Spell Fire (The Teen Wytche Saga)

by Ariella Moon

  "Well, I at least owe you lunch." I leaned against the counter. "So. Dragons and fire fortunes. Guess I won't need to unpack my vampire stake."

  His eyes lit up with mock mischief. "Did you bring one?"

  "Nah. Too hard to sneak past airport security."

  "Still want to know your future?"

  I glanced at the crystal ball. The only good future I could imagine was one where Sophia was unharmed and Mom and Dad stayed together and we lived happily ever after, or at least until I left for college. Which meant, statistically, there were more possible bad outcomes than possible good outcomes.

  So for now… "No, thanks."

  Chapter Eleven

  They didn't call.

  My parents had promised they would call Sunday morning. I waited. I didn't take a shower in case the phone rang and Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun didn't hear it.

  No word. Not one word. Maybe they had left a message on my cell. It would never occur to them I had forgotten it.

  Their flight to Rio might have crashed or maybe their ship sank. Maybe they'd forgotten about me. If they had forgotten, was it because they were too busy having a good time, or a horrible time? Had they already decided to divorce and didn't want it to slip out over the phone? As if my Christmas wasn't already ruined.

  I blinked back tears and fled to the bathroom. Fine. I don't care if they divorce. As long they are okay and I can still attend Athenian Academy and afford college. Using the back of my wrist, I levered on the faucet, and cool water streamed out. I twirled the bar of soap between my hands, raising slick lavender-scented bubbles between my fingers.

  My parents are fine. They're fine. They're fine. When I get my phone back, I'll find lots of messages. Miss-you-love-bug messages. Don't-worry-Ains messages. Hope-you-are-taking-your-meds-sweetie messages. I rinsed, and then started over, scrubbing up to my elbows. Water splashed over the edge of the speckled counter and dripped onto my bare feet. I rinsed again. Then, just in case the phone rang, I forced myself to place the soap back in the ceramic dragon dish and dried off.

  I can't control my parents. I can't control my OCD. I can't do anything about my French and Drama grades. But I can control one thing about the future — my other grades. Slipping back into the small bedroom, I stuffed The Scarlet Letter into my backpack beside my chemistry textbook, almanac, and binder. I needed merit scholarships. They were divorce-proof.

  I checked the alarm clock on the bedside table, and all hope drained out of me. The window of opportunity had passed for my parents to call. They were either on the second leg of their flight to Rio or already onboard the ship. I couldn't remember which, and their itinerary was on my laptop.

  Cement and sand replaced the blood flowing in my veins. I eyed the bed. Don't do it. You'll end up like before, huddled in the fetal position, unable to move. Then how will you convince anyone you are mentally stable?

  I needed a cell phone. I needed to text Jazmin. I needed Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun to not work today so we could shop for a cell phone.

  Aunt Terra hunched over the faux Queen Anne dining table, her arm knee-deep in her handbag. "Okay if I tag along with you to Spiral Journeys?" I asked. "Maybe I could take Jett out to lunch. You know, thank him for helping me out yesterday." Pay my debt. Talk to someone my age.

  A delighted smile lit Aunt Terra's face. "We would love to have you join us. We weren't sure after yesterday—"

  "Did you think a little dragon episode would scare me off?" As if.

  "Of course not. We just didn't want to push."

  Uncle Esmun emerged from their bedroom and joined us. "Told you she and Jett would get along." He beamed. "Jett breaks for lunch at one, so you'll be just in time.

  Since it appeared Jett hadn't told them about the wager, I didn't either. Why burst Uncle Esmun's bliss bubble? "I know you're super swamped, but sometime when you're free, could we stop somewhere and buy a cell phone? I accidentally left mine and my laptop at home."

  "Oh dear." Aunt Terra said.

  "Mom gave me money for emergencies," I added, in case they thought I expected them to pay for the phone. "I just want a cheap disposable one so I can stay in touch with everyone."

  Aunt Terra extricated her keys out of her handbag and jangled them. "Of course. We'll figure something out."

  "Thanks." I hoped something entailed getting me to a store after work today.

  "And I promise," Aunt Terra added, "we'll make time before you leave to do some fun things."

