Spellcaster

by Cara Lynn Shultz

  My breath caught in my throat as the blue pen twitched.

  “Emoveo!” Angelique repeated more forcefully, holding her arm out straighter, locking her elbow at the joint. The pen flung backward as if someone had tugged it off the surface with an invisible string. It hit the wall before falling down behind her desk.

  She turned to me with a self-satisfied smile while my eyes were about as wide as bagels. Angelique rarely flaunted her skills just for the sake of showing off. Sure, her empath side would occasionally get slammed with someone’s mood on the subway—and she’d elbow me with a whispered “They totally just did it” and nod toward two people sharing shy glances—but generally, Angelique thought it was an abuse of the craft to just show off.

  “Have you always been able to do that?” I asked, awed at her display.

  “Of course not. I wanted to show you what a little practice can do,” she said, her voice dripping with a “nyah-nyah-nyah-I-told-you-so” tone.

  “Message received.” I bowed slightly to her. “I’ll practice on focusing my emotions more.”

  “Good,” she replied, a big grin on her face. “Remember, dabbling with witchcraft is like playing with guns. It’s dangerous. Besides, the more you practice, the more quickly you should be able to find your emotional center. It’s something you have to feel out…it’s not really a tangible thing. Once you can access that emotional place, your spells will come together more, um—” her eyes darted to the burn mark in her rug “—effectively. Which is why I asked you to bring the dress. Did you?”

  I nodded, digging in my backpack and pulling out the item she had asked me to pack—the black tulle dress I’d worn to the dance where Anthony had attacked me. I didn’t know why I’d even saved it. It was ripped and dirty, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out. I felt like I needed a reminder—like I couldn’t get too comfortable with my current, blissful situation. So it had spent the past few months tied in a plastic bag in the back of my closet.

  “Well, considering our last couple of potions haven’t gone so well,” Angelique began, cautiously eyeing the burn again, “I was thinking we should go back to the basics.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, not looking directly at the dress as she inspected the tulle and satiny liner.

  “Well, your most effective spells were, um, ones that happened when your emotions were running very high. And since you’re so happy these days, you’re having a little trouble finding your center to do these spells, so I had an idea…” Angelique trailed off. I had a sinking feeling that I knew where she was going with this.

  That night on the rocks, I was able to somehow summon my brother’s spirit to help me pull Brendan to safety as he dangled more than one hundred feet above Turtle Pond. Thinking about my brother, and how I felt like I lost him twice—Angelique knew the kind of pain that caused me. And there was no way I was going to reach out to his spirit, especially if he was finally at peace.

  “No,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to disturb Ethan or do anything like that.”

  “I don’t mean…summoning spirits,” Angelique said, raising her palms. “The spell I have in mind, you need for this to work. I’m hoping this dress will just be a prop to remind you, kind of a shortcut to take you to back to that emotional place.”

  “So this dress is my GPS system?”

  “Basically.” Angelique nodded.

  “I was able to levitate that highlighter. I mean, that was cool, but it wasn’t exactly crucial that I do it,” I countered. I was not looking forward to reliving that battle in Central Park with Anthony.

  “I don’t want to take any chances. The spell I have in mind, you need to do.”

  Her ominous tone sent shivers through my body, and I nervously began tugging on the row of small silver hoops in my earlobe as she pulled a large boot box from underneath her bed. She plopped it next to me, the weight of the box causing the comforter to pillow and plump on the sides. Angelique lifted the lid to reveal the worn, intricately carved leather cover of Hadrian’s Medieval Legends, nestled among some tissue paper and small jars filled with herbs.

  “You still have it? I thought your mom had to return it!” I exclaimed, staring at the book in awe. It was in that old book that I had learned about the ancient curse that bound my soul to Brendan’s—and doomed me. It was also where we figured out that we had broken the curse—but our story shared space with tales about dragons, demons and witches. And those weren’t real…well, except for the witch part.

  “She’s a little scatterbrained, as you know, and forgot that I even have it,” Angelique confessed. “She’ll remember when the school asks for it.” Angelique’s mom, Dr. Evelyn Tedt, was a professor of Medieval Studies at Fordham University, and one of the brightest minds in her field. She could tell you the date an illuminated manuscript was created just by inspecting the scrollwork in the border. But where Angelique had a photographic memory, Dr. Tedt couldn’t remember to put the milk back in the fridge. It had caused many an unpleasant surprise when Angelique and I tried to have cereal.

  “Won’t you get into trouble with your mom? That book is ancient, I thought!”

  “Not ancient. Just an antique. It’s from the late 1800s.” Angelique shrugged casually, as if the book was merely an old magazine.

  “Still, Angelique—she’s going to kill you when she finds out.”

  “I don’t care. I’m glad I kept it. Especially since I can tell you’re feeling a dozen emotions looking at it—that bodes well for the spell,” she added wisely.

