Spellbound (20 page)

I slumped back into the chair.
Last
straw? What else has he done that we didn't even know about?

Principal Casey called us back into her office, and shaken, I followed the Salingers and Aunt Christine into the room, where there was, indeed, a large dent in the wall. Likely from the now-broken folding chair, which was stowed away in the corner.

Principal Casey was brief: Brendan and I were not officially “suspended”—just asked to leave school grounds for the rest of the day, until the gossip died down. Yeah, fat chance. It would just mean people could gossip without having to worry if we heard them.

I got off with a warning. Because he was already in trouble for fighting on the basketball court, Brendan was put on probation—and Anthony was expelled, effective immediately.

After Christine and Mrs. Laura Salinger exchanged awkward goodbyes—and Brendan mouthed, “I'll call you later”—I
was at Angelique's locker, stuffing her books into the spare tote bag she had crammed into the back of her locker. Christine had asked me to be home by dinner so we could discuss the day's events, but since she was already late for some theater charity group she was heading, she left me at school. She had already promised Dr. Tedt that I'd bring Angelique's books home, so I needed to complete that mission.

So much for a romantic first day as boyfriend and girlfriend.

I arrived at Angelique's apartment on the West Side of Manhattan about an hour later. Angelique lived in a standard New York City high-rise on the corner of Tenth Avenue and Fifty-first Street. It looked like any number of skyscrapers that began littering the New York skyline in the '70s. I don't know why I was half-expecting an ancient stone corridor, dimly lit by flaming torches; instead, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I walked through the beige hallway until I reached a red-painted metal apartment door.

Angelique answered the door in black sweatpants and an oversize tie-dyed T-shirt that screamed “I Love It in Florida!” in glittery orange lettering.

“So, you love it in Florida?” I asked dryly, eyeing the bright shirt.

“Shut up. It's comfy,” she pouted in a stuffy voice, holding open the door so I could enter the living room. It was bright and airy, filled with sand-colored fabric couches and a pale wood entertainment center. Only on closer inspection did I notice the tiny telltale signs that this was a witch's lair, so to speak—crystals scattered throughout the apartment, and antique books that resembled
Hadrian's Medieval Legends
crowding the bookshelves. I dropped Angelique's books on a cornflower-blue recliner and followed her into the adjoining eat-in kitchen.

“Sorry I've been MIA,” Angelique said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice and sitting on the counter. “I only checked my voice mail today—I've been in bed since Friday night.”

“Blame Mr. Emerson,” I suggested.

“I do! He never takes sick days. Anyway, sorry I was out of commission,” she said again, then added, “It sounds like you could have used my expertise.”

“That's okay. Are you feeling better?” I leaned against the windowsill, trying to act nonchalant as I nervously started picking at my freshly painted nail polish.
Where to even begin?

“Forget about me,” Angelique said, taking a big gulp of orange juice. “It's the flu. Big deal. I want to hear about what I missed.”

“Well, it's been an interesting couple of days.” I slid into one of the white kitchen chairs and launched into my date with Brendan—and the revelations that came with it. She was pretty quiet until I got to the whole born-witch thing when she raised her hands in victory and let out a high-pitched cheer—only to end up in a coughing fit.

“I knew it!” Angelique coughed again and slid off the kitchen counter. “I knew I was right about you. There always seemed to be
something
about you—I knew it the moment I met you! But after we figured out the curse, I thought that might have been what I was sensing.”

“Well, I think maybe you were on to something.” I sighed, drumming my fingers on the blue place mat. Angelique chuckled.

“And just a few short weeks ago, you didn't believe in any of this stuff. Now you think you're a witch.”

I just shrugged. “Next week I'm probably going to get a pet unicorn. What can I say, the craziest explanations make the most sense these days. Oh—speaking of crazy, I didn't even tell you what happened today!”

“There's more?” Angelique asked, grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge and handing me one before sitting at the table.

“You aren't wondering why I'm at your house in the middle of the day?”

“Oh, yeah—that is weird.”

“You're usually way more perceptive,” I observed. “This flu is messing with your head.”

“So, what happened now? Did you meet Frankenstein? I'd believe it, the way things are going.”

“Not quite,” I said, telling her about the packed drama of the day.

