Blood Magic (30 page)

By lunchtime, the glitter was flaking off my mask. Three pearls dropped off and rolled down the tiled hallway.

Despite what I’d told Reese, I suspected everyone. All the teachers, all my classmates—everyone who looked at me could have been hiding Josephine inside them. Wendy and I passed notes like we always did, about superficial, totally unimportant things, and I tried to pay attention instead of thinking about the ritual that night or my looming meeting with Ms. Tripp.

Between History and Physics, I found a folded piece of paper slipped into my locker. In huge red block letters it read:
LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER
.

I tore it into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet.

Melissa, who I normally talked to in Physics, didn’t look at me once. If it hadn’t been for Wendy and our being cast as a trio, she probably would have ditched me weeks ago.

I hadn’t done anything, but I was being blamed for everything.

As I detoured from my usual path to the cafeteria to go to Ms. Tripp’s office instead, it was all I could do not to run to a bathroom stall and cry.

Tripp offered a sour-cherries smile as she held open her door. I entered silently, and she closed the door, gesturing for me to sit down. I did, clutching my backpack on my lap like a shield.

Today, her soft-and-simple attitude had vanished. The violet cardigan was more like a flak jacket than professional attire. She sat behind her desk for the first time, and folded her hands in front of her. I lifted my left hand and pressed it against my chest. I could feel the dried blood over the permanent marker rune, could feel the energy scorching between my palm and my
heart even through layers of jacket and sweater. I was ready, just in case.

The tense silence ended when Ms. Tripp said, “I’m afraid we’ve come to a very serious situation, Silla.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Tell me what happened yesterday afternoon.”

Closing my eyes because I was a crap liar when I didn’t have a script, I said, “Wendy had some kind of panic attack. I couldn’t calm her down, but Nick managed. The blood upset me, so I left. I had to go, even though she fainted or whatever.”

Ms. Tripp was quiet long enough that I finally risked a look. She hadn’t moved at all. “You and Wendy had argued?”

“Yes.”

“About what?”

Part of me wanted to spill my guts. To let it all out in a dramatic monologue. What could I tell her that would make her leave me alone? That she wouldn’t need to clarify with Wendy, or call Nick in for? Ms. Tripp gazed at me steadily until I said, “My dad.”

Her smile tipped into sympathy, and she scooted back her chair to come sit with me. I let my backpack slide down to the floor.

“Can you tell me about it?”

I fiddled with my rings, turning the emerald around and around my middle finger. “Wendy agrees with you, that I should, uh, should stop defending him like I’m defending myself. That he might have made bad choices.”

“And that angered you.”

“Yeah.”

Taking my hands loosely in hers, Ms. Tripp said gently, “Silla, dear, it’s time you took these off.”

Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. I flicked my eyes up to her face. Was she Ms. Tripp, really? Or was this another trick of Josephine’s? “Why?”

Her eyes reflected the light falling in through the office windows. Normal. Safe. “You’ve got to let go of your trauma. Normally, I wouldn’t propose pushing through it so quickly, but, Silla, with all this acting out, I’m afraid you are becoming a danger to yourself and even to others.”

“Acting … out?” I’d never understood the meaning of the word
aghast
. But now, I was
it
.

Tripp made her pretty pout and turned my hands over. The parallel slashes on my palm, one pink and healed, the other scabbed and red, stood out against the little nicks from the possessed blue jays. “Deliberately hurting yourself is never a real way to feel again.”

My palm tingled. “This isn’t about making myself feel, okay? It was a—a fluke.”

“A fluke twice?” She shook her head, and her massive curls bobbed. “I want to help you, Silla. I think if you let go of your dad, this huge burden will vanish. Admit your pain, and you can move on.”

Did she get her grief training on the Internet? I jerked my hands away.

“Cutting yourself is unacceptable. It’s dangerous and can lead to worse things. And now arguing with your friends, violence, the suggestion drugs were involved—Silla, I am very,
very worried about you. It’s why I called last night and tried to talk. I don’t want to recommend you be suspended, but it might be better for you to spend some time away from all this pressure.”

My mouth dropped open. “Suspended!”

“If I have to, Silla.”

“I have to go. Please.”

“Come back tomorrow at lunch. I am going to insist on these meetings every day until I see some improvement. And if you fall out of line again, Silla, I’ll recommend your suspension immediately.”

I grabbed my backpack, trying to imagine a mask growing out of my skin.

“Think about what I’ve said, Silla,” Ms. Tripp continued. “Think about letting it go. Let it out and cry or scream, or whatever you need to do. Just don’t hurt yourself anymore. A lot can be said for little personal rituals.” She glanced at my rings again. “I think taking those off would be a great place to start.”

“I’ll think about it,” I promised, knowing I wouldn’t.

I fled outside and flipped open my cell phone. Dialed Reese. It went straight to voice mail. Panic beat at my throat. “Reese, oh my God, where are you? I can’t believe you aren’t answering your phone. How do I know you’re okay? I have to talk to you. I can’t go home right after school—I can’t skip rehearsal. Tripp is threatening to suspend me if I do anything wrong, and if that happens I won’t have anything left. I won’t be able to even be a stupid witch in the stupid play, and I’ve always been in the plays, Reese, I don’t know what to do without
it.” I took a long, shuddering breath. “I haven’t seen Nick all day, either. Everyone looks at me, and I don’t know who they are. I think I might really be going crazy, Reese. God. Why hasn’t she done anything? Where is she—”

My phone beeped that I had an incoming call. Reese.

