Spellcaster (Spellcaster #1)

by Claudia Gray

  19

  NADIA SANK DEEPER INTO THE TUB. THE FINE SPARKLY dust was beginning to settle to the bottom of the tub, forming lines of glitter that swirled with the water.

  Summon the ingredients, she told herself. Everything is ready.

  As Simon Caldani finished reading a chapter of The Trumpet of the Swan aloud, his son, Cole, said, “Daddy, what’s outside?”

  “There aren’t any monsters outside. Promise.”

  “I know. They’re birds. But how come there are so many of them?”

  Simon rose from the side of Cole’s bed to peer out the nearest window. Sure enough, there in the biggest tree of their yard were dozens of birds—hundreds of them? It was hard to tell in the dark, because they were all black. Crows? He’d never realized how large crows were before. More were alighting on the tree every moment, the flapping of their wings audible as a weird rustling sound. The rustling seemed to surround their home on every side.

  “It’s getting colder,” he said. “They’re migrating.”

  “I thought birds went south for the winter,” Cole said. He was right, of course. But surely—

  “They must be on their way. They’ll move on soon.” With that, Simon pulled the curtains shut. There was something eerie about it, those masses of birds, and somehow it seemed as if they were all staring at this house. That was the kind of thing that would give Cole nightmares for sure.

  Elizabeth lit her candle. She made her own out of tallow fat, the old way, boiling down the dead flesh herself. How it glistened when it melted—and ahh, the smell. There was no replacing that stink, the fetid odor of real magic. Some people prettied it up, but she preferred to know it for what it was.

  Holding her hand out flat, Elizabeth pushed it forward until her fingers were in the candle’s flame. The first flare of heat hurt, but she had long since learned to ignore pain.

  She held it there, and held it there. Her skin turned red, and the thin wisp of smoke rising from the candle began to darken. The tallow scent deepened into the smell of smoldering flesh.

  Hotter, Elizabeth thought. Pain-sparked tears welled in her eyes, but they were meaningless. Her fingers had begun to turn black. Make it hotter.

  Make it boil.

  Nadia leaned her head back on the heavy curved rim of the claw-foot tub, breathed in steam and put the ingredients together:

  Bone through flesh

  Something shattered to the sound of a scream

  The destruction of a thing beloved

  The air was almost uncomfortably thick with steam now, and Nadia could feel her whole body prickling with heat from the tub—she hadn’t turned the cold tap enough—but she knew she had to concentrate.

  An X-ray in shadows of blue and gray, revealing the jagged white fault line where her ulna should have showed through strong, and pain lancing its way up her arm while Mom stroked her hair.

  The car windows the night of the wreck, splintering into spiderweb patterns as they flipped over and over, as all of them shrieked in sudden terror.

  But Nadia couldn’t think; the water was so freaking hot—it almost burned.

  Her eyes opened wide as she realized the water was getting hotter. Though the taps were off, the water in the tub was heating up second by second, faster all the time, and she gasped aloud to see steam billowing up—oh, God, it stung, it hurt, it was going to start cooking her—

  Nadia shoved herself out of the tub, flopping over the side onto the tile floor so hard it knocked the breath out of her. As she lay there in a puddle, skin red and burning, trying to inhale again, the room heated even further and she heard the unmistakable sound of water boiling. She grabbed a towel to hold over her face, coughing into it as the steam thickened until she couldn’t see her own toes. The heat was almost overpowering, and for a moment she thought she might pass out.

  But she pushed herself to her feet. The doorknob glowed with heat, but she got to the bathroom window—an old-timey little rectangle that swung out from a side hinge, at least in theory. Nadia had never tried to open it before. Desperately she pushed at its wooden frame, but it wouldn’t budge; the window had been painted shut, probably almost a century before—

  —then it gave. A blast of cold air rushed into the room. Although steam still filled the air, already Nadia could see through it again, and the temperature went from unbearable to merely uncomfortable.

  A crow landed immediately outside, the wings flapping so close it startled her, so she yanked the window back until it was only open a crack. It didn’t matter; the worst had passed.