“Wow, I picked the wrong time to get the flu,” Angelique said when I was done. “So who do you think emailed the link to the edited video? I mean, it's so obvious that you and Brendan were set up. Someone is trying to get you into trouble.”

“Most definitely,” I agreed. “Only it backfired. It had to be Anthony or—” I stopped short, remembering how self-satisfied Kristin had looked in English, and what she said—or rather, hissed—in the hall.

“Kristin,” I nearly shouted. “Whoa, that girl has it out for me.”

Angelique nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I mean, she's usually pretty nasty, but she's gone overboard on you.”

“I have no idea how to handle it,” I muttered. “The more I try to stand up for what's right, the worse things get.”

“Just ignore her,” Angelique advised, getting up and refilling
her orange juice. “It's what I've done ever since the second week of freshman year.”

“There's no way this could be the ‘danger' I'm being warned about, right?” I asked, making finger quotes around the word.

“Nah, I doubt it. But you know, on that topic, I do have an idea,” Angelique said conspiratorially. She stood up and grabbed her water and OJ. “Come back to my room. We're going to do a spell.”

I raised my eyebrows as I slid the chair back. “For what? Spells are what got me into this mess—well, not
me,
but my past life me—oh, you know what I mean.”

“This is different.” Angelique led me down a sunny, yellow-painted hallway to her room—which looked much more like what I was expecting from a witch. The walls were dark purple, with glow-in-the-dark stars stuck all over them and a sun, moon and stars-printed tapestry hanging over her bed. Candles dripping with wax and dog-eared books lined the messy shelves of her desk, and an ornate bowl filled with dried rose petals sat next to her bed.

“So what's the spell?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and sitting cross-legged on her black velvet comforter while she rooted around in her desk drawer. Angelique pulled out a notebook and began scribbling some notes with an oversize blue pen.

“We're going to amplify your powers—or more to the point, unlock them,” Angelique explained, tapping the pen on her desk for emphasis. “That way, whatever danger is on its way, you'll have a fighting chance at beating it.”

“How so?”

“I don't know, it's not an exact science,” she mused, taking a wooden box off her desk and pulling out some crystals. “We
know you're safe right now, but I'm hoping this will at least give you some extra ammo to fight whatever the threat is.”

“How do you know I'm safe right now?”

“You're still wearing your necklace,” Angelique said. “Remember, in your dream, you lost the medallion before the fire? It snapped off your coat and rolled away?”

“How on earth do you remember that?” I asked, incredulous. “It was
my
dream and I forgot all about—”

She gave me a smug look and tapped her forehead.

“Right, your amazing memory,” I grunted, still jealous. Angelique pulled out some white candles and set them in a circle on the floor, lighting them one by one. When she lit the last candle, she let loose such a powerful sneeze that she blew the candle out.

“Are you sure you feel up to this?” I eyed her critically, but she rolled her eyes at me.

“I'm fine,” she insisted, and gestured for me to join her on the floor, where we sat among the flickering flames. Then she pressed a small stone into my hand. I looked down at the glittering, tiny blue rock. It was the half the size of a Tic Tac.

“Sapphire,” she explained. “It amplifies a witch's powers. Now hold it, and focus.”

“On what?”

“Just try to get in touch with your inner witch,” Angelique instructed. “Think about it like you've got this inner treasure chest that you're trying to unlock.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to feel out whatever witchiness was in me as Angelique started chanting.

I opened my eyes and Angelique was handing me the notebook.

“Here, now you say it,” she told me.

I looked down at the scrawled ink in the book and expected that I would feel foolish, casting a spell—but it felt right. I clutched the stone in my hand and began the spell.

I was hoping to feel a rush of warmth, or hear a thunder-clap—
something,
to show me that the spell was a success. But there was nothing, just the sound of my own breathing and Angelique's sniffles. I sat there for a moment, gripping the stone in my fist.

“Let me know this worked,” I muttered. “Come on, give me a sign!”

And then I felt it. The room was filled with a swirling breeze—it seemed to start at the floor and spiral upward. I opened my eyes and gasped. It looked like we were sitting at the bottom of a whirlwind. The dried rose petals had blown out of their bowl and were floating on the breeze, surrounding us with the heady floral scent. Some papers on Angelique's desk blew around us in circles. Our hair whipped into our faces. And then, with one final burst of a stronger wind, the wind extinguished the candles. Lights out.

