by Maya Gold
I feel a rumbling deep under my feet, like an earthquake. There’s a sudden explosion of splintering wood and cracked tiles in the bathroom. One of the stall doors slams open with hurricane force, revealing a broken back wall. Framed amid the rubble is an upright, strong older woman, dressed in what looks like an ancient black robe. It takes me a moment to recognize my great-aunt Gail.
When I do, my heart pounds as the realization drops into place: She is the air witch, backlit by the rising full moon.
“It’s time,” she says, seizing my hand between her bony fingers. “Time to take your revenge.”
Before I can blink, Gail and I have materialized in the center of the dance floor. She holds my right hand in an iron grip as I take in the terrifying scene before me.
The prom is in swirling chaos. Girls shriek and cover their heads as napkins and tablecloths fly through the air. Chairs and buffet trays fly upward, and the walls tremble. It’s like an indoor tornado. Outside the windows, a violent sea storm has blown up out of nowhere. Thunder and lightning crash through blackening skies, and a howling wind lashes gray waves into froth.
The curtain rods over the windows give way, crashing down like the mast of a sinking ship. A loose beam swings down from the ceiling. People scream and stampede for the door, but it’s already blocked by piles of debris. As I watch in horror, a round table teeters onto its edge and starts rolling drunkenly over the floor. Couples cling to each other as hors d’oeuvres, forks, and punch cups fly past them.
I see Samson Hobby grab hold of a passing beef slider, popping it into his mouth. For one crazy second, I want to laugh, and then Samson gets hit by a flying chair. Everyone’s screaming.
The loudest screams come from Megan, Amber, and Sloane, who cower on the floor in terror as a circle of knives swirl over their heads. Freaked out as I am, it gives me a grim satisfaction to watch them snivel and cringe. If I knew a spell to make those knives cut their hair off, I’d do it. My raw scalp still burns, and as I reach my free hand up to cover the ugly tufts, I remember the splotches of paint on my dress. I don’t want Rem or Travis to see me like this, but it isn’t just shame that floods through me. It’s a pure, boiling fury. I want those girls to pay.
The mirror ball falls from the ceiling and crashes in glittering shards right by Amber, Megan, and Sloane. The lights on the dance floor start flashing bloodred. Suddenly, the earth witch drummer and Esperanza materialize before me and Gail. The water and earth witch are clasping each other’s hands with a grip like cement. As Gail takes Esperanza’s hand, a plume of steam hisses upward from the floor. The three older witches chant an incantation:
“Earth, air, water, fire,
On this night,
What was wrong shall be made right …”
Gail holds my right hand in a vise-like grip, dragging me into the circle, but I keep my left hand on top of my head. I can’t bring myself to clasp hands with that sinister earth witch.
He fixes his red-streaked eye on me, chanting louder.
“Earth, air, water, fire …”
My head starts to throb. My left hand is pulled down from my head and toward his by a magnetic force, so powerful it threatens to rip my arm out of its socket. I remember Rem’s words — he can make me do things I don’t want to do — and force my hand back down to my side. Where is Rem now? Was he hurt? I look around wildly.
“I told you the child wasn’t ready!” Gail hisses to the others.
“Yes, she is.” The earth witch’s eyes bore into mine. “Your power is boiling inside, rising through you like lava. I can taste your rage. Let it erupt.”
I feel his strength pulling at me like quicksand, and Gail’s is flowing down my right arm with hurricane force. Esperanza’s hair has come loose and it ripples like snakes in black water. I can’t resist so much power. Drawn into the vortex, my left hand starts to rise by itself. My fingers touch the earth witch’s and I feel them lock, twisting together like tree roots. My hand starts to melt into his, an alchemical fusion, the four of us welding together into a single unholy fused circle, like points of a compass.
And then I see Travis, staring at me in stunned disappointment, as if he can’t believe this is who I am. Right behind him are Rachel and Vijay, who’s been knocked to the floor. His glasses are gone and there’s blood on his forehead. Rachel is sobbing and trying to comfort him. Samson Hobby’s out cold.