  “A dozen emotions might be an understatement,” I mumbled, my eyes still riveted on the book. “So what’s this spell that’s so important that I had to have props?” I held up the dress and shook it toward Hadrian’s.

  “I’ve been feeling…I don’t know how to describe it. Almost like I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack at all times,” she said, getting that faraway look she always got when she explained what it’s like for her to read emotions and people. “You know when you’re watching a horror movie, and you’re waiting for the killer to pop out? And the music is building? Well, I feel like the music is building. And it’s getting louder and louder, but the killer hasn’t popped out yet.”

  She rubbed her ear, as if she were trying to shake the ominous sound out. “I just feel very unsettled. The last time I was anxious like this…” she paused to look up at me, and when she continued, her voice was very low “…it was right before the winter formal. But I just thought I was feeling sick because of the flu—I’d never felt like this before,” she explained quickly. “How was I supposed to know I was sensing any kind of danger? I don’t know if this is an empath thing, or just me being in tune with the universe, but I figured I’d better pay attention.”

  “You had the same feeling back then?” I whispered, and Angelique nodded, curling a finger around a drying lock of Tiffany-blue hair. “When I put two and two together—I had the same creepy feeling back then. I’d hate to think I was ignoring some kind of warning now, too.”

  Angelique flopped on her bed, next to Hadrian’s Medieval Legends.

  “There’s a lot in here,” Angelique confessed, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. “I’m not even halfway through it. The way it’s written isn’t consistent. Even the setting of the stories chang
e—one’s in the 1800s, another’s medieval. But there are enough stories in here that make me feel like, well, my anxiety has to do with you, obviously.” She dropped the pages and looked at me seriously.

  “Emma, someone with the amount of mystical energy you have needs to be a little more careful. And I’m not just talking about Anthony.”

  Angelique was not one for any kind of emotional displays—the last time she hugged someone it was probably to give them the Heimlich maneuver—so what she said next floored me.

  “Besides, Em, you’re important to me. You don’t know how nice it’s been to have someone I can talk to about this stuff. I haven’t had a witch as a friend in a really long time. Not since freshman year.” She twisted the piles of silver rings on her fingers as she spoke.

  “Aww, Angelique,” I murmured, pausing my show of affection when she glared at me. I quickly changed the subject. “What do you mean you don’t have anyone to talk to? What about your mom and Miranda and the rest of your family?”

  “My mom’s different—I mean, she’s my mom. I can’t talk to her about any spell that she might consider too dangerous, because then she goes all über-momwitch on me,” Angelique complained, studying the hem of her shirt. “I can sometimes talk to Miranda, but she likes to remind me all the time that she’s four years older and soo much more experienced. It’s annoying. ‘I was doing divination with stones while you were still playing with Barbies.’” Angelique affected a high-pitched, nasal voice as she mimicked her cousin’s conceited way of talking.

  “You played with Barbies?” I asked, awed. I’d have been less surprised if she told me she played with live grenades. Angelique just gave me a withering look and I shut my mouth.

  “Anyway, I had one friend that I could do spells with and talk to about the supernatural, and that didn’t end so well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Angelique fidgeted uncomfortably. “She was always a little—how can I put this?—dark. But then, some guy she liked totally used her. We got into a fight because I refused to help her do a love spell on him. She ended up transferring out after freshman year.” She paused, giving me a tight-lipped, grim smile. “It really, really just sucked losing someone I could relate to—over some lame guy, of all things.”

  “Who’s the guy? From Vince A?” Not that I was surprised. You’d think they put pheromones in the water fountains, the hump-tastic way people carried on at that place.

  “Not important. Besides, he’s pretty much gone,” Angelique said dismissively. “Anyway, I really don’t want to lose you, too—to something worse than some guy. And bonus points, you’re not already a little unbalanced like she was. So let’s just make sure you’re safe.”

  “Aw, Angelique…” I began, but she returned to her brisk, businesslike demeanor, grabbing the dress from me and returning to her place on the floor.

  “Do you care if I rip a piece off the dress?” she asked. As I was about to give her permission—the thing looked like it’d been through a blender, anyway—she ripped the satin liner from underneath the dress, laying it on the already destroyed throw rug and motioned for me to join her on the floor.

  As I sat down, she busied herself, pulling out some candles and a small, round marble canister from her desk drawer.

  “What we’re going to do is find out if you’re in any kind of danger, or if there’s anything you need to be watching out for. Some of the stories I’ve read in the book, well, let’s just say that true love is something extremely powerful. Not just for you and Brendan—”

  “You don’t have to roll your eyes every time you say his name,” I interrupted her. Angelique gave me a crabby look.

