Spellcaster

by Cara Lynn Shultz

  “But you guys still think it isn’t enough,” I fretted, pulling my own long brown hair back into a ponytail. Even though they weren’t lit, the candles had me nervous—last thing I needed was to accidentally set my hair on fire. I liked my hair.

  “Not that it isn’t enough. More like…hmm, how can I put this?” Angelique mused, taking a second lock of purple hair and twirling it around the blue one. “Think of it like a video game. You’re good at the game, but we’re just giving you extra lives.”

  “She’s not a cat, Angelique,” Randi drawled disdainfully before turning to me with a calmer expression. “We’re going to transfer all of our innate witch power to you. We’re giving it an expiration date—it will fade when the lunar eclipse is over tomorrow night. Because let’s face it, if you haven’t won before that’s over, then you’ve got bigger problems than having enough power.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” Randi said, resting her hands on her knees with her palms facing up, the piece of paper resting in her lap.

  “Concentrate and repeat,” Angelique whispered to me, and I shut my eyes, absorbing Randi’s brief words.

  “Goddess, give your daughters light,

  So we may honor you on this night.

  May the circle protect us in this task.

  Goddess, this is what we ask.”

  I took a deep breath and repeated Randi’s words. The darkness beyond my closed eyelids lightened, as flickers of shadows danced across my vision. I felt a spot of heat by my right hand, which was resting on my knee.

  I opened my eyes and gasped. All the blue candles were lit, except for the one in the center.

  “Did you light those while my eyes were shut?” I asked Angelique, awed. I didn’t even hear her get up.

  “We lit those,” Randi said, her voice monotone as she held out the dagger she had been wiping against the palm of her hand. The flickering candles reflected in the shiny silver blade, casting an orange glow on her skin.

  And then she pressed the point of the athame into her fingertip, making a small, shallow cut in her skin. Randi wiped the blade off and wordlessly handed it to her cousin.

  “This is the only way to transfer the power,” Angelique explained, taking the knife and wincing a little as she made a similar cut in her right index finger.

  “You have to make a cut,” Randi instructed as she held her hand up. A small trickle of blood trailed down her finger.

  I looked down at my hands. “Just make a cut anywhere?”

  “Just do your fingertip, it’s easier,” Angelique ordered as she wiped Randi’s blade off, handing it to me. The handle was gorgeous, burnished silver carved with a dragon’s head—a far cry from the creepy athame Megan preferred. I took a deep breath, steeling myself to make the cut. It stung, but I’d had worse.

  “Now what?” I asked, awkwardly holding the athame in my right hand as I attempted to not bleed all over it.

  “Now put the athame down, and follow what we do,” Randi said. As I placed the athame gently on the rug next to me, Randi held her finger over the unlit blue candle in front of us. A small drop of blood dangled from her fingertip, quivering as Randi’s hand moved slightly. Then, it fell, landing on the edge of the blue candle. The blood pooled, slithering to the wick like liquid mercury. It crawled up the wick, staining the stiff, white, waxy string crimson. And then the wick exploded in a burst of red flame.

  “Whoa,” I breathed, staring at the blood-colored flame flickering just a foot from me. I watched Angelique do the same, squeezing her finger slightly to force the blood out of her fingertip. A fat drop fell onto the candle, and soon another ruby-colored flame flickered next to Randi’s.

  Then it was my turn. I tentatively held my hand over the cherry-colored flames, feeling an unnaturally scorching heat searing my palm. Like Angelique had, I squeezed my finger, forcing out a drop of bright red blood. It landed directly on the wick, which absorbed it and burst into a bloody flame.

  “Now, just focus, Emma, and listen to the words we say,” Randi instructed, and she and Angelique grabbed my hands and began chanting.

  “On this night and in this hour,

  We give this witch our blessed power.

  Until tomorrow’s moon is no longer shaded,

  Then our powers will have faded.

  Let her hold our power dear and true.

  Goddess, this is what we ask of you.”

  Angelique and Randi repeated the chant, their words blending together, overlapping until I couldn’t make out distinct words anymore—their voices were just a low, rhythmic buzz, an undulating wave of noise. The flickering lights of the candles cast large shadows on Angelique’s purple bedroom walls—shadows which seemed to dance, getting larger as they came closer, almost threateningly advancing before they withdrew to the corners of her room. I felt like they were taunting me, so I shut my eyes against their provocation.

  I felt a sharp tingle in my hands, followed by a searing heat that burned but didn’t cause me pain. It was almost soothing—like putting lotion on after a sunburn. The sensation crawled away from my hands slowly, my skin reacting with gooseflesh as the tingling climbed up my arms. Then, it suddenly launched into my chest, an electrical jolt that caused me to jerk forward, gasping—and Randi’s and Angelique’s grip on my hands tightened.

  My heart pounded as if I’d just run ten miles in two minutes—but I didn’t feel exhausted. I felt powerful, like I could run twenty miles. I wanted to go running. I wanted to do cartwheels down Tenth Avenue. I wanted to challenge the Knicks to a dunking competition. I felt invincible.

