Casters Series Box Set

by Norah Wilson

  Hiding in the upstairs hallway, listening by the stairs, Maryanne had heard the door slam when John had returned from the hardware store. She heard him offer a key to Mrs. Betts, then work one onto his own jingling key ring. “There,” he said when the job was done. “I’ll take the spare to the key box.”

  “Check the storm windows while you’re down there, John.”

  Down there.

  Well, they were already on the first floor, so that could only mean the basement.

  When it was quiet below, she had slipped down the stairs, through the thankfully empty kitchen and into the basement. Hurrying like a bandit, she located the key cabinet. To her relief, it wasn’t locked. A homemade affair, it wasn’t even equipped with a lock. She opened the small door and took the newest-looking key that dangled there. Not that there was much guesswork involved; it hung from a newly installed brass hook with the letter “A” written beside it in permanent marker.

  Key in hand, she jogged to the hardware store on Alder and asked for three copies of it. She’d been half afraid the clerk would recognize the key and demand to see permission before he copied it, but he hadn’t even glanced at it. Which made sense, she supposed. A high-security key would surely look different, probably have a number or a code on it at the very least. And it probably wouldn’t be stored in an unlocked cabinet for anyone to take. The clerk made the copies quickly. She paid cash for them and got the heck out of there.

  Maryanne had felt the I’m-so-smart smile stretching across her face as she slipped back into the basement and returned the key to the key box. But as she’d turned around, as she’d let herself relax a moment in that dim basement, she’d felt it. Not the draft through the mortared stone walls, nor the dampness rising from the dirt floor below her feet. The skeletal-like pipes running across the ceiling and down the walls by the water tank hadn’t drawn her attention under the lone yellow light bulb as she looked around. No, it was nothing material that sent the shiver through her.

  It was the vibe of the basement. The terrible mood of the place—the violent spirit. Oh my God, the fury, the profound pain that seemed to emanate—no, to ache—from the very air down there.

  Evil.

  She’d been so scared! Chilled deep, beyond her bones. Taking the steps two at a time, she’d beat it back up the two flights to her bedroom. She’d sat on her bed, nearly hyperventilating, with her knees drawn up and her back pressed hard against the headboard.

  That was the last time she’d been down to the basement. Not for lack of trying.

  The three of them had tried to sneak down several times, and Maryanne had had to brace herself far more than Alex or Brooke would ever know. But as it happened, they hadn’t been able to find the kitchen empty. Maryanne had suggested they all three skip school to try in the daytime, but Alex pointed out that no way would that fly with Betts, or without raising suspicion. They’d tried to sneak down a few nights. But each time someone had been in the kitchen when they’d stopped just outside the door, rattling around the cupboards or sneaking a forbidden smoke. So last night, they’d all agreed, it was time to try something else. Another way into the basement.

  The sweeping second-hand on the clock caught Maryanne’s attention again, and she shook her head. 3:45. Mr. McKenzie was twenty minutes late now.

  Maybe he’d forgotten he wanted to see her. He’d looked jangled enough this morning as he’d walked into the classroom. It was a possibility.

  Or maybe he was on the phone to her parents right now? Oh crap! Maybe that was what was keeping him. She groaned.

  Her mom and dad were missing her more and more. They were emailing all the time these days, calling every other night. Just yesterday a large parcel had arrived, packed with pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies—of which Alex scarfed down a half-dozen—and lemon squares. Cradled within the bunch of new socks, flannel pajamas, a new red hoodie and two new pairs of jeans that made even Brooke look twice, was a carefully-boxed, pecan pie. The fragile package had been couriered overnight from Toronto. There was a card inside the box, holding two hundred dollars and a note that read, ‘We love you, Maryanne. We miss you like crazy and we want you to come home soon.’

  Oh those words had pained her.

  The good news was Skip Hemlock and Kelly Webb-Hemlock were healing. Going on with their lives and getting their lives back as much as they could. Remembering Maryanne in it, though of course she’d never really been forgotten so much as set aside for a while, while they grieved, while they survived, they wanted her back.