  "Don't worry about entertaining me. I know this is the busiest time of the year for retailers. And my visit was totally last minute."

  I dashed back to my room for my handbag and backpack, and followed them outside. The dragonfly thermometer mounted outside my sliding glass door read seventy degrees. Blue sky peeked through the white latticework roof sheltering the courtyard. I shook my head. Is it truly December? Once we were beyond the mesh gate, a cool breeze sluiced over my bare ankles and toes and deposited fine particles of sand onto my flip-flops. As I climbed into the dusty backseat of the ancient Datsun, I imagined Jazmin slogging through rain on her way to the cafeteria.

  We headed out of town, across the desert flatlands. To tune out the Christmas songs on the car radio, I closed my eyes and pretended I was rocketing through the galactic void. When I was deep into my daydream of commanding the space shuttle, Aunt Terra shattered my reverie. Her painfully off-key rendition of "White Christmas" sounded so much like Mom's, a fresh meteor shower of homesickness crashed over me.

  A picture jumped into my mind from Christmas three years ago. Mom and Dad had invited their friends and colleagues to a huge open house at the mansion. At one point, the party had migrated to the music room. Some guy from Dad's office had started playing Christmas carols on the grand piano. I'd loitered in the adjoining living room, mortified by Mom's tone-deaf singing. Dad hadn't minded. He had slipped his arm around her waist. She was enjoying herself. Nothing else mattered.

  It seemed so long ago. I tried to mentally return to deep space and the silence of the cosmos, but failed.

  I opened my eyes. We had reached the long, flat basin rimmed by distant brown mountains, some dusted with snow. The road bisected the desert. I wondered what lurked among the barrel cactuses, saguaros, and acres of sand. Just thinking about the creepy crawlies prickled my skin.

  Aunt Terra twisted in the front passenger seat so she half-faced me. "Sundays are our Psychic Sampler day. Readings are fifteen minutes and free. Of course, love donations are accepted."

  "White Christmas" ended on the radio, supplanted by "Jingle Bell Rock." I leaned forward in my seat. "They're free? Do you get a portion of the love donations?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Then how do you make any money on the deal?"

  Aunt Terra blinked twice. Maybe I had overstepped some invisible economic boundary. "The Sampler brings people into the store. Increased foot traffic should lead to increased sales."

  "Yes," I began.

  "Watch it, sweetheart," Uncle Esmun warned Aunt Terra. "I sense there be a 'but' coming up." Uncle Esmun's eyes glittered when he glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

  "But the readers get a great opportunity to build their client base," I said. "After all, don't you publicize them on your website and email list?"

  "Yes." Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun shared a sideways glance. The car began its tortured ascent up a long, steep grade.

  "They're getting lots of free publicity." I argued. "You should charge them a fee."

  Aunt Terra said, "One of your Mom's Christmas letters mentioned you had interned at a fancy department store."

  "Yes, Lohan's." I settled back in the seat. "I learned a lot about marketing."

  "I can tell." Aunt Terra's gaze swept up to her husband. "Let's bring this up at the board meeting."

  "We'll have a mutiny on our hands," Uncle Esmun predicted.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because most of our board members are readers."

  "Oh." I fell
silent and made a mental note to discover more about the board's role. Dad would handle such an obstacle by clearing house. I could imagine him doing his finger snap, followed by an emphatic point as he said, "Dissolve the board or override them."

  We entered Yucca Valley and passed car dealerships and house-like storefronts with window signs advertising palm readers, psychics, and tarot readings. The ancient car chugged up to the front of Spiral Journeys and seemed relieved when Uncle Esmun parked and cut the motor. The three of us piled out. Once inside Spiral Journeys, I scanned the store, keeping my gaze low to avoid the mural. Two purple-draped card tables and a massage table crowded the sales floor.

  I lowered my voice. "Are those your readers?"

  "Yep. A new crop will take over in an hour." Uncle Esmun rocked on his heels. "That's Hazel." He indicated a short, stocky, white-haired woman at the premium table nearest the entrance.

  Hazel warned the sixty-something gay guy at her table, "Dire happenings are on your horizon. You should book a full session with me." She handed him a business card. "I'm concerned for your well-being. Here's my number. My rates are listed on my website."

