Spellcaster

by Cara Lynn Shultz

  “The words are there to evoke a certain power within the witch. So spells can be in whatever language you speak,” Randi explained. “It’s up to the witch. What, did you think every witch just had to use Latin? That’s all Angelique. What matters is the power you ascribe to the words.”

  “When it was suggested to me that I do spells in Latin, I found that they carried more authority.” Angelique sniffed, twirling a lock of purple-dyed hair. “The witch who told me about it was right. It does sound more official. Besides,” she added, giving her smug cousin a disdainful look, “it’s the same theory as yours—what matters is how the witch feels about the words.” She might as well have said, “So there” and stuck her tongue out at Randi.

  “That makes sense.” I grinned at her. “I felt more ‘spellcaster-y’ when I used the Latin, definitely more than if I had just shouted, ‘Get away!’” I made finger quotes around the words.

  “Well, not everyone is practically fluent in a dead language.” Randi smiled indulgently at her younger cousin. “Regardless, Emma, you should start writing spells that make sense for you. Although, feel free to use any in there to practice. My dorms are at Lincoln Center so you can return it whenever. I’m just across town from you.”

  After I thanked Randi a billion times for the grimoire and her time, she gave me a quick hug—and Brendan a long one—and we walked with Angelique to the elevator.

  “So, what time are we all meeting tonight?” I asked brightly as I pressed the down button. I plastered a very false, yet very confident smile on my face as I snuck a look at my boyfriend. Brendan leaned against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets, his head back and his eyes cast upward as his face twisted into a series of different emotions based on what was running through his mind. Concern. Anger. Confusion. And then he glanced at Angelique—and Brendan just looked pissed off.

  Because Angelique was smiling so widely, the edges of her mouth were about to touch.

  “We are going to do some legit, magical sleuthing, Em! Not just reading stuff in a book, but this time, we’re putting it into action! This is kind of awesome.” Angelique giggled uncharacteristically. She jumped up and down, the layers of her black skirt swirling around her feet. Then she suddenly calmed down, pointing to the grimoire still clutched in my hands.

  “You’ve got a demon-worshipping student looking to bleed you,” Angelique stated candidly. “You better study.”

  Chapter 6

  After making plans to meet at Magel around eight, Brendan and I walked out of Angelique’s apartment building into the mild March day. We started going down the concrete stairs, but Brendan stopped, leaning against the steel banister and pulling me back.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, and when he gave me a reproachful glance, I rephrased my question.

  “What, specifically, is wrong?”

  “I’m a little pissed that Angelique is as excited about this as she is,” Brendan complained. And then he dropped my hand to cross his arms in annoyance, cocking his head to the side. “And I wish you acted a little more concerned, Emma. You’re being way too cavalier with this. We’re basically bringing you to this dance tonight as bait to get someone to try to attack you, so we can catch them. This is your life, not an episode of Kim Possible where we can bring the bad guy to justice in thirty minutes.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You watched Kim Possible? It’s ’cause she was dressed kind of slutty, wasn’t it?”

  “I didn’t watch it but I knew what it was about—wait, Emma, that’s not the point!” Brendan threw his hands up, annoyed.

  “What do you want me to do, Brendan?” I climbed a few steps higher than him so we could be eye-level. “Sit around, weeping until I’m dehydrated? Hide under my covers? I secretly want to. But that’s not going to help things.” I folded my arms as well, leaning against the chilly banister. “Trust me, I want to. I’m just as freaked out by all of this as you are! Maybe even more, because on top of all of this, I’m a witch, Brendan. A witch! Do you know how weird that is to accept about yourself? It’s really weird!”

  I didn’t realize how loud I was until an older man, walking up the nearby staircase, glared at me suspiciously as his young son grabbed his hand and looked at me, the yelling crazy lady. Great, Emma, now you’re scaring the children. Why don’t you go live in a gingerbread house in Central Park and complete the cycle?