  She leaned against the beadboard wall, gasping for breath. After a few seconds, she took a washcloth and pulled the glowing-hot metal chain of the stopper out of the tub; what little water hadn’t been evaporated began to drain away, leaving trails of glittery quartz dust behind. She wiped it up, then used the washcloth to undo the lock on the bathroom door.

  Elizabeth knew. I wasn’t even all the way into the spell, but she still knew. She nearly boiled me to death.

  She would have killed me, and this spell—it was so little—

  Somehow Nadia struggled into her robe and managed to stay on her feet as she walked out of the bathroom. In the hallway she passed her father, who gave her a look. “Honey, there’s steam halfway down the hall. I know girls like their baths, but running the hot-water heater costs money, okay?”

  She couldn’t give him any answer but a nod.

  Elizabeth pulled her hand from the candle. The flesh had been charred away deeply enough in spots for her to see the bone.

  You scare me, Asa said. And I’m from hell.

  “Silence, beast.”

  She flexed her fingers, ignoring the stark pain this earned her. As Elizabeth watched, the flesh began to bubble, and the skin lightened from black to a charred tan back to its natural pink. The wounds closed over again, restoring her hand to what it had been before.

  Immortality had burdened her for so long, but it had its benefits.

  Nadia Caldani still lived—Elizabeth could sense that much—but a warning had been delivered. Perhaps it would be heeded, and these pointless distractions would stop. Surely her threat had been clear enough that she needed to take no further action at this time.

  Still, she hung Verlaine’s bracelet on a hook near the stove, keeping it close, just in case.

  “You should have called me,” Mateo said. He knew he was repeating himself, but he was almost too freaked out to think straight. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

  “I’m okay.” Nadia’s voice trembled. “But I’m not safe. None of us are.”

  The three of them were sitting on one of the outside picnic tables, theoretically eating lunch outside despite the chill, but their food lay there, ignored. The thought of Elizabeth somehow reaching across town to hurt Nadia, to try to kill her—“I never dreamed about her attacking you that way.”

  “You weren’t with me. That must be why. You can only dream of the future you’re going to see.” Nadia was trying hard to sound like she was in control again, but he knew better. Besides, what she was saying was no comfort whatsoever. He dreamed of Nadia in constant peril; it was even worse to think that she faced other dangers he’d never see, never have the chance to warn her against.

  Verlaine sat across the table from them, huddled in a fake leopard-skin coat with a wide black collar. “How did Elizabeth know you were trying the spell?”

  “She must have performed sentry spells—guards around the kind of magic that could damage her plans. Sort of like the barrier around town but more specific.”

  His memories of the wreck came flooding back. Looking down at that shattered car, seeing Nadia there, bloodied and trapped in the muck—that was what Elizabeth’s barrier had done. Any step outside the margins Elizabeth had set for them could mean death. “If that’s how we’re going to stop her—but she can sense that we’re doing it—”

  “I know.” Her voice was so tired, so shaky. Mateo wanted to put his arms around her; if they h
adn’t been in the middle of the quad, with Verlaine only a couple of feet away and people walking by every second, he would have. “I’ll have to think of another way, or—or I’ll have to wait until Elizabeth’s in the middle of her own magic, when she might be too deep in one spell to cast another, or too distracted to notice.”

  Verlaine chewed on a fingernail. “Waiting until the last possible second doesn’t sound like the ideal A-game.”

  Nadia nodded. “Believe me, I know. But we’re so out of our depth here.”

  For a few seconds they all sat there, depressed and slightly scared—and then Gage suddenly sat down at the table with them. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”

  “Hey,” they all said in unison. Mateo thought they couldn’t have sounded sadder if the funeral march had been playing.

  “Whoa. You guys look like your dogs just died.” Gage paused. “Oh, wait, did somebody’s dog actually die? If so, I’m sorry. Way sorry.”

  “No dead dogs,” Mateo said. He managed an expression that might pass for a smile. “What’s happening with you?”