  Maryanne wasn’t ready to go home yet, though. God help her, she didn’t know if she ever would be. Not after what she’d done to Jason. Her parents loved her now, but if they only knew... Her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed hard. And on the heels of that emotion came the now-familiar longing, powerful and all consuming, to cast out. She had no tears out there.

  And casting itself... another reason she couldn’t even dream of going home to Burlington. How could she leave that behind? That adventure? The reprieve and glorious freedom? And yes, the power too.

  And Connie Harvell. How could any of them leave Connie behind—that poor, lonely caster?

  The lonely, tired caster.

  Alex had been right. As she’d suggested, Maryanne had held Connie’s hand on the very next cast out, and she’d felt just what Alex had described, that profound tiredness. Connie had to rest. Had to end this. And they did need to find her body for her, if they could.

  But even if they did find Connie’s body, would she be able to rest even then? What if she couldn’t cast back in? Or God, what if she could? They truly didn’t know what would happen.

  But they had to try.

  “Oh, you’re still here.”

  Maryanne glanced up to see Mr. McKenzie in the doorway.

  She nodded at the obvious.

  McKenzie stumbled a bit as he walked into the room, nearly knocking over a chair by Maryanne’s desk. His hand shot out to grab it before it toppled. Moving the chair close to hers, he swung it around and straddled the seat, crossing his arms casually over the chair’s back.

  She smelled the alcohol when he smiled.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your math,” McKenzie began.

  Somehow Maryanne doubted it. “My mark has come up with my last two tests,” she said. “Did my parents call you about it?”

  “I know you’re capable of better,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her question. “You could do better.”

  “I will.”

  “You could get the highest mark in the class.” His smile widened. “If you really wanted it. I mean, if you let me... help you.”

  He reached over and settled a hand down on Maryanne’s right arm. She froze.

  Oh crap, this better not get weirder.

  It got weirder.

  “Must be hard for you coming all the way from Ontario. Not knowing anyone. All alone in this town. Ever get lonely here in Mansbridge? Need someone to talk to? Need a friend? Someone to watch over you... maybe a man? Not just a local-yokel boy... but a man.” With this thumb, McKenzie lightly stroked her arm. “Because I could be more—”

  Maryanne stood quickly, knocking her own chair over as she pulled away. “I’ve got to go.” Leaving the chair on the floor, she grabbed her jacket and book bag from a nearby desk.

  “We’re not done here.” Mr. McKenzie’s tone was no longer soft, but demanding. “Sit down, Maryanne.”

  “I’m... I’m on kitchen duty at the house,” she lied. “And I’m already late.”

  “So be later.” McKenzie stood, the smile gone now. His face held anger, and even more frightening, determination.

  “I can’t,” Maryanne said, backing away. “Patricia Betts is waiting for me. I’m surprised she hasn’t called, wondering what’s keeping me.” From the front pocket of her book bag, Maryanne pulled out her cell. It was another recent gift from her parents, a just-in-case kind of thing. She’d never even used it, but held it open in her hand now, her thumb
hovering over the buttons. “But I called her earlier to say you wanted to see me after school.”

  “You’re not supposed to have a cell phone at school,” McKenzie intoned sternly. But he took a step back, and Maryanne knew her bluff had worked. Hidden away in the attic that day, she’d learned how protective Betts really was. Maybe this teacher knew it too.

  Maryanne raced down the hall. Behind her, she heard a slam—probably the chair she’d knocked over being righted with excessive force.

  She crashed out the door of the school, and didn’t stop to throw on her jacket until she was a block away. She snapped her cell—oh wow, her uncharged cell!—shut, and caught her shaky breath.

  Alex would have told him off, she was sure of it. Brooke would have kicked his ass. Connie would have shrieked him insane!

  “And Maryanne? What would wimpy Maryanne do?”

  She was glad now that she’d swooped his car that night. Thrilled that she’d run him off the road. And if she ever saw him again when she was cast out, she would do worse.

  The creep!