  I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. “I’m trying to deal with all the curveballs as best as I can, but there’s only so much I can react to. I’m really freaked out, and I’m really terrified, but I want my life back, because I’ve been happier the last few months than I’ve been in years. And a lot of that happiness is your fault, you know.” I reached out to thread my fingers through his, and he smiled begrudgingly as I repeated his own words from Thursday afternoon.

  “I want that back because I deserve that back. Besides, living in fear? Screw that!” I yelled, shaking my head emphatically. “That’s no way to live. And you heard Randi. This comes with the territory. I didn’t ask for it, but…here we are.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and took a deep breath. I was all out of oxygen from my minirant.

  “I guess I’m just frustrated at how overjoyed Angelique is. I wish she wasn’t acting like this is going to get her a merit badge at the Witch Scouts or something,” Brendan grumbled, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. “She’s actually giggling with joy. I didn’t think she knew how to giggle. I’m amazed her body didn’t go into shock from the stress it caused to produce its very first giggle.”

  “Oh, very funny,” I said sarcastically, and he smirked.

  “Admit it, it is a little,” he coaxed.

  “No way. I’m not cosigning on you making fun of one of my best friends,” I said, shaking my head. “Especially when she’s going to the Battle of the Bands just to help us out. Angelique hates school functions. She hates teenagers. That’s like sending a vegan to work in a sausage factory.”

  “See, Em,” Brendan said, his face softening into a sweet smile as he reached his arm out to pull me down a step closer to him. “That’s why you’re the best. That’s why I want you to take your own safety seriously.”

  “Because I have better jokes than you do?” I teased, pulling on the zipper of his black hoodie, and he laughed.

  “I’m hilarious and you know it,” Brendan playfully scoffed before his tone turned grave. “No, it’s because you’re so protective of everyone you love. It would just be nice if you were that protective of someone I love.”

  “Trust me, I am,” I assured him, and he guided me down another step, so I was just standing one above him, his hand at my back. “Do you think I want to get hurt?”

  “I know you don’t.”

  “It’s just…last time, I felt powerless, like this curse was going to swoop down like a hawk and get me. It was pulling strings that I couldn’t see. Here, it’s a wannabe evil witch who thinks they can put one over on me. On us.” I scowled, thinking of that hooded psycho and wishing I had sent him flying into traffic, not a tree.

  “I refuse to waste any more of my life unhappy,” I vowed angrily, my voice shaking. “I want to take action. I want to beat this.”

  “As long as it’s what you want to do,” Brendan said, squeezing my hip. “Angelique’s at your back like she’s your hype man, pushing you into this.”

  “This is my choice,” I assured him, sliding my hands around his neck. “And Angelique, well, she’s just excited because I’m the first friend she’s had in years that she can talk to about this stuff. She might be going a little overboard with the enthusiasm, but she’s just happy to have someone outside
of her family that she can witch out with. She hasn’t had that in a long time.”

  “Well, she hates teenagers, like you said,” Brendan pointed out. “It’s hard to make friends when you hate everyone you meet on sight.”

  “Not everyone,” I defended her. “She had another witch friend who ended up transferring out over some guy.”

  Brendan’s brows pulled together in confusion. “The friend was from Vince A? Who was the guy?”

  I shrugged. “She didn’t name names. Besides, she said he left or something.”

  “Oh, good.” Brendan exhaled, smiling.

  “That place is still full of jerks, regardless. Anyway, do you need to head home?” I asked, hoping the answer was negative.

  “Hell, no. My parents aren’t home until Monday. Besides, with all that’s going on, do you think I’m letting you out of my sight?” Brendan snaked his other arm around me, locking his fingers behind my back.

  “I guess not.”

  “You better know not,” he corrected me, kissing me on the forehead. “Come on, we’re taking a cab to your aunt’s. We’ll just stay there until it’s time to head to Magel.”

