Spellcaster

by Cara Lynn Shultz

  “Wait, wait,” he said after a moment, lifting his head to look at me. “How did you do this without anyone noticing?”

  “I just whispered a quick spell,” I hissed under my breath. “That’s it!”

  “That’s all it took?” he asked, impressed. “That’s awesome.”

  “Awesome for everyone else, maybe. Me, not so much,” I corrected him, keeping my voice low as Kristin slid into her seat in the next row, sneering at me with her usual Orange Face of Death. I rolled my eyes and turned back to Brendan. “That spell went horribly wrong.”

  “I get that you’re a little unnerved because it was more powerful than you expected, but I gotta be honest—I’m relieved that you took out the blackboard in Agneta’s class,” Brendan murmured before reaching to brush my bangs off my face. “It makes me feel a lot better about tonight.”

  “That’s a good way to look at it,” I admitted. “Still, I’m a little freaked out.”

  “You’re freaked out? I’m the one who has to make sure I don’t piss you off in the next twenty-four hours,” Brendan said in mock-seriousness. I kicked the back of his desk with my shoe, causing it to skid forward a bit.

  “Be careful, you might send me flying into the front of the room and I’ll end up taking out another blackboard,” Brendan warned, scrunching up his face and wagging a finger at me before turning around in his desk. Mr. Emerson had just walked into the classroom a bit late—and clearly, word of the math class debacle had reached him. He gingerly tiptoed in, making a wide arc around the blackboard, staring at it like it might turn into a bear and take a bite out of him. Although, with me sitting in the classroom, that wasn’t entirely out of the question. Mr. Emerson stared at the board, sizing it up the way a boxer would an opponent, before quickly stepping before it and grabbing the wooden shelf where the eraser and bits of chalk sat. He jerked his hand back and forth as if he were trying to shake it loose—but it didn’t budge. Finally his shoulders relaxed, seemingly satisfied that the blackboard wasn’t going to come crashing down the way it had in math class.

  “Now that we’ve assessed the structural stability of the classroom, let’s dive into the stability of your grade-point averages. I’ve got your Dante essays for you,” Mr. Emerson said, taking a stack of papers from his briefcase and handing them out.

  “Good work, Miss Connor,” he said, giving me my paper with a big red A circled on it. Mr. Emerson paused in front of Brendan’s desk, lightly whacking him on the head with a rolled-up paper.

  “Salinger.” Mr. Emerson addressed Brendan coldly before smiling begrudgingly. “Not quite the life-changing work of art you promised me, but close,” he said, dropping the essay on Brendan’s desk. It uncoiled, showing a big A-minus written in red. The rest of the class passed uneventfully—but then again, I didn’t raise my hand or even attempt to speak. I liked Mr. Emerson—the last thing I wanted was to inadvertently cause this chalkboard to crumble or turn him into a dinosaur.

  “Hey, Emma,” Cisco called, leaning over his desk to talk to me when class was over. “Can I grab your math homework? I didn’t do it and I bet Agneta’s going to collect it today since he broke the blackboard.”

  “Sure thing,” I said, digging in my bag to pull out my math notebook. “He gave us a pop quiz, so get ready for that,” I added, handing him my notebook.

  “I’ll put it back in your locker after school,” Cisco promised. “You guys coming to the caf?”

  “I have some chemistry stuff to work on with Angelique,” I lied glibly. Cisco pursed his lips thoughtfully, tilting his head as he studied me.

  “What could you possibly have to work on? We’re finished with the last lab—we just had some reading last night.”

  “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t do the reading,” I stammered.

  “We went to a late movie at the Angelika,” Brendan said smoothly. He was getting a lot better at this lying thing, but Cisco wasn’t buying it. His cocoa-colored eyes were filled with distrust, darting back and forth between me and Brendan.

  “Okay, what’s going on with you guys?”

  “Nothing.” I shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I just— Something’s up,” he said, and Brendan and I feigned innocence.

  “Why would you say that?” I asked, smiling beatifically as Brendan fidgeted uncomfortably, his stamina for lying exhausted.

