Spellbound (18 page)

“You dreamed of this house—the one in the picture?”

I nodded.

“What did you dream, exactly?” he asked me quietly, staring back at the grainy scan of the black-and-white photo.

“I dreamed that I was
in
this house,” I said, tracing the front door to the house with my finger.

Brendan still stared at the picture, but his voice was anxious. “Take a good look at it. Are you sure?”

I would know that house anywhere. “I dreamed it burned down,” I said, my voice shaking.

He sighed, closing his eyes almost painfully. Then, shutting the laptop and placing it gently on the floor, he faced me.

“You know how I was out of school a few days this week?” Brendan asked, leaning in so his face was eye-level with mine. I nodded.

“I went to Ardsley. It's in Westchester,” he added. “I was visiting my grandfather. I had to ask him about something, as the oldest member of our family.

“There's always been a joke of sorts among the Salingers,” Brendan continued, reaching out and taking my hands in his. “That we have a—and I can't believe I'm saying this—curse on us. I always thought it was just a silly story that's been passed down from generation to generation, because—” he waved at the posh home around him “—clearly, we've been very lucky.

“Emma, you're going to think I'm deranged.”

My heart caught in my throat. “I promise you, Brendan, I will not think you are deranged,” I said, my eyes burning into his. “I swear it to you.”

He eyed me warily, but took a deep breath and started speaking. “This curse was just an anecdote told at weddings and family reunions. Supposedly, every couple of generations, one of the Salingers is supposed to have this incredible romance—a straight-up, fairy-tale, true-love kind of thing. Only, it would end up an epic failure. Any time one of my cousins got dumped or shot down by a girl, we'd joke about the curse killing our game.
No one
took it seriously. I sure didn't.”

Brendan's eyes flickered to me, gauging my reaction. I hadn't flinched yet.

“The curse is tied to a crest that's been in my family for ages—nearly a thousand years, I believe. As the story goes, if one of the Salingers met someone wearing the crest, they were supposed to be your…true love.” Brendan's tone was gentle over those words.

“My grandfather has a pretty massive library at his house, with all these old family documents, books, photos and such. I figured I should research the crest a little more, because—” he paused, picking up my necklace “—you're wearing it.”

He dropped the pendant, and I was positive that it was on fire, the way it was stinging my skin. I wanted to open my
mouth, to tell Brendan that I knew what he was talking about, but I couldn't speak. A very small part of me had believed that the curse was just fantasy, my pathetic way of manufacturing a bond with Brendan. But as he spoke, the reality of the situation rushed at me, trapping my voice in my throat as I listened to Brendan talk about how he discovered the very thing I stumbled upon in
Hadrian's Medieval Legends.
The very thing my brother's spirit was warning me against.

“I found some old books, but they just repeated the same information that I already knew,” Brendan explained. “It was an old family seal, belonging to some lord from forever ago, who redesigned it in honor of his wife.

“So I talked to my grandfather. And he told me about the house that used to be here.”

Brendan leaned back, dropping my hands and rubbing his eyes. “I'm making no sense.”

“Actually, you are.” I leaned forward and, clutching his hands a little desperately into mine, begged, “Please tell me about the house that used to be here.”

Brendan took a deep breath and began. “My great-great-grandfather Robert lived here—in the house you dreamed of. When he was on his deathbed, he warned his grandson—my grandfather—that he thought the curse might actually be real. Robert said when he was a young man, he fell head-over-heels for a factory worker named Constance. He called her his golden angel, because she was a blonde or whatever. It was love at first sight, of course. They had planned to elope, but she was killed the day before their wedding.

“The thing is, they thought they'd cheated death. She had worked at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, and she said she had a bad feeling about the place and wanted to quit. She'd been having horrible nightmares about being trapped in a fire. But she didn't want to look like she was out for Robert's
money. He told her to quit—and she did, just a week before there was a huge fire that killed most of the workers. But it was like death was coming for her,” Brendan said bitterly.

“Was she in this house when it burned down?” I asked quietly.

Brendan didn't reply, which was answer enough for me.

“It was an electrical fire. The fuses were overloaded. Robert thought he had fixed the problem, but I guess he didn't do such a great job.”

Brendan paused. “Back then, pennies were made of copper. So Robert stuck coins in the fuse box. An employee of his explained how to do it. Robert was so proud of himself for being industrious.”

“Does that even work?” I asked.

“It does, but it's hardly what I'd call safe. When you do something like that, there's no way to regulate the electrical current. And Constance hated staying in the house alone—it was too huge and dark.”

“So she turned on all the lights,” I said, knowing too well what happened next. Brendan just nodded, grimly.