  “Something that should cheer you guys up, so I’m guessing I got here in the nick of time. Night before Halloween, my aunt’s place on the beach, it’s party time. An actual fun party, Mateo—you might want to check one of those out sometime. Not the same jerks standing around being rude to one another while everybody acts cool.”

  “A party?” Verlaine frowned in confusion, like that was a word in English she didn’t know yet. Then again—nobody had ever asked Verlaine to any of the parties before; at least Mateo had never seen her out. Probably she wasn’t used to being invited. For his part, Gage only now seemed to have realized he’d asked Verlaine, too, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  Mateo said, “The jerks are still going to be there, though. They always show up.”

  “Yeah, but after the first hour they’ll blow it off because they’re too cool, and then the rest of us can enjoy ourselves.”

  “Like, Kendall Bender would be there?” Verlaine didn’t look reassured. “I can think of more fun things to do than hang out with her. Lots more. Up to and including reorganizing my dads’ spice rack.”

  That was weird—Mateo didn’t usually think of Kendall as being that bad. Yeah, she was as dumb as a box of hair, and about equally sensitive, but it wasn’t like she went out of her way to be mean to anyone. Well, anyone except Jinnie, but those two hated each other and Jinnie was one of the jerks.

  And Kendall was also mean to Verlaine.

  Come to think of it, everybody who didn’t ignore Verlaine was mean to her, even the people who weren’t mean to anyone else. Mateo knew he’d always ignored her; Gage had, too. Why had he ignored someone who was—now that he thought about it—actually great? It didn’t make any sense.

  Before he could really think about it, though, Nadia said, “The night before Halloween, huh?”

  The night before disaster struck Captive’s Sound if they didn’t do something to stop it—yeah, not the ideal time for going out. “Are we, um, busy?”

  But Nadia surprised him. “Who knows? If we aren’t—it might be good to take our minds off everything for a couple hours.”

  He could see that. In fact, if Elizabeth was now watching Nadia so closely that she could pounce at any moment, going out might be the only way to throw her off. “So you’ll come with me?”

  Nadia’s eyes met his, and he realized he’d just asked her out for the first time. It wasn’t that he hadn’t meant to ask her sometime; they’d become so close, so fast, that it was hard for him to remember that they hadn’t been out before. That he hadn’t even kissed her yet—

  She hesitated. That moment in her attic, when he’d thought they might—Mateo had wondered whether she was holding back then but had decided he’d imagined it. Maybe he hadn’t.

  But Nadia nodded. “Yeah,” she said in a small voice. “I’ll come.”

  “In case anybody remembers I’m still here, I’ll come, too,” Verlaine said.

  “Definitely. Come on along.” Gage gave them finger guns, trying to be deliberately dorky so it would be ironic but really just kind of being dorky, before strolling off to invite more people.

  Verlaine took her sandwich up. “I like that guy.”

  “He’s okay.” Mateo couldn’t look away from Nadia for long. “Yeah, Gage is great.”

  Which he was. But Mateo wasn’t thinking about anything but the fact that Nadia had said yes.

  The warmth of that moment stayed with him throughout the afternoon. Forget trying to concentrate on classes. Even the sickening haze of magic that clung to so much of Captive’s Sound didn’t have much hold on him today. He’d spent the last couple of months being either scared or furious; this was the first time he’d truly felt happy. And if he felt like that only knowing that Nadia was going to the party with him, what would it be like when they were together?

  Less than a week—

  Oh, crap. Chemistry lab.

  Walking by that place put the damper on his good mood. He couldn’t think of why, exactly, but lately chem lab gave him that creepy feeling like there were eyes watching him from behind, or as though he’d heard an odd sound in the house while showering alone: watchful, jittery, tense.

  But it got a whole lot worse when Elizabeth walked into the hall.

  She was right next to the Piranha, who didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. To her, Elizabeth probably looked the way Mateo had always thought: clean-scrubbed and natural, with fair freckled skin and chestnut curls.

