Spellbound (14 page)

Wordlessly, Brendan bit his bottom lip and a mischievous look crossed his handsome features. He quickly reached out his hand and grabbed my kneecap, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hey!” I yelled. I wasn't hurt—just surprised. I flicked my pen at him. It bounced off his shoulder and he laughed.

“Tsk, tsk, Emma,” Brendan admonished, wagging a finger at me. “Starting another fight. Has anyone ever told you that you're an instigator?”

Before I could reply, he leaned in and in a low voice, said, “By the way, I'm out tomorrow, and leaving school right at lunch, so please try to not provoke any wars or attempt to take on the entire junior class.”

“I was just going to fight a few freshmen,” I retorted. “I can take them. They're little and weak.”

“Okay then, just the freshmen,” he added, grinning. The entire front half of the classroom was listening to our back and forth verbal volleyball.

“Anyway, Emma, listen—” Brendan added, brushing his hair back off his forehead and giving a frustrated look at Mr. Emerson, who just walked in. “Damn it,” he said in a low voice. “Listen, I
do
want to talk to you, okay? It just would
have been nice to do it without an audience. What's your locker number?”

“Eight,” I groaned. “Lucky me, it's in the basement.”

“Ouch.” Brendan laughed. “That sucks.”

I nodded my head in agreement, a little confused. Wow. Violence worked. I wonder if I kicked Mrs. Dell's desk, I'd get an A in Latin.

Mr. Emerson started his lecture, and I fidgeted in my chair, feeling the weight of every single person's eyes on me. Jenn poked me and I looked at her hesitantly. She pointed down to her notebook, where she wrote:

U better not try 2 tell me that U guys are not some secret couple. How could u not tell me?

I looked around for my pen, which I realized had rolled several feet away after it bounced off of Brendan's shoulder. Jenn huffed exasperatedly, and handed me a spare pen.

I took it and wrote a hasty,
We're not!!!!!
in reply to her note, underlining it for emphasis.

Well ur not so “secret” anymore.

I shrugged and Jenn gave me a look that clearly signaled, “This conversation isn't over.” I sighed and turned my attention to the lecture. Brendan shot out the door after class, and after waiting around my locker for the first ten minutes of lunch with him a no-show, I realized I would spend another weekend with him foremost in my thoughts, now wondering what he had wanted to ask me.

If the rain had to keep my body stuck in the cafeteria, at least my head was in the clouds—in fairy tales and stories of ill-fated love. I hadn't been going to the cafeteria this week, so I didn't know that Kristin had defected to the crowded corner table of “cool” kids—where Anthony had also apparently moved after his fight with Brendan. I had successfully avoided all contact with Anthony since the fight Monday,
but stuck here in this small cafeteria, my eyes locked with his briefly. Glaring at me, he mouthed the word
whore
. I scowled back in response, giving him the finger. We continued our staring battle until I overheard Anthony's name mentioned at my table, and I tuned in to the conversation.

Apparently, my confrontation—and Anthony's confession that he was lying about my cousin—had triggered a butterfly effect. All my classmates were going over the list of conquests Anthony had claimed over the past two years and revisiting the validity of his claims. I overheard Kristin's name and was surprised that she kept going back to him after he shared—or should I say, overshared—just how far she was willing to go.

“What's the deal with Anthony and Kristin anyway?” I asked Cisco, keeping my voice low as I took a swig of my energy drink. Hey, I needed to stay awake.

“She threw herself at him freshman year, right when school first started. It was obvious she was into him. And she's
still
into him. He picks her up every now and then, then drops her. And she goes for it every time.”

Cisco shook his head, disgusted. “The Thorns are loaded and big-time ‘old money' people in New York.” He made air quotes around the words. “She's got it into her head that only certain people are worth her time. His dad's a big famous lawyer and all that.”

“The way Anthony treats her, you'd think she realizes it makes her look bad,” I mused.

“Instead you'd think she shot diamonds out of her butt, the way she acts,” Cisco snorted. “I've only ever seen her lose her cool over one other guy like that. I'll give you a guess on who that is.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, great. Does his name rhyme with Schmendan?”

“Bingo,” he said. “But he wasn't into it—at all—and that really made her mad.”

“So, are Kristin and Anthony back on?” I asked, confused.

