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The Witch Is Back

Page 11

by Brittany Geragotelis


  Neither did Brooklyn.

  I didn’t want to assume they were somewhere together, but I knew it was possible. After all, I’d given him the green light to clear things up with her in the first place, so I couldn’t really be surprised when he followed through.

  Even if I’d agreed on it before Brooklyn had made it clear that we were not going to be friends.

  Like, ever.

  Although Colette’s story of the Witch in the Woods had kept me sufficiently distracted for the first part of lunch, it hadn’t taken me long before I’d gone back to silently seething over the situation between Asher and his ex.

  Just wait it out. Once Asher makes things right between him and Brooklyn, he won’t have any reason to spend time with her anymore, and things will go back to normal.

  Trudging back to our afternoon session with far less enthusiasm than I’d had that morning, I tried to direct my attention to anything other than Asher and Brooklyn. The other Cleri members chatted among themselves, which gave me something to focus on until Miss Peggy began to talk.

  Witch history had always been my least favorite part of our coven classes back home. For a while, I’d been convinced that learning about the past was a waste of time. I mean, it was just so boring. And where was the practical application of this knowledge? Sure, we didn’t want to repeat the mistakes of our past, but some of witching history was so behind us that it didn’t necessarily have any validity in our lives today.

  Or so I’d thought.

  History had somewhat repeated itself when Samuel Parris came back to try to wipe out our coven, much like he’d done to members of the Cleri during the Salem witch trials. It was only through learning more about our familial past that we were able to finally defeat him.

  But I think the real origin of my disdain for history stemmed from the fact that I couldn’t seem to get away from the dreams of my ancestor during her darkest days. Reliving a person’s death and betrayal over and over again had a way of taking a toll on your soul. In a way, it was a morbid way to live.

  So you could see why I wasn’t exactly psyched to spend more time analyzing the actions of witches past. Yet here I was.

  “There are many witches in our history who have made significant contributions to us as a society,” Mrs. B said. “We will be spending the next month getting to know these famous witches as well as a few lesser-known ones. But don’t be confused, each witch you will learn about can teach you a valuable lesson about our heritage.”

  “We’d like to invite you all to come up now to choose your research project topics,” Miss Peggy said, holding up a purple velvet bag. “Once you have the name of your witch, it will be up to you to learn as much as you can about them. How you report what you find to us is up to you. During our last week here, you’ll all be required to deliver your findings.”

  “We recommend that you take this project seriously,” said Mrs. Jeanette. “Because if you don’t, you will not be asked back next summer. Learning from those who’ve come before you is incredibly important. It’s both a sign of respect and appreciation for the sacrifices these great witches have made.”

  “I thought school was out for the summer,” Jasmine said under her breath as we all stood up and filed into a single line to retrieve our topics.

  “Oh, but this part is so much fun, Jasmine!” Colette said, clapping her hands together. “Last year I drew Evelyn Rogers, the first witch to explore other planets in our solar system. It was so intriguing to learn that she landed on the moon before Neil Armstrong, and was instrumental in encouraging the US to send our astronauts up into space. She paved the way for all atmospheric exploration.”

  “Apparently she wasn’t the only space cadet,” Jasmine said.

  “Jasmine!” I said, horrified by her comment.

  “It’s all right, Hadley,” Colette answered, her smile never leaving her face. “Some of the most important people in history were labeled as weirdoes by their peers. My Aunt Betsey says you can’t be afraid to live outside the box, because that’s the only place you’re not boxed in.”

  I admired Colette’s ability to stand up for herself, but shot Jasmine a warning look anyway. We didn’t need the other campers labeling our coven as troublemakers.

  The line was moving quickly now, as each person pulled a piece of paper out of the bag and then wandered off to huddle in smaller groups and share their assignments with their friends. When it was my turn, I stepped forward and shoved my manicured hand into the hole. My fingers brushed dozens of folded-up pieces of paper until it reached one that just felt right. And being that I was trying to trust my instincts more, I pulled it out and stepped back.

  When I was far enough away, I opened up the paper and read the name of whom I’d be learning about.

  YOUR WITCH IN HISTORY IS: Sarah Good

  BRIEF DESCRIPTION: One of the first people accused during the Salem witch trials; Sarah Good was found guilty of witchcraft and sentenced to death by hanging on July 19, 1692. She was survived by her daughter, Dorothy Good.

  I just can’t get away from it, can I?

  I laughed out loud at the irony of my assignment. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. For some reason, this awful incident kept inserting itself back into my life. Why would camp be any different?

  “You got Sarah Good?!” Colette asked, looking over my shoulder at the paper that I still held open.

  “Yep,” I said, folding it back up and handing it out to her. “Wanna trade?”

  “You don’t want her?” she asked, her eyebrows wrinkling in confusion.

  “She kind of hits a little close to home for me,” I said with a sigh.

  As if on cue, Miss Peggy called out, “Please don’t trade topics with fellow campers.” A look around showed that I wasn’t the only one less than enthused about my research topic. Plenty of people in other groups were complaining and trying to get rid of their subjects. “The papers were enchanted to find the perfect person for each of you. Whether you understand why yet, you were meant to learn about the person you’ve selected. Please respect the process.”