  "Does she rent space in the back?" I whispered in Aunt Terra's ear.

  "No. Hazel sees people at her house."

  I threw Aunt Terra my sternest what-are-you-thinking stare, which is usually reserved for freshman members of the Performing Arts technical crew. The guy at Hazel's table left the store empty-handed and visibly worried. A muscular crew-cut guy I figured was stationed at Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center sat down in the vacant seat.

  "Over there is Cerelia." Uncle Esmun angled his head toward the middle of the store, where a henna-haired, middle-aged woman wearing a constant smile and flowing garb revealed tarot cards for a mother-daughter duo. Three people waited in her line. Thor manned the massage table. He held a pendulum over his prone client. His line consisted of two middle-aged women and three teenage girls. The latter whispered in each other's ears and covered their mouths with their hands whenever a nervous giggle escaped.

  "Other stores charge twenty to thirty dollars an hour to rent space, plus an extra fee for website support," I said.

  They blinked at me as though I had grown a third eye. Uncle Esmun shook his head. "She must favor her dad's side of the family."

  "Thank the Goddess!" Aunt Terra raised her arm for a high five. Our palms slapped. I beamed back at them. Suddenly, the world seemed less lonely.

  ****

  "Be back by two," Aunt Terra called after Jett as we left Spiral Journeys for lunch. "I'll need you on the floor during the board meeting."

  "No problem," Jett assured her.

  We walked past a consignment store, a gas station, and an artist collective. "Does Hazel always end her readings with dire predictions?" I asked.

  "Pretty much." Jett stopped in front of an orchid-colored door with a driftwood handle.

  Great. Hippieville. "Gives new meaning to the term 'scare up customers,'" I said, my voice dripping with disgust. Five people were lined up ahead of us to place their orders, a good sign.

  Jett snorted. A ceiling fan painted to look like palm fronds stood idle above us as we read the menu painted on the wall. Finally, we reached the counter waitress.

  "Hey, Morningstar." Jett greeted the wholesome-looking, ponytailed brunette as if she was his best friend. If she had been four years younger, I might have thought she was his girlfriend.

  "Hey, Jett." Her olive tee shirt brought out the green in her eyes. Her gaze swung to me, and her silver spirit dancer earrings grazed her jaw. "Who's your friend?" she asked Jett.

  "This is Ainslie. She's Terra and Esmun's niece."

  "Girl, how you be?" she asked in a smiling, dead-on imitation of Uncle Esmun.

  I totally melted. "I be well. Thanks."

  "What can I get for you?" She held her pen over a small flip pad.

  I glanced back at the Sand Bar listings. "One Moon Dust Smoothie." Then I spied the huge brownies piled in a pyramid atop a glass cake stand. "And one of those."

  "Nothing else?" Jett asked. "Just a smoothie and dessert?"

  "I'm stuffed. Uncle Esmun made omelets for breakfast. But order whatever you want."

  "You sure?"

  "Ye-e-ah." I drew out the word for emphasis. "Besides, my parents gave me money to cover my gambling debts."

  "Right. 'Cause you're such a wild thing." His dimples showed. To Morningstar he said, "A portabella mushroom with bacon and cheese on a whole-wheat bun, please."

  "You got it, handsome."

  We migrated to an unoccupied rickety green table, scraped back a couple of chairs, and sat. Sunlight angled in from high, dusty windows. The warmth seeped into me, melting away some of the morning's tension. I picked at the plastic wrap encasing the brownie.

  "I hate shrink wrap. No one can open those things." Jett's fingers brushed mine as he fumbled for an edge to peel back. "If I open it first, you have to share," he half-joked.

  "No way!" I tried to slide the brownie away from him, but he was quick and nimble-fingered. We grappled, four hands wrestling, fingers bumping, entwining. Within seconds, I was breathless from the tussle and buzzing from the crazy mojo sparking off Jett.

  "You have your own food!" I protested.

  His long fingers picked at the plastic. "Not yet."

  "Hey!" I laughed and grabbed Jett's hand. He escaped my grasp, so I captured his wrist. My thumb pressed against the angry crosshatch scars. Energy twitched beneath his skin. Random, short-circuited pulses struck my flesh like electric shocks.

