Clearwater Witches Boxset

by Madeline Freeman

  I do my best to be polite to Lexie, even though I want nothing more than to yell at her for what she did to Bria. Heidi, while annoying, is perfect for running interference.

  I count down the minutes until the end of fifth hour. Crystal is in my last class of the day and I want to catch her before she makes it there. We need to talk and I’d like to do it before we get to Mr. Martin’s history class. I swing my backpack over my shoulder and head out of health as soon as the bell rings. If Lexie calls after me, I don’t hear her. I’m the first one in the hallway and I start for the nearest stairwell.

  Crystal’s not at her locker and I hesitate in front of it before going to my own. So far, all my teachers’ personalities have been intact and I don’t want to be caught in Mr. Martin’s class unprepared. I keep one eye on Crystal’s locker as I change out my books, but she doesn’t show up. Maybe her fifth hour teacher held her back? I’m not sure what class she has fifth hour, but she always approaches her locker from the same way. Pulling my backpack back on my shoulders, I head down the hallway past her locker, toward a stairwell I’ve never used. There are fewer people at lockers in this area of the hall and half of the classroom doors are closed, like they’re not even in use. I’m a few feet from the stairwell doors when I stop. There’s no reason she’d come from down here. Maybe I’m remembering things wrong.

  I’m about to turn when I hear a raised female voice. A muffled male voice follows it immediately. My skin prickles. The voices are coming from the stairwell. I shift on the balls of my feet, unsure whether I should investigate. There’s no further sound for a few seconds and my body relaxes. I must be hearing things.

  But then a shriek turns my blood cold. I run at the stairwell door and push it open so hard it bangs against the adjacent wall. A guy with short dark brown hair presses a girl into the corner of the stairwell, pinning her arms against the walls on either side of her head. The black leather jacket he wears is unmistakable. Tucker. Sense memory overwhelms me—I feel the rough chill of the brick wall outside the book store against my back, the warmth of his body pressing against mine.

  Although I can’t see the girl’s face, the pattern on her blue baby-doll dress tells me all I need to know.

  Crystal.

  Heat builds in my center and before I can direct it, it flashes outward. Tucker flails as he’s blasted backward, away from Crystal. He stumbles, landing on his back just a few inches from my feet. He groans, but I ignore him, rushing to Crystal’s side. Her eyes are wide, shocked, as I approach.

  “Are you okay?” I scan her body, but everything appears to be in place. Even her hair is unmussed.

  “The hell, Barnette!” Tucker pushes himself to his feet, glaring. “What’s your problem today?”

  I stare at him, incredulous. “What’s my problem? I could ask you the same thing!”

  The warning bell sounds and Tucker shakes his head. “Jealous much? It’s not my fault if you’re bored with your boyfriend.” He raises his chin in Crystal’s direction. “Later.”

  He exits the stairwell and Crystal hits me in the arm. “What’s wrong with you?”

  The adrenaline in my system ebbs and I release a shaky breath. “I thought he was… He wasn’t attacking you?”

  She gapes. “No. Why would you think that?”

  I replay the scene in my head—the sounds of their voices, the way he had her pinned against the wall. Even now, I can’t compute that Crystal was a willing participant. “You—you shrieked.”

  She cocks her head to the side and rolls her eyes like I’m hopelessly infantile.

  “What, are you guys, like, together or something?”

  She shrugs, a grin spreading across her face. “I have no idea. But he seemed to be expecting me.”

  A memory floats to the surface of my mind: In the other timeline, Crystal and Zane Ross hooked up on a few occasions. She has a thing for bad-boys. She’s probably pleased to find out her alternate-self is together with Tucker.

  I shake my head to clear it of the image of the two of them making out. “Whatever. I’m sorry I interrupted. Now, let’s get to history before Mr. Martin kills us.”

  The two of us emerge from the stairwell and make our way through the progressively emptying hallway toward Mr. Martin’s class. A couple of freshman girls dawdle by a freshman boy’s locker, but all three scatter when a friend hurries by whispering, “Better move, Mrs. Cole’s coming.”

