by Zoe Aarsen
“I was thinking it might be fun to bake all afternoon. Then you could take some treats back to school with you,” Mom said, sounding so enthusiastic about spending the day with me that my stomach soured. Under any other circumstances, I would have loved staying home that afternoon. Baking would have been a perfect way to get her to ease up on letting me see Trey; she never would have denied me a chance to walk next door with a tin of cookies for the Emorys. But the trip to the bookstore couldn’t wait another day, and lying to her made me feel lousy.
“Actually,” I replied, “would you mind if I go shopping with Mischa this afternoon? I really wanted to get you a better Christmas gift than the crappy pot holder I made for you at school.”
Mom playfully mussed with my hair. “Funny, a crappy pot holder is exactly what I wanted for Christmas.”
“Mom.”
“McKenna, you don’t have to get me a gift. My gift is having you home this week.”
She was giving me no choice but to take my lie to the next level. It wasn’t surprising that she was gently turning down my request, but I had to insist. “Mom, come on. After everything I put you through this year, you deserve something better.” Then I pulled out my hat trick, since I knew if there was one thing Mom couldn’t stand, it was wasting money. “Besides, I didn’t want to tell you this, but Mischa helped me order something in advance with her credit card, and we have to pick it up at the store because obviously I couldn’t have it shipped to school.”
My mom protested, saying that I really shouldn’t have gotten her anything, but ultimately said that I could go. Already expecting that we’d be driving home through heavy snow, I didn’t mention that it was unlikely I’d get home before nine or ten o’clock that night. She’d be disappointed, I’d be burdened with guilt, and there was simply no avoiding any of it. So instead of trying to prepare her for her inevitable anger with me later that evening, I promised her we’d drive carefully and keep a safe distance from Willow students.
At five minutes before one o’clock, I was surprised to see a Mercedes pull into our driveway instead of the tiny silver GTI that Mischa shared with her older sister. Behind me, in the kitchen, Mom was reminding me for the millionth time to stay out of trouble and wear a hat to avoid getting sick, but I wasn’t listening. My heart was beating a little wildly because Mischa was sitting in the passenger seat of the Mercedes…
… and behind the wheel was Henry Richmond.
Henry, Olivia’s hot tennis star of an older brother. Henry, who would have been my date to the Fall Fling if Olivia hadn’t died in a horrifying car accident the night of the big football game against Kenosha. As a ninth grader, I’d watched him move through the hallways as if he were the star of a soap opera. He was adored by teachers, admired by other guys, and pursued by girls from every social circle. In September, when he’d asked me if I wanted to go to the Fall Fling with him, it had been just about the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me in my entire life.
I hadn’t seen him since Winnebago Days, when I’d been too shy to even say hi because we’d never tied up loose ends about our plans to go to the dance together. It wasn’t as if we’d ever hooked up; he’d asked me to the dance as a favor to Olivia, and I’d gotten a little carried away in romantic hopefulness before… well, before everything terrible had started happening.
Since all of that had happened, I’d fallen in love with Trey.
“Okay, Mom, love you!” I called over my shoulder as I hurried out the front door.
The surprise of seeing the Richmonds’ Mercedes in my driveway made me momentarily forget that I’d instructed Trey to try to meet me outside. I climbed into the back seat with my nerves on edge, eager to get away from my house before my mother looked out the window and spotted Mr. Richmond’s car. One of the downsides to living in a small town was that my mom knew every kid from the public school system around the same age as me, and their parents. If she saw me and Mischa with Henry, she’d know instantly that we intended to do something related to Violet Simmons that afternoon, which was exactly what Judge Roberts had forbidden me from doing.
“Um, hi,” I said, appreciating the warmth inside the car. I’d been in the back seat of that Mercedes before when Henry’s dad had hired me to do yard work at the Richmonds’ house during the rake sale fund-raiser I’d planned in the fall. The event had been organized to raise money for the junior class ski trip that Violet had promised in her Student Government campaign speech. “Wow. Henry. I was definitely not expecting to see you today.”
