Spellcaster

by Cara Lynn Shultz

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, popping a chip into my mouth.

  “I had been hoping that I read your email wrong, or you wrote it incoherently because you were so exhausted,” she admitted. She took off her bangle and spun it around her index finger like a silver hula hoop. “That’s not the case at all, is it?”

  “Nope. I was pretty much wide-awake at that point,” I said, my eyes following the bangle as it spun around and around. “I’m amazed I somehow made it back to sleep.”

  “It’s a really simple plan. Not a lot of moving parts, not lot of pieces that need to fall into place. It’s just…simple—as long as you can pull it off,” Angelique mused, pursing her lips in thought as she spun the bracelet faster.

  “I know. I can’t decide if that’s the beauty of it, or if it means it won’t work.” I had to look away—the bangle was making me dizzy.

  “I mean, it can’t be that simple,” she protested, twirling the bangle so rapidly it was just a silver blur. “And it’s crazy. It’s so crazy.”

  “I know, but I think it’s our best shot.”

  “Is it? You’re the only one who can pull this spell off. Randi and I will figure out what we can do to help, but I mean—this is a lot for a brand-new witch to do in one night. By herself. Alone,” she emphasized, and the silver bangle spun right off her finger and flew across the classroom. It hit the blackboard with a sharp metallic ping that startled us both. I got up to retrieve the thick bangle, using the eraser to smudge the scrape the bracelet made on the board.

  I looked down at where the bangle was now bent, before turning back to my friend from the front of the classroom. Angelique’s shoulders were hunched forward, and she hugged herself as she perched on the high lab chair, the stiff black tulle she wore under her skirt puffed out and making her look smaller, almost fragile.

  “It’s a lot for you to undertake,” she admitted, looking at me with worried, red-eyeliner rimmed eyes. “I don’t know that I could pull it off. Hell, Randi and I couldn’t manage to put together a proper binding spell. What if Megan’s just too good?”

  “I’ll just have to be better,” I replied simply. I tried to sound confident, but I was sure Angelique could feel the waves of insecurity and doubt beaming out of me as clearly as if I had just performed an “I’m Terrified” interpretive dance—complete with trembling jazz hands. Especially now that Angelique reminded me that she and Randi, two much more experienced witches, failed at a binding spell. Who are you to think you can pull off something like this? That’s like Picasso not being able to paint something, so you bring in some kid that draws a bitchin’ stick figure.

  “You’re doubting yourself,” Angelique observed.

  “Yeah, I am,” I admitted as I walked back across the classroom, leaning forward on the lab table to face Angelique.

  “You know, Brendan isn’t going to like this plan at all,” she said, jabbing her finger onto the black tabletop for emphasis. “He’d probably rather shave his precious hair off than go along with this plan.”

  “I know,” I agreed, momentarily distracted by the thought of a clean-cut Brendan. So not him. “But honestly, what other option do I have?”

  Angelique pressed her black-painted lips together in a thin grimace and tilted her head sideways, as if she were considering this. Then she sighed, almost in defeat, pulling out her phone to begin texting. When she was done, she held it out to me.

  “By the way, just typing those words made me want to gnaw my own fingers off,” she scowled. “Does that sound good?”

  I read the text to Megan and smiled grimly. “It’s perfect.”

  Hey assface. Emma will meet u tmrw. Give us the time and the place. You win.

  We spent the rest of our lunch rehashing the spell I had in mind, which Angelique promised to talk about with Randi later that afternoon. I briefly considered cutting kickboxing class—but realized if my plan didn’t go well, there were worse things I could do than have some sweet moves fresh in my head. And according to my teacher, I had a lot more than just kickboxing on my mind when she complimented me as I roundhouse kicked the weight bag.

  “I don’t know whose face you’re picturing there, but I sure don’t envy them,” she said as I punctuated another kick with a satisfying punch. Brendan had insisted on waiting for me—“I’ll do my homework in the lobby, it’s not a big deal,” he’d promised—even though I could pretty much guarantee that Megan wouldn’t be waiting around for me anymore. But I hadn’t had the chance to tell him why as we raced to make my three-thirty kickboxing class, and now, I was procrastinating telling him until we were back at my aunt’s. Fortunately she was at a meeting of the Vince A school board until seven, so we had the place to ourselves. I had barely locked the front door before Brendan confronted me, arms folded.

  “Spill it. What’s going on?” he asked bluntly, giving me a knowing look as I kicked off my shoes and settled onto the pink floral couch, my back against the arm of the chair. I hugged my knees to my chest as Brendan joined me on the couch, sitting cross-legged so he could face me. It felt a little like a standoff, and not at all like the relaxing, comforting, slightly ass-kissy way I had wanted to break my plan to him.

  “We have an idea on how to beat Megan at her own game,” I said, taking a deep breath.

  He broke out into a relieved smile before studying my serious expression. “Why don’t you sound happy about this?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I have to meet her during the lunar eclipse like she wants.”

  “You mean, we’re meeting her,” he corrected me, raising a jet-black eyebrow, but I just shook my head.