“More or less. From what I heard, Kristin and Anthony reunited over a mutual enemy.” He gave me a pointed look and I just buried my face in my hands. Maybe I didn't have to worry about a curse. I'd be lucky to make it out of junior year alive.

 

In chemistry, Angelique's eyes predictably bugged out when she saw me staggering toward the table.

“Your books are in my locker,” I explained. “I read them all night long. Which explains—” I circled my face with my hand “—this sexy mess that you see before you.”

“You found something. I can see
something
has changed.” Yep, you really couldn't pull the wool over Angelique's eyes. I still wasn't so sure about the whole reincarnated-maiden thing, but I had plenty of faith in Angelique's uncanny abilities.

“I
think
so.” I sighed. “I discovered what my crest means. And honestly, I'm not sure how to handle it. On the one hand, it explains a lot of things that have been going on…but on the other hand, if I believe it, then that's likely the first sign of dementia. The pieces are falling into place, but the puzzle…it's a very
unrealistic
puzzle. But the pieces fit.”

“I get it.” Angelique pursed her crimson lips thoughtfully. “Imagine putting together a jigsaw puzzle without having the benefit of the picture on the box.” I nodded along, getting her analogy.

“It would be difficult, right? And you would go through a billion different ideas of what the final picture is. But as more pieces fall into place, you start to see the picture. That final
picture is not the picture you thought it would be from the start.”

“Right, but, Angelique, I thought I was putting together a still life of a bowl of fruit, and instead, it's a medieval battle scene.”

She furrowed her brows, confused.

“I'll bookmark the pages,” I said. “If you can, I'd love for you to take a look.”

I paused as Mr. D walked into the classroom, then faced her again.

“Oh, and that whole ‘marked by the spirit world' thing?” I whispered. “I'm pretty sure someone's trying to warn me or tell me something in other ways.” I thought of the flickering bathroom light and felt my stomach flip.

Angelique's jaw dropped. “I
knew
it!” Then she stopped and put her head on her chin, her dark-painted lips turned into a frown. “I wish a spirit would make contact with me,” she whined.

“Um, nope. You really don't,” I muttered. “You absolutely don't.”

“I'll read them tonight,” Angelique promised. “Just leave your locker open and I'll grab them during my free period.”

After chem, I returned to my dungeon to remove the lock—and I spied something sticking out of my locker. A note.

I snickered. Brendan went on to leave his number. I carefully folded the note and tucked it away in my backpack. I
wondered how long I was supposed to wait to call him. Right after school? Tomorrow? My questions were answered for me when I got home and stretched out on my bed, my schoolwork spread out in front of me. I was passed out, nose in my Latin book, by 4:00 p.m.

I woke up at 8:00 p.m. and freaked out when I saw the time. Jumping out of bed, I frantically dug through my backpack for my cell phone. When I couldn't find it, I turned the whole thing upside down, emptying pens, loose-leaf and computer CDs all over the floor.

No cell phone. “Son of a…” I said out loud, looking up…and seeing it on my nightstand.

I smoothed out his note and dialed the numbers, trying to calm my somewhat frazzled breathing.
Great, voice mail.

“Hey, Brendan, it's Emma. I'm free all day Saturday, so let's get together. I agree, we should…talk. Um, talk to you later. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

After I left the (completely awkward) message, I freaked out. What if he deliberately sent me to voice mail? What if he regrets giving me his number? I decided to calm my raw nerves with a shower—which is where I was when he called back. The voice mail was filled with static, but hearing his deep voice rumbling through my phone still sent shivers down my spine.

“Emma, it's Brendan. My cell reception sucks where I am. Meet me at the corner of Seventy-ninth and Fifth on Saturday.
I'll be there at six. Text me back if that's cool with you. See you Saturday.”

I decided to keep our meeting—I didn't feel comfortable calling it a date—a secret from my friends. Besides, Angelique and I had business to attend to.

On Friday afternoon, she and I sat in Cosmo's Pizza. There were two pizzerias near school, and I opted for the one with the worse pizza—we knew it wouldn't be crowded with Vince A students—and I didn't want anyone overhearing our conversation.

“I read the tale of Aglaeon,” Angelique began hesitantly. “How can I put this? Do you feel like you're Gloriana?”

“I
feel
like I'm eating crazy sandwiches,” I said, nodding.

