Aunt Krista. If anyone knows how to make witchlights, it’s her. She did call herself one of the most powerful witches in the world, which may or may not be true. However, she does live in a demon dimension, which I’m pretty sure is true. Maybe that’s exactly how she makes her living—by creating all kinds of magical knick-knacks for demons to use in our dimension? If that’s the case, then she definitely knows everything there is to know about witchlights. There’s just one teeny-tiny problem: the only way of communication between our dimensions is gone, and I doubt Ciara has another Mirror of Edana hidden somewhere safely. Although I suppose it won’t hurt to ask her, just in case.
Anyway, our best chance at uncovering the secret of how to make a witchlight so that we can send Azzie back to where he came from before a horde of fire-breathing demons appears in Mystic Hollow looking for him is Ciara. Do demons gather in hordes? Not important. I make it my first priority to talk to Ciara tomorrow.
I’m finally starting to feel better and even a little bit optimistic about this whole situation. Maybe it’s the result of my thinking processes and the decisions I’ve made, but it could just as well be the fact that my entire body feels like jelly because of how warm and cozy it is in Parker’s car. I don’t even notice how we cover the distance between the school and my place, so I’m surprised when the car stops in front of my house which is barely visible through the wall of rain.
I thank Parker for the ride and reach to open the door, but he stops me. “Hey, I wanted to give you something.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What, no Munchkin?”
He grins. “Sorry. Hey, M—”
I wave my hands in front of him. “Sorry. Go on. What did you want to give me?” I hope it’s not something from some animal he’s killed. Unless it’s something from a grizzly bear. I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad.
Parker reaches into the glove compartment, rummages in there for a couple of seconds, and then takes out a necklace. It’s a small silver chain with a pendant—a purple stone about half an inch in diameter framed in ornate silver scrollwork. It’s exquisitely beautiful and looks like something you would find in an antique shop. It definitely did not come from a grizzly bear, unless it was a very fashion-savvy bear who liked antique shopping.
“Is it an amethyst?” I ask. I’ve never seen one in real life before, only in pictures. The pictures didn’t do it justice.
“Yes. It belonged to my mother,” he says. All I know about Parker’s mother is that she died before his family moved to Mystic Hollow three years ago. I don’t know about the circumstances of her death—I’m usually not the one to pry about something so personal, and talking to Parker about something this tragic would be just too awkward and uncomfortable. Although probably not as awkward and uncomfortable as accepting his mother’s jewelry. He holds the necklace out for me to take.
“I can’t accept it,” I say.
“You don’t like it?”
“I do, but that’s not the point.”
“Is it because I’m the one giving it to you?”
“No.” Kind of.
“Then just take it.”
“I can’t just take it.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
“Because of my mom? She wouldn’t mind.”
“Why would you even want me to have it?”
He pauses for a moment. “It will look nice with your sweater.”
I snort. “My sweater is yellow.”
“So?” he asks with a blank look. Oh, he’s serious about the sweater.
“You don’t have much of a fashion sense, do you?”
“Munchkin, take the necklace.”
“I won’t, unless you tell me why you want me to have it.”
He bites the inside of his cheek. “Because it complements your eyes and hair.” He grins.
I squint at him. I do have brown hair and brown eyes, and that necklace would complement them marvelously, but if Parker is deigning to compliments, something is definitely wrong. “Nice try,” I say. “But I’m sure you can appreciate why I don’t buy it.”
He sighs. “Fine. Because it will help you sleep better.”
“It’s just a necklace,” I say. “A necklace can’t help me sleep better.” Even as beautiful as this one. “Besides, this whole situation is just a little too weird.”
“Oh, just take it.” He unclasps the necklace, leans over, places the chain around my neck, and fastens the clasp, his hands brushing lightly against my skin.
It all happens so fast I have no time to react, and when I finally do react, Parker is already leaning back in his seat and the necklace hangs over my sweater. I know I should take it off and give it back to him, but for some reason I really don’t want to. Maybe I could wear it just for a few days and then give it back?
I hold the pendant between my fingers. “Huh, it does look nice with my sweater.”
“Told you. You should go inside and change.” He reaches to the back seat, pulls out his wet jacket, and gives it to me. “Do you need me to walk you to the door?”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” I open the door and the sound of gushing rain overwhelms my senses, but before I can jump out of the car, Parker stops me again.
“Munchkin, can you do me a favor? Don’t take that necklace off for the next few days.”
I turn to face him, my right leg already outside the car, getting drenched by the second. “You know, for future reference, if you want a favor from someone, you shouldn’t preface your request with a nickname that person doesn’t like.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. For future reference. So?”
“You do realize your request sounds a little suspicious, right? There aren’t any hidden cameras in the necklace or something like that?”
Parker grimaces and I think he blushes. Well, his skin turns half a shade darker, but it’s more than I’ve ever seen it do. “Of course not. You can cover it up with something if you want. Just don’t take it off.”
“Why?” I ask stubbornly. My right pantleg is completely soaked and water has started gathering in my boot.