  I freeze and so does Crystal. When her eyes meet mine, they’re round and wide; this is news to her, too.

  “Mrs. Cole’s alive?” I whisper. In our other reality, our principal died on the night of the harvest dance. It was some kind of curse that killed her; the same curse was affecting Jodi before I decided to help Crystal and the circle go back in time. But when I got back, Jodi was fine—nothing had ever been wrong with her. Maybe nothing happened to Mrs. Cole either.

  Crystal tugs on my arm. “Looks like it,” she says, her voice quiet. “And we’d better move or she’ll give us detention for being late.”

  I think it’s safe to say that this is the first time anyone has ever been elated to be threatened with detention. I didn’t know Mrs. Cole terribly well, but she’d been nice to me, even though my school record gave her no reason to be. She was friends with Jodi, but I know that wasn’t the reason she gave me a chance here; she really believed I could do better here, I could be better here.

  Crystal and I ease into Mr. Martin’s class just as the tardy bell rings, but it’s not Mr. Martin behind the teacher’s desk. A woman with short, dark hair is bent over the desk, peering at something written on a piece of paper. Her face is obscured by her hair, but there’s something familiar about her. She must be a substitute in for Mr. Martin today; I’ve probably seen her around school before.

  Someone taps at the still-open classroom door behind us as Crystal and I head toward the empty desks by Bridget. “Miss Tanner?” calls a woman’s voice.

  The woman behind the desk looks up, and, in front of me, Crystal lets out an audible gasp. She’s our principal, Mrs. Shelly Cole. But that doesn’t make any sense—the freshman in the hallway said she was behind us. Besides, the woman in the door called her Miss Tanner. The name Tanner sticks in my mind, but I don’t know why.

  Crystal has turned toward the person in the doorway and is staring open-mouthed. I follow her gaze. The woman standing there is familiar; I know I’ve seen her before, but I can’t place where. Her straight, light-brown hair is pulled into a chignon at the base of her neck, accentuating her pointed chin and almost elfin features.

  “Yes, Mrs. Cole?” asks the woman I thought answered to that name. I look to Crystal to see if she knows what’s happening, but she seems incapable of speech.

  The elfin woman smiles and nods in my direction. “Could I see Miss Taylor and Miss Barnette for a moment?”

  “Sure.” The darker-haired woman makes a sweeping motion with her hand and I have to tug on Crystal’s arm to get her to follow me.

  The woman called Mrs. Cole closes the door after Crystal and I follow her into the hallway. She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head at us. “Have you been using the bathroom as your private office again? There was a complaint earlier about how a bathroom door wouldn’t open after you two and Lexie and Bridget walked in.”

  I wait for Crystal to respond, but she doesn’t. I clear my throat. “We had to talk about something.”

  The woman bites back a smile. “While I’m sure it was very important, that still doesn’t give you the right to commandeer the lavatory. It’s not your personal meeting room.”

  I nod. “We won’t do it again.” I look to Crystal, waiting for her echo of my assurance, but she doesn’t speak. I nudge her with my elbow and she blinks heavily.

  “Yeah, of course not. We won’t do it again, Aunt Crystal.”

  I gasp. That’s where I know this woman from—when I know her from. Crystal told me this the day after we got back from our excursion in the past, but it’s still a sh
ock to see it with my own eyes. Crystal Taylor didn’t die in a house fire the way she did in our reality. Somehow we changed that by going back.

  Crystal Taylor smiles at her niece. “What have I told you? At school, you’ve got to call me Mrs. Cole, just like Lexie.”

  Crystal Jamison nods numbly and her aunt opens the classroom door. Our business is done. As we take our seats by Bridget, I try to piece everything together. Crystal Taylor is now Crystal Cole, and she’s the principal of Clearwater High. It makes sense, I suppose—I had a vision of the past before going there, and Crystal Taylor’s mother mentioned something about her hanging out with David Cole—the man who, in my reality, was married to Clearwater High’s principal—Shelly. Now I remember why the name Tanner sounded so familiar: It’s Shelly’s maiden name. Apparently since Crystal Taylor lived, Shelly Tanner and David Cole never married. And now Crystal Taylor-Cole is the principal of my school and Shelly Tanner is my history teacher.