  Well, there you go. Fate obviously wanted me to delve into the life of Sarah Good. And who was I to question fate?

  I pulled back my paper with a sigh, and then stuffed it in the tiny zippered pocket of my spandex shorts.

  “Guess I’m stuck with her,” I said as Colette watched me put it away.

  “She really does have an interesting story, you know,” Colette said. “And I’d think, given your lineage, you’d be empathetic to what she went through.”

  “Oh, I am,” I said, hearing the disappointment in my new friend’s voice. “Don’t get me wrong, I fully think that all those accused back then were dealt a sucky hand. They didn’t deserve anything that happened to them. It’s just sort of . . . depressing, you know?”

  “Even more reason to keep the memories of those who were mistreated alive,” she answered.

  “You’re right,” I said. “At the very least, it’ll be easier than reporting on a topic that’s brand new to me. I already know so much about the trials that it shouldn’t take me too long to fill in Sarah’s blanks.”

  “I bet there’s more to her history than you know,” Colette said, solemnly. “Remember, there are always two sides to every story.”

  I nodded in agreement, looking to change the subject. “So, who’d you get then?” I asked.

  Colette glanced down at her paper before folding it back up and placing it in her own pocket. “I think I’m going to keep mine a secret for now. It’ll be more exciting for you to learn about them when I do my presentation.”

  I smiled at her enthusiasm. I’d never met anyone so excited about doing research before. I thought about what her aunt had said and agreed. Colette was definitely unique, and I think that’s why I liked her so much. She kept us wondering what she’d say or do next. She was a wild card, and one I was happy to have on my side.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dinner came and we
nt and before I knew it, we were all headed to our rooms. Asher had shown up to eat this time, but I couldn’t get myself to ask him about where he’d been at lunch. Namely, whether he’d been with Brooklyn, reminiscing about old times. It took everything in me to keep from peppering him with questions. Because as much as I wanted to know if they’d been together, there was a part of me that wanted to live in denial. Besides, if I brought up Brooklyn now, I’d most likely have to admit that I’d already failed in trying to bury the hatchet with her.

  Besides, what was going on between Brooklyn and me now actually had little to do with Asher anymore. It was between her and me.

  Other than that, Asher had seemed like his usual self. Cracking jokes and holding my hand under the table. The thing that was different was the fact that he had guy friends now. In just a few days, Dane and Hudson had become regulars at our table, a fact that made Sascha especially happy. She’d developed this intense crush on Dane and wouldn’t stop asking him questions about Australia. Poor Dane had no idea what was going on, but he tried to answer all of them politely until, finally, he decided he could save himself the interrogation if he just asked Sascha questions about herself. This was both good and bad, because it meant that he could sit there and actually eat his meal, but once you got Sascha talking—and about her favorite topic: herself—it was hard to shut her up.

  By the time we’d finished eating, Asher had decided to save Dane from Hurricane Sascha by insisting that they get started on their research projects.

  “You’re going already?” I asked, disappointed as we all got up to bus our trays.

  “I think Dane’s had enough,” Asher said with a chuckle and looked over at his roommate, who was nodding like a bobblehead doll at something Sascha was saying. “Besides, we sort of have a guys’ night planned. Is that okay?”

  He asked the question, but I could tell it was more of a statement. One that Asher was clearly hoping I wouldn’t push. But I couldn’t help it. Nothing about this day had gone as expected and I could use some boyfriend time.

  “It’s just that, I barely got to see you all day,” I said, slipping my hand into his and leaning my head against his shoulder as we followed the others outside and walked back toward the dorms. “And you said we’d spend time together this summer.”

  “And we will. Promise,” Asher said. “But I also don’t want to be rude to my new roommates. We might as well make friends while we’re here, right? Colette seems pretty cool. Why don’t you have a girls’ night and get to know each other better? Then you and I can reconvene tomorrow. You know what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  As he said this, he pulled me into the shadows and kissed me hard. My lips automatically parted and we went from zero to sixty in about point five seconds. He tasted like cherry cola. I pushed my body up against his and his hands found the bare skin of my stomach under my shirt. When he teased the area lightly with his fingertips, I began to get lightheaded and had to pull away before I passed out or things went too far.

  “Get a room!” someone called out as they walked by.

  “Maybe we should,” I said, smiling up at him.

  “Tempting,” Asher said, his breathing still labored. He looked like he was wavering now.

  “Sher!” Hudson yelled from a place about ten feet ahead of us. “You coming?”

  Asher looked in his new friend’s direction and then back down at me, before touching his forehead to mine. “Will you still love me tomorrow?”

  It was a silly question, because of course I’d still love him. I might be more annoyed at him, but I’d still love him. But there was an excitement in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. One that was totally different than the way he looked at me. And rightfully so.

  Asher was in full-on bromance mode.

  And that made me change my mind just a little.

