Scary Cool (The Spellspinners) (21 page)

I stood in the windswept silence with my bare feet pressing the grassy earth, and unfolded the baby blanket. The stones dancing along its edge gleamed dully in the pale, silvery light, heavy with mystery. The sense of anticipation was almost unbearable.
I
knew nothing about how to use a power stone, exactly, so I tried the obvious.
I held the blanket with both hands, touched the amethyst sewn above my name—lightly, using just my index finger—and summoned the Power.

The stone flashed.
I saw it. It was so brilliant that the tip of my finger lit
up
purple—the way your fingers glow red when you cover a flashlight with your hand. Like lightning, the flash was swift, blinding, and brief. But it fille
d me thro
ugh and through, as if it
had
shot
into my body and I was containing it like a bottle. Purple foxfire glittered and writhed across my skin. My hair lifted like ribbons i
n a breeze. My feet felt rooted.
I was one with the earth, the air, the sky.

Exhilarated, intoxicated, I lifted my arms and stared at them in wonder. They were still my arms, slender and pale, but
gleaming
with a second skin of amethyst light. This was like nothing I’d experienced before—except when I had piggybacked on Lance’s power stone and we had stood together, haloed with purple and green. And I knew instinctively, without any shadow of doubt, that I was in control in a way I had never been before. The Power would do what I asked. My spells would not fade, or go awry. There would be no more half-measures, no more unraveling.

The stone made me complete.

The future stretched before me, filled with limitless possibility. And in my hands I held my past. Now that I knew who I was…I would find out where I came from.

I stared at the blanket, gazing at it with my new, fire-filled eyes. I felt the power rippling through me as I looked.

I expected knowledge to flood me, just as power had.

It didn’t.

Puzzled, I looked harder. It seemed to me that the other stones sewn into the fabric pulsed with faint light, as if answering to mine, or sensing the Power all around them. I had already guessed that they, too, were power stones. But what did it mean? Could I use them, somehow, too? Or were they not meant for me at all? Lance had always spoken of a power stone as something singular, giving me the impression that each
spellspinner
had a single, unique stone—one, and no other.

Whose, then, were these?

I touched them, one by one. Garnet, topaz, aquamarine, topaz, citrine, aquamarine, topaz, topaz, amethyst, topaz, on and on. The
nature
of the stones came to me as I touched them; the topazes came in several colors but I knew they were
all
topaz. And yes, definitely they were power stones.

But not my power stones.

What did it mean? I stared again at the embroidery, concentrating. I focused so much of my energy at the images that they, too, began to glow faintly purple. Light danced along the threads, illuminating what I already knew was there. A man. A woman. Stars—or jewels. The name “Zara.”

What does it mean?
I asked the Power. I demanded the answer.
Tell me.

And thus I learned something I hadn’t known before: the Power is for doing things. It does not answer questions.

There were many things I could have asked of it, and it would have instantly performed my will. But it could tell me nothing.

I tried from several angles. I asked it riddles. I asked it to transport me to a time when the answers were known—forward or backward; I tried both directions. Nothing happened. Thinking it needed some concrete task to perform, I asked it to pluck the answers from the ether and write them on the ground before me.

I stood there in that meadow, lit from within with more power than I had ever dreamed of, power that conformed itself to my will more completely than I had ever known—and achieved exactly
nothing.

At first, I couldn’t believe it. I thought I must be doing something wrong. After all, up to this point my experiences summoning Power had been
comparatively
hit-or-miss. But eventually, I had to accept the glaringly-obvious fact that, even with my power stone, there were limits to my power.

And I couldn’t stand in the meadow forever, radiating purple light. The sun would rise soon.

So for the first time ever, I sent the Power back into the earth without having used it, really, for anything. It was a strange feeling. But I used the trick Lance had taught me, sending it dow
n through the soles of my feet. I
t worked like a charm. The light vanished. My hair fell down my back. I blinked, sighed, and slowly folded the blanket.

Knowing more than I knew an hour before, but still less—much less—than I needed.

Of course the hard part of my new getting-to-school arrangement was telling Meg.
And now I
had to risk
sk
atching
to tell her, because I didn’t
want to tell her over the phone, and I didn’t
dare ride my bike
through
the shield Lance and I
had made
until I figured out how to get the darn thing back through the shield.

My
life is
way too
complicated.

It was
Sunday afternoon
.
I
skatched
to the back of the O’Shaughnessy family garage. Meg had to scope it out first to make sure nobody was around, so when I arrived she was standing in the driveway, hands on hips. “Are you going to make a habit of this?” she demanded. “Because I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

“You’re right. It isn’t,” I said glumly.
I strolled out into the sunshine. “I just couldn’t get here any other way.”

So I
told
her about the shield. Which shocked her, because
she hadn’t believed I was in danger—mainly because I’d told her Lance thought I was, and she didn’t believe a word Lance said anymore
. And, um, I had been downplaying the whole
spending-time-with-Lance thing
. So Meg was upset on several levels.

