“HOW WAS YOUR DAY, HONEY?” Mom asks my dad as she places another slice of pizza onto his plate. He’s already stuffing his second slice into his mouth without even chewing it. We are all doing pretty much the same. Even Chloe, who has been acting like she absolutely loves Mom’s new culinary creations, is very focused on her meal right now.
Dad mumbles something unintelligible in response.
“What was it, sweetie?” Mom asks, cutting her slice with a knife and fork. She’s the only one using the utensils. The rest of us look like we belong in a pigsty.
“I said it was pretty boring, as usual,” Dad manages to enunciate through a mouthful of pepperoni. “So what exactly happened to all our food?” Dad asks tentatively. It’s clear that he doesn’t mind the situation. So why ask? Adults.
“Oh, I left the patio door open when I left for work,” Mom says. So it was the patio door after all. “Some animal must have crawled in and ate our food.”
Chloe and I drop our slices of pizza—and our jaws—simultaneously. We exchange a look, but don’t say anything. Mom is pretty scatterbrained, but the raccoon story was a joke. Wasn’t it? I shake my head.
“So are you going to Chloe’s game tomorrow?” I ask.
Chloe almost sputters her pizza out.
I give her a shrug as if it’s a completely normal thing for me to show interest in her life.
“Yes, of course,” Mom’s eyes light up. “It’s the first game of the season, isn’t it? We wouldn’t miss it for the world, right Charlie?” she says when Dad doesn’t say anything because his mouth is too busy chewing.
“Mm-hmm,” Dad murmurs in agreement.
“And we could go to a restaurant afterwards to celebrate,” Mom says cheerfully.
“Actually, we are planning to go to Felicia’s after the game,” Chloe says. “But I can skip it,” she adds quickly. She is such a suck-up when it comes to our parents, especially when it comes to Mom. She knows very well Mom will never ask her to skip something like that.
“Oh no, you should spend time with your friends. Maybe your dad and I can do some grocery shopping instead. I guess we’ll have to eat pizza leftovers for breakfast.”
“Mmm!” Dad says cheerfully. A little too cheerfully, because even Mom gives him a suspicious look, and she never gives anyone suspicious looks. “I mean, damn!” Dad pretends to be disappointed. Pretends so badly I don’t think even Mom will buy it, but then she smiles at him and it’s obvious that she does. Really, Mom? Well, even if our dad can’t tell her that her great-grandmother’s recipes are not exactly suitable for our family, then who am I to complain?
“What about Emmy?” Chloe asks. She wipes her face with a napkin but still has some tomato sauce on her cheek.
“What about Emmy?” I ask. I kind of like being left out of everyone’s plans for tomorrow as I have plans of my own. Breaking into Ciara’s house and stealing a super-secret witch spell on how to make a super-secret amulet to send a super-secret demon as far away from here as possible.
“You can take her to the restaurant,” Chloe says.
“Really, I’ll be fine. I have a lot of homework to do.”
“Aren’t you going to the game?” Mom asks, more shocked than surprised. Like it would be the end of the world if I didn’t see Chloe jump up and down on a football field in a short skirt.
“Um, Jessie and I have plans to study together.”
“Oh, that history project you’ve been working on at the library?”
“Yep, that’s the one.” I’m not even lying here. Jessie and I are working on a project. And it has something to do with history. Just not the school subject.
“Oh, all right, then. But will the school library be open tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. We can come here and study in my room if it isn’t.” It’s not like someone will be here to notice that won’t the case.
“Talking about your room. Your dad and I have a surprise for your birthday!”
I frown. “But my birthday isn’t until December.” Has Mom forgotten my birthday? She was there when it happened, wasn’t she?
“Oh, I know, but it will take some time to complete. I just hope it will be ready until your birthday. We are remodeling your room! Ta-da!” She lifts her hands and smiles at me like she is expecting me to jump up and down, scream, squeal, and possibly faint from all the excitement.