“Robert didn't have time to wait for the electrician. It was easier for
him
to just stick the copper penny where the fuse should have gone. Robert always blamed himself for her death—if he hadn't been so selfish, so impatient…” Brendan trailed off.

“The curse, as I said, has always been something of a joke in my family. Let's face it, when bad things happen, well, isn't that just life? Don't bad things happen?” My mind flipped through everything that had taken me to this moment and nodded.

“Was Constance wearing the crest?” I asked.

Brendan looked at me, his green eyes mournful. “Yes. She
wore it as a brooch.”
Just like in my dream. Where I had golden hair….

“I'd imagine it's not always as glaringly obvious as yours, with the crest practically a big neon sign on your chest,” he continued. “But based on everything Robert told him, my grandfather believes that, yes, the curse is very, very real.”

“So the story of Lord Archer really is true,” I murmured to myself, and Brendan's hands tightened around mine.

“You know the name?” Brendan inhaled sharply. “How?”

“I did some research of my own,” I admitted. “I always wanted to know what my necklace meant—but I could never find anything out. But then— Do you know Angelique?”

“The witchy chick, right?”

“Right. She's my friend, and her mom is some big expert in medieval stuff. Angelique recognized my necklace as having some significance. She lent me a few antique books about medieval crests and legends, and I found the story there.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Brendan demanded, and my jaw dropped.

“You're kidding, right?” I asked, incredulous. “What would you have thought of me? Besides, I read about this in a book that also had stories about dragons and curses and witches and unicorns! Like I could just roll up to you in the cafeteria, ‘Hey, Brendan, guess what I think my necklace means?'”

He smiled ruefully at me. “All right, I see your point. But Emma, I don't know
how
the crest came to have that meaning. I only know what was passed down from generation to generation—that if someone wore the crest, they were destined for some terrible fate, just by knowing one of us.”

“It's not
every
generation, Brendan. At least, not according to what I read,” I said, hesitantly. “The book was pretty fragile. Some of the pages were missing. But I read most of the legend, how this crest came to have that meaning.”

Brendan ran his hands through his ink-black hair and looked at me intensely. “Can you tell me the full story, Emma?” His voice was soft and pleading. I took a deep breath and began the sorrowful tale of Lord Archer, who had doomed himself and his beloved to an eternity of loss. I explained, as best I could, that the crest was to be worn by Archer's reincarnated love.

I didn't think I had to spell out for him what I took away from the story, although it was pretty obvious: we were soul mates. We'd spent a thousand years looking for each other. And we were probably cursed.

Brendan hung his head in his hands, quiet, and I was afraid to move. Finally, I reached out to him and touched his arm. He suddenly grabbed my hand tightly and I jumped.

“I'm sorry,” he said, dropping my hand as if he'd just grabbed a handful of broken glass. “And I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings by ignoring you. I just knew I was so attracted… No, attracted is not the right word. I need a stronger word.” He stopped, and chewed his lip thoughtfully. Suddenly, Brendan exclaimed, “Spellbound! I was spellbound by you, and, to be honest, it took me a little off guard.”

“Your choice of words is interesting,” I said dryly, and he laughed a short, bitter laugh.

“Your first day at school,” Brendan began, “I was so impressed by how you stood up to Kristin. And I hadn't even
seen
you yet.

“I turned around to give the new girl a hand, because Kristin was clearly harassing you. And then I saw your face.” Brendan's voice was no more than a tender whisper, as he brushed my cheek with the back of his hand.

“And
then
I noticed your necklace,” he continued. “I mean, it's a pretty big pendant, Emma. But, I didn't get a really good
look at the actual design of it. I just thought it was cool that you would wear something so different.”

Color touched Brendan's cheeks, and he put his head down, stealing a glance at me. “All I could think about was you. I felt like I had been missing
you
all this time. It didn't make any sense to me,” he said, reaching out and touching the pendant. He was half-affectionately stroking the charm, and half resenting it.

“I couldn't understand why I was so drawn to you. I knew nothing about you, other than, well, you weren't a pushover, and you were kind of a liar.” Brendan saw my insulted expression and was instantly contrite. “I'm sorry, Emma, but you kind of are. Congress Academy? I'm sure you have your reasons, but still.”

The words continued pouring out of him. “Anyway, I sort of prided myself on my disinterest in girls at school. Really, one's worse than the next, so the last thing I wanted was to fall for some snob. And one with something to hide. For all I knew you were kicked out of your last school for setting the damn place on fire.

“That first day at lunch, Anthony made some comments about you. You were new. He had already cornered you before English class, I saw it. He thought you were an easy target.”

I remembered that first day—Brendan had slammed his chair into the table and stormed out of the lunchroom.

