“You wouldn’t.”
Chloe gives me an are-you-serious? look.
“Right, you would.”
“And if you’re thinking about telling Mom and Dad about it, think again. The book will be gone before you can blink, and even if you somehow manage to convince them that I took it, I’m ready for any punishment, but are you ready to part with your most beloved possession? Forever,” she whispers dramatically.
I stare at Chloe for a long minute. This is a new low even for her. “Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “But if you think that you can get away with this, think again.” It feels good to say it, even though it’s mostly an empty threat. My only hope of getting back at Chloe would be going to the party with a guy of my choice, which—even if I could make it happen—would still give her exactly what she wants.
“Where did you even get the paper version of the newspaper?” I ask. We only receive the digital subscription.
“I bought it at the store, duh.” She beams and looks really proud of herself, so proud that she forgets to give me her usual you’re-an-idiot look. “I wanted to use the online version on a tablet, but then figured that a paper version would be so much more dramatic.” Because holding my book hostage isn’t dramatic enough? “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know about your options. You know, if the guy you ask out laughs in your face. Or in case you decide to ‘forget’ to ask someone.”
I try to incinerate her with my glare, but it doesn’t work—so much for being a witch. Chloe sits in her chair perfectly uncharred.
The waitress puts a bowl of oatmeal in front of me and I jump in surprise. Everyone laughs, including the waitress. I grab the spoon and accidentally touch her hand with my wrist. A sudden jolt of electricity, so strong there’s an actual spark, erupts when my skin brushes against hers. We both withdraw our hands in surprise. I rub my wrist. My skin is tingling and I have the weirdest sensation—as if my entire body has been jolted by an electric current. “Sorry,” I mumble. “Must be static electricity.”
She looks at me suspiciously as if it’s my fault somehow. She stares at me for a while as if she is going to say something, but then changes her mind, sets the rest of the food on the table, and leaves without saying a word.
In the meanwhile, the tingling sensation spreads all over my skin. When it reaches the witchmark, it stings as if someone bit me there. I squeeze my left wrist and bite my lower lip to avoid making any sounds. All the sensations disappear as quickly as they appeared, but it’s already too late: Chloe has noticed something.
She sits with her spoon frozen in midair, staring at me. “What’s wrong with you today?” she asks. “I mean, more than usual.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I say defensively. “Eat your oatmeal.”
It looks like the only thing my witch powers are good for is getting me into all kinds of weird, unexplainable situations.
“DO YOU THINK IT HAD some magical meaning?” Jessie asks as we make our way to history class.
“I don’t know. The waitress didn’t say anything, but the look she gave me—it’s like she knew exactly who I was. Do you think she might be a witch, too?” I whisper the last question so no one would overhear.
“I’m a witch and I can touch you without electrocuting you.” Jessie touches me to prove her point. “Feel anything?”
“Nope, not even a spark.”
“And I bet you can touch Chloe and your mom, and nothing like that ever happens.”
“Definitely not.”
“Is there any chance it actually was static electricity?”
“I think that chance is close to zero. Static electricity doesn’t spread through your entire body and then sting you in your witchmark. Huh, maybe it wasn’t a witch thing? Maybe it was a witchmark thing?”
“Well, a witchmark thing by definition would be a witch thing, since only witches can have witchmarks.”
“You’re giving me a headache,” I say.
Jessie laughs, then leans closer and whispers conspiratorially, “Do you think there’s any chance Azzie will give me a witchmark?”
“Not if he wants to live.”
“But what if it’s somewhere Logan will never see?” Jessie wiggles her eyebrows.
“Please stop,” I beg. “And, for the record, if you do decide to go through with this, I’m against it. It’s like a tattoo, it’s not going to just fade away on its own.” Apparently.
“I’ll get a tattoo as soon as I turn eighteen, you know that. And there’s nothing that Logan or my parents can do about it. But a witchmark would be so much cooler than a tattoo. Can I see yours again?”
“No!”
“Please!”
“You saw it last night.”
“I want to see it again. Please! Pretty please?”
“This conversation is getting weird,” I say as I pull my sleeve even lower.
Jessie giggles. “Fine, don’t show me. I’ll figure out a way to convince Azzie to give me one.”
“You could just dye your hair blonde. He’ll do anything for you then.”
“Huh, that’s not a bad idea.”
“Jess, I was kidding,” I say quickly. “Please don’t do it. And please, whatever you do, don’t ever tell Logan I gave you the idea.”
Jessie gives me a mysterious half-smile. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know that she’s up to no good.
WE SPEND MOST OF THE class not listening to Mr. Mason and passing notes to each other. We try to discuss how we are going to break into Ciara’s house, but then decide that such notes can be used against us at some point, so our crime-planning activities have to be postponed.
We finally have a chance to talk about it during lunch, but it turns out that there isn’t that much to talk about. We decide to pick Azzie up after school, drive to Ciara’s house, and while she and her grandmother are at the game, look through their books, notes, and anything else that can contain a spell on how to create a witchmark. Then we will get out, preferably without leaving any evidence behind. Sounds simple enough, if you don’t take into account a million things that could go wrong.