I don’t. My mind works feverishly as I try to figure out what the hell I am going to do with Azzie.
“Um, thanks, I guess?” I say. “But, to be honest, I really like my room the way it is and I don’t want to change anything.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Emmy,” Mom says. “It still has the wallpaper that your dad and I picked out when we were expecting you. A sixteen-year-old—almost seventeen-year-old—girl needs something more grown-up than unicorns and butterflies on her walls. Imagine if a boy came to your room and saw that.”
“Mom! There will be no boys coming to my room!”
“Well, not with that wallpaper.”
“Mom!”
By this point both Chloe and Dad are snickering quietly. Chloe not so quietly.
“Fine. Do whatever you want,” I say. “Not that you care what I want.” First, my books are taken away from me. Now my room is being remodeled without my permission or even knowledge. Everybody has plans for me, but nobody ever bothers to ask me what I want.
“—on Saturday,” Mom finishes saying something. Apparently, the conversation went on after I started venting in my head.
“What happens on Saturday?” I ask.
“Your room happens on Saturday,” Mom says. “We’ve arranged for professional contractors to remodel your entire room. They start work on Saturday.” She keeps talking, but my brain has already phased out. I’m trying to figure out what to do with Azzie. I can’t move him to Jessie’s house, because either Logan will kill him, or Jessie’s mom will discover him in no time—she has even less respect for personal space than Chloe does. I have no idea what Jessie’s or my parents would do to Azzie if they ever found out about him. I don’t want to be responsible for him ending up in some government research lab, where he will be vivisected and—
“So do you?” Mom asks loudly, apparently for the second or third time.
“Do I what?”
“Do you mind making some plans for this Saturday so that the people I hired can start working on your room?”
“But how will they know what to do with my room? I haven’t even figured out what I want it to look like.”
“Well, everything has been arranged. I’ve already picked a new design. We are going to make a walk-in closet—actually, I think I’m not going to say anything else, because I want it to be a surprise.”
“Oh, I am surprised, trust me,” I say. A walk-in closet? There’s no space in my room for a walk-in closet. And where will all my books go? “I don’t even get to decide what my room looks like?”
“Well, I wanted it to be a surprise for your birthday, but obviously they can’t just do everything in a few hours while you’re at school. But it won’t take too long, I promise. You will only need to stay in Chloe’s room for a couple of days.”
“What?” Chloe is as stunned as I am.
“Now, don’t get upset.” Dad decides to finally intervene. “It’s only for a few days. A week at most.”
“A week?” I say and turn to Mom. “You said a couple of days.”
“Well, your entire room needs remodeling, honey. The walls, the floors, the ceiling, and don’t forget the new closet. And I’ve also arranged to have your window replaced because the one you have is very drafty.”
“So when you said a couple of days, you were lying?” I ask incredulously.
“I was trying to ease you in,” Mom says innocently.
“I told you it won’t work,” Dad mumbles.
“Well, now that I know about the surprise,”—breathe, Emmy, breathe. Mom is just trying to do something nice for you. She’s not trying to contro
l every single aspect of your life—“maybe I could have some say in what happens to my room? Chloe got to pick everything when you remodeled her room.” It’s not like anyone could ever tell Chloe anything. She’d throw a fit like the world hasn’t seen before.
“Your sister’s situation was different.”
“How so?” Tread lightly, Mother.
“Um, well, she’s more assertive than you are.”
“Oh, so you’re basically saying that I’m a pushover and you can do whatever you want to me?”
“That’s not what your mother is saying,” Dad offers some help.
“I think that’s exactly what she is saying,” Chloe offers some help, too. She is so enjoying this.
“Fine. Whatever. I give up. Do whatever you want to my room. I’ll ask Jessie if I can spend the weekend with her.” She will need some help with Azzie if only to carry groceries to feed the little evil.