  Cisco bit the inside of his cheek as he studied us, then let out a resigned sigh. “No reason,” he said brusquely, stuffing my notebook into his messenger bag before standing up. “Thanks for the homework, Em.”

  Brendan and I followed Cisco out of the classroom. When we hit the cafeteria, Brendan tucked his fingers under my chin, tilting my head up for a brief, but sweet kiss.

  “See you after practice?”

  I nodded, and he gently squeezed my chin. “Okay. We’ll take it from there,” he said softly, kissing me gently on the forehead. I shut my eyes as his lips touched me, burning their imprint into my skin. I fought the urge to grab him, to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in. I wanted to confess everything and let him come with me tonight. It would be so easy to let Brendan take care of Megan, to step back so he could play the hero role that came so naturally to him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, to feel every inch of him—but that felt too much like saying goodbye. And that would let him know that I was lying to him—that wherever Megan wanted me to go, I was going to go alone, no matter what I’d promised. So instead, I just nodded and gave him a bright smile, trying to ignore Cisco’s suspicious looks.

  But when I was on the staircase, headed down to the basement lab—I stopped short, gripping the banister. For better or for worse, the next time I saw Brendan, this would be over. I was suddenly so grateful for our impromptu—but oh-so-passionate—embrace before class. What if that was our last kiss? What if that’s the last time you’ll ever see him—and you lied to him? Oh, shut up, Emma, stop being so melodramatic. You’ll kiss him again. You’re not going to die tonight. Just possibly get seriously injured. What if that’s the last time you’ll ever see him with your face looking the way it does?

  My morose thoughts tumbled through my brain like a drunken gymnast. I glumly slid into my seat next to Angelique in the empty lab, and she eyed me curiously.

  “This might seem like a stupid question, what with everything that’s going on, but what’s bothering you? Specifically, right now I mean?” she asked, frowning a bit as she studied me.

  “I just said goodbye to Brendan,” I admitted glumly, picking at a gouge in the black top of the lab table. I looked up, and Angelique’s eyes were wide.

  “Goodbye? As in, forever?” she asked, and I shook my head vehemently.

  “No, not like that,” I corrected her quickly. “For the day—remember, I’m lying to him? Telling him he’s coming tonight?”

  “Right. Good.” Angelique smiled in relief, and I was a little taken aback. Our entire friendship, she’d regarded Brendan as a splinter under her skin—something annoying to be picked at, studied and eventually discarded. Their newfound alliance—however tenuous it was—would take some getting used to.

  “I hope he forgives me,” I whispered, mulling over my deception. Angelique just barked out a short laugh.

  “What?” I asked innocently.

  “That boy would forgive you if you accidentally stabbed him with a samurai sword.”

  “Key word is accidentally. This time, I’m deliberately deceiving him,” I argued.

  “Okay, you have a point,” Angelique admitted. “Still, it’s better this way, you know,” she added wisely, and I sighed.

  “Seriously, Emma. Brendan has a white-knight syndrome about you, and you know it,” she said. I was surprised that, alliance or not, her eyes didn’t roll from the sheer pressure of discussing Brendan without sarcasm. “He’d get himself kille
d—and Megan’s just psycho enough to exploit that. I’m sure she thinks he’s coming.”

  “You’re probably right,” I agreed, taking my lunch out of my bag. I’d taken a cue from my friend and packed a lunch—but Angelique turned up her nose at my apple and bagel, slathered with crunchy peanut butter.

  “Seriously, Emma? I’m amazed you don’t have a juice box.” Angelique insulted my lunch as she pulled out a Tupperware container containing some kind of fancy marinated grilled chicken. “All you eat are Pop-Tarts, sandwiches and pizza. I know seven-year-old boys with more advanced culinary palettes.”

  “You know seven-year-old boys? Pervert.” I raised an eyebrow as I took a big bite of my bagel. My delicious, crunchy, totally awesome bagel, thankyouverymuch.

  “You know what I mean,” she said, rolling her eyes. But when I told her about the two spells I’d pulled off that morning, I expected Angelique’s eyes to jump out of her face and bitchslap me across the cheek.