  “No. This is something I have to do by myself,” I stressed, and Brendan stared at me, confused, until he realized I was serious. And then his green eyes widened in horror.

  “Emma! You can’t say, ‘Oh, hey, I have an idea on how to beat Megan, so I’m just going to meet the evil witch all by myself,’ and then expect me to be all, ‘That’s cool, baby. What’s on TV?’” Brendan said sarcastically, running his hands through his messy black hair. “You’re not going to meet her by yourself!”

  “Brendan, be logical—”

  “Oh, yeah, like there’s really anything logical about you voluntarily going to meet someone who attacked you with a knife,” he said bitterly.

  “She’s threatening everyone I love!” I cried, slamming my palm into the couch cushion. “I have to end this.” I didn’t tell him that he, specifically, was the target. I knew Brendan too well—he’d take the hit to keep me safe. He’d done it before. Now, it was my turn.

  “Why won’t you let me help you?” he asked, leaning forward and taking my hands in his. I clenched my jaw, steeling myself to face him. I couldn’t tell him it was for his own protection, so I tried an alternate route.

  “If you’re there, I’ll worry that she’s going to do something to you—what if she can still possess you? Do you want me to have to fight you and her?” I asked gently, and he stared down at my raw knuckles, the muscles in his slightly scruffy jaw tense as his thumb lightly ran over my cuts. And then he shook his head, a determined look on his face.

  “No. I’m not letting you knowingly run off into a dangerous situation.”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission before I did anything,” I retorted cattily, and his stoicism relented.

  “Come on, Em, you know I’m not like that,” Brendan said, looking a bit offended as he reached out his hand, resting the tips of his fingers on my knee. “I’m just saying, this is danger—”

  “Look, Brendan, I’m the only one who can stop this,” I interrupted him. “Please, just listen to our idea.”

  “Fine. Tell me,” he said, frustration saturating every syllable as he sat back, resting his weight on the palms of his hands. I shot him a look before telling him about my dream, and t
he rough plan we had in mind.

  When I was done, a mix of rage and disgust twisted on his face. I’m pretty positive I saw a mushroom cloud explosion in his furious eyes.

  “You look like you’re about to turn into the Hulk,” I said, hoping my weak joke would alleviate some of the tension. He looked at me, his palm up, his mouth open as he tried to find the words. And then he just sighed and shook his head.

  “It absolutely kills me to say this, but I get where you’re going with this.”

  Then it was my turn to look shocked. “So you’re agreeing with me?” I gasped, astonished.

  “No. Not at all. I don’t agree with any of this and there has to be a better way,” he scoffed, his voice getting more agitated with every word. “I hate the idea of anything that puts you in danger like this. I hate the idea of you going—by yourself—to confront a knife-wielding witch, who’s only on your ass because of how I acted, armed with nothing more than a spell and an idea.” Brendan stopped short, reaching out to take my folded hands in his. He covered the backs of my hands with his, interlocking our fingers. Then he spoke again, this time a little more calmly, but a lot more severely, “What I hate about this—what I absolutely hate—is that, no matter what, you’re going to get hurt. After everything you’ve been through, this is the exact opposite of anything I’d ever want for you.”

  Then he paused, and staring down at the way our fingers were intertwined before looking up at me proudly. “But it’s a good idea,” he said softly. “And you’re a genius for coming up with it. And I hate saying it, because of what it is. But it makes sense. If I were watching this in a movie I’d be yelling at the screen, saying, ‘It’s so simple! It’s perfect!’”

  I smiled back, relieved—until Brendan frowned. “But it’s not a movie. It’s your life, and it still doesn’t mean your plan should happen. There has to be another way. Or at least a way to stall until we come up with a better plan that doesn’t put you in danger.”

  “I don’t want to stall,” I said angrily. “I can’t put a Band-Aid on this, hoping things will get better. It has to end. And I have to end it.”

  He stared at my aunt’s cable box, studying the glowing green numbers on it as if the time would give him answers.

  Brendan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “If you’re insisting on meeting her, then you have to let me be there with you, Emma,” he said, his voice serious. “She might not come alone. Please.”

  “Brendan, I—”

  “Please, Emma,” he pleaded desperately. “You can’t just go blindly into what’s probably a trap.”

  I forced myself to meet his eyes, which bored into mine, with love. And I knew what I had to do.

  I had to lie to Brendan.

  Chapter 15

  Brendan stayed a little longer, talking to me about the spell Angelique and I had tried to write over lunch when she called, her ringtone piercing the somber mood. I barely had the chance to say hello before she was excitedly chattering in my ear.

  “Randi had the best idea ever!” she shouted into the phone.

  “It has to be good for you to give her credit like that,” I observed, and she snorted on the other end of the line.

  “Oh, she’ll probably build herself a statue or a palace or the Taj Mahal in the Fordham plaza in her own honor, but this is pretty smart, I have to admit.”

  “So what’s up?” I asked, as Brendan pretended to flip through one of the magazines my aunt kept on the coffee table. I appreciated that he was trying not to look like he was listening, but he was sitting right there—what else is he going to listen to?

