“Why is Crystal Jamison watching you?” Lexie’s neck is craned around in the direction I’m looking.
A knot ties itself in the pit of my stomach. “I think I’m already on her bad side.” I turn my attention back to our lunch table.
Lexie stares at Crystal a moment longer before turning back as well. “She’s only got a bad side.”
“Really?”
She nods. “Think of crossing her as a rite of passage. You’re officially initiated into Clearwater High.”
I smile. “I guess that makes me feel a little better. I thought she just hated me because I spilled her coffee.”
Lexie’s eyes go wide. “Oh, you’re the one who spilled her coffee?” She holds up her hand and, after a moment, I bring my hand up to meet her high five.
“That’s how Owen and I met, actually. Her coffee spilled all over my shirt and he offered me his hoodie to cover it up.”
“Such a gentleman.” A guy with artfully disheveled blond hair settles down in the seat beside Owen, placing his lunch tray down in front of him. He fixes his warm brown eyes on me and smiles. “Coffee Girl. Excellent.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “Coffee Girl? Is that what they’re calling me?”
“West, this is Krissa,” Owen says, nodding toward me. “Krissa Barnette, West Harmon.”
West reaches across the table and I take his hand. The palm is warm and his grip is firm. His eyebrows are heavy, giving him a brooding look, even though he’s smiling at me. “I think we’re in first hour together. It’s nice to officially meet you, Krissa. Anyone who pisses off Crystal Jamison so thoroughly is a friend of mine.”
I force a smile. “Is she really that upset? I mean, it was an accident. I apologized.”
West waves off my concern. “She’ll get over it. She just loves the drama of it all.”
A girl with black hair cut in a severe bob sits down on Lexie’s other side. “Drama? Let me guess: We’re talking about Crystal Jamison?”
West laughs. “How’d you know?” He gestures toward the girl. “Krissa, this is Bria Tate. Bria, this is Coffee Girl.”
Bria fixes her gaze on me and I’m taken aback by the amount of eyeliner surrounding her eyes. It’s heavy and dark, making her look almost menacing. But she smiles, revealing a dimple and a gap between her front teeth. She salutes me and, unsure of what else to do, I salute back. She laughs. “Good move with the coffee. She’s been out of sorts all day.”
I bite my lower lip. “It’s not like I planned to do it.”
“Still.” Bria stabs her salad with a plastic fork.
The eyes are still prickling me, but I don’t want to turn around. I look at Owen. “Is she still watching me?”
Owen nods.
“Probably trying to figure out how to exact her revenge,” West says. “What do you think, Lexie? A little eye of newt, toe of hamster?”
Bria titters with laughter and Owen groans and shakes his head. I look at Lexie. “What does he mean?”
“Not this again,” Owen mutters.
Lexie throws a fry at him. “Don’t listen to Owen. He’s an unbeliever.”
Owen snorts. “Don’t listen to Lexie. She’s delusional.”
“If by delusional you mean completely correct.” Lexie turns to me. “Crystal Jamison is a witch.”
It takes a moment for her words to register, and even when they do, it takes me a moment to process them. I watch Lexie’s face, waiting for a tell that she’s joking, but she appears entirely serious. “Wait. Witches?” A laugh escapes my lips. “Like, spells and magic and—like, witches?” Another laugh bubbles up within me and I smile hesitantly. “Yeah, right. You really had me going there for a second.”
Lexie and West exchange glances. “What’s so funny?”
I shake my head. “Witches aren’t real. Not, like, magic witches.”
But even as I say the words, something tugs at the back of my mind. What about what happened to me last night when I put on my dad’s old ring? Or all the times when I get upset and things happen? Or when I know what someone’s thinking? The thoughts bubble to the forefront of my mind, and I press my lips together to keep from speaking them aloud.
“She’s not joking,” Owen says. “She seriously thinks Crystal and her friends are witches.”
