Spell Fire (11 page)

"Does she rent space in the back?" I whispered in Aunt Terra's ear.

"No. Hazel sees people at her house."

I threw Aunt Terra my sternest what-are-you-thinking stare, which is usually reserved for freshman members of the Performing Arts technical crew. The guy at Hazel's table left the store empty-handed and visibly worried. A muscular crew-cut guy I figured was stationed at Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center sat down in the vacant seat.

"Over there is Cerelia." Uncle Esmun angled his head toward the middle of the store, where a henna-haired, middle-aged woman wearing a constant smile and flowing garb revealed tarot cards for a mother-daughter duo. Three people waited in her line. Thor manned the massage table. He held a pendulum over his prone client. His line consisted of two middle-aged women and three teenage girls. The latter whispered in each other's ears and covered their mouths with their hands whenever a nervous giggle escaped.

"Other stores charge twenty to thirty dollars
an hour
to rent space, plus an extra fee for website support," I said.

They blinked at me as though I had grown a third eye. Uncle Esmun shook his head. "She must favor her dad's side of the family."

"Thank the Goddess!" Aunt Terra raised her arm for a high five. Our palms slapped. I beamed back at them. Suddenly, the world seemed less lonely.

****

"Be back by two," Aunt Terra called after Jett as we left Spiral Journeys for lunch. "I'll need you on the floor during the board meeting."

"No problem," Jett assured her.

We walked past a consignment store, a gas station, and an artist collective. "Does Hazel always end her readings with dire predictions?" I asked.

"Pretty much." Jett stopped in front of an orchid-colored door with a driftwood handle.

Great. Hippieville
. "Gives new meaning to the term 'scare up customers,'" I said, my voice dripping with disgust. Five people were lined up ahead of us to place their orders, a good sign.

Jett snorted. A ceiling fan painted to look like palm fronds stood idle above us as we read the menu painted on the wall. Finally, we reached the counter waitress.

"Hey, Morningstar." Jett greeted the wholesome-looking, ponytailed brunette as if she was his best friend. If she had been four years younger, I might have thought she was his girlfriend.

"Hey, Jett." Her olive tee shirt brought out the green in her eyes. Her gaze swung to me, and her silver spirit dancer earrings grazed her jaw. "Who's your friend?" she asked Jett.

"This is Ainslie. She's Terra and Esmun's niece."

"Girl, how you be?" she asked in a smiling, dead-on imitation of Uncle Esmun.

I totally melted. "I be well. Thanks."

"What can I get for you?" She held her pen over a small flip pad.

I glanced back at the Sand Bar listings. "One Moon Dust Smoothie." Then I spied the huge brownies piled in a pyramid atop a glass cake stand. "And one of those."

"Nothing else?" Jett asked. "Just a smoothie and dessert?"

"I'm stuffed. Uncle Esmun made omelets for breakfast. But order whatever you want."

"You sure?"

"Ye-e-ah." I drew out the word for emphasis. "Besides, my parents gave me money to cover my gambling debts."

"Right. 'Cause you're such a wild thing." His dimples showed. To Morningstar he said, "A portabella mushroom with bacon and cheese on a whole-wheat bun, please."

"You got it, handsome."

We migrated to an unoccupied rickety green table, scraped back a couple of chairs, and sat. Sunlight angled in from high, dusty windows. The warmth seeped into me, melting away some of the morning's tension. I picked at the plastic wrap encasing the brownie.

"I hate shrink wrap. No one can open those things." Jett's fingers brushed mine as he fumbled for an edge to peel back. "If I open it first, you have to share," he half-joked.

"No way!" I tried to slide the brownie away from him, but he was quick and nimble-fingered. We grappled, four hands wrestling, fingers bumping, entwining. Within seconds, I was breathless from the tussle and buzzing from the crazy mojo sparking off Jett.

"You have your own food!" I protested.

His long fingers picked at the plastic. "Not yet."

"Hey!" I laughed and grabbed Jett's hand. He escaped my grasp, so I captured his wrist. My thumb pressed against the angry crosshatch scars. Energy twitched beneath his skin. Random, short-circuited pulses struck my flesh like electric shocks.

