The Fascinators

by Andrew Eliopulos

  “The spirit world?” Sam said dubiously.

  “Look, I’m not saying you have to believe it, but the people who made this book obviously do—that’s all I’m saying. There are a bunch of spells in here that are in Enochian. Stuff that can supposedly let you talk to spirits, or at least get advice from them in signs and symbols, that sort of thing.”

  “So, like, evil magic,” Sam said, making a joke but actually feeling a little sick.

  “Not necessarily,” Delia said. “What is praying if not talking to spirits? And in a lot of cultures, communing with the dead is seen as a perfectly natural thing.”

  “Talking at the dead, maybe,” Sam said. “But expecting a response? Or worse, forcing one? Sounds pretty evil to me.”

  “Ordinarily, I’d be inclined to agree with Delia,” James said, earning a hurt look from Sam. “But in this case, I think we need to remember who we’re dealing with. I can’t speak for everyone who was in the warehouse that night, but based on what I saw of the main group, I think it’s safe to assume that if they were trying to cut a hole between our world and the spirit world, it’s bad news at best and, yeah, probably evil at worst.”

  “And this is what you didn’t want to tell me last week? When we were doing the finding spells together?” Denver was ostensibly saying this to all three of them, but he was looking squarely at Sam when he did. Sam hated to be on the receiving end of that look. It was no doubt the same look Sam had given James on the first day of school, hearing about everything he’d missed at Mike’s party.

  “We didn’t want to drop this on you if we could help it,” Sam said. “These people are dangerous. They’re the same people who smashed my windshield.”

  “Because James stole their book,” Delia added, earning a sharp response from James.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said.

  “It doesn’t mean anything; it’s a fact. And I don’t doubt your word when you say that everybody was super sketch that night, but I don’t think we should discount everything in this book as a result. We wouldn’t discount the very powerful magic you are capable of creating just because your actions are a little questionable sometimes.”

  “No offense,” James said tersely.

  Delia shrugged.

  “Y’all,” Sam said. “No need to fight about this. Whatever this book was before it got to us, it has only been negative since it came into our lives. The sooner we return it to those people, the sooner we can stop thinking about them and go back to worrying about our convention categories. And enjoying senior year. Remember that?”

  “Or junior year, as the case may be,” Denver said quietly. That touch of levity—and that gesture of forgiveness—was exactly what the moment needed. James exhaled, and Delia even smiled a little bit.

  “All right,” Delia said. “You’re right, Sam. There are some incredible-sounding spells in here . . . but better to return this book while we can. Before those people come for us or we tear each other’s hair out, whichever comes first.”

  “Agreed,” James said. “The only question is, how? I don’t exactly want to walk up to that warehouse and leave it at their front door if I can help it.”

  “Are they really that dangerous?” Denver asked.

  “Based on the nightmares they’ve quite literally caused me in the past week, I’d say yes,” James said, and Sam shivered, remembering his own visions, which had single-handedly turned him off wanting to remember his dreams, perhaps for good.

  Delia said, “I’d say yes, too, based on this book. But the good news is, there’s a spell in here that seems tailor-made for this moment.”

  “What does it do?” James said.

  Delia started flipping toward the front of the book. It was a little unnerving to Sam that after only one day, she seemed to have such a thorough knowledge of the book’s contents, but then again, that wasn’t that unusual for her. She had helped him prepare for countless tests over the years, and always, she had a better grasp of the material than he did—even when she wasn’t in whatever class Sam needed help with.

  “Here,” she said. “A Spell of Conveyance. For transporting light objects across long distances.”

  “Surely we can do better than that?” James said. “Sam, what about the spell you did for convention sophomore year?”

  “The switching spell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You have to be able to see both objects for that to work. Or at least I did. Plus, I never made it beyond switching two cinder blocks. The guy who came in first made a trash can switch places with a table.”

  “Well,” James said, “this book probably doesn’t weigh more than a cinder block.”

  Sam frowned. He hated when anyone, but especially James, made him say no to the same thing twice.

  “I just don’t see why we would choose some great-sounding spell we don’t know over an imperfect spell we do know,” James continued, and Sam tried not to read into that. “It seems like we’re asking for trouble.”

  “Well, learning new spells is always a little dangerous,” Delia said. “But I’m with Sam—no way the switching spell is strong enough for what we need. So either we try this spell, or we look up another spell on one of the apps. But as someone who spends a lot of time studying what’s on the apps, I can tell you right now I’ve never seen another spell that could get the book from here to there—at least not a spell that’s within our ability level. Meanwhile, this spell of conveyance seems pretty damn achievable. So as club president, I am officially putting this to a vote. All those in favor of trying this spell?”

  She raised her hand immediately, and Denver raised his shortly thereafter. She made a compelling case. That was why she was club president.

  Sam was more hesitant, if only to protect James’s feelings. But honestly, he was persuaded.

  “All right then, no need for another vote. Three to one, it’s decided.”