I look at Bria for confirmation, but she just shrugs. This motion isn’t lost on Lexie, who gives an exasperated sigh. “Come on, guys. Do we need to go over the evidence again?”
“Evidence?” I ask. “Does she usually wear a pointy hat?”
Lexie shakes her head. “Look, loathe as I am to admit it, I do have a little bit of special insight into Crystal.”
I wait for her to go on, but her mouth puckers, like she’s tasting something sour.
Owen leans across the table. “What Lexie’s trying to say is that she used to be really close with Crystal.”
“So, what? They used to be friends?”
“More than that,” Owen says. “They’re cousins.”
Lexie’s eyes narrow at the word but she doesn’t deny it. “Summer before ninth grade, she started getting all weird. She got convinced there was something special about the descendants of the founding families—”
“The founding families?”
West nods. “Yeah—you know, the families that first settled here in Clearwater?”
I shake my head. “And I should know this… why?”
His eyes narrow in confusion. “Because you’re from one of them.”
I look to Owen, who nods. “Yeah—there’s a handful of the founding families still around. Some have died out or moved away. You’re from one. So is Lexie. Crystal, of course. Bridget Burke, Felix Wolfe. Mrs. Cole.”
“Wait—Mrs. Cole? The principal?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s not really a big deal—unless you’re Lexie.”
Lexie clears her throat. “Unless you’re Crystal. I’m telling you, she’s convinced being a member of a founding family is really important.” For a moment, it looks like Lexie won’t go on, but she finally turns to me, taking in a deep breath. “Summer before freshman year, she found some stuff that used to belong to our aunt, Crystal Taylor. The original Crystal. Like, an old diary and some jewelry or something. But after that, she started acting weird—you know, spending long hours at the library weird. She got joined at the hip with Bridget, even though the two barely spoke all through middle school.”
I chew on my lower lip. Making a new friend hardly seems like cause for concern. “And how does this get you to her being a witch?”
Lexie sighs. “It’s not just that. My dad’s told me some stuff about his sister—Crystal Taylor. See, before she died, my dad’s family was all one big happy, you know? Crystal was the kid sister both he and Crystal Jamison’s mom doted on. But all that changed after my grandfather died. My aunt Crystal got all weird and started keeping to herself. She dumped a bunch of her friends and started hanging out with a new group. Apparently she got obsessed with the idea of the founding families. Is this sounding familiar? My dad thinks she got involved in something that was too much for her and it got her killed. He thinks that something might have been magic.”
I suppress a shiver. Whether or not the words are true, Lexie is good at spinning the tale. “How’d she die?”
“A fire. My grandma was out of town visiting relatives. My dad says the official story is my aunt Crystal lit some candles and fell asleep and something caught fire. But he says he doesn’t buy that. A couple months earlier, before he went off to college, he caught her trying out some incantations or something. He thinks she started messing with something she didn’t understand.”
A bell sounds and I jump. West and Bria laugh as they stand up, taking their empty lunch trays with them. They call goodbye to everyone—to me, too—before disappearing into the crowd to head for their next class. Neither Lexie nor Owen leaves and it strikes me that they’re waiting for me so we can all go together. Something swells in my chest and I can’t suppre
ss a smile as I stand to discard my garbage.
Owen walks beside me as we join the surge of students. “So, what do you think about Lexie’s story?”
I shrug. “It’s interesting, I guess. But I’m not sure how much I believe.”
Lexie appears on my other side, shaking her head. “With the kind of store your aunt runs, I didn’t think you’d be this close-minded.”
Owen bumps my shoulder with his, nodding in Lexie’s direction. “I bet you didn’t think Lexie’d be this crazy.”
I force a smile, but something in Lexie’s words strikes me. Am I being close-minded? After the things that have been happening around me, the things I’ve done, can I really rule out the idea of witches so quickly?
Another thought enters my mind so fast it takes my breath away: What if Crystal and her friends can do the things I can do? What if I am a witch?