He sighs. “How about because I’ll owe you one?”
A favor from Parker O’Donnell? “All right,” I say. I really need to start moving or my boot will become unsalvageable.
“Really? That easy?”
“No, it’s just that—” I lift my right foot and water gushes out of my footwear.
“Right. You should go,” he says. “But do we have a deal?”
“Yes, we have a deal,” I say and tuck the necklace under my sweater.
I pull the jacket over my head, making sure that my school bag gets the best coverage, get out of the car, and run to my house. It’s only when I’m on the front porch that I hear Parker’s car drive away.
Chapter 11
“Oh, honey,” Mom coos over me as she helps me out of my soaked boots. They hug my legs like a second layer of skin. “Why didn’t you call me to come get you? When you called and said you’d be studying at the library,”—um, yeah, I kind of did that, no need for everyone to know that I was in detention—“I thought you’d call again and tell me when to pick you up.” The boot finally comes off and the momentum sends Mom flying backward. She lands on her butt and rainwater splashes all over the floor. How could a shoe be filled with water and stick to my foot at the same time? It’s a mystery.
“Are you okay,” I ask Mom.
“I’m all right, sweetie.” Mom sets the first boot aside and grabs the other one. “So why didn’t you call me? You didn’t walk through all this rain, did you?”
“Um, no. I got a ride with Parker.”
Mom frowns. “I thought you didn’t get along with that boy.”
“I don’t, but he offered me a ride, and I figured it was better than walking or waiting for the rain to stop.”
“Is that his jacket you’re holding?” she asks.
I look down and notice that I’m still covering my school bag with Parker’s jac
ket. “Um, yeah, kind of.”
The other boot finally comes off and more water splashes on the floor while Mom plops on her butt again. I help her get on her feet, and then she picks up the boots and takes the jacket from me. “I’ll clean this for you,” she offers.
“Thanks,” I say.
Mom disappears with the clothes while I walk into the kitchen. I wash my hands and put a kettle on the stove to make some tea.
“Honey, you should get changed,” Mom appears in the kitchen doorway. “Your clothes are all wet. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
“I just wanted to make some tea first,” I say. “I really want something hot to drink.”
Chloe storms into the room like a hurricane, overturning everything in her path. She’s running right at me, and I freeze, unable to move and unable to get out of her way. I watch in horror as she comes closer and closer. It feels like I’m watching a scene from a movie in slow motion. Before she collides with me, I brace myself for the worst, but all Chloe does is hug me. She hugs me really, really hard. Maybe she’s trying to cut off oxygen from my lungs?
“Can’t. Breathe,” I wheeze.
“Oh, sorry.” Chloe loosens her hug a little, but doesn’t let go of me entirely. When she finally does, she has a huge grin on her face.
“I guess that means Derek asked you out?” Either that or she was trying to kill me. Not sure what else could’ve happened for me to deserve this kind of affection. Squeeze-my-chest-till-I-can’t-breathe kind of affection.
“He did.” The grin grows even wider if that’s even possible. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She squeezes me again, forcing all air out of my lungs, but this time it’s not long enough for any of my brain cells to die. I hope. “Mom, can I have a snack before dinner? I’m starving,” Chloe says when she finally lets me go.
“Sure, sweetie. But first, who is this Derek? How come I’ve never heard about this boy?” Mom asks, pouring hot water from the kettle into tea cups. “Is it someone you like?”
“Oh, he’s just the most gorgeous guy in our school,” Chloe gushes. “He’s handsome, smart, and he’s on the football team.” She forgets to mention that he’s two years older than her. Or maybe not so much forgets as decides to leave that part out. At some point Mom and Dad will find out that Derek is two years older than Chloe and that I had something to do with setting them up. And of course everything will be my fault.
“Sounds interesting.” Mom smiles. “When are we going to meet this Derek?”
“Friday night. He’s going to pick me up at seven to take me to Brian’s party.”
“You somehow forgot to mention this party to me and your father. Are there going to be any adults present?”
“Mom!” Chloe whines. “Please promise you’re not going to embarrass me like that in front of Derek. Or I’ll just have to sneak out and meet him there, and you and Dad will never get to see him!”
“All right, all right. I’m just asking.” Mom ruffles Chloe’s hair affectionately and gives her a cup of tea.
I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not dreaming. That’s all it takes for Chloe to get Mom off her back about the party? I can’t believe it. It’s so unfair they need a new word for this amount of unfair. I had to beg for weeks before she even considered letting me go to a sleepover at Jessie’s house when her parents were out of town. I had to do laundry, dishes, and almost every other chore around the house just to deserve a conversation about whether I could go or not. And it was just a sleepover at another girl’s house, not some party with dozens of senior boys who will probably be drinking and doing whatever other unspeakable things senior boys do at parties with no adult supervision.
I grab my cup of tea and get up to go to my room, but figure I can do one more thing before I leave. One really, really bad thing. I’m almost ashamed of myself for doing it—almost—but Chloe would see it eventually, so why not be the one to tell her about it and see the expression on her face?