  Now he saw her for herself, a creature thick with something gold and febrile that rippled down her like so many snakes. The glow around her was brilliant, almost blinding, and yet there was nothing beautiful about it.

  “Thanks for the extra-credit work,” Elizabeth said sweetly.

  “No prob.” The Piranha grinned at her like an idiot—the same way Mateo used to grin at her himself. “I only wish I had more students as motivated as you!”

  As the Piranha wandered off toward the teachers’ lounge, Elizabeth began walking toward him. “Mateo.” Her voice was so warm and sugary. Like honey. It disgusted him now. “Where have you been hiding lately?”

  He’d kept himself from shrinking away, hadn’t revealed that he could see her true form. But Mateo knew he couldn’t keep up the lie one second more. After what had happened to Nadia, it was impossible to think that anything he did could put her in more danger; Nadia was already in as much danger as she could be.

  And just once, he wanted Elizabeth to hear what he thought of her.

  He said only, “I know what you are.”

  She paused, then tilted her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

  “I know what you are.” Mateo’s hands balled into fists. He would never, ever hit a woman, but Elizabeth didn’t even count as a woman any longer. “You don’t get any more of my dreams. You don’t get to pretend we’re best friends any longer. Keep your fake memories and your fake smile to yourself from now on, okay? Don’t come near me again, or I swear to God, no matter how much magic you’ve got, I’ll find a way to hurt you. Do you understand me?”

  Elizabeth didn’t protest. She didn’t ask what he was talking about. But she didn’t lash out, either. She simply stood up straight—less like the sweet girl who had played at being his friend and more like an equal. Why had he never noticed before how tall she was? She could look him squarely in the eyes. “It’s not worth making you forget,” she said. “I’m bored with it.”

  Then she walked away, as smoothly and calmly as ever.

  It wasn’t the epic revenge he’d dreamed of. Maybe that would have to wait for Halloween night.

  But at least he never had to pretend to be Elizabeth Pike’s friend ever again.

  Nadia Caldani had broken one of the First Laws. She had told a man about magic.

  Elizabeth was shocked—and she had for centuries believed herself to be beyond the reach of shock any longer. Even she, who had broken so many of the Firs
t Laws, had never broken that one. And a young girl like Nadia had?

  She must have recognized the curse, Elizabeth realized as she headed home. Which I should have anticipated she would do.

  That was no reason to assume that Nadia would then go so far as to tell a male about the Craft. No witch properly schooled would ever have made such an assumption … or done such a thing without a compelling reason. Abandoned by her mother and teacher she might have been, but Nadia would have learned this rule from the very first.

  Then again—Mateo had stopped telling Elizabeth about his dreams. Nadia had taken away Elizabeth’s window into the future, which at this point was more a moral victory than a real one. But still, that could be her motivation.

  Was it reason enough to tell him about the Craft? It wouldn’t be for most witches. But Nadia was apparently far more ruthless than Elizabeth had realized. Mere girl though she was, primitive though her magical skills might be … she was a fighter. A worthy opponent.

  Gulping down the last of her water, Elizabeth tossed the bottle onto the floor amid the shards of broken glass. She made her way through her home to the bright light of her stove, by now the only heat in a very cold house. Neither heat nor cold mattered much to her any longer, but some spells worked better by the light of this unearthly fire.

  First she went to the ancient, half-rotted chest of drawers leaning against the far wall. Slowly she pried open a small drawer she hadn’t gone into for a decade, not since Lauren Cabot had committed suicide.

  There, amid the dust and stained wood, was a human finger bone, yellow with age. This she had possessed even longer than her immortality. George Cabot, the first of his family she had known, the first to serve her: This was all that remained of him. It was all she needed to keep the curse going forever.

  Elizabeth’s first impulse was to crush it. Mateo Perez would never again share his dreams with her; that made the curse useless. He would only have been able to assist her for another few days at the most anyway, and had already done his last and greatest service by showing her how dangerous Nadia had the potential to be … by showing her that many of her plans, in the future, would be dedicated to Nadia’s destruction. So why not end the curse?