Witch Ways

by Tate, Kristy

  “You don’t sound excited.” He stopped at a streetlight and turned to look at me.

  I flushed. “It’s just, my uncle will probably be there, and Mr. and Mrs. Henderson.” I didn’t want to sound juvenile, but it did seem like a grownup thing.

  He winked right before he put the car in gear. “You can wear a mask so no one will know who you are.”

  “It’s a costume ball, right?”

  He flashed me an impatient look. “So, will you go with me?”

  “Of course.” Because what else could I say? The most beautiful boy at Faith Despaign was asking me to a ball. I just hoped Bree would understand.

  Dylan pulled his car around the back of the theater and cut the engine. The theater was an old brick building with white woodwork. It was like a fashion model—it looked good even from the back alley—despite its age.

  “It was originally the Pringle-Hopkin’s manor house,” Dylan told me as we climbed out of the car.

  The rain had turned to mist, and the faint sun tried to peek through the grayness. I tried to avoid the puddles as we walked up the back steps.

  Dylan pulled the keys from his pocket.

  I hesitated on the porch. I had been in the theater a hundred times, but never alone with a guy. I tried to think of when I’d been alone with a guy—other than Uncle Mitch and my dad—and couldn’t come up with any specific times. Then I thought of Josh, and for some reason, my fingertips tingled.

  I’d been kissed before—hot, sweaty, awkward things at parties or at school dances—and kissing was pretty much a one-on-one experience, but the thought of being alone with Dylan in the cavernous Thornhill Theater made my nerves prickle.

  Dylan took my hand to pull me through the door. Instead of heading for the stage, auditorium, or green room, where I typically spent my time, he led me to the foyer. I had never seen the room empty before. I loved the ornately carved pillars, the wide stairs running to the balcony, the gilded frames on the walls.

  I paused in front of a black and white photo. The plaque beside it read The Thornhill Thespians perform Macbeth, 1933. A woman with white-gold hair caught my eye. She looked like a young Lauren Silver, but it couldn’t be. According to the police report, Lauren was only forty-eight when she died. She wouldn’t even have been born in 1933. Maybe this was her mom, or grandmother even.

  Dylan stood behind me, resting his elbows on my shoulders and his chin on the top of my head, making it really hard for me to think about anything other than his nearness and warmth.

  “Dylan!”

  A female voice made me turn and bump into Dylan.

  He chuckled and took hold of my hand.

  “Mom! Hey, this is Evie, the girl I told you about.”

  He had told his mom about me? When? Why? Up until that day he hadn’t said more than a few words to me. His hand felt warm and strong in mine.

  Mrs. Fox wore black linen pants and a turquoise sweater set, which matched her eyes. She had the same bronze hair as her son, but hers was streaked with gray, which should have made her look old, but didn’t. She smiled at me with warmth, and none of the questions I would have expected.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Evie. I know your grandmother quite well.”

  It was hard to imagine Birdie and this impeccable woman even in the same room, let alone in the same social circles. I thought the same thing about Mrs. Price. I could see Mrs. Fox being about the same age as Mrs. Price, but other than that shared commonality, I couldn’t really see gorgeous Mrs. Fox hanging with frumpy Mrs. Price.

  “I heard you’re playing Dorothy in the fall production,” Mrs. Fox said.

  “Well, not really.” I explained how Bree had fallen and broken her leg and I was just filling in for her, in case she wasn’t able to get the cast off in time.

  “What are you two doing here?” Mrs. Fox asked. She didn’t sound accusing—just merely curious—as if leaving the school grounds and poking around an old theater was an everyday thing. But then, I didn’t know, maybe for Dylan it was. Maybe he brought lots of girls here.

  “Evie wants to make the school newspaper and to do that she needs to write a killer article.”

  “And you thought—” Mrs. Fox got a bright look in her eye.

  “Yeah,” Dylan said, not letting her finish.

