Spell Check (20 page)

Parvani nodded and blew her nose. “I brought all the things I used to cast the original spell.” She opened her backpack and pulled out the knife, the Buddha statue, and the rest. “I already used up the pink candle.”

“You used pink instead of red? Thank the Goddess,” Sarah said.

“Why, what’s the difference?” I asked.

“Um, level of intensity.”

A blush spread across Parvani’s cheeks, which more than ever resembled a rich, French roast coffee, no cream or sugar.

“Evie, do you have any white candles?” Sarah asked. “They can stand in for pink.”

“We have a bag of white tea lights. I’ll go get them.”

When I returned, I left Baby out in the hall. Inside my room, the overhead light had been turned off. The reading lamp on my desk shed a small pool of light, plunging most of the room into darkness. The circle was set. I noticed a slightly crinkled photo of Jordan in the center. It showed him in profile, midair on his skateboard, his hair windblown. He seemed oblivious to the camera, and I wondered if Parvani had taken the shot with her cell phone.

Sarah scribbled something on a piece of binder paper. When she saw me, she paused and handed each of us a scrap of paper.

“Write down the qualities you’d most like in a boyfriend,” she commanded. The three of us hunched over my desk to catch the scant illumination.

“First we undo the original spell.” Sarah placed a tea light on top of each Guardian Stone, and lit them as she called in the guardians to aid and protect us. As the ritual continued, my breath slowed. The doorbell, the dog’s barks, and shouts of trick-or-treat faded.

“I release thee, Jordan Campbell Kent,” Parvani said aloud three times as she read from Sarah’s notes. “And I ask forgiveness from your higher self for binding you against your will. I ask to clear on all planes any negative karma this may have caused.”

“So mote it be.” Sarah rang a little silver bell she had found in my hutch.

Just to be sure, I picked up the black-handled knife and sliced the air where the spell link had been. Blue light crackled up the blade, reached the hilt, and gave me a major case of pins and needles. “So mote it be.” I placed the knife on the floor. We stood in silence for a moment.

“Now let’s do the spell the right way, so you can find your true love,” I said.

“Not just me,” Parvani protested. “All of us.”

We lifted our binder paper to the candlelight, and one by one we read our lists and said the magic words.
Kind, smart,
and
cute
appeared on all three lists. I included c
ompassionate.
Parvani listed
tenacious, loyal
, and
likes ballet
. Salem had written
creative
and
a major wit
.

I heard a small poof, then breathed in a spicy gypsy aroma. A tingle spider-walked across my shoulders then down my arms. Somewhere outside the sacred circle, tiny pewter bells chimed.

Chapter Thirty-Three

After the ritual, we sat on the floor within the circle, our faces illuminated by the candlelight. My thoughts drifted to Mom, then Dad.

“Didn’t you say Samhain is a good time to honor the dead?” I asked Sarah.

“It is. Would you like to do something for your father?”

“We should!” Parvani gushed. “But first, Sarah, I want to give you something.” She lifted
Teen Wytche
off the makeshift altar and handed it to her.

Sarah gaped as though she’d just been handed a rare treasure, and pressed her hand to the grimoire’s tattered cover. The book pulsed as though resuscitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Parvani and I said in unison.

“Wow. Thanks.”

“I’ll go get Mom. She should be part of our ritual for Dad.”

Sarah nodded. “I’ll hold the sacred space. And, you know, I think from now on I want to be called Salem. It feels right, all of a sudden.”

“It suits you,” Parvani said.

I stepped out into the hall, almost tripping over Baby, who had fallen asleep outside my door. I was unsure of how much time had passed. It must have gotten late enough to turn out the porch light and snag Mom.

The doorbell rang, blowing my theory. Baby’s paw quivered, but she remained in doggie dreamland. I started down the hall with Parvani in my wake.

“I’ll get it,” she said. “Find your mom.”

We reached the entry together, and Parvani opened the front door. “Zhù!” Parvani threw her arms around him.

Zhù’s jaw dropped an inch. He stood riveted in the porch light, Mom’s jack-o-lantern flickering at his feet. Then he closed his eyes and hugged Parvani.

I left them alone and went to check on Mom.

“Hey.” I came up behind her in the kitchen as she reached for the candy bowl and slid my arms around her waist. “Zhù’s at the door. I think he and Parvani have made up.”

Mom patted my hand. “I’m so glad.”

“Any pizza left?” a familiar male voice asked.

I swung toward the sound, my heart leapfrogging. “Jordan.”

His eyes had a disoriented, post-spell glaze. He held out his arms. “Evie.” He managed to convey love, need, apology, relief, and joy all in the way he said my name.

I melted into his arms. The chill night air clung to him, so I tightened the embrace, willing my warmth to seep into him. He sighed against me and pressed his forehead to mine. His lips were so close…

“Ahem.”

Mom! I had forgotten about her. Jordan and I eased apart.

He pulled out a chair and sank into it. “I’m starving. I can’t remember the last time I ate.” He plucked at his zombie costume, dazed. I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Jordan pressed his fingers to the spot.

I pulled the leftover pizza out of the fridge and handed it to him. “Don’t go anywhere,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I sprinted past Zhù and Parvani making out in the entry and dashed down the hall. Stepping over Baby, I entered my candlelit bedroom. “Jordan’s here,” I told Salem. “Hand me the knife.”

Although she probably broke some “holding the sacred circle” rule, Salem passed me the black-handled knife.

“Thanks.”

I returned to the brightly lit kitchen. Mom had joined Jordan at the table. Squinting, I saw a few ragged spell vapors still attached to Jordan’s back, level with his heart. “Lean forward,” I instructed, hiding the knife from view. “You have something on your costume.”