  But she wouldn’t see him tonight. Nor anything else of Mansbridge, for that matter. Because tonight when they cast out, they were going to re-enter Harvell House. Tonight they would finally—God help them—explore the horrible basement.

  Just thinking of the place sent an echo of the fear and rage she’d sensed there shuddering through her, making her feel raw and tearful. On top of the weirdness with McKenzie, it was too much. She needed to find Alex and Brooke. Telling them what had just happened with McCreepy would help.

  So would their company, she realized. Even Brooke’s. Wow. When had they stopped being roommates and become friends?

  A car passing on the street slowed and Maryanne’s heart leapt. Not McKenzie, she realized. Just a soccer mom in a mini-van slowing to let a squirrel cross the road. But that little shot of adrenaline leant her extra speed as she ran the rest of the way home.

  Chapter 29

  Mirror Images

  Alex

  The three began in unison, “I want out, I want out, I want—”

  But it was Alex’s voice that lasted longest inside the attic. Again, Brooke and Maryanne cast out before her and she was left there chanting alone. They’d gone more quickly than ever this time. It was becoming second nature to them. Alex stiffened as she continued to tap and chant. She knew why the delay, of course. Her own fear was holding her back. Full memory of the assault was so close now, so frighteningly close... But she was a caster, dammit! And she wanted—“—out.”

  Suddenly she was. As always, Alex looked back at the slump of their three bodies on the attic floor. So defenseless lying there in the glowing candlelight. Brooke’s original’s right hand flopped to the side, weakly smacking Alex’s original on the ribs. That that was the extent of her physical ability, and didn’t seem to bother Brooke. Alex felt the tap, of course. It still was strange to her, this dual consciousness.

  “Waving, Brooke?” Alex asked, turning to Brooke’s dark cast beside her.

  Brooke laughed. “It still strikes me funny. How helpless we are in there, but how powerful we are out here.” She straightened her arms, fisted her hands as if they were rockets at her sides and shot up above the roof top. Then, just as quickly, she dropped back down to Alex’s side.

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “Real funny.” Not. She loved the power their casts had out here, but God how she hated the vulnerability of the original left behind. Maryanne and Brooke didn’t share her worries. Alex hoped they never would.

  Maryanne’s black form moved toward the river, and Alex turned toward her. She was skimming low to the ground, among the tall grass, which was good. At least one of them appreciated how cautious they had to be, especially now that the Heller rumors were flying. But why was she heading to the river?

  “Hey, Maryanne! Where are you going?” she called.

  Maryanne stopped. “To the oak tree for the copper bracelets.”

  “Not tonight,” Alex reminded. “You don’t want to pull a Brooke, do you?”

  “Pull a Brooke?” Brooke asked.

  “Bounce your hand off the walls trying to pass through wearing copper and smack yourself in the head.”

  “Nice,” Brooke groused, feigning injury. “Real nice, Robbins.”

  Alex grinned.

  Maryanne rejoined them. “So Connie knows we’re not coming tonight, right?”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “I told her.”

  “When?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “Another daytime venture into the woods?” Brooke asked.

  Alex shrugged.

  She’d let the girls in on her daytime, copper-bearing excursions to Connie’s when they’d questioned all the copper now in her nest. But neither Brooke nor Maryanne had asked to go with her on those non-casting trips. She wouldn’t have let them anyway. Like so much else, this was just between Connie and her.

  And it’s not like she went out to Connie’s home in the woods every day. She’d only been there in the daytime two more times. It would have been three, except she’d turned back one day, half-convinced she was being followed when she’d heard the sound of branches snapping behind her. She was probably being paranoid. But she couldn’t take the chance someone would hurt Connie. Or hurt her all over again.

  “You guys ready for this?” There was an edge in Maryanne’s voice, as there always was when they cast. Brooke’s teasing of her being ‘hard-core’ out here really was bang on. But tonight there seemed to be a little trepidation in her, too. This wasn’t going to be an ordinary casting night. The girls descended to the ground floor, taking care to stay away from the windows.

