Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 03 She's A Witch Girl (12 page)

On Saturday morning, since I couldn’t cheer and was forbidden even to attend the game as a spectator, I decided to
skip the pedicure appointment I badly needed and figure out what was wrong with the Maddie-tracking charm. Dorklock’s sock had gone toxic, so I grabbed the first thing that came to hand—Samuel’s lucky rock that he’d left to help me get an A on my extra credit.

I really wasn’t trying to spy on him. I just meant to see if I could get the spell to work. But after I touched the lucky rock and saw—I had to go and check it out.

I arrived at the mortal grocery store discreetly, just in time to see him carrying a bag of groceries to the car for the frail-looking mortal woman beside him.

I walked up to him and said, “Hi, Samuel.” This was, as I well knew, a proven technique to find out if someone is doing something they’re not supposed to be doing. Most of my classmates’ mothers—and a few fathers—used it routinely to make sure the secretary/pool boy/maid/plumber was not going above and beyond the call of duty, if you get my drift.

Samuel’s reaction was pretty much into the red zone of the guilt-meter. He looked at me as if I were an alien bug with waving tentacles and a hungry dripping maw, like in the
Alien
movies. I assumed it was the fact I was a witch, and so shouldn’t be fraternizing with mortals. Not that the old lady would know if we didn’t tell her. Besides, Samuel was here. So, really, what’s the big deal? I might have witch-whispered the question, but I didn’t have time.

“Is this the young lady who has been cutting into our
time, Sammy?” the old lady teased, her eyes twinkling as she assessed me.

Oh. So that was the big deal.
Sammy
was consorting with mortals for some reason. And this particular mortal knew him well enough to ask embarrassing questions.

“We’re just friends,” I said as quickly as possible without being impolite.

She smiled and looked at Samuel. “Don’t lose hope. The good ones are always hard to catch.”

Oh, great. Samuel had hooked up with a mortal who not only called him Sammy, but who was a matchmaker wannabe, too.

“I just wanted to ask a quick question about some homework,” I said.

“Well, Sammy was going to come in for cookies and tea, so I can thank him for weeding my flower beds this morning.”

Weeding flower beds? In the winter? Did this lady have Alzheimer’s?

“I’ll catch up with you later, Pru.” Samuel wanted me gone, which raised my radar big-time.

I would have walked away, though, if the old lady hadn’t said, “I’m Nina Sutton-Pierce, young lady, and you are certainly welcome to join us.”

I stuck out my hand. “Prudence Stewart. I’d be delighted.” I didn’t add that my delight grew more when I saw Samuel was glaring at me. Or that my curiosity
included a bit of worry that my best friend was doing something that was going to get him in trouble if anyone ever found out.

“I’m sure Pru has better things to do. She’s a busy girl.”

“Nonsense. I insist. You’re wonderful company, dear boy, but I am in the mood for a nice girl-to-girl chat. We girls just know how to talk, don’t we?”

I nodded. Samuel rolled his eyes at me, careful not to let Ms. Sutton-Pierce notice.

She lived in a little one-bedroom house on a neat square patch of well-kept lawn. Each window held a flower box full of colorful flowers I couldn’t even begin to name. It was winter, and I wondered how they were blooming until I realized they were fake.

She saw me notice and smiled. “I like a year-round garden, but living in Massachusetts, I must resort to artifice some months. Sammy weeds the real garden in the spring and summer. For these, he pulls out the dead leaves and the street trash that sometimes blows into my window boxes in the fall and winter. And washes off the dust, to keep them looking fresh.”

That was a lot of work for some fake flowers, but I didn’t think either of them would appreciate my saying so. “They’re beautiful.”

“Thanks to this fine young man.” She smiled at Samuel. “It’s not every one his age who’ll come by to check on an old woman every week.”

Samuel seemed to be worried that I was going to freak at that news. Didn’t he know I already knew he was a mortal groupie? Better he help out lonely old ladies than hit on girls who might be susceptible to a not-very-chivalrous seduction charm. Not that I could imagine Samuel and seduction in the same paragraph, never mind the same sentence. We had tea, we had a nice chat. We even got in some girls-only time while Samuel fixed her toaster because it had been burning her morning toast. If she’d been a few decades younger, I’d have sworn he had a major crush. But I could understand why he liked her. She was funny, and sweet, and there was a kind of light around her when she told me how much she appreciated the way I paid attention to an old lady as if I were interested—and when she laughed and told me she appreciated my sweetness when I assured her that I was not pretending. Even though it was the truth.

