Majix: Notes from a Serious Teen Witch

by Douglas Rees

  “But you said—”

  “I also told her you have an imagination, which is true,” Ariel goes on.

  “But you said the dress-code thing was working out,” I say.

  “Isn’t it?” Ariel asks.

  “Yeah. But you made it sound like—” I say.

  “Listen to me, Kestrel,” Ariel says. “One of the first things you learn in the Craft is that a witch never lies, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you tell the whole truth to every unenlightened bozo on the bus. The truth is too precious for that.”

  Ariel sits down at the table and motions for me to join her.

  “Now, what do we know about your mother?” she asks me.

  “She’s all nicey-micey,” I say.

  Ariel laughs.

  “Ever thought about why she’s nicey-micey?” she asks.

  “No. She just is,” I say.

  “Your mama’s from a little ol’ town on Chesapeake Bay in Old Virginia,” Ariel says. “Nice is the religion down there. The un-nicest thing your mama ever did in her whole life was to leave home to be a singer. And what kinds of songs does she sing?”

  “Real old stuff,” I say. “Purple dusks. Green meadows. White cliffs and blue moons.”

  “Yep. Very pretty songs from years before she was born,” Ariel says. “Nice songs. The nicest songs a nicey-micey lady could find.”

  Ariel reaches out and covers my hand with hers. Which I have to admit feels good.

  “Remember, Kestrel. Your mother doesn’t really want to know too much about what’s going on. Especially right now. She wants to hear that everything’s all right. That you’re in school and the dress-code thing is working out and you’ve stopped smoking. And you are in school and the dress-code thing is working out, and you have stopped smoking. So her world is better now. And everything I told her was the truth. But it was truth she could handle.”

  It makes sense.

  “Not everyone is like us, Kestrel,” Ariel says. “Not everyone is a seeker. You already know that. But you have to learn how to love the others anyway, from your standpoint as a seeker. And if you work with love as your ground of being, love for the whole imperfect universe, you’ll never go far wrong.”

  I shrug.

  6

  INVENTORY

  NOW THAT THE PHONE CALL IS OVER and I am back in my room, I will show you how to do your own magick inventory. It is really just lists.

  MAGICK I CAN ALREADY DO

  Make myself vomit by invoking Moloch, with finger backup.

  Image other realities.

  Make caterpillars come by singing to them.

  (I discovered this power in seventh grade. Three times I called caterpillars to me by singing softly to them and by holding out my finger. They all crawled onto it, and up my arm. If I just held out my finger, they never came. I’m glad to have this power, but I don’t know what it’s good for.)

  4. I can tell what The Rentz are going to say before they say it.

  (This power isn’t good for anything, either.)

  5. Sometimes I dream things before they happen.

  (This is definitely the coolest of all my powers so far, but it’s not good for anything, either. I never remember the stuff I dreamed until it’s already happening. I need to work on this.)

  6. Make someone I hate leave early by opening a pair of scissors and pointing it at them in another room.

  (The Rentz had a party last year and made me go to bed early. So I put out the scissors and everybody left by eleven. It was cool.)

  Here is another list you need to keep. It is not as good as the first list, but it is just as important.

  MAGICK I TRIED THAT DIDN’T WORK

  Turning my allowance into gold.

  (One week I got my allowance changed into dollar coins and cast this spell. I figured since the dollars were gold-colored already that would help. But it didn’t.)

  2. Turning my ice skates into gold.

  (Same spell.)

  3. Turning the silverware into gold.

  (Different spell.)

  4. Conjuring the spirit of Sir Isaac Newton to do my math homework.

  5. Conjuring any spirit to do my math homework.

  6. Putting a spell on Ms. Larsen, my math teacher, so that she would stop giving homework.

  7. Seeing fairies.

  8. Talking to the dead with a tape recorder.

  9. Looking into a mirror in a room lit only by a black candle to see who I had been in a previous life.

  10. Reading tarot cards .11. Making a voodoo doll of Ms. Larsen.

  That’s my inventory. Maybe a hundred years from now everybody will be able to do things like this. Maybe not. But if they are, it will be because people like me led the way. I hope they appreciate it.

  Because I will keep trying. And I don’t care what Ariel says about water flowing. They put dams and levees on rivers, and when they break, it’s a disaster. People drown. Buildings get crushed. Towns get wiped out. That’s what can happen when water makes up its mind.

  7

  THE UNIVERSE GETS MORE BOGUS

  IT IS MORE THAN A WEEK since I wrote my inventories and I am still here. I continue to develop my powers, but the universe doesn’t care. I would have to say it doesn’t give a damn, actually.

  While I wait for it to bend to my will, I am going to my classes and doing my homework and getting okay grades.

  I have a nickname now. I’m The Girl Who Doesn’t Wear the Uniform. Catchy.

  And nobody talks to me, which is cool, because what do pigeons have to say to a kestrel anyway? I’m lonely, but I’m not lonely for these sucky unenlightened bozos with their teams and clubs and marching band.

  I want Jennifer to come back. I want a coven. I want to be with my own kind.