  I was missing something. Something important.

  “Come here, Evie, let me show you this.” Mrs. Fox walked over to a stage shot taken in 1989. The plaque read The Thornhill Thespians, Cats.

  “Recognize anyone?” Dylan asked.

  It was really hard, given the cat costumes, lavish makeup and bouffant hair, but I did pick out a very young and very beautiful Mrs. Fox. “That’s you.” I pointed her out.

  “Very good. Recognize anyone else?”

  I scanned the photo. “And that’s Lauren Silver, the woman who was murdered.”

  “Now do you see why you can write a killer article?” Dylan asked.

  “But I thought the police have already arrested the murderer.”

  “But have they really?” Mrs. Fox asked. “I know you were much too young to have ever heard about Laurie and the Thornhill Thespians. And of course, so are most of the kids at your high school.”

  “That’s why this would make such a killer article,” Dylan said.

  I didn’t like the way he kept repeating the word killer.

  A door opened and closed. Muted voices sounded backstage.

  Mrs. Fox glanced at her phone. “The members of the historical society are here. We have a meeting. You need to show her the basement where most of the renovations are happening.” She looked up and smiled at me. “Dylan, why don’t you bring Evie over to the house sometime? We can chat then.” Putting her hand on my shoulder, she gave it a small squeeze. “You’ll be a wonderful witch.”

  I corrected her. “I’m Dorothy . . . or a Munchkin, really.”

  She gave me a warm smile before turning away. “Let’s talk real soon.”

  Dylan bumped me with his shoulder after his mom had disappeared. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To the basement, of course.”

  “Do we have time?”

  “Would it kill you to miss fifth period?”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  He sighed. “Then we’ll be fast. Come on. It’s actually pretty cool.”

  He told me about the crumbling foundation as we headed down the wooden stairs. “To keep the structure from sagging, they’re driving giant pylons into the ground.” He grinned. “I sound like I know what I’m talking about, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Good, because I really don’t. My dad sometimes sends me over here to make sure the contractors are doing what they’re supposed to be doing.” He led me to a door at the back of the stage. A cold wind blew up the stairs when he pulled open the door. He flipped a switch and a light bulb dangling from the ceiling flickered on.

  “It’s weird to think this used to be someone’s home,” I said as I trailed after Dylan.

  “There’s still some of the Thornhill’s things in the attic and basement,” Dylan said. “I wish we had time to poke through it.”

  “I wonder when it was converted into a theater.”

  “Back in the eighties. I think Hugh Thornhill was the last of his family and he paid for the renovations. Unfortunately, the house’s foundation wasn’t strong enough to hold so many people at one time. I think they’re about ready for the pylons. At least the jackhammering has mostly stopped.”

  We reached the hard packed dirt floor. Jackhammers and what I thought must be other excavation tools lay scattered. Giant, gaping holes dotted the floor.

  “The guys must be at lunch,” Dylan said.

  I inched toward a hole and peered into it. I couldn’t even see the bottom.

  “Careful,” Dylan said, taking hold of my arm and drawing me to him. “You don’t want to fall.” He lowered his lips to mine in a gentle kiss. Pulling away, he rested his forehead on mine. “I
already have, and I can tell you it’s dangerous.”

  * * *

  **Science of Getting Rich, Wattles, Wallace D.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I don’t know what to do,” I confided to Court the next day before calculus. “I tell Bree everything. She’ll flip if she thinks Dylan has a thing for me. She’s been in love with him for weeks.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one he invited to the ball!” she whispered back. Then she broke out in giggles. “Talking about balls makes me feel like Cinderella.”

  “I know, right?”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “My grandmother has an attic full of old clothes and stuff. I’m sure I’ll find something there. If not, I can ask my neighbor if I can borrow a dress from the theater’s costumes.”

  Court squeezed my hand. “I can’t believe you’re going out with Dylan Fox!”