It wasn’t until we said good-bye and left—through the front door, walking down the street like mortals while she waved to us from her window—that Samuel really let me know how mad he was. Anyone who didn’t know him probably wouldn’t have guessed that the way he didn’t talk to me, or didn’t look at me when he started walking away, was not just a geeky lack of manners.

“Why so mad?” I said to his stiff-shouldered back. “She’s a kewl old lady. I’m not going to rat you out to Agatha. How you get your mortal groupie fix is no one else’s business.”

He stopped walking. His shoulders were so tense, I could see that he wasn’t sure whether he should turn around or not, but he did. “You liked her?”

Duh. What wasn’t to like? “Of course I did.”

“I do too.” He flipped the tri-lenses of his glasses until I wanted to rip the glasses off his nose and toss them into the street. Finally, he whispered, “And I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Whoa. He wasn’t kidding. He was really afraid. Samuel wasn’t a rule-breaker for the most part—unless the rule didn’t make sense or follow a clear and logical path. Which meant I whispered back when I asked, “Would the witches’ council do something to her just because you’re her knight-in-shining-toolbelt every week?”

He shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t hurt her. She’s no harm to them.”

“Then what’s the big deal? When I was in Beverly Hills we used to go visit an old-folks home every Christmas. It’s called volunteering in your community. It’s a good thing.”

“Sure it is.” For some reason, he was still upset. “But the witches’ council might tell my dad to make me stop seeing her. She doesn’t have anyone else. She’d miss me.”

Wow. He was very attached to his community project. I held up my hands to indicate surrender. “I get it. I’m not planning to say anything.”

“Good.” I guess he’d decided to trust that I wasn’t trying
to get him—or the old lady—in trouble. Or at least forgive me, because he smiled and turned back into the Samuel I was more familiar with. “So, why did you want to find me in the first place?”

There was still a shadow of a secret in the way he looked around nervously as he talked to me. I decided to let it go. I could worm it out of him later, when he wasn’t so worried that I would spill his stupid secret. So he was the witch version of a Boy Scout, helping out an old lady. So what? I didn’t have time for his boy drama. I had girl drama to take care of. “This tracking spell isn’t working for me.”

He crossed his arms and looked at me. “Could have fooled me.”

Okay, so that had sounded stupid. “I tracked you, but I can’t track . . . Dorklock.” He looked even more skeptical. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have such smart friends. I couldn’t get away with anything that would have flown like a kite in Beverly Hills. I sighed. “Anyway, can you help me figure out what I’m doing wrong?”

“Okay.” He stared at me for a second, though, as if he was thinking how to say, “First, promise me you’ll never tell anyone about this.”

“Are you kidding me?” What was the big deal? I had a feeling it was something juicy, but that seemed odd. Samuel wasn’t the kind of guy to have juicy secrets, he had geeky ones. I knew I was going to make him mad, but I had to
know. “Why would anyone else care? You’re acting like you’re James Bond and I’m about to blow your cover with Dr. No.”

“Pru, haven’t you learned anything?” I’m not sure I’d ever seen Samuel so scared. “We don’t fraternize with mortals without risk.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t see the big deal. Mom and Dorklock and I have done it for, like, my whole life.”

He pounced on that. “Isn’t that the whole reason you came to Agatha’s? To keep your brother from doing some unintentional damage to mortals?”

“That? That was kid stuff.” I don’t think the council would worry that Samuel was going to puff up some old lady’s skirts. Besides, she wore slacks.

“You know it isn’t kid stuff.” He looked at me with his puppy dog eyes again, begging me to understand. “After what happened to my mom . . .” He trailed off.

I’m not sure why I was resisting. It wasn’t that big a thing to promise I wouldn’t tell. Who would even care? Agatha? —umm, not my first thought for a confidante. “Fine. It’s a big deal. Are you going to help me or not?”

He crossed his arms and scowled impatiently. “Are you going to promise me?”

I sighed. “Promise.” I crossed my heart and said, “I hope to sprout zits if I lie.”

He still didn’t look happy. “I wish I could believe you,
but the more you get into the cheering stuff and the regular classes, the less I think I know you.”