“You guys got into a fight in the cafeteria,” I said, awestruck.

“You noticed me,” he said, sounding slightly smug.

“You practically threw a chair,” I pointed out. “
Everyone
noticed you.”

He smiled at me and squeezed my hand. “The thing is, Emma, I shouldn't have cared what Anthony said. I didn't understand why it made me crazy. I told him to stay away
from you. And let's just say when I walked into the quad that afternoon, and found out
you
were involved in all the commotion—I just
had
to get to you, to make sure you were okay. I pushed my way through the crowd, and saw him towering over you— I thought I was going to kill him. If I got there a second later, I might have.” Brendan shook his head as if he were remembering the sight of Anthony terrorizing me. “I restrained myself as much as I did because I didn't want to scare you. After that night at the Met, I thought you'd be freaked out by violence. So I didn't do what I would have liked to do to Anthony. And afterward, when we spoke—”

“You noticed what I was wearing,” I interrupted, remembering how he'd held my charm.

“I hadn't gotten a good look at your necklace before that. When I went back to my locker, I compared the two designs and started putting things together. I hadn't even thought about the Salinger family curse until that moment.”

“Then what about before?” I asked. “Why did you ask Cisco about me and come out with us that night to see Gabe's band?” I was surprised, but Brendan looked a little embarrassed.

“Well, I thought I was doing a pretty good job of pretending I wasn't so into you—”

“You were,” I interjected, thinking of how many times I'd pined for him to even sneeze my way.

“But then you read that sonnet.” He scratched his hair again, nervously. “I felt like you were speaking to me.”

I remembered how I stood up, speaking those words of love. “I kind of was,” I admitted shyly.

“I hoped that was the case,” Brendan mumbled. “I was so stupid to hope so, but it felt like it. And I was so… I guess the word is
intrigued
by you. You are so different from anyone I've ever met. So I asked Cisco about you, because you two were becoming best friends pretty quickly. And I knew I could trust
him to not run around and tell everyone that I was asking about you.”

I tried to tell myself that he wasn't embarrassed to be attracted to me, but the blush that colored my cheeks gave me away.

“Oh, Emma, it's not that—it's not what you think.” Brendan's voice was soothing as he tucked my hair behind my ear. “Why do you keep thinking I would be ashamed? I didn't want everyone to know because I wanted to protect
you.
I didn't want people running their mouths about you.”

“I know,” I fibbed, not meeting his eyes. “Sure. So, go on, what were you saying…?”

“Emma, I really hate that you think I'm ashamed to be seen with you. That night, everything about you was so carefree…I didn't expect how easy it would be to be around you. I didn't expect to like it so much, so quickly. I didn't trust it. So I stopped talking to you and ignored you.” He looked sheepish and glanced down at the gray rug. I was a little surprised at the normal answer. It stuck out amid all the talk of curses and witches. Standard guy behavior, no magic required.

“Couldn't you have just pulled my pigtails? It would have been so much easier,” I joked lamely. Brendan gave my hair a gentle tug.

“Is that better?” he asked, ruefully smiling at me.

“Much.” I grinned back at him. “So I wasn't imagining it,” I said, feeling a little vindicated. “You wanted to kiss me that night, didn't you?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” he admitted. “It took all my self-control to stop myself.” But his smiling was fading—fast.

“Emma, I already care about you so much—too much,” Brendan said, regarding me with somber eyes. “Do you really believe that there's something bigger than us going here?”

“It sounds crazy to say yes,” I admitted. “But it's the only
thing that makes sense and explains the crest and the dreams and the warnings and everything.”

“Right, that's what— Wait.” Brendan paused. “What warnings?”

“Um, do you promise to not think me crazy?”

“Oh, like those cards aren't already on the table for both of us,” he retorted.

“Good point,” I mumbled. I summoned my resolve and dove in, telling him about the streetlights, and Angelique's theory that I was being warned by my brother. If we're going to talk about curses, then my crazy visions couldn't be that much harder to believe.

“I've seen my brother, and I've heard him, in my dreams. If some tragedy was inevitable, why bother warning me?”

“Emma, he's telling you to stay away from me and you'll be okay,” Brendan argued. “I'll transfer if I have to. I'm not going to be responsible for you getting hurt.”

“No, Brendan,” I cried. I attempted to plead my case. “Some of the pages were missing from the book, remember? The story was cut short.” I racked my brain, trying to remember the final lines from the story. Where were Angelique and her photographic memory now?

“The last words were about breaking the curse. If freedom from the curse is what you seek, it takes a selfless soul to…something that rhymes with ‘eek.' Or something like that. I don't remember. It rhymed in the book.” I slammed my fist into the faded leather cushion, frustrated. “It sounded like the book was about to go into instructions on how to break the curse. Which means there's a way to do it! And besides, Angelique is positive that we have a chance—simply because we've identified it.”

