgot you don't know how to vote at Dowling. Feels like you girls have been here forever.” She takes an unlit candle to the front of the room and holds it in front of her. “Hold your candle as I am. Then place your fingers on the wick and pull up quickly.”

We follow her directions, and every candle in the room lights.

Dru gasps. “That's so cool.”

Miss A watches us with the pride of a parent. “Very good. Now blow them out.”

Again we do as she says, and the room falls dim.

“This time,” she says, “you will only light your candle if you want to vote that we host a tattoo booth at Samhain.”

I light my candle, as do most of the other girls in the room. Zena and Kendall, of course, keep their candles on the table. We don't have to count candles to know the tattoo booth is a winner.

“Well, congratulations, girls. We've had our first Crafter vote.” Miss A is pleased with herself, and with us. “Next step is to determine who's in charge of what.”

Miss A makes quick work of leading us in decisions about who will create the artwork, who will create the booth, who will buy the supplies. We're back in our room
by nine, charged with excitement but exhausted.

“That was different,” I say. I put my iPhone on the speakers and put on my favorite playlist. Katy Perry, Maroon 5, and Lorde.

“Did you see the looks on their faces?” Ivy asks.

“It was beautiful,” I say.

Ivy yawns loudly, contorting her face into a funny expression.

“Did you notice how Miss A said ‘retirement' today? Like it wasn't really a retirement?” I ask. “Did that seem weird to you?”

Ivy drops to her bed and curls up with a big pile of pillows. “Everything at Dowling is weird, Hallie.”

“Yeah, but this is different. And then she got this sad look on her face. I don't know. I just think there's more to that story.”

Ivy opens her eyes just a peek. “Yeah, I did notice that. What difference does it make?”

“Well, it has me thinking. Why did that Seaver woman leave? Seems to me that being a headmistress is a pretty easy job. And you get to live here for free. Doesn't sound too awful, if you ask me. Think she was old? Or maybe she did something wrong?”

Ivy opens her eyes completely and sits up lazily. She pulls her favorite pillow to her chest. “Leaving Dowling—the building—is one thing. Girls do that all the time. Leaving the coven altogether is another.”

“Did your sister tell you that?”

Ivy's face is unreadable. There's something—maybe a lot of things—she's keeping to herself.

She smoothes the fuzz on the pillow, focusing way too hard on making each piece lie perfectly straight. “Ivy,” I say. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

She held back the news of the divorce. Who knows what else is locked away in her head.

“Is it your parents?” I ask.

Ivy looks up at me, tears making her eyes sparkle. I move from my bed, sit next to her, put my arm around her, and sigh. “Talk to me. You'll feel better if you do, I promise.”

Her voice is controlled. “When my sister left, she
left
. She didn't really graduate like I told you. She rejected her gifts and has never given time or money back to the coven.”

“What? Why would she do that?” You learn early on at Dowling that even when you leave, you're still connected
to the coven. You have obligations to Dowling forever. It's what keeps the coven going.

Ivy shrugs. “She was tired of being told what to do, what to wear, how to act, what kind of magic she was allowed to practice.”

“Everyone has to deal with that,” I say. “No one likes that part.”

“She was in trouble all the time for not following the rules. When a Dowling girl rejects her gifts, it's considered a disgrace to the family. Usually, they just shun your entire family. Like you don't exist anymore.”

My mouth drops open. “That seems so . . .”

“Severe? Harsh? Extreme?” Ivy supplies.

“Yeah. All of that.”

We sit in silence a few minutes. Then I realize something. “If your family was shunned, how are you here?”

Ivy lets out a bitter, resentful laugh. “I'm the only one who can restore our family's name. I must stay at ­Dowling until I've completed every level, then fulfill all my duties to Dowling after I leave. And I also have to fulfill all of Linette's as well.”

That burden must feel like she's carrying the Statue
of Liberty on her back. Up fifty flights of stairs. Barefoot.

I should know—I'm in the same boat. If I don't make it through Dowling, my family loses their Dowling heritage too.

I don't know what to say. Mom says that sometimes you don't need to say anything to make someone feel better. Just be there.

So that's what I do. I stay next to Ivy and don't ask her any more questions. Just stay still and show her I'm here for her.

And then I have a thought. “So maybe that's what happened to Seaver.”

Ivy looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Really?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

We don't talk about it anymore. But I know what we are both thinking.

What could a headmistress do to get herself kicked out of Dowling?

Eleven

I
vy grabs her favorite Hello Kitty pj's from the dresser, then checks her cell phone messages. “I'm going to take a shower.”

My eyes dart to my laptop. This is my chance to read Cody's e-mail.

“Okay,” I say. When she takes her time with the phone, I have to stop myself from shoving her into the bathroom faster so I can get to my e-mail.

She finally shuts the bathroom door, and when I hear the water turn on, I grab my laptop and open it. My e-mail is still open, and Cody's message is still there. My heart does some weird little jumping in my chest. Nerves.

I look at the subject line.
Samhain.
My fingers hover over the computer, not quite ready to open the e-mail.
I look at the bathroom door. Ivy takes quick showers. I don't have much time.

I double click the e-mail, and it opens.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: Samhain

Hi, Hallie. How are you? How has the first week been? We've been busy with all the normal stuff. Sorry I haven't e-mailed you. We just got our laptops today.