"You going to eat the brownie or demolish it?" Morningstar asked.

We glanced up at her, then both let go, me of Jett's wrist, he of the now crumbled brownie still encased in plastic.

Jett dimpled. "Both."

"Hah!" I dragged the brownie toward me. My fingers burned from Jett's jittery energy. I thought back to the magazine quizzes Jazmin and I adored. They covered issues like, "Are You a Good Kisser?" and "Are You in an Abusive Relationship?" but not this. Though the weird energy and cut marks felt like a red flag, I pushed them to the back burner of my brain.

Morningstar handed me my smoothie and placed Jett's plate on the table. "No food fights, children."

"Yes, ma'am" we said in unison.

Our jaws dropped. "Jinx!"

"Double jinx!"

Morningstar shook her head, then walked away.

Jett plowed into his mushroom steak like he hadn't eaten in days.

"Well, that was mature of us," I said.

Jett, his mouth full, raised his hand for a high five. I hesitated, then thudded my hand against his. He resumed eating, and I fumbled for the bottle of hand sanitizer stashed in my handbag. Keeping my hands beneath the table, I squirted a cool dollop of the clear, gelatinous liquid onto my hand. The unmistakable smell of disinfectant sharpened the air. Jett's nostrils flared, but he didn't comment.

"Your school gets out awfully early," Jett said after he had eaten half the mushroom sandwich in three alligator bites.

I dropped the sanitizer bottle into my handbag and squirmed. "It's still in session." I grasped the smoothie straw between my thumb and forefinger. The Winter Showcase had debuted without me. I had no idea how Jazmin's guitar solo had gone or if Rayne had remembered all the set changes. I wondered with whom Jazmin would go Kwanzaa shopping at the mall.

Jett paused mid-bite. Behind his curtain of hair, I'm sure he raised his dark brows.

I shrugged. "My parents pulled me out early so they could go on a cruise."

"Seriously? Just the two of them?"

I tapped the straw against the bottom of the glass. "They're trying to decide whether or not to divorce."

Jett resumed chewing. Once he had swallowed, he gestured toward the brownie and gently said, "Let me open it for you."

I slid the chocolate brick toward him. This time, he made short work of peeling back the plastic before handing back the dessert, the plastic cupped in his hands like an offering.

"Taste," he commanded.

I plucked one of the larger crumbs and placed it in my mouth. Highest-grade butter, premium chocolate, and sugar danced across my taste buds. "Wow!"

Jett dimpled again and sliced his hand through the air parallel with the table. "The best in the world, totally addictive. By the end of your stay, we'll have to enroll you in a ten-step program."

"So worth it."

"On the upside, chocolate will flood your veins, making you immune to boys named Thor."

I laughed, spitting precious brownie crumbs onto the table.

Jett flicked them at me. "You're a classy date."

"Totally." I used a napkin to brush the crumbs onto another napkin. "We should do this again sometime."

Jett crunched into a pickle. "What? Act like third graders?"

"No. Go on an actual date. Maybe sometime when Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun are teaching an evening class. My treat. I owe you for introducing me to these brownies."

He stared at me a moment, his expression unfathomable, and then he lowered the last bite of his mushroom to the white plate. "No. I don't think so."

"You don't date?"

"Nothing personal."

I swallowed hard, pushing down a week's worth of rejection. I curled my lips inward and pressed them together so I wouldn't cry over parents who forgot to call and some trailer park jerk that thought he was too good for me.

I was beyond humiliated.

I was beyond crying.

I was furious.

Chapter Twelve

An invisible wall of hurt prevented our shoulders from touching as Jett and I navigated the narrow, sand-pocked sidewalk. Cars sped past, spewing noxious fumes. I steeled myself for one more endless block until we reached Spiral Journeys.

No? Nothing personal? Is he serious?

My flip-flops slapped my feet with each step. I pulled myself as erect as possible, as if perfect posture were armor against mortification. I needed my high heels. I needed to be taller. I needed to be impervious. I needed to not be stuck at Spiral Journeys with Jett for the next ninety minutes.

The wind chimes over the register clanged as we entered the store. For once there were a few people milling about. I hoped they weren't all board members.

"Thanks for lunch." Jett threw me a wary, sideways glance.