All I could think of was that he needed to lighten up. So I said the most absurd thing I could think of. “If you keep this up, I’m going to start to believe she’s your mom and you have her hidden in the Witches’ Protection Program, for goodness sake. . . .” It was my turn to trail off.

He’d turned pale. His mouth had opened and closed like a fish out of water.

My joke was maybe not so funny. Maybe it was real. Was that even possible? I squeaked out, “She
is
your mom. But, how?”

He stopped even trying to pretend. “You can’t tell anyone.”

I crossed my heart, totally serious this time. I didn’t need to have manifested a Talent to know this was not something to take lightly. “I promise never to tell, or I’ll never cheer again. But you have to tell me what happened.”

Finally, he realized I wasn’t fooling around. I wasn’t going to tell anyone. He took a shaky breath and smiled at me a little. “She was banished. Her powers were stripped.” He looked miserable. But then he shook his head, as if he was used to clearing out these kind of thoughts. He smiled again, almost back to normal. “But she’s happy. So I’m happy for her. You know?”

Nope, I didn’t know how he could be happy to see his mother like that. But all of a sudden it made
sense. Terrible sense. If the council had banished his mom, they’d be more than a little unhappy that he’d found her and was mowing her lawn. “Does your dad even know?”

“No. He knew what her sentence meant. And he promised her he’d take care of me and not look for her.” He flipped his lenses nervously. “But I didn’t promise not to look for her.”

“Wow. That’s real Lifetime movie material.” Or maybe soap opera stuff.
As the Witch Turns
or
The Bold and the Mortal.

He winced. Sometimes I’m stupid. “Why did you go looking for her in the first place?” I asked.

“I didn’t want her to be alone.”

I thought about the Saturdays we’d burned up tutoring when I was trying to get out of remedial classes. “How many times did you have to cancel your ‘date’ with her because of me?”

“None.”

“Really?” I remembered how she’d teased that her Sammy was seeing someone on the side.

“No. I always go every Saturday. I just don’t stay as long.”

“I’m sorry. If I’d known—”

“She would have wanted it that way. She was always on me to spend more time with friends.” He shrugged. “Even if she doesn’t remember, she still treats me like a mom would. Like she did when she knew she was my mom.”

“Maybe you should tell your dad—” I couldn’t help think how sad his dad had looked at Thanksgiving dinner.

“No way. And you can’t either.” He must have seen the doubt in my eyes, because he insisted. “Promise. You will not tell my dad.”

“I promise. I will not tell your dad, even though I think he should know so you don’t have to go through this all by yourself.” I could see it wasn’t easy for him, and I’d never had a clue. Impressive. Who would have thought Samuel would have a secret like this? It’s a juicy one, if you like heartbreaking secrets that make you mad at powerful people. And if you’re not best friends with someone who has to live with the fallout.

I didn’t want to add to his pain, so I took his hand. He jumped, surprised, but I held on. “And just so you won’t have any doubts, let’s trade secrets, then: My silence for yours.”

“What secret do you have? Everyone knows you still slip up and think like a mortal. It’s part of your charm.” He didn’t look convinced.

I had no intention of telling him any of my super-hideous secrets, like that Daniel sent me anonymous notes. But there was one I needed to tell him, anyway, if I wanted his help. “The tracking spell I asked you to teach me? It’s for tracking Maddie and Chezzie.”

He shook his head. “Mortals? The girls from your old team?”

I nodded.

He whistled. “Isn’t it also cheating?”

“No.” I smiled. “It’s just gossips gone witch.”

He sighed. “Girl drama. I think I believe you. Too bad you didn’t trust me in the first place. A tracking spell for mortals is just a little different from one for witches.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe I should have trusted him when I asked him to teach me the tracking spell. But then I wouldn’t know his secret. Now I did, which meant I could have his back. If he hadn’t told his dad, he needed someone to look out for him, whether he knew it or not.

I finally heard from Mr. Bindlebrot. He’d made me sweat it for two days, but then he’d told me my extra credit had been more than enough to give me a passing grade in math. I showed up at practice ready to rumble. Tara had already told me the Witches were improving (literally) by leaps and bounds. She thought we actually had a chance to win. I wasn’t sure I believed her about being ready to win Nationals—she was still a novice when it came to competition. But I did believe she could see the improvement in the team performance.