Jordan bowed over the table.

Mom stood when she saw the knife, her eyes wide with confusion and alarm. “Evie…”

Blue light crackled up the blade as I sliced the air close to Jordan’s back. The remnants of the spell link burst like popped bubbles. Jordan rolled his shoulders. “Wow. My skin just went all weird. What did you do?”

“Nothing.” I shot Mom a quick glance before stashing the knife into the nearest drawer. Her shoulders relaxed a bit and she sat back down, but I could tell she’d have a few questions for me later. “Salem says it’s a tradition on Samhain to honor those who have died. Would you two like to join me in a ritual for Dad?”

Mom’s eyes misted. “What a great idea.”

“Count me in,” Jordan said.

“Great. Mom, could you grab a picture of Dad for the circle, and pull out the last photos he took in Afghanistan?”

“The ones you’ve refused to look at?”

“Yes.” I inhaled a long breath, and released it. “I want to see them. They must have been important. Otherwise, Dad never would have risked his life to take them. Let’s put them in the circle next to his lucky cap and a bar of his peppermint soap, if you still have one.” I had a feeling
Teen Wytche
would like Dad’s special smell.

“I’ll go find them.” Mom took off.

Jordan brushed his fingertips across the back of my hand, sending tingles sprinting up my arm. “Good call, Lois.” He pulled me onto his lap.

I slid my arms around his neck and breathed in his familiar outdoorsy scent. “I’m glad you approve.”

His eyes lit with the twinkle I had missed so much. His lips parted. “Oh, I approve.” He closed his eyes and we both leaned in close for a tentative kiss.

I think my toes curled. I know my stomach fluttered. The scent of summer roses perfumed the room, and I’m pretty sure I heard the far-off tinkle of tiny pewter bells.

About the Author

Ariella Moon, a Reiki Master and shaman, lives an almost normal life with her extraordinary daughter, shamelessly spoiled dog, and an enormous dragon.

Visit Ariella at
www.AriellaMoon.com

Also from Ariella Moon

Book 2 in the Teen Wytche Saga!

Chapter One

My whole life since fifth grade has been a lie. That was when I razor-cut my blond hair and dyed it black and purple. I got an eyebrow stud, which hurt like blazes, then became infected and hurt even worse. I scoured thrift shops for vintage black clothing and adopted a Mess-With-Me-At-Your-Own-Peril attitude. Teachers no longer recognized me as Amy Miller's little sister. I became the Anti-Amy. No resemblance, no expectations. And unfortunately, no friends.

Magic always exacts a price.

But now, barely three months into my freshman year at Jefferson High, I'd found a friend — Evie O'Reilly. She'd seen through my disguise and discovered the reason behind it: I have difficulty reading.

Compared to Amy, I'm a failure. But this Halloween night, I'd succeeded at something big: I'd overturned a wrongful love spell. As a consequence, I saved a life, probably two. And I helped Evie in the process. As Evie's mom drove me home and her Volvo swung into my driveway, my brain buzzed with the thought,
Tonight will definitely go in my Karmic Win column.

"Bye, Salem," Evie said.

"Bye. Thanks for the ride, Mrs. O'Reilly." Giddy with success and magic, I hopped out, closed the car door, then waved to Evie before sprinting to my front porch. The lantern-shaped light fixture cast an amber glow over the empty candy bowl perched on the footstool. As I unlocked the front door, I wondered if the trick-or-treaters had heeded the Please Take One sign, or if marauding teens had stolen all the chocolates.

Feeling like a thief, I snuck inside. Einstein, Amy's cockapoo, guarded the marble entryway. The dog ignored me and stood on his hind legs to sniff the plastic bag looped over my wrist. One whiff of the noxious brimstone emanating from the half-destroyed spell book was enough to catapult him, nails clicking, down the hall. He raced past the half-bath on the right, my room on the left, then Amy's. He took the corner at a skid, almost crashed into the glass case displaying Amy's trophies, recovered, and then disappeared from view.

"Sarah?" It sounded as if Mom had cracked open my parents' bedroom door at the far end of the hall.

My post-magic buzz vanished. I shielded the bag behind my back and froze. "Yeah, Mom," I called out. "I'm back from Evie's."

"Good night, Toothpick." Dad sounded exhausted. I pictured him standing behind Mom, dressed in his white tee shirt and gray flannel pajama bottoms. He was probably scratching the stubble along his jaw.

"Good night." I waited, muscles tensed. When neither of them emerged around the corner, my arm dropped to my side. The grimoire pressed against my thigh like a needy child. My gaze drifted to my sister's bedroom door. Part of me wanted to sit on Amy's bed and hug her stuffed animal, Flipper.
Would Amy get better? Should we have brought her home?
I thought about the suicide prevention pamphlet stuffed in my backpack.
Surely M.I.T. would allow a leave of absence for a student who had overdosed.

She's going to get better. She has to.

In the hall, I hurried past the framed eight-by-ten photos of Amy. Thirteen years of formal school portraits, splashy action shots of Amy scoring for the water polo team, and Amy giving her valedictorian speech last June. In each, her shiny blond hair haloed her sun-kissed face. Her eyes gleamed with intelligence; her smile was wide and welcoming. She radiated athletic wholesomeness.

Interspersed among the photos of the Golden One were a few smaller photos of me. Well, photos of my pre-goth self, taken when I'd looked like a mini-Amy but with an unsure smile, worried eyes, and fragility instead of athletic prowess. There were no pictures of me after the fifth grade. Zero.
Nada.
I had ceased to exist when I'd gone goth.