  After calling my aunt to let her know our plans, Brendan and I climbed into a cab to head to my place. While Brendan kept me in his arms, I texted Ashley, Jenn and Cisco to let them know we’d be meeting up with them tonight. And I stayed with his arms tight around me until we arrived at Aunt Christine’s apartment—Brendan didn’t want to disrespect her with P.D.A.—where we found my aunt sitting at the table, surrounded by overstuffed folders, a laptop and a thick binder.

  “Hello, Mrs. Considine. It’s nice to see you again.” Brendan offered a big smile as he politely greeted my aunt with a kiss on the cheek. You had to hand it to him—he had impeccable manners around adults. Aunt Christine had said he could charm the birds out of the trees if he put his mind to it. I hoped it was a compliment.

  “Hello, Brendan, good to see you,” Aunt Christine answered warmly. “Kids, I was thinking we could order a nice lunch in a bit? How do sandwiches sound?” Considering that the only things in her kitchen were the ingredients for martinis and a few quick breakfast items, I readily went along with her plan. I doubted she’d let Brendan disappear into my bedroom with some Pop-Tarts and vodka.

  I poured two glasses of iced tea and handed Brendan one as Aunt Christine ordered the sandwiches from the local deli.

  “Are you working on anything fun?” I asked, leaning against the refrigerator, gesturing to the paperwork in front of her.

  “Paperwork is never fun, dear,” Christine said with a laugh, setting her tortoiseshell glasses on the pastel table and rubbing her eyes.” I’m working on the upcoming trustee auction for the school board. You’d think I was asking people to give up a kidney, not donate a simple tasting course at Le Bernadin.”

  “I have no idea what any of those words mean,” I admitted, taking a sip of my iced tea.

  “Nor should you.” Christine laughed as she peered at her screen then looked back at a spreadsheet on the table. And then she frowned.

  “We’ll leave you alone with that paperwork. We’re just going to hang out in my room for a bit,” I said, pulling Brendan to my door quickly. I hoped we’d make it to my room before my aunt issued her usual decree.

  “Oh, Emma, dear?” My aunt called as I opened the door. Here it comes.

  “Yes?”

  “The door stays open,” Aunt Christine ordered, her voice firm. “No funny business.”

  Brendan bit back a laugh as he ducked into my room. He kicked off his Chucks and flopped down across the foot of my bed, his long legs dangling off the side of my mattress as he rested his back against the wall.

  “Yes, Aunt Christine,” I said in a singsong voice as I shut the door halfway. I slid next to Brendan in the small twin bed, Randi’s grimoire in my lap. There was really nowhere else to sit in the room, apart from my wooden desk chair, which was uncomfortably hard.

  “Your bed is bigger.” I apologetically elbowed him over.

  “A smaller bed isn’t necessarily a bad thing.” Brendan laughed gently, slipping his arm around me. “You have to stay pretty close to me here.” I curled up next to him, my head on his chest, glad for a moment with just us two. I listened to the steady, slow rhythm of his heart, vowing I would never take close, uninterrupted moments like this one for granted ever again.

  But too soon, I had to force myself to pull away. I handed Brendan my laptop so he could start Facebooking his sudden—and completely out-of-character, since it would have been more believable that he wanted to go kiss a cockroach—desire to go to the Battle of the Bands.

  “How many exclamation points before it looks sarcastic?” Brendan asked me, scrutinizing his faux-enthusiastic updates. I peered over his arm to see “Battle of the Bands tonight, can’t wait” with about sixteen exclamation points following it. And a smiley face.

  “A lot less—and ditch the emoticon,” I replied, before settling cross-legged against the headboard, and began reading Randi’s grimoire from page one. It was like reading someone’s class notes from Wicca 101—and Randi was an excellent note taker. These spells, the instructions—all of it—were a lot easier to understand. They were all in English, in simple rhyme. There was a spell to speed up healing—I took a mental note to keep that in mind for my scabby knee—until I was reminded of basic Wiccan tenets; big block letters spelled out that Wiccans shouldn’t do spells for personal gain.