I overcame my nervousness about seeing my former crush the second I realized that Mischa must have clued him in to all of the suspicious-sounding stuff we’d been up to in order to manifest him being there, in my driveway, that afternoon. She’d probably told him about the game we played with Violet, possibly about the curse, the ghost of his dead sister haunting my bedroom, and a whole bunch of other things that were so creepy and weird that I didn’t want the guy I’d lusted after from sixth grade until mid-September to know I’d been doing.
In an affected tone to let her know I was kind of annoyed, I asked, “What’s going on, Mischa?”
Mischa replied matter-of-factly with a hint of cheerfulness in her voice, “Look, Henry wants to help, okay? And since we have no idea what we’re doing, I figured having one more brain on our team couldn’t hurt.”
I steadied my temper and asked calmly, “Would you mind driving down the block a little bit so my mom doesn’t see your car in the driveway, and then pulling over?”
“Um, sure,” Henry said, and put the car into reverse. We drove halfway down Martha Road before he came to a stop along the side of the road and idled.
“Are you mad?” Mischa asked, turning to face me over the back seat.
“No,” I lied. “Just—how much does Henry know about where we’re going today and why we’re going there?”
Mischa replied, “I told him everything. Well, everything that I can remember, that is. And only what I know, obviously, since you know more than I do.”
Henry spoke up. “I hope you’re not angry, McKenna. Whatever you guys are doing, I want to help. My parents and I don’t know what really happened back in September. All we know for sure is that Olivia’s dead, and I heard that before Candace died, she was telling everyone who would listen that the new girl, Violet, had something to do with Olivia’s accident. Maybe some people in town didn’t take Candace seriously, but my parents did.”
“It’s cool if you want to help,” I said, even though I didn’t consider it cool at all. I wasn’t sure why I felt so strongly against Henry getting involved. Part of it was an aversion to introducing anyone new to what was an extremely high-stakes situation. The other part of it had something to do with the way Henry’s green eyes made my head spin a little as he watched me in the rearview mirror. I guess it wasn’t realistic to think I’d stop having a crush on Henry even though I was completely infatuated with Trey. “It’s just… This is dangerous. I know it all probably sounds ridiculous. But it’s very, very real, and your mom and dad already lost one kid.”
My attention was caught by the sound of a car approaching us from behind, and I noticed as it passed us that it was Mr. Emory’s Hyundai. Although I could see people in the car, I couldn’t tell who they were or if the entire family had just left the house. I wondered for a second about whether or not Trey had remembered to try to meet outside at one, but I was pretty sure his mom hadn’t given him his phone back as soon as he’d gotten home. I had no way of getting in touch with him and didn’t want him to think I’d blown him off if he’d been a few minutes late in trying to escape from his house.
Either Henry wasn’t taking me seriously or he was so intent on involving himself in our mission that he wasn’t intimidated by the risk. “I have a pretty good idea of what I’m getting myself into. I mean, that moon thing really freaked me out, but I figured if anyone knew what it meant, it would be you.”
It took a second for me to realize what he w
as implying. “You’re the one who left that lunar calendar in my mailbox!”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to leave it with your mom in case she opened it. It’s kind of shady-looking, right? I wouldn’t want her to think you were into witchcraft or anything.” His green eyes opened a little wider, and he waved his hand from Mischa to me and added apologetically, “I mean, unless you are—into witchcraft, that is—which would be totally fine, considering our destination today—”
I was about to try to dissuade him when the back door on the other side of the car opened and Trey slid into the seat next to me. “Thanks for waiting,” he said, sounding out of breath.
“Oh hey, man,” Henry said, not sounding especially happy to see Trey. “Didn’t know you’d be joining us today.”
“Yeah, neither did I, to be honest,” Trey said. Before Henry had graduated, he’d been the kind of overconfident jock who poked fun at moody guys like Trey, who didn’t quit fit into the social grid of American high school life. I couldn’t recall Henry ever having directly bullied Trey, but the energy inside of the Mercedes definitely changed now that Trey was among us. This was likely because Henry knew that Trey had been driving the car in which Olivia had died, and I doubted either of them felt comfortable about that fact. The Richmonds hadn’t taken legal action against Trey since the accident had occurred during a freak hailstorm, and it had probably been less Trey’s fault and more the fault of the truck driver who’d hit Trey’s Corolla head-on.