  “You and Brendan—” she opened her blue-gray eyes really wide in exaggeration “—could be targets if someone wanted to hurt you, or steal your mystical energy for personal gain. Maybe that’s why I’m freaking. I just can’t help but think that this doom-and-gloom feeling I’m having has to do with you. I mean, I meet you, I start becoming empath-y emo girl. And you’re the only person I know who had a necklace that marked you as someone’s doomed true love. I mean, there’s a lot of mystical flotsam and jetsam around you.”

  Reflexively my hands flew up to my neck, where a silver medallion used to sit. My brother, Ethan, had bought it at a garage sale, telling me it seemed like something I’d like. He had been right: I absolutely loved it—it was etched with a medieval crest, and I’d worn it every day, having no idea that it was a magical charm, finding me in all my past lives to identify me as Archer’s reincarnated soul mate. It was lost in the fight with Anthony, disappearing somewhere in the bushes near Belvedere Castle in Central Park. I liked to think it just poofed away, vanishing into thin air. The thing was magical, after all.

  “Good point,” I conceded. “Did your senses feel heightened with that ex-friend of yours?”

  “At first,” Angelique admitted. “But she got really dark, and we just weren’t on the same wavelength anymore. Regardless, it was never as strong as it’s been with you.”

  “Well, maybe what you’re sensing has nothing to do with me,” I said hopefully. “Maybe your neighbors are into something freaky.”

  “Oh, they are. I’ve heard them some nights.” She shuddered, a disgusted look on her face. “And that really sucks as an empath, by that way. So let’s hope it’s them.” Angelique crossed her fingers and shook them at me before lighting some rosemary incense—her go-to herb to help her focus. She opened a glass vial and let a few small droplets fall into a marble canister.

  “What is that?” I asked, sniffing the fragrant air. “Not the rosemary—but that other thing?”

  “Just some lavender to help you calm down and focus,” she said, rolling the canister between her fingers before placing it in my hand.

  “These are blessed salt crystals. If you’re in any danger, these will show it.”

  “Where do you get this stuff from, anyway?” I pictured her knocking on an unmarked door in some secret back alley. None of the witchcraft shops we’d been to stocked anything this cool—they mostly sold candles and overpriced tarot cards.

  “Mostly I just buy online,” she said. Of course. Maybe a troll delivers it… .

  Angelique held her hand, palm down, over the swatch of shimmery black fabric. I did the same.

  “Em, repeat after me,” she instructed, her eyes closed.

  “Goddess, we seek your direction

  for your daughter who needs protection

  If danger lurks, show us

  sumn in periculo”

  I kept my eyes shut and repeated the lines as I clutched the smooth marble jar, not quite sure what the crystals would do. Would they form the shape of Anthony’s face, meaning he was coming for me? Would they burst into flames? Would they fly in my eyes, blinding me? Even with my disinterest in Latin, I could figure out what that last line meant: Am I in danger?

  “Now sprinkle the crystals on the satin. And focus,” Angelique told me.

  I touched my hand to the black fabric, remembering how happy I had been when I first put on that dress. How Brendan held my hand and sweetly kissed the scar on my arm, making me feel beautiful. Then I visibly flinched when I thought about how the night turned out—how Anthony chased me through Central Park. How Brendan and Anthony
tangled in a brutal, bare-knuckled brawl on Belvedere Castle’s cliff. How Brendan pushed me out of the way when Anthony came barreling for me. How Brendan barely survived, holding on to the rocks while Anthony plummeted into the murky green water of Turtle Pond.

  With a deep breath, I slowly poured out the sandlike crystals. It hit the satin with a soft metallic sound.

  I opened my eyes and forced them to peer down at the pile of crystals—and my face broke out in a relieved smile.

  “Oh, the crystals didn’t do anything,” I exclaimed, staring happily down at the glistening black salt piled on the frayed satin.

  I poked the grains with my finger, making an indentation in the pyramid-shaped pile. It felt exactly like digging in sand.

  “Well, that was a big nothing,” I breathed, looking up at Angelique.

  And then my smile faded.

  Angelique stared down at the crystals, her pale skin even paler. Then her eyes met mine.

  “Emma, that’s bad,” she whispered hoarsely. “Very, very bad.”

  “Very bad,” I repeated woodenly, taking a deep breath. “Can you define very bad, please? How bad?”

  “You’re in danger,” Angelique said, her normally level voice raising a pitch. “A world of danger.”

  I dropped the marble canister from my hands, and it hit the floor with a dull clacking sound.

  “I don’t get it,” I said numbly. “They’re just black crystals. They didn’t burst into flames, or fly across the room… .”

  “It’s salt. It starts out a clear, whitish color. You know, like salt?” Angelique’s voice rose even higher as she stared at the coal-colored pile. “The color reflects the energy being directed at you. White or green would be good, signs of pure energy. Red would be love and passion.”

  Angelique poked her finger in the crystals as I had, only she smoothed them across the fabric. She squinted, peering at the grains. She pressed her finger into the black crystals and lifted one red grain, embedded in her skin. It looked like a drop of blood.