  I realized that Angelique and Randi weren’t holding my hands anymore—and they weren’t even chanting. I opened my eyes warily, and Randi was slumped forward, her red lips forming an O shape as she exhaled long breaths. Angelique’s streaked black hair was blown back off her face, and she looked like someone who had just ridden a roller coaster that she didn’t particularly enjoy.

  “Are you guys okay?” I asked, and they both shakily nodded their heads.

  “How do you feel?” Randi asked, her voice raspy.

  “Pretty damn awesome, I won’t lie,” I admitted, nodding my head energetically.

  “That reminds me,” Randi said, a little sheepishly. “I forgot to warn you about something.”

  “What?” I squeaked, staring at her with my mouth agape. “Now you tell me there’s a warning?

  “It’s nothing you can’t handle.” Randi shrugged, tugging at her bustier. “It’s just something to be aware of. That whole ‘feeling awesome’ thing—it’s dangerous. You’re going to be tempted to do spells that you shouldn’t be doing. It could make you a little power hungry. So just keep yourself in check. You’re not accustomed to this much power.”

  “So you’re saying don’t try to rob Tiffany’s or anything?” I asked, confused.

  “More like, don’t try to injure someone who knocks into you in the subway,” Randi clarified. “You’ve got a lot of power—basically, we just gave you a taste of what kind of power Megan will get if she pulls off her spell. But you can start to feel a little bit entitled, a little bit better than everyone, with that much power.”

  “I’m going to think I’m better than ev
eryone? Oh, good, tomorrow will be the first day I actually fit in at Vincent Academy, then,” I snorted. “Maybe I’ll get elected class president over Austin.”

  Angelique laughed—and then yawned. “Damn, I’m exhausted. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

  “I told you it would be fatiguing,” Randi chastised her, and Angelique huffed loudly.

  “So, what do you want? A lollipop?” Angelique snapped then sighed. “Sorry, I’m just cranky.”

  Randi leaned against the drawers of Angelique’s desk and shut her eyes.

  “Goddess, thank you for the light.

  Now return us to the night.”

  She looked expectantly at the candles, which still flickered with orange-and-red flames.

  “What spell did we just do, genius?” Angelique said snarkily, throwing her cousin a catty look before turning to me.

  “Emma, you want to try this?” Angelique asked as Randi handed me the piece of paper with the spells scrawled on it.

  “Can’t I just focus and say a spell of my own doing?” I asked, taking the paper and squinting my eyes. I could barely make out Randi’s loopy penmanship in the dim light of the room. She dotted her i’s with little stars—it looked like a fourth-grader’s love note. I half expected it to read, “If you like me, check yes.”

  “My spell works, why wouldn’t you want to use it?” Randi asked, sounding a little offended.

  “I have to cast my own spell tomorrow night anyway—might as well practice now,” I reasoned, shrugging my shoulders. “Something like, ‘Lights, begone!’”

  I waved my hand dramatically as I said the words, and it instantly got darker in Angelique’s room, the candles extinguishing with a soft hiss. The smell of smoke and hot wax filled the air, burning my eyes.

  “Whoa,” I breathed, looking around Angelique’s bedroom. Only the lights from the New York City skyline streaming in her window illuminated the room. It was dark. Too dark.

  “I don’t believe it,” Angelique whispered, pointing to her ajar bedroom door. The hallway lights weren’t on—and they had been a minute ago.

  “Emma, I think you just turned off all the lights in my apartment.” Angelique sprang up from her sitting position on the throw rug and flung open her bedroom door.

  “Yep, you did,” she said, sounding a little awestruck. She ran out of her bedroom, and I heard a loud crash coming from the hallway, followed by Angelique swearing.

  “This can’t be happening,” I said as Randi grabbed a candle. She jumped up and ran after her cousin, me close at her heels. We found Angelique at the entrance to the kitchen, rubbing her knee with one hand and flicking her kitchen light switch on and off repeatedly as she glared at a now-askew side table in the hallway.

  After fumbling with a lighter, Randi lit the candle in her hands, giving us a small circle of light. She carefully shuffled farther into the kitchen, placing her hand on the refrigerator door. “The fridge is still running. I can feel the motor going, so Emma didn’t take away your electricity. Just the light.”

  “All the light?” I confirmed weakly, leaning against the kitchen counter for support. All my newfound strength suddenly abandoned me. “I didn’t mean all the light—just the candles.”

  No one answered me. Instead Angelique and Randi stumbled into the living room, fumbling with a table lamp.

  “I don’t know how I turned off all the lights!” I fretted, afraid to move from my spot against the kitchen counter. For all I knew, I’d take a step toward the stove and open a portal to a new galaxy.

  “Um, that’s not all you did,” Angelique called from the living room. I peered around the corner to see Randi holding the candle as Angelique’s hand frantically explored under the lampshade. Finally she stood up, and stared at me, dumbfounded.