I smiled confidently, believing I had just laid out an unassailable defense. Brendan just frowned and shook his head.

“Emma, maybe the reason we can be the ones to break this curse is because we know to avoid each other.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“No.” I remained adamant. “That can't be it.”

“If it's this hard to walk away after two days, I can't imagine what it'll be like to walk away after two weeks.” Brendan's voice was despondent.

Finally, I realized that there was only one way I was going to let him know how badly I wanted—no,
needed
—this. I took a deep breath.

“Would you believe me if I told you that these past two days are the happiest I've been since I can remember?”

Brendan looked up. “Things were tough in—” he paused over the next word “—Philly?”

“Keansburg, actually,” I said, hoping my voice wasn't really trembling as much as I thought it was. “Keansburg, New Jersey.”

This story was harder to tell than Lord Archer's tale. I told Brendan everything: about my father abandoning us. About Ethan dying unexpectedly at fourteen. About my mom, marrying a man she thought would look after me after she was gone, which she knew would be soon. About initially refusing Christine's offer to live with her—because everyone I ever loved left me. Because I didn't want to be a burden. Brendan kept quiet and let me talk, reaching out only once to place his hand over mine, when I told him about my mother dying, and speaking only once, to tell me he understood when I said this would probably be the last time I talked about that time in my life. I just couldn't handle revisiting those feelings.

Brendan kept his face composed, but his green eyes narrowed when I told him about Henry's liberal use of corporal punishment, how the tension at home was thick like a fog, how it filled your lungs until you thought you would suffocate.
Finally, I told him about the accident—how Henry showed up at school wasted. How I didn't even think about him being too drunk to drive when I got into the passenger seat of his tiny Honda—I was just trying to get away from the scene he was causing on the front lawn at my school. How I just wanted to start over and be anonymous in New York.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Destiny or not, I wondered if my sordid home situation with Henry was a deal breaker. It had been for so many back home.

Then Brendan finally spoke. “And after surviving all that, you want to be doomed by me?”

“If I didn't see you again, that would feel like I was doomed.”

“Don't be dramatic, Emma. I'm not all that great,” Brendan said disdainfully.

“You've been the brightest spot in my life this past year,” I confessed. “Do you want to take that away from me?”

“I don't want to take
anything
away from you. But that's what
this
—” he picked up my charm, then dropped it “—means. Don't you get it?”

My heart felt raw, exposed. It was irrational to hurt this much, I knew, after two dates. But I couldn't help it—all my old wounds ripped open.
Everyone you care about leaves you, Emma.

“So I guess you want me to leave now?” I stayed in my spot on the leather sofa, not moving, hoping he would tell me to stay.

“I don't
want
you to leave, Emma.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled-up wad of paper—the item he had pulled off his corkboard.

“I saved this,” Brendan confessed, gently shoving the paper in my hands. I stared in amazement at my own handwriting—the note I had left thanking him for the sweatshirt.

“Why?”

“It was a connection to you,” Brendan explained plainly. “I can't imagine those feelings are going to go away the
more
time we spend together.”

“It's the same for me,” I admitted. “But, if you want me to leave…” I took the chance and pushed myself off the couch.

“I don't think I
can
let you leave, Emma,” Brendan said, grabbing my hand and pulling me into his lap, holding me close to his chest. “The way I feel about you…I didn't know it was possible.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“Aren't you afraid, though, of what could happen?”

“Not enough to leave,” I whispered, toying with the zipper on his sweatshirt.

“That shouldn't make me as happy as it does.” Brendan sighed, tightening his grip around me.

I stayed curled up in his arms for some time, letting the weight of what we believed to be true sink in. Finally, Brendan spoke.

“By the way, Emma, thank you for telling me the truth. I know that was hard for you,” he said, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Honestly, it's nowhere near as bad as I was imagining. But I understand why you didn't tell anyone. Makes sense why you're the only person I know not on Facebook. Smart move.”

He paused. “Then again, you're a smart girl, even if you're flunking Latin.”

“Don't remind me.” I laughed—a welcome release from the weighty mood in the room.

“You're no good to me if you get kicked out of school,” Brendan said, that playful, flip tone creeping back into his voice. “So, first tutoring lesson begins now. You're a
puella pulcherrima.
”

“
Puella
's a girl, so…what, a failing girl?” I asked, and he laughed.

“No, I'd have to think about how to say that. What I said was you are a very beautiful girl.” I think I might have blushed. Being called “beautiful” would take some getting used to.