  This spell, it turned out, was not written in Enochian. It was written in English. There were no special implements or ingredients required, but the instructions did say that it got easier the more magickers participated—Merlin’s Law was a common refrain in this spell book, according to Delia—and it also said it was easier if everyone involved could visualize the object’s full trajectory, more a literal conveyance than an associative one. So Delia pulled up her maps app on her phone and dropped a pin on the gray square they finally agreed was the right building, and then she translated that location into a list of directions.

  Denver said, “Am I sabotaging this spell if I can’t picture these places like y’all can, or am I still helping it by adding my magic to the group’s?”

  “Just grab Sam’s hand, please,” Delia said.

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Wait,” Sam said, standing up quickly. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous. The spell would work or it wouldn’t. “I want to get one thing first.” He ran upstairs to his room, took a deep breath, and then returned with the singing bowl. “It worked well last time,” he said to Delia. “It’s supposed to stop interference from other magickers,” he explained to James and Denver.

  “Good idea,” Delia said.

  The singing bowl also meant that Sam’s hands were fully occupied, so the four of them touched knees as they sat in a circle on the floor, and then they began the work of reciting the words to the spell, and preparing to visualize the steps of the directions, while not becoming distracted by the high-pitched hum of the bowl. Which—sure thing, spell! Nothing to it!

  For all the reasons the spell could have gone wrong, it didn’t.

  Hardly had the four of them finished the last word of the incantation when the book snapped closed and leaped into the air, flying so fast up the stairs that Sam would have thought it was a frightened bird or a bat if he didn’t know better. He heard the crash of a first-floor window breaking a split second later, and he and Denver both jumped, losing their concentration, but the spell kept going, anchored by James’s and Delia’s
cooler minds.

  The book was flying so fast, it was hard to know when he was focusing on the right part of the course map and when his brain was really miles behind, but the wildest part was, he swore he could feel the book’s movement, like he was holding the remote control to a car and had to account for the resistance of the tires as the car turned. His stomach dropped whenever the book lost altitude, and it went up in his throat when the book flew higher to avoid some obstacle. When the book finally slammed into one of the boarded-up windows of the warehouse with such velocity that it broke right through, Sam felt the spell’s release crashing into him like the ground at the end of a long fall.

  They all gasped.

  “I think . . . I think it worked,” Denver finally said, still catching his breath.

  “You think?” Delia said, sarcastically but not unkindly.

  Sam put down the singing bowl in the middle of the circle. “I guess the book was legit.”

  James frowned.

  “You disagree?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t like it,” James admitted. “What if the spell had unseen consequences? What if these people trace the spell back to us?”

  “Then it will be no different from where we were, when they came after Sam’s car,” Delia said. “They already know who we are. At least now we don’t owe them anything.”

  James didn’t have anything to say to that, though Sam wished he did—wished James had a better defense for his own part in getting them into this mess.

  But the mess was gone, right? The book was out of their lives. It was over. It had to be.

  “Seems kind of weird, thinking about everyday old convention spells after that,” Denver said brightly, breaking the broody silence. “I almost wish we’d taken photos or something of all of the pages.”

  Delia smirked.

  “And miss out on the chance to stumble your way through spells way above your experience level to middling results at convention?” Sam said. “Like a true Fascinator? I think not.”

  They all laughed, but Denver’s words proved prophetic—the four of them had a hard time getting in the groove of practicing after that, their conversation returning again and again to what might be happening with the book at the warehouse at that very moment. What other spells might have been in there.

  The book itself had been easy enough to get rid of. But their glimpse into another life, a few miles from their own and yet a world away, seemed like it might be a different story.

  Chapter 10

  WHEN THE BOOK CRASHED THROUGH THE WOODEN slats over the window, Liv thought it was the sound of a gun going off—that they’d finally been caught. That someone was looking out for her after all.

  She and Isaac were standing in the center of the common room, frozen in mid-fight, the shock of the explosion jolting him enough that he’d dropped his grip on her arm and jumped back, his survivor’s instincts kicking in. If that book had arrived even a minute later, there was no telling what Isaac might have done in that time. She knew their secret, and he was furious.

  Now, they both turned to where the book simply lay there, right at their feet. She had a pretty good idea what he was thinking—that this couldn’t be real. That after all the magic and the shouting and the fear of the last two weeks, all of it fruitless, there was no way the book could simply turn up so easily.

  “Don’t move,” he said to her, as if he could sense that she was readying herself to bolt. Or maybe he was trying to protect her from the book, suspecting it was a trap; maybe he was still capable of that kindness, although after what she’d learned this week, she seriously doubted it.

  He crept over to the book and waved his hand over it searchingly. He knelt down beside it, put his face at floor level, examining the book from every angle. Finally satisfied, he picked it up slowly, carefully, and that was the moment Mr. Grender, Grace, Alex, and Alex came running out of their rooms to join them.

  If Liv needed one more reason to leave at the next chance she got, the fact that they’d come now, so quickly, after ignoring the sounds of her fight with Isaac, was it.