What will happen to all these innocent people? Isn’t this random destruction far worse than killing those twenty people in Salem all those years ago? Any revenge wrought on Salem tonight won’t do a thing to Nicholas Noyes and the magistrates who ordered the hangings, or the citizens who gave false evidence and spread vicious rumors, or anyone else from that long-ago time. The storm raging outside will rain down on the people who live in Salem right now, on Dyami and Ugly Gus and the shopkeepers I’ve come to care for. No matter how much I might long for revenge against Megan and her awful friends, I’m still much too human to join in this evil.
Summoning every shred of my strength, I take a step backward. A searing pain throbs through my hand, as if all the flesh has been torn off my palm. There’s a wave of volcanic heat and acrid black smoke. Someone grabs my free elbow — Rem, who’s battled his way through the panicked crowd. The earth witch snarls as Rem pulls me away from the witches’ circle. His eye pulses bloodred.
As Rem and I try to escape through the chaos, my feet are jerked out from under me. Rem and I are lifted right off the floor. The earth witch must have cast a spell that sends both of us tumbling through the air like a pair of sock puppets. When we land again, hard, my left hand sears like lava. The ground shakes and rumbles, and I feel the floor cracking open beneath us. For the first time tonight, I wonder if I might die. I’m shaking with terror.
Rem turns to face me, his hand on my shoulder. “Kiss me.”
“What?” Has he lost his mind? That’s the worst thing we could do! “But the witch’s kiss —”
“Now. With your full human heart.” He takes me in his arms, bringing his beautiful face so close to mine that we’re breathing each other’s breath. I feel his warm lips open against mine, and I kiss him with every ounce of emotion I have. Even the pain in my hand is forgotten. What I feel flowing between us is nothing but plain, unadorned love — the kind that has nothing to do with spells.
There is nothing I don’t want to give to Rem; I’m his, and he’s mine. With a huge clap like thunder, the room shakes, and everything seems to go black.
When my eyes open, I’m covered in sand. I shift and feel its gritty wetness beneath me, the scrape of beach grass and shell fragments. I’m on the dunes. There’s sand in my mouth and in my long, tangled hair.
Hair. I have hair again.
I blink my eyes, and feel something shifting beside me. It’s Rem, also covered with sand. Somehow we’ve been hurled outside, onto the beach.
“What just happened?” I breathe, feeling sand grit on my tongue.
He shakes his head, and I realize he doesn’t know any more than I do. But we’re both alive. The waves roll and crash in a steady, majestic roar. There are stars overhead in the calm sky. There’s no storm.
I reach up to touch my hair. It’s all back, wild as ever. But the palm of my left hand is still raw and blistered.
I didn’t imagine it.
“Rem?” I ask, fearful.
He rolls onto his side and I notice his white shirt is ripped. He looks at my livid-red hand and winces in sympathy. “We’ll have to take care of that.”
“You kissed me,” I say, remembering. He nods. “I thought if you kissed me, your power would go —”
“To the stronger energy. Your human self won.”
Rem smiles at me, and I realize both of his eyes are completely green. No more wedge of bright blue. They still make me breathless, though. “Did you know that would happen?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not till I saw you step back from the circle. And not even then. I took a chance.”
“But what if I hadn’t —”
“You did, Abby. Somehow you found the strength to defy all that evil. All by yourself, you reversed the storm.”
“I don’t understand. What happened to everyone —?”
“Shhhh. Do you hear that?” Rem holds up his finger. The sound of the surf is so loud that it seems to drown everything else out. Then I hear it, too. Somewhere behind us, music is playing.
We look at each other, then get up and dust off our clothing. My gown is no longer spray-painted. Except for the stray grains of sand in the beadwork, it’s just as it was.
Rem has started to walk toward the music. My high heels dig into the sand, and I slip off both gold sandals and carry them in my right hand. The left is still throbbing.
We clamber up over the edge of the dune, and we’re next to the parking lot of the Beverly Harbor Resort. The evening is balmy and the prom is in full swing inside the hotel. Rem and I look at each other again, in silent wonder.