I shake my head to dispel the notion. It’s ridiculous.
Isn’t it?
Chapter Six
Eyes follow me for the rest of the day, but if Crystal Jamison is thinking of getting back at me for the coffee incident, her revenge plans are still in the conception phase. After the final bell, I go to my locker. Owen is already there.
“You really are stalking me, aren’t you?” I duck my head as I spin the dial, hoping to hide the smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.
Owen leans against the locker beside mine, a grin stretched across his face. “I’m just looking out for my sweatshirt.”
My fingers go to the hem of the shirt, but I’m reluctant to remove it. In addition to still being coffee-stained underneath, I like the feeling of the material on my skin. Biting my lower lip, I return my hands to the business of collecting the night’s necessities. I slam the locker and turn to Owen. He’s still smiling.
“So, you got plans this afternoon?” he asks as we start down the hall.
My stomach twists, but the feeling is not unpleasant. Why does he want to know? Does he want to invite me to do something? Or is he just making polite small talk? “I’m not sure. Jodi’s picking me up and I think we’re going to hang out at the shop for a bit.” I almost tag Why? to the end of my statement, but the word sticks in my throat.
We head down the stairs. “So, are you gonna be helping Jodi at the shop now? Every day?” Owen asks.
I shrug. “We haven’t really discussed it.”
“Because I drive by there on my way home. I could drop you off—you know, so Jodi doesn’t have to leave to get you.”
He holds the door open for me and we step out into the crisp October air. I lead the way to the street in front of the school, where Jodi parked this morning. Her silver Ford Focus is nowhere in sight.
Owen shifts beside me—I haven’t responded to his offer. “It’d be nice for you to drop me off. I’ll talk with Jodi about it, okay?”
Relief sweeps over his features and it strikes me that he’s been tense during this whole exchange. A jolt of energy courses through me.
A horn honks and Jodi’s car pulls up in front of me. The passenger window rolls down and Jodi leans over to it. “Hey, Kristyl. Does your friend need a ride?”
Owen touches my elbow. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nods in Jodi’s direction and heads for the parking lot.
I watch him go until he disappears into the crowd of people swarming the lot. When I slide into the passenger seat, Jodi’s eyes are on me, her eyebrows raised. I click my seatbelt in place, heat rising in my cheeks.
Jodi puts the car in gear and pulls away from the curb. “Were you wearing that sweatshirt this morning?”
I clap my hand to my forehead. “No—it’s Owen’s. I forgot to give it back to him.”
“Something tells me he won’t mind.” Jodi smiles as she turns a corner. “That was Owen Marsh, wasn’t it?”
Does everyone know everyone in this town? “Yeah. He lent me his sweatshirt after I got coffee all over my shirt—long story.”
Jodi takes my cue and doesn’t ask me to elaborate. In minutes, we drive over a small river and arrive at what Jodi refers to as “downtown,” which looks like three blocks’ worth of small stores, plus a gas station. The storefronts are all painted muted, natural tones—sea green, pale blue, storm gray. There are a couple pairs of women pushing strollers, and a few people walking leashed dogs. A few knots of high school students lounge outside the coffee shop. A restaurant’s outside dining area spills onto the sidewalk and the tables are populated with people ranging in age from early twenties to late seventies. I try to imagine myself walking down the street, belonging here. The image feels hollow until I add in the friends I made today—Owen, Lexie, Bria, West. Might I be one of the people laughing outside the coffee shop or eating at the restaurant one day?
Jodi turns onto a side street and pulls into a small parking lot behind a block-long stretch of buildings that all share walls. She gets out of the car and leads me toward a glass door with a white decal of flowery-looking letters that spell out a name.
“Hannah’s Herbs?” I ask as Jodi unlocks the door and pushes it open.
Jodi pulls a sign that reads “Back in 15 Minutes” from the door as she enters. “This is my store. Well, mine now. It was my parents’ store—your grandparents. When they passed, it passed to me. One day, if you want it, it’ll pass to you.”