We were in her room by the time I finished, huddled so she could hear me. My voice was doing that strange thing it does lately when I try to talk to Meg about
spellspinner
stuff…it’s like my throat closes up on me so hardly any sound comes out.

“Let me get this straight,” she said at last. She was frowning. “There is now a whole
gang
of
spellspinners
gunning for you? And the person you trust to keep you safe is
Lance Donovan?”

“Lance isn’t so bad,” I croaked. “Not as bad as you
think
.
In fact—
”

“He’s despicable.” Meg was never one to mince words. “And you know he is, Zara. That’s why you haven’t told me any of this stuff until now.”

I shook my head vehemently. “No,” I said, more firmly. “I haven’t told you because…” My mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. I cleared my throat. “There’s something going on with that. I can’t…I can’t talk about it.”
With a stick
, I almost said, but caught myself in time. “I mean physically. Physically, it’s hard to talk about.”

She just
stared at me.

I tried again. “I trust you, Meg. Absolutely. You know that.”

“Sure. So?”

My eyes traveled around the room while I tried, helplessly, to find words that would come out. “Lately…I have a hard time sharing secrets.” I pointed at my neck. “You hear that?” I rasped. “Every time I try to talk to you, it’s like there’s gravel in my throat.”

Uh-oh
. I
had awakened
the Girl
Scientist
.
Now she looked interested.
“So you want to tell me, but you can’t?”

I nodded. “Something like that.”

“
Have you been bewitched
?”

I can’t believe I never thought of that.
For a second,
my jaw dropped as I entertained the possibility. But as I rolled the idea around in my brain, it didn’t quite fit. Reluctantly, I shook my head. “No. I think it has something to do with…growing up.”

“You’re outgrowing me?”
It made me sad to see the look on Meg’s face. But then she grinned. “Well, you know what they say.”

“What?”

“Truth hurts.”

I laughed weakly. “I guess so. Because when I try to tell you the truth, it hurts.”

Ha, ha.

Actually, of course
, it’
s not funny. Something is happening to me, and it’s killing me that I can’t tell Meg. But my inability to tell Meg is part of what’s happening to me.

I’m
growing up to be
a
spellspinner
.
And
spel
lspinners
don’t have
bestie
s
.

Unfortunately, I’m still human enough to find that thought depressing.

All my life, I’ve been a loner. But I sort of assumed that I had to be—not that I
wanted
to be. Now I realize
there’s a
genetic
component
. I was born to be a loner.

And the two people I truly love—Meg and
Nonny
—are being pulled, inevitably, out of my reach. By a bunch of strangers who have come to claim me, against my will.
And
by who I am becoming. Also against my will.

I am not happy about this. Any of it.

I felt like a criminal Monday morning when I hopped on my Schwinn and sailed off down Chapman Road. As I ditched the bike at the side of the road
, making sure it was well hidden by the tall weeds,
I reminded myself that there’s n
othing illegal about
skatching
.

Didn’t work; I still
don’t like
deceiving
Nonny
. So I was in a bad mood when I popped into Lance and Rune’s
skatching
well.

My mood did not improve wh
en I strolled out, pick
ing foxtails off my skirt, and saw Amber. She was sitting on Rune’s couch, flippi
ng through a magazine with a mug
of coffee in her hand.
She was wearing sweats this time, and no makeup
, and still managed to look fabulous. She also looked perfectly at home.

“My, my,” I remarked. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

If
my arrival startled her
, she hid it well. She glanced up at me through narrowed eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited. What are
you
doing here?”

I heard Lance’s soft laugh behind me. “She was invited too, cupcake.”

I hate it when he calls me
cupcake
,
but apparently I don’t hate it as
much as Amber does. She set her mug
down on the coffee table
with an audible whack.
“You shouldn’t lead her on, lover,” she said. Anger vibrated all through her voice. “It isn’t nice.”

I almost told Amber to stop calling Lance
lover,
but fortunately I realized how childish I would sound before the words actually made it out of my mouth.
“He’s not leading me on,” I said. “He’s driving me to school.”

I felt
Lance’s emotions percolating in the air. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known he
was
mad
; he’s just too cool and collected. Amber,
on the other hand, i
s easy to read. Her eyes were glittering like a cat’s. She leaned forward and I swear her fingers curled into
claws. “He’s leading you on, sugar. Just by spending time with you, he’s leading you on. You think I don’t know?” She gave a contemptuous little laugh.
“The boy can’t help himself.”

“That’s enough.” Lance’s voice was very even and quiet. But it had a certain note in it that I, at least, recognized as dangerous. “Zara’s not part of this. Come on, Zara, let’s go.”

“Not part of what?” I planted my feet, half expecting him to start dragging me out of the room.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lance’s anger kicked up a notch—and now part of it was directed my way.
“
It doesn’t matter
. Come on.” He dangled a set of car keys from one finger. “
I’ve borrowed
a Porsche. You’ll love it.”