  “Should we try the... kitchen?” Maryanne whispered. They were just off to the side of the wide kitchen window, hiding in the shadowed bushes. Probably the same one Connie had huddled down in on the night she’d watched her mother.

  “God girl, you don’t have to whisper!” Brooke said. “Only we casters can hear each other unless we’re shrieking.”

  “Oh, right,” Maryanne said.

  “Nervous?” Alex asked.

  She shook her head. “Not as much as I should be. I mean, not as much as if I weren’t casting.”

  Alex smiled. It was totally true. That’s why they had to watch themselves. Not carry that abandon too far like they had with the Walker horses. And speaking of watching... “Brooke!” She was no longer at Alex’s side in the bushes, but over at the house. Specifically, she was at the kitchen window, looking in. But her face wasn’t just pressed to the glass, it was pressed through the glass as she scoped out the kitchen. Alex’s heart jerked. “What the hell are you doing?”

  In response to Alex’s bark, Brooke withdrew her face. “Relax!” she called. “I’m just checking the place out.”

  “I thought we agreed to stay away from glass?”

  “Hey, it’s not like I was going to go through it. I just poked my face in a bit, just enough to look sideways.” Brooke soared back to join them. “By the way, Betts is in there,” she added conversationally.

  Automatically, Alex and Maryanne lowered themselves further into the bushes.

  “Holy crap!” Alex swore. “That was six kinds of stupid, Brooke!”

  “God, Alex. Chill, already. Betts’s back was too me. She’s just sitting at the table with the lights out.”

  “Having a midnight snack?” Maryanne asked.

  “More like a midnight nightcap.”

  “What if she’d seen you?” Alex demanded.

  “She didn’t!”

  “But if she had—”

  “Then she would have thought she’d seen a shadow. Worst case scenario, she would have thought she’d seen a Heller.”

  “The legend lives on,” Maryanne grated.

  Alex let out a long sigh. She so didn’t want to get into a scrap with Brooke tonight. “Okay, okay. Let’s just do this.”

  Alex didn’t have to say it twice. When she started around the house, the others fell
right in behind her. The three of them glided below the windows as they passed the bottom-floor bedrooms. That would be all they’d need, to have Kassidy or someone else wake the house with screams. But damn it, it was temping to take a peek inside!

  They stopped at the front door, which seemed the logical entrance. This late—well past lights out—no one should be standing there to get the shock of their lives.

  “Ready?” She turned to ask.

  Brooke and Maryanne both nodded, and with a sister on either side of her, Alex slipped into the moonlit foyer of Harvell House.

  “This is crazy!” Maryanne said. Except for the Walker place on their Brooke-rescuing missions, they’d never snuck into a house. “I feel like a cat burglar!”

  Alex did too. She couldn’t help it. She skimmed her hands just into the wallpaper as she moved into the foyer.

  Brooke popped into, then out of, the coat closet. “Hey, one of the freshmen kids from Fredericton has a bag of weed in her pocket.”

  Maryanne shook her head. “No way!”

  “She better not get caught with it.” Okay, that sounded strange even to Alex’s own ears, given her history. Before anyone could remark on it, she added, “And we’d better not get caught here in the house.”

  She waited for an answer from the other two. There was none.

  And when Alex looked behind her to see what they were staring at, she was pretty damn speechless too.

  Each one of them faced the tall, oval mirror that stood in the foyer.

  The shimmery outlines of their casts, which were so visible ordinarily, were completely absent in the mirror’s reflection. All she could see of each one of them, including herself, was the darkness. The complete, utter emptiness. It was one thing to see Connie’s cast, during her daytime visits and to know intellectually that her own cast must look much the same. But holy hell, it was something entirely different to actually see herself like that! This was how Mansbridge saw the Hellers. This was what the world witnessed, and feared. The foyer was darkened, but their casts were darker. Depthlessly darker, somehow. Alex felt a sudden urge to race back into her body, and by the tension she felt in the originals beside her in the attic, she wasn’t the only one spooked.