Mom opens her mouth as if to object, but then thinks better of it. I grab a few slices of pizza—as many as I can fit on my plate—and go upstairs to feed the horned one. Maybe I am a pushover, and not assertive, and a bookworm, but I kind of like being me.
Chapter 15
Once in my room, I quietly call Azzie. He crawls out from under my bed and immediately notices the pizza in my hands. His eyes light up and his nose starts moving up and down as the smell reaches his nostrils. I give him the plate, then flop on my bed face down and groan. When I finally lift my head, Azzie is sitting on the floor in front of me, licking his fingers and the plate.
“That was a nice amuse-bouche,” he re-licks his fingers.
“Amoose-what?”
“Amuse-bouche. A pre-appetizer. What’s for dinner?”
I groan again and hide my face in my arms. “That was dinner,” I moan into the blanket.
“You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not. There’s no more food in the house. If you’re really that hungry, maybe you should just eat me when I fall asleep. I promise I won’t resist.”
“Nah. Witches taste weird. Must be all that magic in their blood.”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”
“If I don’t eat something right now, I’ll wither away.”
I give him an appraising look. “Have you actually gained weight since you came here? I don’t think you had that belly when I first met you.”
“Don’t be mean,” Azzie says and tries to cover up his protruding belly with my pajama top. “Why don’t you just conjure up something for me? I know you humans think all that shopping and cooking is fun, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”
“Well, I’m not a witch, so I can’t conjure you anything. And since I’m not a witch, I probably taste just fine.”
“If you’re not a witch, how did you get me here?” Azzie asks.
“I didn’t. I told you it was an accident.”
“Hmm, that’s weird,” Azzie scratches between his horns. “I don’t see how you could’ve conjured me if you weren’t a witch. Well, there’s one way we can know for sure.”
“And what way is that?” I ask suspiciously. “Is there some kind of spell? Because I clearly remember you saying that you can’t use your magic here without a witchlight.”
“No, it’s not a spell. I can give you a witchmark and see if it sticks. If you’re not a witch, nothing will show up, but if you are, we’ll be able to see it on your skin.”
I sit up on my bed. I feel a little twinge of excitement at the thought that I could be a witch. Okay, I feel a lot of excitement, way more than I probably should. “Okay, what do you need to do this?”
“Just give me your hand.”
I hold out my left hand. Azzie takes it into one of his and pops an index finger with an inch-long talon.
“Wow, you need some major grooming,” I say.
“This?” He twirls the taloned finger in front of me. “That’s just for personal protection.”
“Protection from what? Ice cream and pizza?” I snort.
“Never mind.” Azzie doesn’t seem to be offended at all.
He takes his taloned index finger and starts drawing something on the inside of my left wrist. He is barely touching the skin, which tickles unbearably. I squirm and giggle. “Don’t move,” Azzie says.
“It tickles.”
“Do you want me to carve it out?”
“No, I’ll be still.”
Azzie continues drawing the witchmark on my wrist. When he’s finished, I feel a burning sensation where he drew the lines and then a Celtic knot-like shape appears on my skin. It’s about two inches in diameter, which covers pretty much all of my left wrist. The burning sensation goes away as fast as it came, but the mark remains and looks like a burn. I touch it and the skin is extremely sensitive in that area, but doesn’t really hurt unless I apply pressure to it.
“Don’t worry, it will fade away in no time. But hey, good news, you’re definitely a witch, so now you can conjure me something tasty to ebb my hunger pains.” He rubs his stomach and looks at me hopefully.
“Why are you looking at me like that? I have no idea how to conjure anything. The only other time I tried to do something witchy, I brought you here. And broke your witchlight.”
“You’re a witch. It’s in your blood to know how to use magic. You should be able to just close your eyes, imagine something, flick your fingers, and make it materialize in front of you.”
I stare at him, not sure if he is being serious or if he has seen too many movies about witches. “You’re kidding, right?” I say finally.
He bursts into laughter. “Oh, you should’ve seen your face.” He hugs his belly, probably so it doesn’t rupture from how hard he is laughing at me.