  Damn it! I forgot about the whole personal-gain rule. That was on top of the whole “whatever you put in the universe comes back at you threefold” part of Wicca. Although I didn’t see why it would be such a big deal if I was able to heal three times as quickly… It’s probably not allowed if you’re looking for a loophole, genius.

  I kept reading, seeing mostly spells I would want to use on myself—a concentration spell, for example. That would come in handy for the SAT in a month. A spell to protect against nightmares. A spell to glamour someone into thinking the room around them was on fire. I shuddered as I reread that one—I’d dreamed of a past life that ended in a fire, so that memory wasn’t something I wanted to relive, even though the short spell stuck in my head.

  Then I flipped the page to a spell intended to force someone to show his or her true self. Useful against glamours, curses, Randi’s careful penmanship spelled out in the margin. I couldn’t help snickering, thinking about the possibilities of using that on Kristin. I pictured myself in a witch’s hat, repeating the short little rhyme three times. Goddess I beseech you in your grace, show me her soul’s only true face. Poof! Kristin’s a smelly, farting cow. Probably still with a too-orange tan. And a push-up bra on her udders.

  “What’s so funny?” Brendan asked, looking up from my sticker-covered laptop after I giggled out loud, throwing my head back and smacking it against the headboard.

  “Nothing. I just pictured something funny—doing a spell on Kristin,” I confessed, rubbing the back of my sore head and frowning. “I won’t do it, obviously. No matter how badly I’d like to blast her with a little magic.”

  “Don’t even waste your time on her. She’s so far beneath you.” Brendan scowled, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “You’re a diamond and she’s…a Twinkie wrapper.” He had never been a big fan of Kristin’s—fortunately, I never had to worry about her name showing up on a list of Brendan’s conquests. He thought her tan made her look like she bathed in nacho cheese—and ever since she had facilitated Anthony’s attack on me last year, locking me in the school basement with him, Brendan truly despised her. And had no problem showing it.

  “After what she did to you—no, to us,” he corrected himself, still seething at my mention of her name, “you have no idea how badly I wish she were a guy so I could just kick her ass.” He tugged at the silver hoop in his ear, scowling. “As it
is, she’s lucky I bite my tongue as much as I do, because I can’t go off on a girl like that. There are about a thousand mean things I want to say to her. Meaner than what I usually say to her, to be honest.”

  “Ooh, whisper those sweet nothings to me instead.” I laughed, leaning forward on my hands and knees and crawling closer to Brendan, who placed his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me closer to whisper a few choice terms for Kristin into my ear.

  “If you keep saying such seductive words to me, there will be all kinds of funny business up in this bed and I’ll never learn this stuff,” I teased Brendan, who laughed before casting a speculative glance toward the open bedroom door. He then turned back to me with heavy-lidded green eyes, and I could practically see the naughty thoughts churning behind them—no one could pull off “bedroom eyes” like he could.

  “The way you’re leaning over me like that, there’s nothing funny about what I’d like to do with you,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. Brendan slid his hand down around my waist then quickly pulled my body down to him, so I fell onto his chest. With his other hand, he tilted my chin up, his soft lips closing over mine in a full, intoxicating kiss. Nervous about the open door, I pulled away, and he bit my lower lip gently—just enough to make me want to stay.

  “Stop making me want you when I have witchcraft to study,” I whispered, kissing him quickly on the cheek before forcing myself out of his arms. I retreated to the relative safety of the head of the bed, leaving my boyfriend lounging at the foot of the bed, the very picture of temptation as he gazed at me through long black lashes.

  “Stop,” I mouthed, poking his thigh with my toe. He just chuckled and picked my laptop back from where it had slid next to him on the bed and resumed his Facebooking. I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing thoughts of Brendan’s talented hands out of my head, and returned to the grimoire. I started with the basic spells and began memorizing them—the structure, the rhythm—intrigued by Randi’s notes on why she thought some spells worked and others didn’t.