  By the end of class, I’m massaging my temples to stave off the ache gathering in my head from doing so much thinking. Beside me, Crystal Jamison doesn’t look like she’s doing much better. When the bell rings, the two of us are out of the room as quickly as possible, leaving Bridget behind. Once we merge with the groups of students already pouring into the hallway, she shakes her head. “I think my brain just exploded.”

  I nod. “Me, too.”

  We’re almost to my locker when she tugs on my arm. “Are you working at Jodi’s shop today?”

  I bite my lower lip. “I have no idea. I mean, before I worked there after school every day—”

  “I know.” She shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. It closes at six, right?”

  I nod. “I mean—it did. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be the same.”

  She glances down the hall like she’s making sure no one’s listening to us. “At seven, the circle’s meeting at Fox’s place. It’s important for you to be there.”

  I press my lips together. If the circle’s meeting again, it’s probably about the anchoring spell. I should go—it might give me more opportunity to convince Crystal and the others there’s something wrong with the stone. Or maybe it’ll convince me that everything’s okay. “I think I can make it.”

  “Good.” She glances over my shoulder and nods a greeting. “I’ll see you at seven.” She turns and calls over her shoulder, “See you later, Fox.”

  I’m thankful for Crystal’s warning as it’s the only thing that keeps me from jumping when Fox slides his hands over my hips. “You ready to get out of here?”

  Fox’s lips are close to my ear and I squeeze my eyes closed, willing myself not to pull away. I take in a breath before turning to face him. “I just have to stop and get my stuff,” I say, forcing brightness into my words.

  He nods. “I’ve gotta stop in to see Miss Tanner. I’ll meet you at your locker.”

  I smile and pivot, heading down the hall. I take two steps before colliding with someone. He grunts and his books slip from his hands, clattering on the floor.

  “I’m sorry!” I crouch down and begin collecting the belongings without thinking.

  “It’s okay.”

  I freeze as Owen’s hand brushes mine as he reaches for his notebook. I meet his eyes for the first time today and immediately wish I hadn’t. There’s a barrier up behind his eyes, like he’s uncomfortable around me. I bite my lower lip and hand him his textbook. He takes it and nods a thank you as he presses himself to standing. I stand too and, not wanting our interaction to end quite yet, grope for something to say. “Yeah—I’m sorry about that. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

  He shrugs. “It happens.” His eyes dart down the hallway and a muscle in his jaw jumps. “See you, Kristyl.”

  Owen starts down the hall and my stomach sinks with every step he takes.

  Chapter Seven

  Tuesday morning dawns crisp and cold, and I groan when my alarm goes off. Crystal called an emergency circle meeting last night to prep for the anchoring spell. I was stuck in the Holloways’ basement until after eleven—a fact that earned me a lecture about appropriate hours on school nights when I got home. Sleep was fitful at best. Although I handled the crystal as much as possible last night and didn’t sense anything dark or ominous about it, a sense of dread lurks at the edges of my mind. I’m still not convinced anchoring to it is the best idea.

  The display on my cell announces I’ve missed several texts from Crystal. I blink a few times to clear my vision enough to read them. They’re all about clothes, including a schedule of the types of outfits appropriate for each day of the week as well as a few suggestions about what I should wear today. I roll my eyes.

  After searching through my closet for a few minutes, I select an outfit that might meet Crystal’s criteria, but when I get to my bathroom, I just stare down at it. I have no interest in putting as much effort into my appearance as Crystal seems to think I require. I catch the eyes of my reflection and an idea flashes in my head: I could do another glamor spell. I laugh at the thought. Wouldn’t that be amazing—not having to worry about doing my hair or makeup or picking the right outfit from my closet, just using magic to make it so? I bite my lower lip. It might be worth it.