I throw a pillow at him. “Be quiet,” I hiss.
Azzie wipes the tears from his eyes. “I love young witches. They are so gullible. It takes like a decade for a witch to learn how to make something move, let alone have something appear out of thin air.”
“But it’s possible?” I ask.
“Well, sure. If you have the right spells and someone to teach you how to perform them. But it takes a lot of time, practice, and patience.”
“And I assume a lot of messed up spells?”
“Oh yes, that goes without saying.” Azzie grins.
“Speaking about spells gone wrong. I think we might have an idea of how to get ahold of a spell to make a witchlight. Jessie and I are going to get inside Ciara’s house tomorrow. We’re pretty sure she knows a lot more about witchlights than she lets on.” I tell Azzie everything we found out today about Ciara’s family, the Grenaux witches, and their weird tradition of burying their women with witchlights. “Although I’m starting to think it might not be such a good idea after all. Breaking into a witch’s house, I mean. Maybe it will be easier to, um, just get a witchlight from a dead witch rather than try to get it from a living one?”
“Nah, you will still need to find a spell on how to make the tie between the witchlight and me. Otherwise, it won’t work. It will just be connected to the dead witch. What a waste of perfectly good witchlights. You humans and your silly notions.”
“I don’t know what humans you are talking about. As far as I know, Ciara’s family is the only one that does that.”
“Great, so when do we sneak into the pretty blonde’s house?”
“We—meaning Jessie and me—are going there tomorrow while Ciara, and, hopefully, her grandmother, will be at the game. You are going to stay here and be quiet.”
“That’s not fair.” Azzie pouts. “Besides, you need me. How are you even going to recognize the spell if you find one?”
“Uh, by the title ‘How to create a witchlight’? Or something similar.”
“That’s a good plan. If you know how to read runes.” Crap. “Admit it, you need me. Besides, there could be magical protection around the house to prevent other witches from entering. I could help you figure out how to disarm it.”
“Why would there be magical protection?”
“Because witches are very secretive about their spells.”
“But won’t there be magical protection against demons, too?” I ask.
“There could be wards in place against anyone with magic powers. And since I don’t have any, I’m your best shot.” Azzie wiggles his eyebrows. It looks weird with his horns and all.
I sigh. “Well, I guess you’re right. I’ll call Jessie and tell her that you’re coming with us tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” The thrilled part is, of course, sarcasm, but Azzie either doesn’t recognize it or more likely doesn’t want to see it that way, at least judging by the grin on his face and the way he starts rubbing his hands.
His stomach grumbles. I groan. He looks at me with pleading eyes.
I give up. “Oh, all right. I guess when I call Jessie I can ask her if she’d be willing to sneak some food in here. She owes me that much. For taking you in, instead of leaving you at her house.”
I reach for my phone, but the battery is dead. I plug the charger in and try to turn it on, but it doesn’t work. “I think Ciara’s spell must have broken my phone,” I say.
“That happens all the time,” Azzie says. “Magic doesn’t agree with electricity for some reason.”
“Great,” I mumble and stop trying to turn my phone back on. I weigh my other options. Using my laptop is out of the question—I’m only allowed to use it for schoolwork. God forbid I use it for something as nefarious as reading a book review or checking if my favorite author has posted anything new on her blog. And since my cell phone isn’t working, I have only one other option: use the regular phone. It’s supposed to be okay, at least I’m not specifically forbidden from using it. Actually, I have two options. The other one is to ask Chloe to use her cell phone, but I’m not feeling suicidal tonight, so landline it is.
I tiptoe downstairs. I don’t know if tiptoeing is necessary, but lately being inconspicuous seems like the safest approach. Mom and Dad are snuggling on the couch in the living room, watching a TV show. I slip quietly into the kitchen and close the door behind me, then grab the phone and dial Jessie’s number.
A Witch and a Secret Page 14