“You know, I saw Derek after his football practice today. He has a couple of very nasty bruises on his face. I doubt they will get any better by Friday.”
“Really?” Chloe’s eyes sparkle as if having a couple of nasty bruises only makes Derek more desirable for her. I just can’t catch a break, can I? “I’ll go ask him about it.” She runs off up the stairs to either call him or catch him online or whatever their mode of communication is.
“You forgot your snack!” Mom calls out, but Chloe has already slammed the door to her room shut. “Oh, all right, I’ll bring it to her,” Mom mumbles as she opens the fridge and looks inside. “Hmm, this is strange.”
“What is strange?” I ask, sipping my delicious tea. I could drink it forever and not go upstairs to deal with a particular red-skinned demon who is probably looking at pictures of underwear models right now, or even worse—stalking my classmates on social media.
“There’s no food in the fridge,” Mom says.
“What?” How can there be no food in the fridge? There’s always food in the fridge.
“Maybe I moved it somewhere?” Mom closes the fridge and starts walking around the kitchen. “There were still some leftovers from last night. And I made too many pancakes this morning.”
“Pancakes?” I ask. Oh man, I just can’t catch a break, can I? The one time Mom decides to make a carbohydrate-rich breakfast and I just have to oversleep.
“Yes. And I left an entire chicken to defrost this morning. At least I’m pretty sure I did. And there were vegetables in the crisper.” Mom starts opening kitchen cupboards as if she expects to find the missing food there.
I have a pretty good idea where all the food went, but it’s not like I can explain it to my mom. I need to divert her attention.
“Maybe Chloe ate it?” I suggest as a distraction.
“She does eat a lot.” Mom’s head pops out of the cupboard. Yeah, it’s plausible that Chloe ate all the food from the fridge. As long as nobody asks her. “And this dish was under my chicken,” Mom points at a large dish in the open cupboard. It apparently has been washed and placed there. Well, that automatically rules Chloe out—she usually puts dirty dish back in the fridge, or in the best case scenario she puts them in the sink. “It’s not where I usually keep it, but that’s the one I used. You must be right, honey. It has to be Chloe.” Mom closes the cupboard with the dish and opens another one with spaghetti. Yay. Carbs. Maybe there are some benefits to having a constantly hungry demon living with us.
“But, Mom,” I say and she looks at me. “I don’t think we should question Chloe about it. I think she might be a little self-conscious.”
“Oh, of course.” Mom winks conspiratorially. “It’s that boy, isn’t it?” Do girls who have crushes on real boys eat a lot? I wouldn’t know, but my mom seems to think so.
“Er, sure,” I say. “I should probably go change. And I really need to take a shower.” If I can get my wet jeans off. They cling to my skin tighter than Chloe to her phone.
But before I can exit the kitchen, Chloe reappears and starts talking so fast my ears buzz. “Oh my God! Apparently, the entire football team got into this huge brawl and they all beat each other up. And he doesn’t even know who started it, but they are all such a mess! Oh my God, I saw Derek’s bruise. He looks even hotter now.” Um, what? “So manly.” Um, okay. Chloe rolls her eyes as she gushes how gorgeous Derek is and how everyone is going to be jealous that she has a date with him. I quietly pick up my school bag and try to sneak out of the kitchen, but then the most scary word of all comes out of Chloe’s mouth. She says something about detention, and for the first time in my life I actually regret not having paid attention to what she has been talking about.
“Detention?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, the coach was really pissed—”
“Chloe,” Mom says reproachfully.
“Er, mad at them. So he sent almost the entire football team into detention. It was so funny, I almost laughed my head off.”
She’s just talking ab
out football players getting detention. My mind phases out again and I tiptoe towards the stairs.
“By the way, Derek said that you were there, too,” Chloe says, looking at me as if she knows exactly what I’m trying to do. I freeze with one foot on the floor and another one on the bottom stair. So close. I wonder if I should be flattered or annoyed that Derek knows who I am.
“Your sister was were?” Mom asks dubiously. She hasn’t caught the drift yet.
I slowly turn around, if only to give Chloe a dirty look, which I am starting to think she might be feeding off.
“In detention,” Chloe says with a nasty grin.
Well, did I really think that Chloe wouldn’t give me up? Besides, this is all my fault, isn’t it? If I didn’t tell Chloe about Derek, she wouldn’t have gone to talk to him and she wouldn’t have found out about the detention. Well, she probably would have, eventually, but did I really have to make it so easy for her? I only have myself to blame.
Mom sets the spaghetti aside and looks at me. “Emmy, is this true?”
“Um, kind of,” I say sheepishly.
“Kind of? So when you said on the phone you were going to the library, you were actually going to detention?” Mom folds her arms across her chest. She doesn’t look happy.
“Um, yeah.” I cringe. Did I really think that I would get away with lying about detention? Especially having Chloe for a little brat of a sister, who has managed to scrounge an apple somewhere and is now chewing on it with all the gusto of a zombie from The Undead Chronicles who found some fresh brains to munch on.
A Witch and a Secret Page 10