I take a few steps toward the wraparound deck. Looking in through the windows, I can see that the curtains and tables are all back in place. Travis is dancing with Megan, who looks giddy — and is wearing her heart necklace right side up. Amber and Sloane are huddled by the punch bowl, looking as miserable in their own cruelty as ever they did. Vijay is spinning Rachel around the dance floor. A redheaded waiter is passing Ms. Baptiste a crab cake … and the band’s drummer is a girl.
Great-aunt Gail, Esperanza, and the earth witch are nowhere in sight. The mirror ball spins, sending sparkles of light through the air.
Rem steps up behind me, placing one hand on my shoulder. I turn toward him, eyes wide. “I don’t get it. How did everything get back to normal?”
“You broke the circle. Our kiss broke the spell.” I must still look blank, because he goes on. “Elemental magic is a powerful force. It can cut across time and space. That’s how the earth witch sent us to Gallows Hill that day, how your great-aunt got here from the nursing home.”
“And why she seemed younger?”
Rem nods. “When all four elements fuse, it’s more powerful still. But you renounced your fire, and sent time spinning backward. To everyone inside, the storm never happened.”
“So everything goes back to —?”
“What should have been. What was meant to be.” Rem raises a hand to my face. As he strokes my cheek, I look into his eyes, realizing there’s still a faint shadow of blue in the vivid green. He hasn’t lost every bit of his magic. That must mean I haven’t as well.
“Speaking of meant to be …” Rem’s dimples appear. He gathers me into his arms and kisses me under the rising full moon.
THE CLEAR BLUE SKY ARCHES ABOVE AS THE whole senior class sits in rows of folding chairs on the football field. They’re all wearing blue and white graduation robes. The rest of us are spread out on tiered bleachers, listening to Rachel’s valedictorian speech.
The topic she chose was “Potential.” She stands at the podium, speaking without any notes (how Rachel is that?) about all the gifts everybody is born with, and the different experiences that can help them to flower. Even experiences of pain and loss and what seem at the time like mistakes.
As she speaks, I think of the many mistakes I’ve made. Though my nightmares and headaches have vanished along with my magical powers, I can’t shake the images of that awful storm at the prom — the storm no one except me and Rem will ever remember. Because of me, I think with some pride. I’m the one who sent time spinning backward and rescued everyone at prom — and in Salem.
We’re all better off with the remixed version of June 21. Even my great-aunt Gail, whose stroke-ravaged body apparently took its last breath that night. I hope her spirit is finally at peace.
Esperanza, it seems, has returned to her day job at the RMV. Nobody knows what became of the aging rock drummer with one mangled hand who was briefly spotted lurking around Salem. But I hope that I’ll never see him again.
“It’s like gardening,” Rachel is saying now, and I focus back on her. “Some plants need dry soil and others need rain or a long snowy winter. What was dormant in one season may burst into bloom in another. The same thing is true for ourselves. Sometimes our growth comes from hard work and diligence. Sometimes it’s the sunshine of friendship.”
She scans the crowd, finding me in the sea of faces. I smile at her, touched.
As Rachel goes on with her speech, my mind wanders over my own strange gifts that I discovered were lying dormant. Is there something good that can blossom from magical powers, some extra sparkling of the soul that not everyone gets, like being born with perfect pitch or a talent for dance? It’s not just a question of what gifts you’re given, but how you choose to use them, what shoes you put on to move forward in life. Revenge is a terrible thing, but the world needs a sprinkling of magic.
And that’s what I seem to have left. Just a sprinkling, like cinnamon on a cappuccino.
Rachel finishes up with a quote from Thomas Edison: “If we did the things we are capable of, we would astound ourselves.” She looks around at her classmates. “Got that, guys? Let’s go and astound ourselves. Congratulations!”
There’s a roar of applause and approval. Parents and friends in the bleachers hoot and cheer, rising to their feet for a standing ovation. I jump up, too, but I can’t clap. My left hand is still wrapped in gauze, and the blisters are painful, even with the ointment. I’ve told everyone I got burned, which is sort of the truth.