But still, the explanation Trey had given me for why he’d been at the mall in Green Bay, so very far from home, the night he’d offered Olivia the ride home that had resulted in her death had never made sense to me. He’d said he had been looking for spark plugs for Coach Stirling’s Cadillac, which he’d been working on with the guys in his shop class, but there were plenty of automotive stores closer to Willow than Green Bay. Being reminded of that again drove a sharp jabbing pain across my rib cage. I couldn’t believe that Trey would ever lie to me or intentionally hurt another person, but I would have been hugely relieved if he’d just been able to answer that question. As much as I was desperate to better understand how he’d gotten himself mixed up in Violet’s prediction for Olivia’s death that night, we were both home from our schools for such a short amount of time that I didn’t want to pick a fight with him and risk having to return to Sheridan on bad terms.
“You made it!” I exclaimed. I reached across the back seat and squeezed his hand, simultaneously peeved with Mischa for inviting Henry and delighted that I would get to spend an entire afternoon with Trey.
“My mom is volunteering at the soup kitchen at St. Monica’s with my brother’s Boy Scout troop,” he announced as he fastened his seat belt. “And my dad’s supposed to be keeping me on lockdown. But a water pipe just burst at my grandmother’s house, and she can’t find a plumber who will come over because of the holiday, so my dad’s driving up to Keshena to deal with it. Lucky break for me.” He grinned at me. “So, where are we going?”
“Sticks & Stones Bookstore in Chicago,” Mischa replied. “McKenna thinks we can find out more about how Violet acquired her power to kill people, and if we can figure that out, then we’ll have a better shot at breaking the curse.”
Trey turned to look at me in confusion. “But the curse is broken.”
I shook my head slowly at him. “We’re pretty sure it’s not.”
CHAPTER 3
GOOD OLD EVANSTON,” HENRY MUTTERED as we passed the exit to the university he had been attending earlier in the fall until Olivia died. It was strange to speculate how different Henry’s life would have been by then if Olivia hadn’t died. He’d have been in a frat, probably going to parties all the time. Maybe he and I would have ended up dating after the Fall Fling, but it was more likely that he would have found a girlfriend on campus.
That didn’t matter anymore, though—none of what any of us were supposed to be doing with our lives mattered.
The wide streets of the North Side of Chicago were slippery with snow as we drove south on Clark Street in search of Sticks & Stones. Mischa was reading aloud Yelp reviews of the store from self-professed witches insisting that the store’s merchandise was hands down the best in the city for casting spells and warding off evil. “If Morgan F. says it has the most mystical vibes in town, then it must be legit,” she joked.
I was overly alert—jumpy, even—on the drive to Chicago. I suspected we were getting close to our destination when there was a noticeable increase in the number of hipster bars and coffee shops we passed. The windows of overpriced boutiques and bookstores were all decorated for Christmas, and last-minute shoppers hurried along the sidewalks among snow flurries, carrying bags.
“It’s got to be right around here,” Mischa said, referencing the map on her phone.
Trey tapped on his window and pointed. “That must be it,” he said as we passed a store with a display of candles, skulls, and cobwebs in its window. “Unless witchcraft is a booming business in Wrigleyville and they’ve got competition.”
I tapped his palm with my fingertips, kind of wishing we could be alone for a few minutes since we hadn’t had a chance to catch up. Mischa and I had filled Trey in on what Violet had been up to since we’d left town in November, but I was dying to ask him what Northern Reserve was like since he’d probably been lying to me on the phone about the conditions there. I was also eager to confide in him about the strange sensations I’d been experiencing since my arrival at Sheridan. Although I definitely didn’t want Mischa and Henry to know I’d been hearing inexplicable sounds, Trey had been present a few times when Olivia’s ghost had created disturbances in my bedroom, so he’d be less likely to think I’d gone crazy. If my roommate from Sheridan was right and the staff at this store really could answer our questions, I was going to have to find a way to shake off Henry and Mischa so that I could ask someone knowledgeable what was happening to me.