The headmaster told us about the Third Harvest celebration and that Dowling gets to host it. That's kind of a big deal. We get to go if all of our assignments are turned in and we don't get into trouble. But don't worry, I will be there. Anyway, just wanted to say hi and that I'll see you at the celebration.

Cody

My pulse pounds in my ears. I reread the e-mail. Cody will be at the celebration. Of course, I knew he would. He
goes to Riley, and the Riley boys are coming. But I can't let myself get excited about any of it. Because I worry that my friends will know we've been talking all summer.

I worry that my friends will make a really big deal of it and be mad at me for not telling them sooner.

But mainly I worry that my clothes won't be right for the celebration.

Ivy's voice empties my mind of everything the second I hear her. “You got an e-mail from Cody?”

I try to hit the escape key on the laptop to close the e-mail. I'm too late. She's already seen it.

Ivy doesn't apologize for nearly scaring me to death. Or for being nosy. She grabs the laptop and pulls it closer to her.

“Hey,” I complain. “You're getting the screen all wet.”

She ignores me
and
the water spots she just put on my laptop screen.

Not cool.

She puts the laptop back, then squirts a mountain of mousse into her hand and runs it through her hair.

“So.” Her voice is normal, but she's irritated. I can tell.

“So?” I ask. Playing it cool is the best way to go here. I think.

“So I'm not the only one keeping secrets.”

“I'm not keeping any secrets. Just checking my e-mail.”

Ivy gives me a
Yeah, right
look. “So is it, like, a date?”

“What?” I point at the e-mail still on my screen. “This?”

“Yes, Hallie Simon. That.”

I give my best scoff and close the laptop's cover, put the computer back on my desk carefully. “Not even.”

“Does Cody know that?”

“It's not like he asked me to go to the celebration with him.”

“Well, duh,” Ivy says, hiding behind the closet door as she changes. “He's coming
here
. Did you read the e-mail? He definitely wants to see you.”

My face heats up when she says that.

“Okay. Now it's your turn to talk.” Ivy sits on her bed, legs folded, hands in her lap, like we're in kindergarten and it's story time.

“There isn't much to tell,” I say. It's a small half-truth. Not really a lie.

“How often did you talk to him this summer?” She points a stern finger at me. “Don't even think about lying.”

“You can't tell a single person about this. Not even Dru and Jo.”

She rolls her eyes. “Seriously? You think you have to say that?”

Deep breath. And another one.

“Spill it, Hal,” Ivy says, snapping her fingers.

“We exchanged e-mail addresses at the dance last year,” I begin. “I didn't think much of it at the time because we didn't even have Internet access. Then when I went home, I had six e-mails from Cody.”

“Six?” Ivy's eyes go wide. “Nice! What'd the e-mails say?”

“Nothing special. Just ‘What are you doing?' and ‘Are you going on vacation this summer?' That kind of thing.”

It feels good to tell Ivy about Cody. Keeping it inside has been harder than I realized. “And how often did you e-mail after that?” she asks.

I tell her how we e-mailed several times a day, how we told each other about our families, how we shared our newfound gifts with each other. “Mostly, though, it was just stupid stuff. Cartoons, funny YouTube videos.”

Ivy tosses a pillow at me and it hits my face. “Doesn't sound stupid to me. Sounds pretty dang cool. But what do I know? I'm just an empath.”

I throw the pillow back at her and change into an
oversize T-shirt. I don't even bother brushing my teeth. I just crawl into the sheets and grab my journal.

“Don't forget your dream journal,” I tell Ivy.

Ivy holds the journal up. “Already on it. What are we supposed to do?”

“Tell yourself you want to remember your dreams. And think of something specific you want to dream about.”

“That's a long list. Do I just pick one thing?”

“Lady Rose didn't say, but I guess so.”

A few minutes of silence pass. “What do you want to dream about?” I ask Ivy.

“Can we tell each other? Or is it like the wish you make when you blow out your birthday candles and it only comes true if you don't say what you wished for?”

I laugh. “I'm pretty sure this isn't quite the same thing. But you can keep it a secret.”

Ivy sighs and turns off the light. “I don't want to jinx it.”

My eyes adjust to the darkness. As I turn to face the wall, Ivy does the same. The room's silent, but I know we are both doing lots of talking in our heads.

I sit up in bed, heart pounding so hard, I feel like it's actually hitting my ribs. The clock on my nightstand says
it's four thirteen a.m. Why in the world am I awake?

Then I remember.

My dream.

I grab the journal from my nightstand and turn the lamp on. I throw a blanket over the lamp so it isn't so bright. Ivy doesn't move.

I take the pen and begin writing. I write fast, messily, afraid that I'll lose some little nugget of information if I don't go fast.

Cody.

Fire.

The headmistress.

Kendall.

“It's your destiny, Cody.”

Then crying.

Fire. Fire.

I look at Ivy, sleeping so silently.

Maybe my dream is just . . . just a dream. But Lady Rose's words echo in my head.
Dreams always have meaning.

I look back at my journal and fill in a lingering image.

Candles. But that isn't where the fire's coming from.

Ivy turns over in bed. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” I whisper. I turn off the lamp and put the journal on my desk. But my eyes stay open until dawn.