  Because Asher seemed happy. He was actually making friends, which was new for him. He’d always been sort of a loner. He hadn’t really bonded with the other kids at his school; actually, a lot of witches didn’t feel a connection with nonwitching folks. That only left other twitches, and there hadn’t been many around for him to bond with.

  But now, for the first time, he had a bunch of guys he seemed to enjoy being around. And I wanted him to have that. I’d always had girlfriends I could confide in. I depended on my nonwitchy friends for my public life at school, hanging out with them at parties, cheering with them at games and doing girly stuff like throwing slumber parties and shopping together. I even had the girls in the Cleri to satisfy the magical side of me. We talked magic and casted together. We were bonded by the coven.

  It must be lonely for Asher not to have any of that.

  So, despite the fact that I wished we were spending more time together, I understood how important it was for him to cultivate relationships with his roommates. And I wasn’t too psyched about the clingy girl I was becoming. I’d never needed a guy around to have a good time before, so why would I need to now?

  Maybe Asher was right: if I let him have his guy time, it would make our couple time even more special.

  “Go hang out with your friends,” I said finally, swatting him on the butt like I was one of his buddies.

  “You sure?” he asked, scanning my face to see if this was a trick.

  “I’m sure. I’ll just head back with Colette and your sister,” I said reassuringly. “We can stay up and talk about boys or something.”

  “Oh, man. That sounds like trouble,” Asher said, although he seemed relieved.

  When we reached the lobby, we went our separate ways. I could hear the guys hooting and joking around until I closed the door behind us.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I announced, gathering up my things.

  Despite what I’d said to Asher, I had no intention of staying up late with the girls. It had been a long day—our first full one at Brighton—and the combination of hours spent casting and the heat of Colorado had left me aching to crawl into bed early.

  But no matter how tired I was, I never went to sleep without going through my nightly beauty routine. So, I dragged myself to the community bathroom at the end of the hallway and stepped into one of the shower stalls, cranking up the heat on the water until the steam made it difficult to see my own hand in front of my face. I let my mind go blank as I lathered up, spending a particularly long time conditioning my locks, which had already begun to dry out under the hot sun.

  I closed my eyes after a while and allowed the methodical beating of the water to lull me into a sort of a meditative trance as it worked out the knots in my muscles. I could feel the stress begin to wash away, and a feeling of calmness enveloped me.

  Maybe an evening to myself was just what I needed after all.

  Part of me wanted to stay in the shower indefinitely. Okay, so not indefinitely, but there was a kind of freedom here. No bad guys to fight. No exes to worry about. Just silence. Unfortunately, my fingers were beginning to prune and I worried about falling asleep right there on the floor of the stall. And let’s be honest, there was a reason people wore shower shoes: bathroom tiles were a hotbed for disgusting diseases that are so not sexy.

  I shuddered at the thought and then turned the knob to cut off the flow of water. Only, instead of trickling to a stop, the pressure grew, until the spray began to feel more like a fire hose than a soothing rainforest.

  That’s odd.

  I tried again, this time turning it in the opposite direction, but the flow refused to let up even a little bit. The water was coming out too fast and hard now for it to drain properly, and it started to pool at my feet, covering up my toes within seconds.

  “What’s wrong with this thing?” I muttered as I tried again to turn the water off to no avail. Finally, with a sigh, I held my hands over the faucet and said, “Igmum rushee!”

  The spell was meant to stop the flow of water, but it just kept spewing out, as if I’d never said it in the first place.

  That is not a good s
ign.

  The knob must have been broken.

  So much for a drama-free evening.

  No longer relaxed, I wondered if one of the counselors would be able to cut off the water supply at the source before it flooded the whole bathroom. Pushing on the glass door, I thought about how long it might be before I could escape to my bed. But instead of the door swinging open easily, it didn’t budge. I placed my shoulder against the glass, and gave it another hard shove, hoping it was just stuck.

  Nothing.

  Okay, now I was worried. Something wasn’t right here. The water had already risen up past my ankles and it wasn’t stopping. I moved into the spot directly underneath the showerhead to get out of the harsh spray, and then glanced up to see how big the space was above the door. If worse came to worse, I could always climb up and over.

  Except, there was none.

  Part of me was relieved by this fact, because it would’ve been humiliating to be caught in a compromising position by my fellow campers. Especially if one of those people was Brooklyn.

  Brooklyn.

  Maybe she did this. Set the whole thing up, so I’d look stupid for getting stuck inside a shower stall.

  And I was stuck. In fact, I hadn’t noticed when I’d first stepped inside, but the shower was a little like a glass box.

  There was no space open to the outside, which meant I was basically trapped.

  And the water was still rising.

  I went to bang on the door, hoping to attract the attention of someone still in the bathroom, but as I went to touch the glass, something began to appear through the haze of the steam. Written clearly on the glass of the shower door was a message:

  Get out.

  Trust me, I want to.

  I blinked the water out of my eyes to make certain that what I was seeing was really there. When it didn’t disappear, I knew I wasn’t seeing things.

  Leaning forward, I took a closer look. Strands of condensation ran down the glass, making it clear that the words were written from the inside of the shower and not the outside.

  The question was, how?

 

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