Find a black hole.
"An Avalon-Bennett always pays her debts." I bared my teeth in a fake smile.

Get a grip, Ains.
I sidled past him and retrieved my backpack from beneath the register. Laden with homework and humiliation, I avoided eye contact and threaded my way to the back. I had almost reached the book area when I spied a pair of munchkin-size feet sticking out from under the lavender-draped display table. As I neared, the feet, encased in ragged lace anklets and red, glittery Dorothy shoes, clicked together.

Isis, the seat-kicker from the plane.
What was she doing here? Aside from a few children's books, wands, and the fairy display she hid under, there wasn't much in the store to attract young children. Where was her mother?

I scanned the people milling about the displays and book aisles. A teen couple sat on the floor, their bare knees touching through the rips in their jeans. They studied an oversized book, astrology maybe. An older woman in the Wicca section sniffed an incense stick. A chunky twenty-something in a low-cut peasant blouse and a long, too-tight skirt, flirted with Jett while she pretended to examine the jewelry display. Not a push-up bra or bleached blonde in sight. Isis's mother must be lurking in the bathroom or in one of the tarot reading rooms.

This is why I didn't read my gloom and doom almanac. It probably said something like: Welcome to Hell. Nothing will go right today.

Indecision paralyzed me. Hating myself for being über-responsible, I crouched down and said, "Isis."

She scuffled her feet under the table, hiding like a puppy caught with a stolen sneaker. A minute later, her head popped out from under the table drape. Her blue eyes widened when she saw me.

"I didn't do anything," she said, scrambling to her feet. Her grubby fingers sparkled with fine glitter, and a silver comet of the stuff was streaked across her right cheek. She probably had one of our fairy dust jars stashed beneath the table and maybe a wand as well, the little thief.

"Where's your mother?"

"She dropped me off. My brother is supposed to watch me."

A familiar pressure nudged between my shoulder blades. Dragon energy tingled down my arms. The spicy incense smells and cloying collision of candle odors gave way to the crisp, pure scent of deep-water lakes and forbidding mountain summits. My face warmed. I didn't dare glance up at the mural.

I cleared my throat. "Is your brother in the store?"

Isis nodded. "You're glowing. Like an angel."

"I walked too fast."

Isis tilted her head and stared at me. Her disbelieving expression told me she had an excellent crap detector. I shouldn't have been surprised. Look who she lived with.

"I have to go," I said. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Isis twirled one of her curly blond locks around her forefinger. "I'm reading."

"Under the table? How can you see?"

She crawled back under the table and held up the drape with one hand while she used her other hand to press the button on a pink plastic wand. "They light up."

I wondered how many wands would be returned because she had drained the batteries. "Why don't you read out here where your brother can see you?"

"He's busy."

I glanced at the teen couple. The girl studied the oversized book. The boy was definitely busy — caressing the girl's arm and nuzzling her neck.

"Peek out once in a while so he knows where you are."

"Okay."

My eyes sought out Jett. He showed the goddess wannabe a silver necklace.
You can have him, sister.

Sparks of dragon energy flared around me as I headed toward the mystery school. I sensed Isis's gaze on my back. My efforts to flee inconspicuously were ruined by the loud
slap, slap, slap
of my flip-flops. I approached the unisex bathroom, intent on washing Jett, Isis, and a meteor shower of humiliation and hurt from my hands. The doorknob was nearly in my grasp when the dragon energy swept me into the hall. Both reading room doors were closed. Signs hung on the doorknobs read, Quiet, please. Session in progress.

You'd think they were doing brain surgery.
Still, I kicked off my flip-flops and carried them. My bare feet made contact with the cheap wool carpet and the soles of my feet started to itch.

The dragon energy receded as I opened the mural door and hurled myself into the rainbow rays slicing through the stained glass.

"Here she is. Everyone, this is my niece, Ainslie. She plans to be an astrophysicist."

The glass table had been dragged to the center of the room. Aunt Terra sat at one end. I was surprised to see Thor in the group. How did someone barely older than me get on the board?

Thor must have read my mind, or more probably my expression, because his lips curved into a bemused smile. A blush exploded like fireworks across my cheeks.