  “Give it to me,” Mr. Grender said hungrily.

  Isaac handed it over, almost quivering from the honor of delivering it and from the hope that it would finally put things back to normal at the compound. Two weeks of tightening the screws on the thief and his friends, and ironically, the first person to crack under the pressure had been one of their own. Carl’s breakdown had been a sight to behold; his unhinged wailing—and his explosive accusations against Mr. Grender and Grace—still echoed in Liv’s brain two days later. Liv didn’t want to believe the things he’d said—the things they’d done—but none of the rest of them had tried to deny his account. They’d absorbed his episode as if they were museumgoers observing a strange bit of performance art—a piece that ended with Carl getting in his car and driving off into the night. Down a seventh member, they hadn’t met as a group since.

  Mr. Grender flipped through the pages of the book, one at a time, and as he did, the creases of worry on his face gave way to relief, unsettling to behold. It was all there, intact.

  “I think your messages may have finally gotten through,” Mr. Grender said to Grace, as he continued to flip through the book. “Now we can get back to focusing our efforts where they truly belong.”

  “They still could have made copies,” Alex said.

  “What if they go to the Keepers?” said other Alex.

  Mr. Grender had reached the middle of the book, and it lay open in his hands, revealing a piece of paper that had been torn out of a spiral notebook, folded into fourths, and stuck in between the pages. Cradling the book in one arm, he unfolded the paper, and Liv craned her neck to get a better look at the jagged V that seemed to be the only thing on it. However the paper had gotten there, Isaac appeared to recognize it, and he started to speak, but Mr. Grender held up a hand for silence, passing the paper to Grace. Grace closed her eyes and ran her fingers over the symbol, and when she opened her eyes again, she had a smile so bright it lit up her whole face.

  “I don’t think they’ll be going to the Keepers,” Mr. Grender said, some silent communication passing between him, Grace, and Isaac. “In fact, if this little message she’s left us is any indication, I think we may have found a new ally. Isaac?”

  “I’m on it,” Isaac said.

  “But you make a good point,” Mr. Grender said to Alex. “Reproductions may have been made. Isaac, keep an eye on the others. See what they know, and what they plan to do with it.”

  Isaac nodded.

  That seemed to be their cue to go back to their separate corners, though Grace followed Mr. Grender to his room; no doubt they had some secret errand, related to whatever Grace had seen on that piece of paper—or in it, perhaps, since it apparently contained some message Liv couldn’t see.

  She’d been so naive to think that living among other magickers would make her a better magicker. These people were parasites. That was what Carl said. They’d burned through the boy in her room before her, and now they’d burned through Carl. If she stayed here any longer, they’d burn through her, too.

  “This conversation isn’t over,” Isaac said. “When I get back, we’re going to discuss how to get you back on the right track. You’ve lost your way, Liv. You’re forgetting all the things we’ve done for you, when no one else would.”

  She nodded without speaking. She looked down at her wrist, at her grandmother’s watch.

  How far could she run without needing a break? How many miles was it from the compound to the nearest house?

  By the time Isaac got back, she would be long gone.

  Chapter 11

  ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, SAM GOT A TEXT FROM HIS mom that his car was ready at the shop, and she could pick him up and take him between showings of a new house if he could wait until three forty-five. This kindness felt like progress. They’d been sniping at each other all week following the discovery of a second broken window, this one in their house, which Sam s
wore wasn’t a result of practice, though it was obvious to her that it was. That was a small price to pay, though, for having finally gotten the book off their hands. He was sleeping again. The visions were gone.

  Thank you! He wrote now. No need to miss work. I’ll get a ride from one of my friends.

  “Sorry, I have to work today,” Delia said at lunch. “The youth group crowd always comes to eat early on Wednesday nights.”

  “You could drop me off on the way?” Sam suggested.

  “But it’s not on the way.”

  Sam turned to James.

  “My mom’s got the car today. I’m taking the bus home.”

  Sam sighed.

  “Why don’t you ask Denver?” Delia said.

  “I don’t know him that well yet. Asking for a ride to an auto shop is like a best-friend level request.”

  “I don’t know. What better way to get closer to someone than to endure an onerous errand with that someone? You could kill two birds with one stone and offer to buy him a Frosty on the way there, to say thank you and I’m sorry. Who doesn’t love a Frosty? Maybe if you’re really lucky, he’ll invite you on another date, and this one won’t be so disastrous.”

  “What date?” James said.

  “There was no date,” Sam said, throwing her a warning look. “There was a group outing. You were there.”

  “Oh, that,” James said, and unless Sam was imagining it, he seemed relieved.

  “That was partly what made it a disaster,” Delia said. “Though there were other disastrous parts, too. A Frosty would make up for them.”

  “All right, I’ll ask him. But only because I really do need a ride. Not because I want a . . . a Frosty.”

  Delia cackled. This was exactly why he hadn’t told her about the night by the soccer field for so long. Why he still hadn’t told her about what happened at the bowling alley. Delia could be a loose cannon. She balanced her own moral scales.