  To remind myself of who I really am, I copied a pentagram out of The Witche’s Formulary of Magick and taped it to the back of my locker. I can look at it every time I open the door. It is like a quick drink of water to see it.

  And then, today, because the universe doesn’t have anything better to do than make things worse for me, it does.

  This morning my locker has the word EVIL written on it in black marker. Okay, that’s cool. But when I open the locker the same thing is written on the inside. That is gigantically creepy because no one but me is supposed to be able to get into my locker, right?

  And written on the front cover of my algebra book is GET OUT OF OUR SCHOOL WITCH. And on the back cover is YOU’RE AUNT’S A SATAN. And on the front cover of my English book is U R DAMED. That’s crossed out and DAMMED is written under it. And on the back is STOP CASTEING SPELLS.

  I take everything out of my locker and stuff it into my backpack. No way am I going to leave anything here to be messed with again. But when I stand up, my backpack weighs about ten thousand pounds.

  Nobody said it’s easy being a witch.

  I start trying to figure out how to cast spells on people when you don’t know exactly who they are. This is a hard question and probably explains what happens next.

  When I get to my algebra class, I sit down without looking. Big mistake. Because there is a tack on the seat. The only thing lamer than putting a tack on a seat is not noticing it. I blame the universe, because if I hadn’t been thinking about who trashed my stuff and how to curse them, I would have noticed it.

  So, like a dork, I sit on the tack and say, “Oww!” and jump up, and pull it out of my butt.

  And the whole class laughs.

  “Score!” shouts a girl.

  And this is a surprise, because it is Tiffany Holmer, one of the Queens, which is this in-in group of about five girls who think they were born to rule the planet and are practicing with the ninth grade. And Amber Williams, who is one of the other Queens, giggles.

  My private name for them is T&A. But they don’t know that. No one knows that. But I am now clearly on their to-do list.

  I am so mad I can’t even open my mo
uth. But I have to do something. So I wave my hand slowly, making it look like I’m doing some kind of magickal spell, and then I point straight at Tiffany. Then I sit down.

  Anyway, we then spend a fascinating fifty minutes finding out all about x over y times n. (I have to say, if algebra was good for anything, it would be interesting. If x minus y over quantity m minus n equaled Your Bra Strap Breaks You Queen Pig, I would be an A student.) Then the bell sends us out of the room and I head for gym.

  I am a little surprised to find that no one has done anything nasty to my gym rags, but no one has, and I go out and do jumping jacks and girls’ push-ups.

  It is when I get out of the shower that I find out what my new friends have been doing.

  My stuff is gone. All of it. No clothes, no backpack. Even my sweaty gym stuff is gone. What I have is a small wet towel. And a note where I left my stuff. Which says:

  NEED CLOTHES? CASTE A SPELL.

  A Witch Never Complains, but what am I supposed to do? Ms. Stendahl, who is head coach because she once won an Olympic medal in stove-tossing, comes in. I tell her.

  She blows her whistle and hollers, “Who took this girl’s stuff?”

  Of course everyone rushes to confess.

  So Ms. Stendahl has everyone dump out their backpacks. But the ones who did it got out fast before I could find out what they’d done. So no one has anything of mine.

  So Ms. Stendahl says she’s going to have roll call again.

  “We’ll be late for class,” one of the girls bleats.

  “Too bad,” Ms. Stendahl says. “I’m going to find out who did this.”

  “It was Tiffany and Amber,” one girl says, and everyone looks at her. Because, of course, you do not tell on a Queen.

  “Oh, Laura,” someone says. “Oh, man.”

  “So can we go to class now?” Laura asks. “I have a test.”

  “Thanks,” Ms. Stendahl. says. “But I’m still going to take attendance.”

  Which she does and finds out that—guess what?—Tiffany and Amber are the only ones missing. She lets the other girls go.

  I wonder who this girl is who wailed on T&A. I never noticed her before. She’s tiny and delicate, and if a mouse was in ninth grade it would look a lot like her. I mean, nothing there. But for some reason she did this. Maybe it was just to try to get to class on time. Probably it was. But maybe she did it for me. But why?

  But that takes maybe one second to wonder. What I am wondering the rest of the time is how I am going to get un-naked.

  Ms. Stendahl takes me into the office and gets me two dry towels. Then she calls Garbage and tells him what happened.

  And here is what happens next:

  To me: Aunt Ariel comes down and brings me some clothes. And thanks Ms. Stendahl. And takes me to Garbage’s office.

  To T&A: NOTHING.

  Because by the time we get to Garbage’s office, they are just leaving. They are coming out of the door as we are coming down the hall and Tiffany gives us a fakey smile and Amber giggles and they almost run away.

  “They’re the ones,” I say.

  Aunt Ariel is like a dog on a tight chain. But when she says, “Let’s hear what Mr. Gorringe has to say for himself” her voice is calm and smooth. So calm and smooth it’s scary.

  The secretary makes us wait maybe half an hour. Finally, she lets us in to see Garbage.

  He sighs when we come in.