  “Shh!” I looked around at the nearly deserted classroom. We had ten minutes before the bell would ring, and most of the chairs were still empty. The teacher stood at the front of the room, scratching calculations on the board. “We’re not going out!”

  “You went to the theater and now you’re going to the ball. That’s going out.”

  “Bree will kill me when she finds out.”

  “She doesn’t have to.”

  “She will. Her brother is practically Dylan’s bestie.”

  “Okay—it’s important for you to know guys don’t have besties.”

  “Beasty, then.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “Either way, I have to tell her before she finds out from Josh—or worse—Dylan.”

  Ryan came in and slammed his books on the desk beside me, making me jump. He grinned at my reaction.

  “Hey, when are we going to play tennis?” Court asked him.

  Ryan shrugged. Beneath his blazer he wore a shirt covered with red flowers and women in hula skirts. It would have looked girly on anyone else, but on him it simply reminded me of warmer weather. I looked outside at the drizzly sky.

  “Want to meet at the club?” Ryan asked.

  Court raised her eyebrows at me.

  “I still need shoes,” I said. “I can probably get some after school.”

  “Tomorrow, then?” Ryan asked.

  #

  When I told Bree Dylan had asked me to go with him to the Thornhill Thespians’ Ball, her face turned the color of snow, which looked kind of funny, because it made her freckles really stand out. Then she turned bright red.

  We stood in the aisle of Big James Sporting Goods Store. I held a box with a pair of tennis shoes in my hand.

  Bree looked as if she wanted to beat me with her crutches. “How could you?” she hissed.

  “I didn’t ask him to ask me!”

  “But you didn’t say no!” She leaned forward and peered into my eyes. “Do you like him?”

  I thought about Dylan’s kiss and didn’t say anything.

  Bree clomped away with a huff.

  Josh rounded the corner. “Evie? Something wrong in Evie-Breedom?”

  “No.” I choked out the word.

  “Liar.” He looked serious. “Dylan told me he asked you out.”

  I nodded.

  “And you’re going?”

  “Really none of your business, Josh Henderson.”

  He flinched. “Yeah, I know. But hey, you have to be nice to me.”

  “Why?” I was tired of all things Henderson.

  “I’m your ride home.” He flipped the van keys in his hand. “You about ready to go?”

  “I guess,” I said limply as I walked to the checkout line. “Do you know where Bree went?”

  “I think she’s crying over by the sports bras, which is really just a poor choice.” He glanced over his shoulder. “She probably thinks no guys are going to see her there. But she’s wrong. Guys like to walk through the sports bra section.”

  I rolled my eyes, knowing he was trying to make me feel better, but sort of hating him for it. “I feel awful,” I told him.

  “You should,” he said.

  I snorted.

  “I’m serious. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be your friend?”

  “Thanks a lot, Josh!”

  “I’m serious,” he repeated. “For one thing, you’re gorgeous. For another, you’re crazy smart.”

  “Why does that sound more like an accusation than a compliment?”

  He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “You can buy whatever you want. You have a bank account no one even monitors.”

  “Bree’s prettier than me,” I said, standing up for her.

  “Bree’s cute, but she’s not you.”

  “Thank you?”

  “I’m not flattering you. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Should I not go with him?”

  Josh’s shoulders slumped and he looked out the window at the rainy sky. “You should do what you want to do. Even if you didn’t go with him, he’d probably still like you anyway.” Josh flipped his keys one last time. “I’ll get Bree and meet you at the car.”

  “Just the shoes?” the guy at the cash register asked.

  I nodded and pulled out my credit card.

  Neither Bree nor Josh spoke to me all the way home, and when I got out of the car, only Josh said good-bye.

  #

  I stood in the center of the indoor court grasping a tennis racquet with my arms outstretched. Dylan had his arms around me, his hands wrapped around mine.