  "You going to eat the brownie or demolish it?" Morningstar asked.

  We glanced up at her, then both let go, me of Jett's wrist, he of the now crumbled brownie still encased in plastic.

  Jett dimpled. "Both."

  "Hah!" I dragged the brownie toward me. My fingers burned from Jett's jittery energy. I thought back to the magazine quizzes Jazmin and I adored. They covered issues like, "Are You a Good Kisser?" and "Are You in an Abusive Relationship?" but not this. Though the weird energy and cut marks felt like a red flag, I pushed them to the back burner of my brain.

  Morningstar handed me my smoothie and placed Jett's plate on the table. "No food fights, children."

  "Yes, ma'am" we said in unison.

  Our jaws dropped. "Jinx!"

  "Double jinx!"

  Morningstar shook her head, then walked away.

  Jett plowed into his mushroom steak like he hadn't eaten in days.

  "Well, that was mature of us," I said.

  Jett, his mouth full, raised his hand for a high five. I hesitated, then thudded my hand against his. He resumed eating, and I fumbled for the bottle of hand sanitizer stashed in my handbag. Keeping my hands beneath the table, I squirted a cool dollop of the clear, gelatinous liquid onto my hand. The unmistakable smell of disinfectant sharpened the air. Jett's nostrils flared, but he didn't comment.

  "Your school gets out awfully early," Jett said after he had eaten half the mushroom sandwich in three alligator bites.

  I dropped the sanitizer bottle into my handbag and squirmed. "It's still in session." I grasped the smoothie straw between my thumb and forefinger. The Winter Showcase had debuted without me. I had no idea how Jazmin's guitar solo had gone or if Rayne had remembered all the set changes. I wondered with whom Jazmin would go Kwanzaa shopping at the mall.

  Jett paused mid-bite. Behind his curtain of hair, I'm sure he raised his dark brows.

  I shrugged. "My parents pulled me out early so they could go on a cruise."

  "Seriously? Just the two of them?"

  I tapped the straw against the bottom of the glass. "They're trying to decide whether or not to divorce."

  Jett resumed chewing. Once he had swallowed, he gestured toward the brownie and gently said, "Let me open it for you."

  I slid the chocolate brick toward him. This time, he made short work of peeling back the plastic before handing back the dessert, the plastic cupped in his hands like an offering.
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  "Taste," he commanded.

  I plucked one of the larger crumbs and placed it in my mouth. Highest-grade butter, premium chocolate, and sugar danced across my taste buds. "Wow!"

  Jett dimpled again and sliced his hand through the air parallel with the table. "The best in the world, totally addictive. By the end of your stay, we'll have to enroll you in a ten-step program."

  "So worth it."

  "On the upside, chocolate will flood your veins, making you immune to boys named Thor."

  I laughed, spitting precious brownie crumbs onto the table.

  Jett flicked them at me. "You're a classy date."

  "Totally." I used a napkin to brush the crumbs onto another napkin. "We should do this again sometime."

  Jett crunched into a pickle. "What? Act like third graders?"

  "No. Go on an actual date. Maybe sometime when Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun are teaching an evening class. My treat. I owe you for introducing me to these brownies."

  He stared at me a moment, his expression unfathomable, and then he lowered the last bite of his mushroom to the white plate. "No. I don't think so."

  "You don't date?"

  "Nothing personal."

  I swallowed hard, pushing down a week's worth of rejection. I curled my lips inward and pressed them together so I wouldn't cry over parents who forgot to call and some trailer park jerk that thought he was too good for me.

  I was beyond humiliated.

  I was beyond crying.

  I was furious.

  Chapter Twelve

  An invisible wall of hurt prevented our shoulders from touching as Jett and I navigated the narrow, sand-pocked sidewalk. Cars sped past, spewing noxious fumes. I steeled myself for one more endless block until we reached Spiral Journeys.

  No? Nothing personal? Is he serious?

  My flip-flops slapped my feet with each step. I pulled myself as erect as possible, as if perfect posture were armor against mortification. I needed my high heels. I needed to be taller. I needed to be impervious. I needed to not be stuck at Spiral Journeys with Jett for the next ninety minutes.