The Zodiac Collector

by Laura Diamond

  I dip my head. “About yesterday…”

  “What about it?”

  “Are you mad at me?” My gaze drives into the ground and I wish I could stick my head in the dirt.

  He replies by hooking a finger under my chin and lifting it. “Why would I be mad at you?”

  His voice melts me. The only thing holding me upright is his fingertip. Without it, I might collapse in a pile of my own swoon. “Erm, for acting weird and stuff.”

  That same lock of unruly hair slips over his eye. He brushes it away before I have a chance to. Dangitall. “Oh, you mean when we were in character. Yeah, that flower was a nice touch, right?”

  Crap. The rose was part of the act. My heart deflates like a runaway balloon fleeing the safety of the helium tank before it’s tied off. “Sure.”

  He clears his throat. “I know you like lilacs better, but the rose was all I could find.”

  He knows my favorite flower! Strap me to a rocket so I can fly to the moon! I bite my lip and tell myself to calm down. Of course he knows I love lilacs. We’ve known each other since we could speak full sentences. “It’s really pretty.”

  “You liked it?”

  “Of course.”

  His dimples flash. The smell of horse dung and sweat surrounds him. It doesn’t matter. I still want to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. My hands ball into fists. I clamp them at my side in case they develop a mind of their own. Full, a little pouty, and surrounded by a bit of scruff, his mouth just calls to me. Yep, all I have to do is stand on tippy toes and slap my lips against his.

  Focus, Anne. There’s more important shizz going on right now.

  “There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” My throat catches at the very thought of mentioning Zeena, but I don’t think it’s because of the secret spell. It’s because I’ve so horrendously screwed everything up and have done such a glorious job of it that I’ve included people I care about. I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. My cheeks blaze like the surface of the sun.

  “Did we fight or something? ‘Cause I missed it.” He scrunches his nose.

  He doesn’t remember?

  The chant did work! At least part of it had. “I don’t remember either. Truce?” I stick out a hand.

  “Truce.” His hand is sticky from the tack soap.

  I try not to say “ew.” I also try not to feel disappointed when he lets go.

  “Your cheek is bruised.”

  “It’s nothing, really. I fell in the woods. Broke my fall with my face.” I angle the left side of my face away, but it’s too late. He steps closer, peering at me.

  He sucks in a breath. “Bet it hurts.”

  “William, you remember that old lady who was in Dad’s shop earlier?” I cringe at even bringing her up, but I have to know.

  “Yeah. She smelled like cigars and cat pee.”

  I let out a nervous giggle. “Well, she…we have a problem with her.”

  “Why?” His face contorts.

  “It’s…you know, it might be better to show you. Hang on a sec.” I step around him—reluctantly—and peek into the grain room. Mary’s giggling. Evan’s leaning over her really close and has a hand draped on her arm. Her fingers play at his collar. Wow, vixen city. Didn’t know she had it in her.

  I hate interrupting, but… “Mary?”

  She slides her gaze to me. “Yeah?”

  “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  She fluffs her ponytail and gives me a curt “Sure.”

  Evan sticks his tongue in his cheek and goes back to sorting buckets of grain. He doesn’t strike me as the faire-going type—I’ve seen him a couple times at best over the years, wandering the shoppes with his little sister in tow. And yet here he is, giving his time, sweat, and energy to the stable, to being a squire, and to being William’s super-awesome friend.

  I lead Mary outside for some privacy. “I think we should tell William what we can do.”

  “Anne.” Her tone mimics Dad’s when he thinks we’re being so loud it might provoke Mom.

  “Really. He deserves to know.”

  “Why? Z’s gone.”

  I pick at a loose splinter on the siding. “I don’t think it’s over.”

  “It will be when we tell Grandmother. Let’s not drag anyone else into this.”

  “I owe it to him.”

  “To tell him some nonsense that a normal, sane person wouldn’t believe?”

  “I’m showing him.” I turn on my heel and march back inside.

  “Ugh, I wish you’d stop being so impulsive!” she barks.

  Inside, William is wiping the bridle’s reins with a cloth. “Ready?” I halt beside him.

  He drops the reins. “For…?”

  “Come with me.” I clasp my hand around his wrist. He follows easily, but the look on his face is priceless—brow arched with confusion, mouth twisted with surprise, and eyes sparking with curiosity. He won’t be disappointed.

  Evan peeks out of the grain room. “What are you guys doing?”

  Mary sidles next to him. “Nothing. I’ll help you with the grain.”

  William gestures for him to come along. “Anne has something to show us.”

  Evan eagerly joins us. “What is it?”

  Mary scowls, but reluctantly walks by his side.

  We stand in a line, facing the arena. The sun is shining brightly and there’s not a cloud in the sky.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” Mary mutters to me.

  “Too late now,” I shoot back.

  “What’re we looking for?” William makes a show of craning his neck every which way.

  I throw my head back and shout, “Castor and Pollux, show us your power!”

  Immediately, dark, roiling clouds explode overhead, swirling in and around themselves, forming convoluted patterns and funnel-shaped masses. Sharp cracks of thunder precede dozens of lightning strikes. Gusts of wind assail us, whipping our clothes. My fairy hat flies off and is carried up into the sky.

  “Oh!” I shout, mouth agape. I’ve done it now.

  “Holy crap.” William covers his head and ducks out of the way of a loose branch. It slams against the wall and scrapes its way to the ground.

  “Stop, stop, stop!” Mary’s voice tremors.

  “Get under cover!” I push Mary toward the barn.

  Evan swoops in to her rescue.