“We’ll just have to make sure to show our faces before the game or my parents will know something’s up,” Jessie says through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
“Wouldn’t they think something’s up if we did show up? We never go to the game.”
“No, they are adamant that I should go this time. Supporting your brother, yada yada. They’ll be here early, so I’ll just say hi, and then we can sneak out and drive to your house to pick up Azzie.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say.
“Okay, then it’s decided,” Jessie says.
“What’s decided?” Parker asks as both he and Logan plop on the chairs across the table from us.
“Nothing,” Jessie says and sends a spoonful of mashed potatoes and peas into her mouth.
“You two are up to something,” Logan says, looking at us suspiciously.
“Whatever do you mean?” Jessie bats her eyelashes innocently. “Wait, is that why you’re sitting with us? Again? Because you think we are up to something and not because you enjoy our company?”
“I thought we agreed you’re not going to do anything rash without talking to us first,” Logan says.
“We agreed to no such thing,” Jessie says.
“Did you two actually forget or are you just trying to start an argument?”
“Whatever option makes you feel better,” Jessie smiles innocently.
Logan squints at her. “We’ll talk after the game,” he says. “Just don’t get yourselves into any kind of trouble before then.”
“Come on, Emmy, we’re going to be late for class.” Jessie stands up with her tray. We’re not late for class, we still have about fifteen minutes of lunchtime left, but I’d prefer to spend it without being interrogated, so I follow her.
“Do you think they know something?” I ask Jessie when we are in the hallway.
“They know us,” Jessi
e says. “Patience has never been one of our virtues, and neither has been relying on big, strong boys to solve all our problems for us. They need to be taught a lesson. I think I know just the way to prove to them that we are not damsels in distress who need their help.”
Breaking into a house owned by witches and stealing a super-secret spell from them? Sure, why not.
Chapter 20
After school we pick Azzie up at my house and cover him with an old blanket, just in case someone sees us. He looks completely ridiculous, scurrying to the car like that. Although no more ridiculous than he does wearing my pajamas.
“Keep the blanket on,” I tell him when he tries to take it off in the car.
“It smells like cat,” he whines.
“We don’t have cats,” I say. “And besides, it’s for your own protection.”
Azzie snorts, but doesn’t take the blanket off.
I doubt anyone in Mystic Hollow would think much of Azzie if they saw him, at least until they got a really good look at him and figured out that he’s not wearing a Halloween costume, but is, in fact, a demon from another dimension. It’s better to be safe than sorry, though, so the blanket stays on all the way to Ciara’s house.
“Wow, is that her house?” Jessie asks with awe in her voice when we arrive. She parks the car across the street from our destination, but doesn’t turn the engine off.
“I think Ciara’s mansion or Ciara’s palace would be a better name,” I say. The thing is enormous. I knew her family was rich, but this seems a little over the top. Why would she and her grandmother need so much space just for the two of them?
“I think my three houses would fit in it,” Jessie says.
“No garage, though,” I point out.
“Why would a witch need a garage?” Azzie asks.
“Um, to park her broomstick?” I joke.
“Pff,” Azzie says. “I’m not even going to honor that with a response.” He reaches for the door, but I stop him.
“Wait, we can’t leave the car here,” I say. “What if someone sees it?”
“Yeah, we should park somewhere else,” Jessie agrees.
We circle Ciara’s street, trying to figure out the best place to park the car, because parking it in front of Ciara’s house might seem a tad suspicious. However, walking with Azzie any amount of distance might appear just as suspicious. We compromise by circumnavigating Ciara’s street and a small oak grove behind her house, park the car on the other side of the grove, and then walk the distance back to her backyard. Even if anyone sees us in the grove, it will be much easier to hide Azzie behind a tree. Or a couple of trees, considering the dimensions of his backside and feet. But it turns out that none of these precautions are necessary. We don’t run into anyone except for a couple of curious squirrels.
“What time is it?” I ask Jessie as we crouch behind the hedge. “Has the game started yet?”
Jessie checks her watch. “No, but there’s less than fifteen minutes left until it does, so if Ciara’s grandma is going to the game, she’s either already there or on her way.”
“I don’t see any cars parked in the driveway.”
“She must have left then. Hey, where are you going?” Jessie says to Azzie who is skipping towards the house with the blanket billowing behind him.
“I think we’re safe,” I say. “It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here.”
“Well, let’s go then,” Jessie mumbles.
“Since when did you become the cautious one?” I tease her.
We follow Azzie and soon reach the window he is now jumping around, trying to get a peek inside. He doesn’t seem to be succeeding—he’s a little too short and the window is a little too high. Jessie and I aren’t much taller, but when we look up through the grated window, we can see everything we need to see—rows upon rows of bookshelves filled with books. This is some kind of a library or study, although there is no way to tell whether these books are about magic or something else entirely. For all we know, it could be a giant collection of romance novels.
“Why do they have grated windows?” Jessie asks.
“Um, to keep people like us away?” I suggest.
“Nobody has grated windows in Mystic Hollow. They definitely have something to hide.” Jessie ignores my response, but she is right about the windows.