  In my mind’s eye, I conjure an image of how I want to look today. I close my eyes and wait for the feeling of warmth to course through me, but it doesn’t happen. I take in a breath and try again. I reach out and connect with the thrum of energy in the things around me—the air, the wind whistling against the windows, the trees in the yard. A tingle begins at the crown of my head and slowly creeps downward. After what feels like minutes, my entire body buzzes with energy and I open my eyes. A giddy bubble rises in my chest. I did it. I spin, admiring the fit of my jeans and the cut of the purple top that hugs my body.

  “I’m never gonna have to buy clothes again,” I murmur.

  By the time I make it to the dining room for breakfast, I’m grinning from ear to ear. Sounds in the kitchen tell me my mom is in there, making breakfast, and the need to see her floods through me. In my head, I’ve accepted she’s here now, part of this reality, but my heart keeps expecting her to disappear. I lean in the doorway, watching as she scrambles eggs. She glances up at me, raising an eyebrow.

  “What?” Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m staring too much, I know I am. But I can’t help it.

  Mom shakes her head. “Nothing. Just usually you’re dressed before you come downstairs.”

  Confused, I look down. I’m still in my pajamas. Somehow, the glamor I cast wore off between my bathroom and the kitchen. The skin on the back of my neck prickles and I look around, grasping for an excuse for my appearance. My eyes land on a pile of shoes by the front door and I cross to them. “I, uh, just wanted to make sure the shoes I wanted to wear were down here,” I say, scanning the pile for a pair that might fit my feet. “I didn’t see them upstairs and—ah.” I rush to the end of the hall and select a pair of ankle-high brown leather boots, setting them off to the side. “Found them. Didn’t want to get dressed and then not be able to find the right shoes.”

  Mom grins from the kitchen doorway. “The horror.”

  I rush back upstairs and pull on the outfit I chose earlier. Why didn’t the glamor hold? I did exactly the same thing I did yesterday, and that spell held until I got home.

  Of course, I know exactly what the difference is: the crystal. I used its energy to cast the spell yesterday. That’s why it was so much easier to cast—and hold—the illusion. It really does make magic easier. Maybe there’s something to the circle’s desire to anchor to it.

  No. Just because I didn’t feel anything last night doesn’t mean I think it would be a good idea to anchor myself to it. What if the power-hungry feelings I had Sunday evening return when I’m linked to the stone—and I can’t turn them off? What if the whole circle feels the same way? We would tear each other apart. It’s not worth the risk.

  It’s clear the others don’t share my opinion. At school, all Cry
stal, Lexie, and Bridget can talk about is the ceremony tonight. Fox brings it up to me once, but when my response doesn’t match his exuberance, he drops the subject.

  The first few hours of the day pass in a haze. At lunch, Fox’s cell buzzes every few minutes, and each time, he picks it up, grins, and replies. A few times, he shows the message to Zane. After about a dozen times, I can’t curb my curiosity. “What’s so funny?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes on the screen as he taps out a reply. “Nothing—it’s just Griffin.” He fixes me with his gaze as he tucks the cell into his back pocket. “It’s slow at the garage and he keeps sending ideas of all the things he won’t ever do again once we anchor to the crystal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He smiles and I find myself smiling back. I bite the inside of my cheek, dropping my gaze to the lunch table. He is not my boyfriend. He might think he is, but that doesn’t make it so.

  “Just simple stuff,” Fox says, his tone still as light as before. “Like he’ll never have to search for the right size wrench—he’ll just use magic to twist off bolts. And he’ll have a never-ending supply of Mountain Dew.”

  I shift on the hard plastic seat. “Can’t he do those things now?”

  Fox’s eyebrows cinch. “You know how much concentration it takes for him to do spells—even simple ones. There’s no way he can focus enough to loosen bolts at work—not with all the noise and stuff around. And, in case you forgot, you’re the only one who’s been able to do a multiplication spell.”

  His cell buzzes again and it’s in his hand in a second. I’m glad for the interruption since I’m not entirely sure how to respond to him. I don’t know exactly what a multiplication spell is, but it probably has nothing to do with math. Could I really make more of something out of thin air, just with magic? And why would I be the only one in the circle who’s been able to do it? Yesterday in the bathroom, Bridget said I was the best at glamors. Am I the best at all magic?