How do I respond to this information? I look around the store. The place isn’t large, and it’s nearly twice as deep as it is wide. Banks of tall shelves running perpendicular to the long walls maximize the space for displaying wares. Jodi walks to the front of the store to unlock the other door, but I don’t follow her. There is too much to look at, from the dried plants bundled and bunched in decorative aluminum planters to the books with titles like Homeopathic Healing and Herbs that Help, Herbs that Harm, to the shelves stacked with crystals and other stones. There are dozens of brown paper bags full of different blends of tea. On one shelf is a long line of bracelets. Some have different colored gemstones on them, others appear to be made of magnets.
“So, what do you think?” Jodi asks, moving to the register.
I tuck my hair behind my ears. “This is… an interesting place.”
Jodi laughs, her head tipping backward. “That’s a diplomatic way to say ‘strange,’ isn’t it?”
I shake my head and open my mouth to apologize, but Jodi is smiling at me.
“Don’t worry, I’m not offended. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, believe me.”
I nod, approaching a shelf full of vials of liquids with names I can’t even begin to pronounce and little blue tubes filled with tiny white pellets. “What is all this stuff?”
“Medicine. A lot of it, anyway. There are homeopathic remedies along that wall, reference books on the shelf there. Herbs here, of course. And then gemstones.”
“What are the stones for?” I move to the shelves that hold the gems and study them. They come in all shapes, textures, and colors.
“Some people believe they have therapeutic qualities. Some people use them as paper weights.” She grins at me.
“You said this was your parents’ store?”
She nods. “It’s been in the family for generations. After her husband died, to make ends meet, my great-grandmother, your great-great-grandmother, started selling herbs out of her house. Our house. This storefront is relatively new. Your dad was supposed to take it over, but he went down a different path. So, here I am.”
“Are you okay with that?”
She shrugs. “I could always sell the place. But it doesn’t seem right. Besides, I like it. It’s like a second home, really. The hours I spent here growing up.” She smiles. “I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life, you know?”
I keep my eyes on the stones in front of me as I ask the next question. “Did my dad spend a lot of time in here?”
“Yeah, he did. It was a pretty big scandal when he decided to go to college for engineering instead of a sensible business degree. I remember he was so nervous to tell o
ur dad, but when he did, Dad took it well.”
Longing swells within me. Besides last night’s discussion, it’s been years since I’ve talked about my dad. Mom always tensed up and frowned when I asked questions about him, so I learned not to ask. “What was he like?”
Jodi’s shoulders sag and her eyes soften. “He was good,” she says quietly. “A really good big brother. He’s eight years older, and he always kind of doted on me. I could get him to do anything. I remember going through a phase where I wanted him to be my horsey all the time. I’d make him give me rides on his back from the kitchen to the living room to the dining room—everywhere. And he never complained.”
I pick up a smoky pink quartz from the shelf and rub the pad of my thumb over its rough edges. “Have you... heard from him?”
She bites her lower lip and shakes her head. “Not in years. He called me once after he left you guys. I tried to get him to tell me where he was, why he left, but...” She sniffs and rubs her nose. “Damn, I miss him.”
I nod. I know exactly what she means. An ache builds in my chest and I hold the stone in my hand out to her, eager to change the subject. “So, what does this do?”
Relief flickers across her face and she smiles. “It doesn’t really do anything. Not on its own. It’s more like a conduit.”
“For what?”
“Energy. It can amplify energy, direct it. Store it, if you know what you’re doing. Quartz is particularly versatile. That’s a rose quartz that you’re holding. It’s usually associated with love and affection. So, a person might wear or carry it if they’re wanting to focus that kind of energy on themselves.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Seriously? You believe that?”
She shrugs. “Everything’s energy, right? Why is it so strange to think that certain objects can’t help direct energy in a certain way?”
Crystal Magic (Clearwater Witches Book 1) Page 4