  “Emma, are you crazy? What did Randi warn you about?” she huffed in frustration, running her hands through her streaked black hair.

  “I couldn’t help it!” I said defensively. “The first spell was an accident, anyway, so technically it doesn’t count. Besides, now I know to be careful.”

  “Still! That could have gone wrong in so many ways… .” Angelique trailed off, biting her lip. She shook her head, and when she spoke, she was much calmer. “Okay, it’s not the end of the world. I have to be honest, I’m just really tired and a little cross. When Randi said the spell was fatiguing, I didn’t know she meant I’d feel like I just pulled an all-nighter.”

  “Was the spell a mistake? Should we undo it?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t want to lose my superpowers, but I also didn’t want to cause Angelique any distress.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said quickly, picking at the bits of black lace that stuck out of the tulle underneath her plaid skirt. “Randi’s just lounging around in bed all day, watching reality television while I get to go to school,” she added bitterly. “She keeps texting me and gloating. It’s annoying.”

  “Has anyone else texted you?” I asked, and she shook her head, knowing who I was talking about.

  “No, which is weird—and completely out of character.” Angelique shook her head, bewildered. “I figured she’d be badgering the hell out of me, but I haven’t heard anything from her beyond a text that said, ‘You’ll know where to go by the end of the school day.’”

  “Maybe she got into trouble for being a douchebaguette and had her phone taken away from her,” I said hopefully, but Angelique shook her head.

  “Please, her family is so far up her sister Jenna’s ass, when she yawns you see them waving,” Angelique snorted. “They wouldn’t notice Megan if she set their apartment on fire.”

  “Oh, great. That has me reassured for tonight,” I said dryly.

  “Well, it’s just more of a reason to be prepared,” Angelique said. “So, let’s go over it again. Tell me what you’re going to do.”

  We sat there for the rest of the lunch period, rehearsing what I was going to do that night until I had everything down cold. If I paid this much attention in Latin, I’d be fluent in the language that no one speaks anymore. I was as confident as could be by the time chemistry started, but when I met Angelique in the quad after our last class my nerves had made a triumphant comeback.

  “I haven’t heard a thing from Megan,” Angelique said, shaking her cell phone as if a text message from Megan were somehow stuck in the phone and she could dislodge it.

  “Great.” I sighed. She probably wants to spring some big surprise on us. “Well, I’m going downstairs to grab my stuff. I guess we’ll just go over to your house and wait. We’ll hear from her eventually, I’m sure.”

  I told Angelique I’d meet her back in the quad, and she headed up to her locker on the brightly lit third floor, that lucky witch. The rubber soles of my Mary Janes didn’t make much noise on the stairs as I headed down the staircase to my locker. I was expecting to just grab the books I’d need for the break, and the little bag I’d stashed in my locker with a change of clothing for tonight and a few other essentials.

  I sure didn’t expect to find Kristin Thorn standing in front of my locker, trying to cram a thickly folded piece of paper in the metal slots on the door.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I barked, dropping my heavy backpack on the floor with a thud, and Kristin’s body jerked back, surprised by my appearance. For a second, she looked apprehensive—and then her cool, bitchy demeanor returned.

  “Don’t talk to me like that, loser,” she snapped. My eyes darted to the emergency exit—it was mercifully shut. During the winter dance, she’d left it open to allow Anthony in. My eyes scanned the basement—it appeared that we were alone in the narrow, locker-lined hallway.

  “Putting another one of your nasty little notes in my locker?” I stomped up to her, surprising her by snatching the wadded-up note out of her hands.

  “Give me that back,” Kristin demanded in her nasal voice, trying to grab it from me. I put the palm of my hand on her forehead and held my arm straight, holding her back as Kristin’s arms flailed about wildly, trying to hit me. Her fingertips grazed my white shirt, missing my torso by mere centimeters. It was the ultimate move in a game of keep-away, one my brother, Ethan, had perfected anytime I’d discover one of my dolls in his room. They were usually half-dressed, too, the little hormone machine.