  “Keep your arms straight,” he said into my ear. His breath sent warm tingles down my back. “Like this.” He guided my movement. “Think of your arms as being an extension of the racquet. Now picture where you want the ball to go. Do you see where you want it to land?”

  I picked out a spot on the green rubber and nodded.

  He looked up and over the net at Court. “K, turn it on.”

  The machine whizzed on. One ball shot at me. Then another. I tried not to cringe.

  Dylan stepped away. “Turn it off.”

  After giving me a disappointed look, Court flipped the switch.

  “You gotta learn to play in the zone,” Dylan told me. “Tennis is a head game, all sports are.”

  “But first I have to learn to hit the ball.”

  He grinned. “You’ll catch on.” Taking my hand, he led me to the backboard. “Try rallying here, like this.”

  He showed me how to hit the ball against the backboard. I know he wanted me to watch his forehand and backhand moves, but I was way more interested in how his muscles rippled as he moved lightning fast after the ball.

  I mimicked him the best I could, but it took me several tries before I actually hit the ball. Court and Ryan started a game while Dylan kept yelling to keep my arm straight and my eyes on the ball. All around us, balls ping-ponged back and forth over the nets, but when two men in dark suits walked in, the balls stopped and a hush fell over the crowd.

  Court ran over to our side of the net and Ryan followed. He wore Hawaiian clothes even when playing tennis.

  “Those guys are seriously overdressed,” Ryan whispered, nodding at the two men at the opposite side of the courts.

  “I think they’re police,” Dylan said. “You can tell by the way they walk.”

  “Seriously?” Court asked, raising an eyebrow.

  They pulled their badges from their pockets. I saw the flash of silver even across the club courts.

  “What do you think they what?” I asked.

  “They’re investigating Loony Laurie’s murder,” Ryan said.

  Court elbowed him. “Don’t call her that. She’s dead. Show some respect.”

  “But I thought they caught the murderer,” I said.

  Dylan shook his head. “I told you.”

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “Ted Hale, a guy on the tennis team, belongs to the junior ranger program—rides around with the police officers. He said there was a pair of tennis shoes at the crime scene, but th
ey disappeared. I bet that’s why they’re here. They’re looking for the red shoes.”

  I sat down on the bench. Stretching my legs in front of me, I studied my new shoes. No one would link Court’s shoes to me or to Court.

  “They think whoever took the shoes is probably the murderer,” Dylan said.

  “Are you okay?” Court asked me. “You look funny.”

  “My head is not in this game,” I said.

  #

  I knew I had to get rid of the shoes, but how? Bury them? Fill them with cement and drop them in the river? Burn them? I decided to put them in the giant pit in the basement of the theater. They’d sink into the black pit. Eventually, cement would cover them. Hopefully, no one would find them and link them to the shoes missing from Lauren Silver’ murder scene.

  Around midnight, I slipped out of bed. Amber watched me with her orange eyes. Scratch just grunted in his sleep. Tying the laces of the shoes in a knot, I draped them around my neck, and then pulled my black hoodie over my head. I crept down the stairs. Outside, I cast a cautious look at Uncle Mitch’s room. It was pitch black. His snores rumbled through the window.

  I sprinted across the lawn, but stopped short when I saw a light flickering in the Hendersons’ yard. I darted behind a tree to watch Bree.

  She had a yellow candle in her hand. Softly, she began to chant.

  “Oh Mother Earth and Father Sun,

  Set me free of this beloved one,

  Remove his power and crippling hold,

  That I may dwell in peace alone.”

  I sat beneath the maple tree waiting for Bree to go back in her house and go to bed. Where had she found the spell? The Internet, I decided. But she couldn’t really believe in spells and magic, could she? Did she really believe Dylan liked me because of the love elixir? I found that insulting—and yet possible, if not probable.

  Bree sat staring into the flame, and as I watched her I realized she intended to stay there until the candle melted into a puddle of wax. And since I didn’t want to risk getting caught by her, I sat tight, cold and sad.