Then everything dropped to the floor with a slight rustling sound.

“Whoa.” Angelique exhaled, brushing her hair out of her face. “Your first spell.”

“There's no way your window is open, right?” I croaked,
already knowing the answer. Still, as she shook her head no, I dropped the sapphire. It hit the floor with a minute clacking sound. “Now, I'm a little scared,” I admitted, looking at the petals and papers scattered around the floor.

“Don't be!” Angelique's voice was filled with excitement. “You wanted a sign, hey, you got it! And that wasn't even a proper spell—Emma, you have so much untapped potential. I'm so relieved I was right about you. I just knew it—I knew there was something about you!”

She wagged her finger in my face smugly. “I'm also going to undo the protection spell I did on you, by the way. I've been thinking about it and I totally gagged your brother with that. We want him to be able to warn you.”

I just stared at where the sapphire sparkled on the floor. Three weeks ago, if you asked me to cosign on these plans, I'd have laughed and told you that you were crazy. Now, I wondered where I'd house that pet unicorn.

“So, what, now I'm a witch?” I asked, bewildered and a little thrilled by the events that had just unfolded. “You always
were
a witch,” Angelique said. “Now, you just know you are one.”

She launched into another coughing fit—and was starting to look a little pale—so I took that as my cue to leave and let her get some rest, even though I desperately wanted to stay and soak up as much witch information as I could. It felt like one mystical thing after another was hitting me.

By the time I got home, school was out, and my voice mail was full of urgent calls from Ashley, Jenn and Cisco. I'd barely changed out of my uniform into a T-shirt and track pants when the phone rang again.

“Phone, now,” I demanded, opening my palm and trying to summon it from my nightstand. Shocker—it didn't move an inch.

“You're a witch, not a Jedi, Emma,” I chastised myself, picking my phone off the bed. I checked the caller ID—it was Cisco.

“I saw Anthony cleaning out his locker,” Cisco said after I'd relayed the events that unfolded in Principal Casey's office. “He was
pissed.
I expected steam to come out of his ears, like he was a cartoon character or something.”

“Well, at least I don't have to see him anymore,” I said, relieved. “I just get to deal with all the gossip every day. Oh, joy.”

“Okay, Emma, I don't know if I should tell you this but, well, I feel obligated to.”

“Oh, great, what now?”

“Do you want to know the rumor that's going around school?” Cisco's voice was apprehensive.

“Sure, why not,” I said dryly.
These days, only the supernatural can faze me.

“It's so obvious that Kristin's behind this, because the stories are that you slept with Brendan
and
Anthony, that Brendan's embarrassed to be seen with you, and that Brendan's only using you. And all kinds of variations on the same story.”

“Ew, so gross.” I sighed.

“I know. But speaking of Brendan…” Cisco trailed off pointedly.

“That happened kind of suddenly,” I admitted a little guiltily. Cisco thought I was keeping secrets. “We pretty much hung out all weekend, and now we're dating.” Dating seemed to be a weak word for what we were, but it was all I had to work with.

“I knew it!” he shouted, and I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “You sneak! You were holding out on me!”

“No, I wasn't—trust me,” I assured him. “As of Friday, we weren't together. It happened fast.”

“You can say that again.”

“It happened fast,” I repeated, and Cisco laughed.

“Well, tomorrow should be interesting.” I sighed.

“Emma, since you've started going to Vince A, things have been nothing but interesting,” Cisco said. I just groaned. I wanted to see Brendan—but another day of going to school where I would no doubt be the topic of conversation…I was beginning to see a trend here. If it weren't for Brendan, I might have been tempted to long for the lonely days back in Keansburg.

I thought about having a home-cooked meal ready when Aunt Christine, the perennial queen of takeout, came home. I figured it was a way to start making things up to her. I thought of how she plucked me out of Henry's loveless house, and all the favors she pulled to get me admitted to Vince A, and felt shame color my face. My behavior was not exactly a shining example of how the niece of someone on the board should act. But a quick survey of the kitchen told me the only ingredients were French bread, a large slice of brie, some fruit and more tea than there was in the Lipton factory. And, of course, the makings for multiple martinis, but I doubted finding me with a vodka bottle would improve my standing with Christine.