  “I said, give it back!” Kristin ordered frantically, and I just laughed as I shook the note open with my free hand.

  “What does this one say, Kristin? Is this one spelled correctly for once?” I was no stranger to getting cruel little missives in my locker from Kristin and her sycophants. The very first note I got after Brendan and I went public as a couple called me a slut. Creative. At the time, it’d hurt—a lot—but I’d developed a pretty thick skin since then. I had to: I’d gotten quite a few nasty little notes in the past four months, and usually just crumpled them up and threw them out. It’s hard to take someone seriously when they leave you a note saying, “Your ugly.” My ugly what? The idiot didn’t even know the difference between your and you’re.

  “Give it to me!” she whined, her arms flailing about. I’d love to give it to you. Right in your orange face.

  “I will after I read your latest pearl of wisdom.” I smirked. I never struck back at Kristin as much as I did at this moment—and in the back of my mind, I knew my triple shot of witchiness was fueling my retaliation—but I didn’t care. I really just didn’t care. She deserved it, and it wasn’t merely my new, bolder side speaking.

  I stared down at the note, and then my evil little grin faded. There were instructions to go to an alley between two buildings in Hell’s Kitchen, and then this:

  Go up the fire escape. Meet Megan on the roof at 9. Bring her knife.

  My palm was still on Kristin’s forehead, holding her away from me. I bent my elbow and shoved her back. Kristin stumbled a few feet and hit her back against the lockers.

  “That hurt!” she cried, her hand massaging her shoulder. “I’m telling Casey.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all I did,” I seethed, clutching the note tightly in my hand. “So this is all your doing? You’re the one who sent Megan after us?”

  “She only asked me to leave you this note,” Kristin said nervously.

  “And steal Brendan’s headphones, and plant baby powder in his locker, and tell her my class schedule so she could attack me in the park!” I ticked off her crimes, and she flinched at each one. But when I mentioned the Cloisters, Kristin looked at me blankly, her glitter-lined eyes more vacant than usual. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about,” I growled, taking another step forward. Kristin paled—as pale as she could get
with that ridiculous fake tan—and slid down the row of lockers away from me. Then her pompous demeanor returned. She folded her arms and stood stiffly, sticking her hip out.

  “Whatever, Emma. You’re a loser and just making things up. You’re just a trashbag and a freak,” she scoffed, striding the few steps she’d retreated to challenge me, a smug grin plastered on her pastel pink lips. “Brendan will see that soon enough.”

  I threw my hands in the air and exhaled noisily. “Seriously, Kristin? Again with the Brendan? You sweat my boyfriend so hard, I’m amazed you haven’t died of dehydration.”

  She rolled her eyes, turning up her nose at me. The diamond piercing in her nostril twinkled like it was winking at me. “You think you’re like, so witty.”

  “I’ve had it with you, Kristin,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Because of you, Anthony almost killed me and Brendan.” She flinched when I said that. “Never mind that he left you with a nice bloody nose, or did you forget that?”

  “He wouldn’t have killed—”

  “You weren’t there,” I shouted, stepping closer to her. “Then, you send Megan after us? You put my cousin in the hospital?”

  Kristin’s pale brows pulled together in confusion. “What do you mean, put Ashley in the hospital?”

  “Don’t play innocent with me, you fake-tanned, nacho-colored bitch!” I took a step closer to her with every word, and Kristin retreated as I advanced, until her back hit the lockers.

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Kristin insisted, stomping her foot on the ground in a last display of bravado before looking at me anxiously. I probably looked like I could rip her head off. I sure felt like I could. I wanted to. “I’m just delivering a note.”

  “Fine, message delivered. Now here’s a message for you,” I said coldly, my eyes narrowed into slits as I stared at her. “This ends now. And if you continue your little campaign to ruin my life, and the lives of those I love, I will make your life a living hell.”

  Kristin laughed, her baby-pink glossed lips turned up in a sneer. “Get over yourself, loser. What else do you need to prove that I’m untouchable? Like, what could you possibly do to me?”