“But Gloriana was a peasant, and the impression I got is that Archer didn't want Gloriana coming back as some rich chick. He really, really hated those society ladies, or whatever you call them.” Angelique paused, taking off one of her stacked silver bangles and spinning it on the table. “I don't mean this in a bad way, but your aunt is on the board at school and she's kind of rich. And your mom is at some fancy job in Tokyo. You're hardly what I'd call peasant material.”

I took a deep breath. I figured if she didn't think I was crazy about this fairy tale, she'd forgive my earlier fables. I had told Cisco the truth, but so far, he was the only one who knew my real story, the very
un
fairy-tale start to my life.

“Yeah, about that….” I began. “There's no mom in Tokyo.

I moved here after having an ‘issue' at home.” As I said the word
issue,
I rolled up my sleeve and showed her my scar. Her eyes widened a bit, but she steadied herself. Without going into too much gory detail, I explained about how I ended up with Henry, whose drunkenness finally brought me to live with my aunt.

“Well, it's understandable why you'd lie. But you're here for good, right?” She seemed worried that I was temporary.

“As far as I know, I'm here until graduation. If I don't get kicked out for failing Latin.”

“Okay.” Angelique smiled, then frowned. “Oof. So that means the peasant requirement—sorry to use those words—is actually kind of met in this case, doesn't it?”

I gave her a weak half smile. “Emma the plebian, at your service,” I said, bowing my head.

“Let's run with the assumption that you are a reincarnated soul,” she said, spinning her bangle on the table again. “I don't know a ton about reincarnation, but I have heard that you're supposed to have déjà vu a lot.”

“I've heard about that, and I've never had it,” I said, relieved.

“What about weird dreams—you know, where you're in another time and stuff like that?”

“That,” I said, “I have had.” I told her about the dream where I was burned in a white house, and the very first dream, where I was in a medieval-looking gown, and her brow furrowed.

“It's a beautiful, tragic story,” Angelique mused. “And most likely, you're just wearing an antique—even though that one dream does sound suspiciously like you dreamed you were Gloriana.”

I considered that—the dream where I was bloodied, among the roses—and shuddered.

“Let's hedge our bets here,” Angelique continued. “Take off the damn necklace and Archer 2000 won't be able to find you. You'll meet another guy. They're all the same anyway. Give me the thing and I'll use it in a spell.” She held out her hand and beckoned to it with black-painted fingernails.

I rubbed the pendant between my fingers, pursed my lips and shook my head.

“Come on, Emma,” she persisted. “I know it's a sentimental necklace, but there's no sense in tempting fate.”

“But can you really fight it?” I asked, still holding on to the necklace.

She gave me a disapproving look, then dropped her jaw as if a thought just occurred to her.

“Your brother—was he really protective of you?”

I thought about Ethan; the time I fell on my bike and he put his headphones on me to distract me from the pain in my fractured ankle. How he beat up his friend Ted who used to lock me in the hall closet and turn off the lights when we were little.

“You could say that.”

“I wonder if he's the one warning you…all these weird things happening to you, like the lights turning out above your head. I wonder if he's trying to get your attention, to get a message to you—and I basically gagged him with that protection spell, since nothing really big has happened since.”

I thought about that for a moment, and suddenly, I felt like I had weights tied to my limbs. It made sense.

“I saw him, and I heard his voice,” I said, my voice small. “Ethan was there, in those dreams.”

“What did he say?” Angelique asked insistently.

“He said, ‘It's starting.'”

“And?” Angelique prompted me.

“And…nothing! That was it. I woke up after that.”

“Why didn't you bring this up before?” she cried, slamming her hands down on the table, her rings making a clacking sound as they hit the white Formica. “Ugh, this explains so much.
He's
the one warning you. I just know it.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Sure, it sounded absolutely mental. But it also felt right.

Tears started to prick at my eyes. “Do you really think my brother is warning me?” I whispered, feeling that familiar, dull ache of loss in my chest. His concern for me was enough for him to reach across spiritual planes? I ran my fingers across the face of my medallion, a few tears spilling out no matter how hard I tried to blink them back.

“I know it's hard, but you have to focus, Emma,” Angelique said, tempering her stern tone with a sympathetic look. “‘It's starting,'” Angelique repeated. “When did this happen?”