“We need to get inside this room,” Azzie says. “I’m pretty sure that book over there”—he points at the top bookshelf on one of the walls—“is the diary of Isabelle Grenaux. I have to read it.”
“Isabelle Grenaux? Is that the one whose picture you showed me in that book?” I ask Jessie. She nods. The picture of dead Isabelle in a coffin. “Did she write something about witchlights?” I ask.
“Not that I know of, but she dated my cousin—achoo!” Azzie sneezes.
“Bless you,” Jessie and I say automatically.
“No, no, that’s not fair,” Azzie groans.
“What’s not fair?” I ask.
“My cousin—achoo!” Azzie sneezes again. “Damn it. I figured if I didn’t have my magic, I could at least say that weasel’s name.”
“You can’t say his name?”
“No, that scumbag cursed me so that I’d sneeze every time I tried to say it. Thought it was hilarious. Well, we’ll see who laughs last. If I can get my hands on that diary, I bet I can find out all sorts of nasty things about him.” Azzie rubs his palms together.
“How can you know it’s hers or that it’s even a diary?” I ask.
“Because it says ‘Isabelle Grenaux’ on the spine.” Azzie rolls his eyes.
“How can you see that from here?” I can barely see that there are books all the way up there, let alone what is written on their spines.
“I may not have my magic, but I still have my senses,” Azzie says, sounding a bit offended. “By the way, I’m pretty sure there’s someone in the house. I can hear growling and sniffling coming from up there.” He jerks his head towards the second floor.
“Do you think it could be Ciara’s grandmother?”
“Growling and sniffling?” Jessie asks. “They probably have a dog.”
“Is it a big one?” I ask warily.
“I don’t know. Sounds big enough to me,” Azzie says.
“Okay, we need to figure out how to get inside,” Jessie says, all ready for action. “Do you think the books on witchlights are in here as well?” she asks Azzie, pointing towards the window we’ve been snooping around.
“Could be,” Azzie drawls, as if he is thinking about something and talking to us at the same time. “Could be it’s in their Grimoire and the Grimoire would most probably be hidden somewhere else. Most likely somewhere in Grandma’s bedroom.”
“Why in her bedroom? For some bedtime reading?” Jessie snorts. “Isn’t it better to keep it somewhere safe, like under a squeaky floorboard in the attic?”
“You witches need to be taught everything.” Azzie clicks his tongue.
“Right, smarty-pants, teach us all about witches and their Grimoires,” Jessie says.
“For your information, a witch’s power is connected to her Grimoire and when she sleeps—with the book in very close proximity—she can restore her powers from it, or have prophetic dreams, or some other such nonsense you witches believe in.”
Jessie and I snort.
“It’s really not my place to tell you what to do with your Grimoires,” Azzie says while obviously having the intention of telling us exactly what we should do with our Grimoires—if we had any, “but that’s where every witch I’ve ever met kept hers—closer than her lovers, and definitely better guarded.”
“Okay, we get about the Grimoires,” I say. “Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to find something in the library. If it contains witches’ diaries, it must have books about magic as well. We’ll leave searching for the Grimoire in Grandma’s bedroom as the last option.” Hopefully, we won’t have to resort to that.
“We still need to figure out how to get inside,” Jessie
points out.
“Well, the windows are grated,” I say, “so that leaves us the door, which I know is a slim chance, but it would be stupid not to check. We should also see if there’s a back door.”
“I’ll go check,” Jessie says and runs off. She returns in a couple of minutes, having circumnavigated the house. “I have good news and bad news,” she says and gives Azzie a once-over. “Scratch that, I have bad news and slightly less bad news. The front door and the back door are both locked and there’s no way we could pick those locks. But the less bad news is that there’s a window open on the second floor and there’s a drainpipe leading right up to it.”
“And that is bad news because you think I can’t climb a drainpipe?” Azzie dramatically throws aside his blanket and sets off in the direction Jessie came from. He would look very dramatic indeed, with his head held high, his horns gleaming in the afternoon sun, and his tail wagging behind him, if not for one tiny detail—he is still wearing my pajamas.
THE DRAINPIPE IS A little rusty, but that’s not the part that worries me when Jessie and I help Azzie climb it. Surprisingly, after some initial push, he does manage to climb all the way up to the open window. The part where he gets from the drainpipe to the window is a bit trickier, and for a moment there Jessie and I gasp as he slips, loses his footing and we are sure that his bottom will drag him down, but he manages to pull himself up and roll inside with a loud thump.
“It’s your turn,” Jessie says and helps me up. I’ve never climbed a drainpipe before, especially to someone else’s house, so I have no idea what to expect, but I definitely don’t expect to feel a little proud of myself when I manage to climb inside the room. I’ll have to tackle those feelings later, but so far our little adventure is proving itself quite interesting. Jessie climbs in the window right after me and I help her inside.
“Azzie, what are you doing?” Jessie asks the moment her feet touch the floor.
I turn around to take a look at what exactly the little evil is up to now, but the only thing I see is him closing a drawer in a dresser with a shameful look on his face and his cheeks even redder than the rest of him.
A Witch and a Secret (Witches of Mystic Hollow Book 1) Page 19