“Oh, God,” I answered. I closed my eyes and leaned against the hard yellow bricks of the building.

“Bumblebee, what happened?”

I babbled it all again. “And I’m scared, Reese. I have to stay, but I want to ditch, too, and get the magic over with. Be safe.”

His calm voice washed into my ear. “Refresh the blood on your heart. It will keep you safe for now.”

He didn’t know. He was making it up.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too, Silla. Be careful. You’ll be fine.”

January 1961

The first month of a new decade. I heard on the radio a reminder to make resolutions to improve one’s life. Such as: Always have dinner prepared on time. Keep your shoes shined and your hair tidy. Iron daily. Rest for fifteen minutes before your husband arrives home so that you will be fresh and gay to greet him
.

I thought
, I am going to find my errant wizard, and drag him home to me. There will not be another decade lost to his petulance and longings. I have had fifteen years to rest. Fresh is what he’s getting.

It was a relief to focus on rehearsal. It was a relief to have
made
it to rehearsal with no Josephine encounters. And without being suspended. I did it by huddling at my desk, ignoring everything but the text in front of me. By keeping my eyes down between classes.

Macbeth
opened in two weeks—less than—and only had four more rehearsals before we began tech runs. Assuming I survived that long.

Between scenes, Stokes sent me into the hallway with Wendy and Melissa to be fitted for our costumes. I had to leave my jacket in the auditorium, and barely had time to transfer the salt to my jeans. The knife was still in my jacket pocket.

Stokes had given the show a contemporary theme, and we witches would be sporting a goth look. With black makeup and everything. The sewing club was making us corsets with lots of silver buckles. Madison, who was lacing me into a mock-up, cussed me out for losing another half inch off my waist.

“You do look awful, Sil,” said Wendy, her arms raised so
that one of the freshman girls could pin down the top hem of the corset.

“Gee, thanks.”

Melissa added, from her post against the wall, “It kinda looks like you ran through barbed wire.” How nice of her to stop ignoring me in order to be mean.

“Have you been eating?” Madison asked. “Because really, this isn’t going to hold your tits up if it isn’t tighter.”

I looked down. There was a quarter-inch gap between the lining of the corset and my breasts. Even though they were in a bra and under a sweater. “Yes, I’ve been eating, and sorry I’m not looking like I walked out of
Vogue.
” I didn’t bother keeping the bite out of my voice.

“It’s a pain, and we have to keep redoing your stupid corset.”

“I’ll just stuff it or something.”

“You aren’t puking, are you?” Melissa asked.

“Melissa!” Wendy glared.

“Well, anorexia, psycho freak-outs, whatever.”

Madison jabbed a needle at Melissa. “Bulimia. That’s what puking is.”

“God, whatever.”

“And no,” Wendy said, “she isn’t.”

I just stood there, mouth slowly falling open. Was Melissa possessed? No, I thought, she’d always been such a bitch.

“How do you know? You said she’s too busy putting out for the new guy to stay with you when you pass out—”

“Don’t.” Wendy’s cheeks exploded into fireworks of color, though, so I knew Melissa wasn’t totally making stuff up.

I began untying the corset mock-up, tearing at the laces.

“Running away again?” Melissa smiled nastily. And Wendy actually paused for a moment, looking between us like she wasn’t sure who to be angry at. All the freshmen were slowly backing off.

“The thing isn’t going to fit anyway, so I’m leaving.” I slapped it onto the tiled floor.

“Poor Silla!”

Wendy rounded on Melissa, but I caught her arm. “Don’t. It isn’t worth it.”

“Yeah,” Melissa sneered. “Besides, stay too close and you might get shot.”

I hadn’t been particularly angry before. But the meaning of Melissa’s accusation seeped down over me like I’d been drenched with cold pudding. I stilled. Even my heart seemed to stop. I stared at her. “What?” I whispered.

She didn’t answer except to lift her chin, jutting it out slightly.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wendy hissed at Melissa.

“I know crazy is genetic. I know spending time with Silla is bad for your health.”

“You don’t know
anything.
” I whirled around, wrapped in my own drama, and stalked into the auditorium for my backpack. I ignored the confused glance from Stokes and strode right back out again. I didn’t care that I was ditching the last half of rehearsal.

The sun glared at me and I threw up my hands for shade. Most of the parking lot was still full. Everybody had practice or
rehearsal or a club meeting or something. I was supposed to hitch a ride with Nick, but he hadn’t been at rehearsal. Not even backstage. I’d texted him a few times during the day, but he’d only sent back one after lunch. A haiku about Mr. Sutter’s toupee. Nothing since.

I marched through the lot. Home wasn’t far. I’d walked it most of my life.

But as I wove through two lines of cars, I saw Nick’s convertible. It was unmistakably shiny amid the old assortment of dusty compacts and station wagons and pickups. And the top was down. I climbed in and slouched into the passenger seat, arms crossed over my stomach.

She was asleep. In my car.

I stood next to the passenger side for a minute, looking down at her. The sun made her skin seem translucent and bloodless. For a moment, it didn’t matter why I was falling in love with her. Just that I was.

As quietly as possible, I got behind the wheel and lifted my bag into the back. When the engine growled to life, she groaned softly and stretched. I didn’t bother shifting out of park, watching her instead. Her eyelids fluttered and she sat up, rubbed her cheeks, and peered into the light. “Nick?” she murmured.