I thought back to that first dream—which I had the night Brendan and I hung out, at the Met. When he'd given me his sweatshirt. When we clicked like we'd known each other for years. And when I dreamed I was bleeding from a stab wound to my heart. But I couldn't face telling Angelique that just yet. Sure, I could tell her I thought I might be a reincarnated medieval maiden, and that lights exploded over my head and I heard my brother in my dreams. But could I tell her I was actually considering the theory that Brendan Salinger of all people was my soul's destined mate? Now
that
was some crazy talk right there.

“I don't remember,” I lied. She didn't look convinced.

“This has to do with Brendan Salinger, doesn't it?” Angelique asked, punctuating her question with another spin of her bangle. “And that's why he just
had
to jump to your defense on Monday even though he barely knows you.”

I evaded her question. “But if Ethan's trying to warn me, that means whatever tragedy is supposed to happen could be avoidable, right? If it was inevitable, what's the point?”

Angelique took a deep breath. “It seems that way. I just wish we could zero in on why, after generations of cursed Emmas,
you
are the one who might be able to break the curse?”

“'Cause I'm due for some happiness?” I said hopefully. Angelique just snorted.

“I don't know. There just seems to be a lot of supernatural stuff happening around you—the dreams, the warning signs. Hell, even meeting me and being able to find out about the curse. It's like on the one side there's the curse, and then there's something else battling it.”

“I don't know why,” I mumbled, picking the burnt eggplant slices off my pizza. “I'm just some girl.”

“If you were part witch it would make more sense,” Angelique mused. “Witches can't really curse other witches, from what I know. The spells are never that effective.”

“But like I told you, I'm not really into all that stuff. I don't even believe in ghosts!” I amended my statement. “Well, I didn't
used
to believe in them. I don't know what I believe anymore.”

Angelique paused. “Maybe you're a born witch? I mean, yes, you have to study the craft to hone your skills, but you could also have inherited certain—how shall I put this?—special talents. Especially since with reincarnation, sometimes some traits can stick with the person in their next life. You could have gotten Gloriana's mojo.”

“I doubt it,” I said, rolling my eyes. If I'd learned anything from my life, it was that I was hardly someone special.

“Oh,
now
you're going to be cynical?” Angelique huffed. “Just ask your aunt.”

“I can't just stroll up to her and ask, ‘Hey, Aunt Christine, I know I have my mother's smile. Was she also secretly a witch and did I get that from her, too? Or can I blame my past life for my witch skills?'”

“Well, if you're part witch, that could be why you have a shot at fighting this,” Angelique reasoned. “It would be a nice bit of ammo in our corner.” I realized that she said “our
corner”—and felt bad for my cynicism. Angelique was in this with me.

“Have you ever known something before it was going to happen?” she asked. “That's one of the biggest marks of being a natural witch. It usually manifests when you're a little kid—all innocence, not jaded by the world.”

“If I did, I would have tried to use it on winning the lotto,” I joked lamely.

“It doesn't work like that, Em. It could be something small, like knowing what someone's going to say, or—”

“But even if I'm not, hey— There were pages missing in that book,” I interrupted, trying to change the subject away from my alleged witchy ways. “The last words in the Lord Archer legend said something about breaking the curse and it requiring a selfless soul or something.”

Angelique nodded. “If freedom from the curse is your goal, be warned, it takes a selfless soul.”

“Wow.” I was impressed. “Good memory.”

Angelique tapped her forehead and said, “Photographic memory, actually. It's why my grades are so good.” I gave her a jealous look.

“But you're right,” she continued. “There seems to be some kind of way to break the curse. ‘It takes a selfless soul'? There has to be some kind of sacrifice involved.”

Seeing my face, Angelique corrected herself. “I doubt it's a
human
sacrifice, Em. I wonder… Hmm. I'll ask my mom about getting another copy of the book. One that's in better shape.

“Oh, and, Emma, it's so obvious that it's Brendan, but I guess I'll just wait for you to admit that to yourself before you admit it to me,” Angelique said matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes as she said his name with a dramatically exasperated tone. I just pretended to be preoccupied with my cell phone
and showed her the time. We had to hustle back to school, barely making it in time for chemistry. On the way back, I was silent, mulling over Ethan's other warning.

It's not safe with him. Can you stay away?

I knew the answer.

No, I could not.