Henry grumbled, “I have no idea where I’m going to be able to park around here.”
I thought about asking him to just drop Trey and me off at the store before looking for a spot, but decided that would be rude. Henry had volunteered to drive, after all. The situation was awkward enough already, with my not knowing whether or not Mischa had told Henry that Trey and I were together. I didn’t want it to seem like I was trying to sneak away from him and Mischa, even though I was desperate to get a few minutes alone with a clerk at the bookstore.
Luckily, we found a public parking garage a few blocks away and didn’t have to backtrack too far in the bitter cold. We pulled our hats down over our ears and rewrapped our scarves more tightly around our necks. The snow was starting to stick, and we had to trudge through a few inches over sidewalks that had not been cleared because so many stores had already closed for the holiday.
When we reached the small storefront of Sticks & Stones, we stood outside gathering our courage instead of entering. On display in the window was an arrangement of a very commercial-looking hardcover book of spells entitled Everyday Witchcraft. A hand-lettered poster was also hung in the window, advertising a midwinter sale—25 percent off all herbs and candles. Despite all of the paranormal activity I’d been involved with over the last few months, I was intimidated by having to interact with real, live people who claimed to know how to deal with ghosts and evil. It felt like crossing the threshold into the store signified that we were entering into a new phase of this battle with Violet—one that might permanently change our lives.
“So, what’s the deal? Did your roommate mention if there’s one employee here who specializes in how to deal with bitches who put curses on people? Or can we just ask anyone?” Mischa asked.
I rolled my eyes at her. She was acting so flippant since Henry had entered the scene that she was challenging me to not be resentful that we were far from home in the freezing cold to save her life. “I guess we can ask anyone.”
A chime sounded as we opened the creaky front door of the store, and I felt a little mo
re at ease about entering into a store specializing in weird horror items as soon as I heard a song by the Cure playing on the store’s sound system. The store was surprisingly busy for Christmas Eve, when I would have thought most people might lay off the witchcraft. A few shoppers were poking around in the herbs and dried goods section at the back, and a woman with frizzy hair was examining a display of polished rocks sorted by color and arranged in heaps atop small plates. She lifted rocks one at a time, whispering something to each and holding it up to her ear as if she was expecting a reply before putting it back onto its respective dish.
“I don’t think a rock has ever spoken to me before,” Trey whispered to me sarcastically. “Have I been doing something wrong my whole life? I want to know what’s up in the world of rocks too. Do you think they gossip?”
“Shh!” I scolded him playfully.
On my left, Mischa seemed to shrink inside her puffy winter jacket. “This place gives me the willies,” she said quietly, eyeballing what appeared to be a human skull for sale on a bookshelf.
Once again, I wondered what the heck was wrong with me because although I could understand why the store creeped Mischa out, I was fascinated by everything I saw. Never before in my life had I visited a place like that, which was both cozy and intimidating at the same time. Religious iconography—statues of Buddha, posters of Hindu deities, Tibetan prayer flags, and posters of pentagrams—decorated the space to the extent that it felt cluttered and smaller than it actually was. It smelled of an intoxicating blend of burning sage and sweet incense, and for the first time since arriving home from Sheridan I felt as if it weren’t Christmastime at all. There was something strangely familiar about it, kind of like when I’d gone to the top of the John Hancock building as an eighth grader on a class trip after not having been there since first grade.
Henry, who was as wholesome as whipped cream on top of a mug of hot cocoa, with his broad shoulders, dimples, and short auburn hair, wandered along the bookshelves, taking in the titles of books. If he was freaked out, he was doing a good job of hiding it. I never would have expected to find myself in a place selling custom voodoo dolls alongside former tennis star Henry Richmond, but there we were, on Christmas Eve. It was kind of adorable, actually, how effectively he was keeping up the appearance that this was all normal for him. I wondered how long his chill demeanor would last if he were to receive a visit from a ghost.