Kate jumps up beside me. “Rachel was great!” she exclaims. “Who knew she was such an incredible public speaker?”
Just one of those gifts that can blossom. I’m sure Rachel will go on to do amazing things. I am so proud of my friend. It took me some time to realize that, just as I feared she would leave me behind when she went off to college, Rachel was scared I would leave her behind when I got a boyfriend. That isn’t an issue between us anymore, and not just because she and Vijay are officially dating. It’s more that we’ve learned that our friendship is strong enough to survive the inevitable times when one of us pulls ahead of the other.
The crowd settles back down as the principal hands out diplomas. The long list of names hums along, and I cheer extra loud for Rachel. When the last senior collects his diploma, there’s another big cheer, and mortarboard hats fly through the air like confetti.
Kate and I thread our way through the crowd of exuberant graduates. I stop to congratulate Travis, who’s posing for cell phone photos with his track team buddies.
“Thanks!” he says, flashing the same generically friendly smile he gives to everyone. Then he adds my name — “Thanks, Abby!” — with what seems like extra warmth. I can’t help wondering, as I have throughout this past week, exactly how much of the tape got erased when the spell was reversed at the prom. Does Travis have any memory of us going to look at the lighthouse and kissing? Does he recall eating that magical cupcake I baked for him?
As Rem explained it, the fabric of time folded back not to a specific time or day, but to what should have been. And it seems as if some dangling threads go back further than others.
The one thing that didn’t go back at all was the wound on my hand. My doctor assured me the skin will regenerate, and that I’ll have a full range of motion, but there will be scar tissue. It seems only right that my body should hold a reminder of what could have happened on that fateful night.
Danielle has turned out to be a sympathetic nurse. She told me she also once burned her hand on a cast-iron skillet (that excuse sounded more plausible than molten lava from fusing my palm with the earth witch), and still remembers how much it hurt. She rewraps my gauze bandages carefully every morning and evening, which has given us time to talk — short conversations, but often intense ones. I’ve found out that her father walked out on her family when she was in high school, leaving her mother for somebody else, and it’s taken her years to get over her anger. She’s moving back into her own house next week, as soon as the construction is finished
, and she’s in no hurry to marry my dad. “Men always want to jump into another relationship,” she says. “Women know that it takes time.”
I nod at these words. It’s taken me plenty of time to sort out things with Dad, but lately I’ve felt that he’s starting to pay more attention to me. Matt might be his prize soccer player, but I know Dad and I will always share a special bond when it comes to our vivid memories of Mom. And that’s a good thing.
Travis reaches over to pull Megan into the photo. The boy with the cell phone yells out, “Looking good, you two!” and Megan laughs, delighted.
I’ve noticed that since the prom hit the Reset button, Megan has started to seem a bit softer. Maybe it’s losing that sharp edge of jealousy, now that Travis is looking at no one but her. Or maybe the spray of blackheads across her once-perfect skin has taught her a bit of humility.
She’s also stopped speaking to her former sidekicks. Just frozen them out. They look appropriately lonely and sour right now. I glance over at Amber, who’s apparently had laryngitis since prom night — she speaks in a whispery croak, theatrically placing a hand at the base of her throat. Rumor has it the condition might last for months, even years. Meanwhile, Sloane’s hair has been cut very ragged and short since it got caught in a ladies’ room hand dryer (also on prom night, I’ve heard). It’s not an attractive look on her, and she’s desperately yanking on a strand of hair right now, as if willing it to grow faster.
Could I have had something to do with these girls’ recent misfortunes? I’m not ruling it out altogether, but I’d like to think it was karma.
Kate is already standing with Rachel, who’s flanked by both of her parents and Vijay’s huge family. One of his little sisters is climbing his leg, and another is spinning around with his mortarboard hat on her head.
“You were amazing!” I tell Rachel.
She gives me a big hug. “Are you sure you can’t come to the pool party at Vijay’s?” she asks. “His mother is making a feast. And you won’t have to swim. You’ve got an airtight excuse.” She looks at the gauze on my hand. “How’s it feeling?”