  “And how may I help you today, Ms. Murphy?” he says to Ariel.

  “You can begin by helping me to recover my niece’s stolen property,” Aunt Ariel says. “And by telling me what punishment you have in mind for the thieves.”

  “Well, let me begin by saying we have a zero-tolerance policy here at RMN,” Garbage says, making a little temple with his fingers. (Maybe that is his fake spell.) “So if, in fact, any thievery has occurred, the perpetrators will be dealt with accordingly.”

  “So the fact that my niece was left in your locker room dripping wet and naked is, in your mind, questionable?” Ariel asks.

  “Of course not,” Garbage says. “The question is whether the facts are as they appear to be.”

  “Go on,” Aunt Ariel says.

  “It is possible that your niece’s things have been stolen,” Garbage says. “It is also possible—unlikely, but possible—that they have been mislaid. And it is even possible that she may have been involved in their disappearance.”

  “So she stole her own things to get these girls in trouble. Is that what I hear you saying?” Aunt Ariel’s voice is softer now.

  Garbage nods. “That is one of the possibilities.”

  “And she did this while she was in the shower,” Aunt Ariel says.

  “I do not say when she did it,” Garbage says. “I do not say that she did it at all. I must point out, however, that the girls, whom I have just questioned, come from excellent families. They are hardly likely to have stolen anything.”

  “Whereas my niece comes from a less excellent family, is that correct?” Aunt Ariel says.

  Garbage shrugs. One shoulder.

  “I did not say that. Let me restate that the girls you are accusing come from excellent families.”

  “Thank you for clearing that up for me,” Aunt Ariel says. “Now let me make something clear to you. This school stands in loco parentis. I assume you know what that means?”

  “Of course,” Garbage says.

  “Then you are aware that, under the law, you are responsible for her safety from the time she enters the building in the morning until she returns home,” Aunt Ariel says. “And your failure to do that today opens you to several possibilities. Including lawsuits and charges of child endangerment.”

  Garbage stands up. I’m not sure if he’s scared or angry or both.

  “When people with attitudes like you bring children into the public schools there are bound to be problems,” he half shouts, half squeaks. “You need to take responsibility for yourselves.”

  “I’m not sure I understand the point you’re trying to make,” Aunt Ariel says.

  “The point is, many people find your niece’s behavior…provocative and abnormal,” Garbage says.

  “It sounds, Mr. Gorringe, as if you are belittling our religion.”

  “You don’t have a religion,” Garbage shouts. “It’s a cult. A satanic cult.”

  Right then Garbage’s secretary knocks on the door.

  “Excuse me,” she says. “But I think we have a solution to the mystery.”

  She sort of shoves the girl named Laura into the office. Laura is holding my backpack. She is so small she is almost hidden behind it.

  “Hey,” she says in a whisper. “I found your stuff.”

  “Where was it?” I ask.

  “In the bushes in front of the school,” she says. “Under Mr. Gorringe’s window.”

  “Hah!” says Garbage.

  “How did you come to be looking there, dear?” Aunt Ariel asks.

  But Garbage says, “I will not allow you to interrogate my students. Open the bag, Ms. Murphy, and see that everything is there.”

  So I open it, and everything is there, including my stinky gym clothes, which are soaking into the paper covers on my books.

  Aunt Ariel holds the algebra book up.

  “What’s all this?” she asks me.

  So I tell her. And about the words on my locker.

  “I see,” Aunt Ariel says. “And how soon will you have my niece’s locker repainted, Mr. Gorringe?”

  “By the end of the week,” he shrugs.

  “I think by tomorrow would be much better,” Aunt Ariel says. “I understand you have a zero-tolerance policy at this school.”

  “We’ll take care of it as quickly as we can,” Garbage says. “And now I think we’re done here.”

  “Only for the moment,” Aunt Ariel says. “Kestrel, do you want to go come home, or go back to class for the rest of the day?”

  I would love to go home. But that would be what T&A want. To know they g
ot to me. So I say, “Nah. I’ll stick around.”

  “You still have your cell?” Aunt Ariel says.

  I show it to her and turn it on.

  “If anything more happens, call me at once.”

  “We’re done here,” Garbage repeats.

  Meanwhile, Laura is standing there looking like a rope that’s getting twisted tighter and tighter. She’s scared, and I know why. T&A know by now that she told Ms. Stendahl what they’d done. So they threatened her to make her “find” the backpack. Goddess knows what they told her they’d do to her. For that matter, they might do it anyway.

  “Hey,” I say to her. “That was cool, what you did.”

  She gives me a little mouth twitch that wants to be a smile.

  “Thanks,” she says, and skitters away.

  8

  THE UNIVERSE REALLY BITES

  IT’S SIXTH PERIOD and I’m sitting in class thinking, If I can get through to the end of the week, maybe they’ll get distracted over the weekend and go on to somebody else. But I know better. Queens may have the attention spans of houseflies for most things, but on some subjects they are like the snow-white, red-eared hounds of the Moon Goddess. One of those subjects: being mean.