  “Can you come over tonight?” Angelique asked excitedly. “Say you’re coming over for dinner or something. Or say that you came here after kickboxing. But you need to come over tonight.”

  I sat up straighter. “Did you figure out what kind of words I should use in the spell?”

  “Oh, no, that’s something you have to write,” Angelique reminded me. “For something this important, you need to pick words that resonate with you. But I think we have a solution for you not being—sorry to say—powerful enough to take someone like Megan on. We figured out a way to get you more power.”

  I jumped up off the couch. “I’ll be right there,” I promised.

  I called my aunt and asked her if I could go to Angelique’s for dinner, and she agreed, whispering that the school board meeting was running late. I was pretty sure I could recognize Brendan’s mother’s shrill voice on the other end of the phone, and my aunt sighed loudly at something she was saying. Brendan made sure I arrived at Angelique’s safely, even though Megan was likely at her own home, prepping for her gruesome little ritual. I pictured her sitting in a high-backed chair, weaving diabolical plans behind a heavy wooden desk as she petted a hairless cat like an old-time movie villain.

  When I got to Angelique’s apartment, she answered the door, excited, and grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the hall.

  “Why are you still in your uniform?” I asked, noticing that she still wore the black, navy and green plaid Vince A skirt. I had changed into jeans after kickboxing class.

  “I went straight to Randi’s after work,” she said. “We’ve been brainstorming all afternoon.”

  “Aw, Angelique,” I murmured, touched—but she gave me a wary look.

  “Don’t hug me,” she warned as if I was attempting to lick her face.

  “By the way,” she added, whispering, “Randi…she…ugh. Just be prepared. And be glad your boyfriend isn’t here.” Rolling her eyes, Angelique pushed open the door to her bedroom, where Randi lounged in the middle of the black velvet comforter, reading from a thick textbook. Her blond hair was in soft waves, which fell around her shoulders. Randi was in black capri pants, heels—and was threatening to spill right out of a vintage-looking red bustier. Her cups runneth over, indeed. Hell, those cups could runneth a marathon.

  She got off the bed when we showed up, and ran over to give me a hug, practically suffocating me in those cherry-red great balls of fire on her chest.

  “Emma, don’t worry about a thing. I have a fantastic idea,” she gushed, looking over my shoulder.

  “Where’s Brendan?” she asked, blinking her cat’s-eye-lined lids innocently.

  “He’s busy being underage somewhere,” Angelique said dryly.

  “He’s home. His parents just got back from a business trip,” I explained. Considering that I was relying on Randi for help, I tried to avoid noticing how her red-painted smile fell into a frown.

  “What about his siblings?” Randi asked in a forced-casual tone. “Any older siblings, like, say, a brother?”

  “Only child,” I replied, as Angelique snorted. Randi rolled her eyes, kicking off her fire-engine-red heels and sitting cross-legged on the floor. She tugged at her binding bustier impatiently before pulling a folded up piece of paper out of her cleavage. The amount of boobage she was showing off, she probably could have hidden my math textbook in there. And my math teacher.

  “Okay, well let’s get started,” she said matter-of-factly, dropping the saccharine act. She took a black hair elastic off her wrist and pulled her artfully waved hair back into a messy bun. Angelique turned off her desk lamp and set unlit, plain blue pillar candles in a circle around us, the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the purple walls giving the room a greenish cast. Only the hallway light streaming in from her half-open door—and the faded light from the New York skyl
ine—illuminated the dark room.

  I sat next to Randi in my familiar spot on the throw rug—right next to the burn mark I’d caused—and Angelique joined us on the rug. We formed a triangle—Randi was on my right, and Angelique was on my left.

  Angelique set one more blue candle in the center of us—a thick, embellished candle, with complicated, swirly scrollwork along the sides and three wicks.

  “So, what’s going on?” I asked, casting a look over to Randi, who was taking deep breaths with her eyes closed.

  “We’re going to give you our powers. We’re going to do a power transfer,” Angelique blurted, her blue-gray eyes wide with excitement.

  “More like a power loan,” Randi corrected her, opening one eye. “I got the idea from the spell Angelique did to amplify her powers the night you guys went to the Battle of the Bands. And you shouldn’t be so excited,” Randi addressed her cousin condescendingly. “This is going to drain both of us.”

  “Wait—I don’t want to do anything that’s going to hurt you guys,” I objected, looking back and forth between Angelique’s giddy face and Randi’s cautious one.

  “It’s not going to be painful. It’s just going to be fatiguing,” Randi explained, taking a dagger out of a wooden box on the floor and wiping the blade with a soft cloth.

  “See, you need to go against Megan—doing a spell that we don’t know for sure will work, or that you can pull off,” Angelique said. “Since Randi and I failed at the binding spell, it’s got me worried about how strong Megan might be.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” I smiled weakly as Randi mouthed sorry to me.

  “Well, how about I remind you of something else?” Angelique asked, twirling a blue streak of hair around her finger. “You’ve successfully pulled off spells where Megan is concerned. You sent her flying into a tree. You saved Brendan with a spell you’d known for, what, a day?”