  “The lightbulb is gone,” she said, awed. “Emma, you said, ‘Lights, begone’ and you literally made the lights be gone.”

  “How do I get them back?” I asked, panicked. “What’s the opposite of begone? Regone?”

  “Try return,” Randi suggested calmly, but even in the dark I could tell she was rolling her eyes at me.

  “Oh, yeah,” I admitted sheepishly. “I’m a little freaked out right now. Um, lights return!” I whipped my head around the dark kitchen in a frenzy. It stayed dark.

  “You’re not focusing,” Angelique called from the living room, where I heard her open a window and swear again—words that would have made my brother, Ethan, blush, and his mouth was filthier than a porn star’s diary.

  “Oh, crap, Emma, you better focus,” Angelique warned, running into the kitchen. “I think the lights are begone in the entire building.”

  “What?” I gasped, my heart beginning to thud in my chest. “Why did you tell me that? There’s no way I can do this spell now! This is a thirty-eight-story building! There’s no way I can—”

  Randi put both her hands on my shoulders, effectively interrupting my full-blown freak-out. “Yes, you can,” she said seriously. “You have to, because tomorrow night will probably be even more stressful.”

  “Right. You’re right,” I said. I shook my hands, jumping up and down like a boxer before a fight. I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus in spite of the hysteria that threatened to overtake me. I shut my eyes, and pictured the apartment flooded with light.

  “Lights, return!” I said confidently. My vision brightened, and I heard the distinct pop and buzz of fluorescent lighting turning on. I opened one eye cautiously and looked up, my shoulders slumping with relief when I saw the flickering overhead light in the kitchen.

  “I really hope I didn’t cause a blackout in New York City,” I said, worried, as all three of us collapsed into the white chairs around Angelique’s kitchen table.

  “It was just the building, from what I could see.” Angelique consoled me as I buried my face in my hands. “Maybe just this side of the building,” she added hopefully.

  “Still, what if someone got hurt because of me?” I asked, worried, my voice muffled from my fingers.

  “The lights were gone for three minutes—max,” Randi said, calming me. “I’m sure the elevators were still working.”

  “If someone got hurt I’ll never forgive myself,” I moaned into the palms of my hands.

  “Well, Emma, there’s a nice lesson for you in spellcasting—make sure the words you write are specific. The spell you do tomorrow night had better be written well,” Randi advised, leaning forward on the kitchen table and resting her chin on the heel of her hand. “A renegade, powerful witch is much worse than a little darkness.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said nervously. If I can’t control this power when I’m among friends, what am I going to accidentally do tomorrow? With my luck I’d cause pigeons to start shooting lasers out of their eyeballs.

  I stayed at Angelique’s house for another hour, making plans on how to sneak away from Brendan and working on my spell until Aunt Christine called and asked when I was coming home. I headed out, with Angelique walking me to a cab.

  “You’re in super spell mode,” she said wisely. “It’s probably better for everyone involved that you don’t accidentally shut down the subway system.”

  “You think that could happen?” I asked, worried.

 
“Nah, probably not,” she said as I spotted a taxi with its overhead light on, flagging it.

  “Just be careful what you say tonight and tomorrow,” Angelique advised. “You don’t want to accidentally cast a spell that causes the Statue of Liberty to come alive and, I don’t know, start eating people.”

  “A zombie Lady Liberty. Great. Now that’s in my head,” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut against the mental image. “Maybe she’ll eat Megan and end all our problems.”

  “She’d spit her out,” Angelique retorted as I got into the cab. But when I got home, I quickly turned on my laptop, checking the news to make sure I didn’t somehow accidentally cause the Statue of Liberty to go on a killing spree. So far, all seemed quiet (relatively speaking) in New York.

  After Aunt Christine had gone to bed—and I toasted some Pop-Tarts, since I still hadn’t had dinner—I went into my room, practicing some spells. I had a particular one in mind—the opposite of Emoveo, a different Latin spell that Angelique had managed to pull off once or twice.

  I peeled a photo off my wall and set it in the middle of my room, jumping on my bed and staring at it.

  Focus, Emma. You have to be on point.

  I whispered the Latin phrase for “Come here”—Veni huc.

  The corner of the photo twitched.

  I repeated myself, outstretching my hand, palm up. “Veni huc.”

  Slowly the photo rotated, rising from the floor in a corkscrew pattern.

  I jerked my index finger in the “come here” motion, and the photo sliced through the air, landing in my palm.

  “Whoa, I feel like a Jedi,” I said aloud, staring at the photo. It was a picture of Brendan and me, a candid shot Gabe had taken when we weren’t paying attention. We had gone on a double date with him and Cisco, and were sitting in a red vinyl booth at a diner. Brendan’s arm was casually slung over my shoulders, and he was looking at me, laughing at something I said. I, of course, was grinning up at him like a love-struck goon.