  William does the same for me. His palms press against my back, pushing me along. A deluge of golfball-sized hail smashes the ground just as we cross the barn’s threshold. We turn to face the storm, each of us panting and shaking. The funnel clouds swirl faster and stretch to the ground.

  “You can conjure up tornadoes?” Mary screeches.

  “Castor and Pollux, we get it. Please stop!” I beg.

  The wind dies down enough for me to hear the satisfied cackle of an old woman. Zeena is nowhere to be seen, but her message is clear. She’s far from gone, and she owns the elements just as much as we do.

  William says, “Whoa.”

  “Anne, did you hear that?” Mary tugs at my sleeve.

  “Yeah, I heard her.”

  “Oh, I wish we’d never done this.” She drags her hat off her head and slaps it across her thigh.

  “You keep saying that.”

  “I know, but we just keep making it worse.” Her hands are fisted and her eyes are glossy with tears.

  “Help me close the door!” William hollers over the chaos and dashes to the door. Evan is at his side in an instant. They slide the door shut on its track and William flips the latch in place, locking it.

  Evan sits on an overturned bucket and William leans his back against the door. “What the heck was that?”

  “Gamma gave me a Zodiac spellbook for my birthday. We—Mary and I—invoked the Gemini twins. And an evil sorceress is after us.” Short and simple. Sums up a ridiculously complicated mess.

  Wait. I didn’t go mute! Goosebumps erupt all over my body. The spell did work. Cool.

  “You�
��re joking.” William shakes his head.

  I give a sheepish grin. “No?”

  He pushes off the door and closes the distance between us, his gaze stabbing me. “You can control the weather?”

  I can’t tell if he’s pissed or impressed. “Yes?”

  “Because you evoked Gemini…like the stars?” His arm flies upward and swings in an arc.

  “Invoked,” Mary corrects.

  William tilts his head in her direction. “Invoked.”

  “I don’t really know how it works, except Cas—” I catch myself. “The Gemini twins have power and Mary and I tapped into it.”

  He blinks.

  “Each sign of the Zodiac has its own gifts. Like Libra is balanced and peaceful, Gemini is clever and open-minded, and…” I glance at Evan. “What’s your sign?”

  “Uh, I’m Aries,” he says, his gaze cutting to Mary. He flips over a nearby bucket and slaps it.

  She sits on it.

  He laces his fingers with hers.

  “Like Shequan.” I say.

  Everyone looks at me.

  “Aries are brave and always ready for action,” I finish.

  Evan extends his legs and crosses them at the ankles. “Nice lesson, but what does it all mean? And what does it have to do with the weather?”

  “Each sign affects a different element. Gemini and Libra are air signs. Air affects weather.”

  “And Aries?”

  “Is a fire sign.”

  “So if I invoke my sign, I can start fires? Cool!” He grins and snaps his fingers.

  “It’s not cool.” Mary pats his arm.

  “And what does it have to do with this sorceress?” William crosses his arms. His muscles bulge.

  “Zeena—” I gasp.

  Mary glances at the rafters above. “You said her name and the sky isn’t crashing down on us. Why?”

  “What does she want?” William leans forward, buying into my story.

  “She’s a Zodiac Collector.”

  “And?” William rolls on his heels.

  “I don’t know.” I glance at Mary.

  She slowly rises. “You met her at Dad’s smithy.”

  “Wait, that old lady is the sorceress?” William laughs and flops on a stack of empty pallets.

  “She can change the weather. Like us.” The hail bombarding the roof softens. Could be switching to rain.

  He shakes his head. “This is unreal. If you hadn’t made the sky explode, I’d have wondered if you’d gotten into your mother’s medicine.”

  His words whack me in the chest harder than a semi colliding with a wall at a hundred miles per hour. Of anybody, he should know not to joke about that. Tears sting my eyes. I blink them back, fumbling for my inhaler, but the lack of air isn’t from an asthma attack. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “What?”

  “My mother’s medicine? Really?” I prop a hand on my hip.

  He leaps to his feet and leans over me. “It’s just a joke.”

  “Funny.” I brush past him and unlatch the door. A grunt escapes me as I yank it open. I leave the safety of the barn and slosh through puddles and mud to the main path. It’s still raining pretty hard, but I don’t care. Mary calls to me and I start to jog. I stumble over several stones and nearly slip twice before a strong hand grips my arm and whips me around.

  William. He stares down at me, jaw clenched, brow furrowed. A storm—more volatile than the one we’re standing in—tumbles in his eyes. Water pelts us, drips from our hair and noses, and soaks through our clothes. I’m getting so sick of all this rain.

  “When did you get all sensitive? You’re the one who dropped this wild magick stuff on me.”

  Sensitive? Is he for real? I slap his hand away and take a step back. “Forget it.”

  He jerks his head toward the barn. “Come back inside.”

  “No.”

  Mary jogs up to us. “Anne, you can’t run off alone. Not with that witch out there somewhere.”

  She has a point. “Not until William takes back what he said.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you mad.” He fake-punches my shoulder. “We’re best friends.”

  Friends. Exactly what I didn’t want to hear. “Whatever.” I hook arms with Mary and we head to the barn.

  Inside, I shake out my hair and squeeze the excess water out of my shirt.

  “What’d I say now?” William barges in.

  “Nothing.” I lean against a stall door. The bay gelding leaves his hay and comes over to me. He nuzzles my neck. It tickles and I giggle involuntarily.

  “None of this makes sense.” William takes off his shirt and wrings it out. His jaw clenches and unclenches some more, and his muscles flex under his tanned skin. My gaze drags over every bulge and dip, each hard line and angle. I clear my throat, willing myself not to blush. My anger promptly flakes out. I catch Mary’s smirk. I arch an eyebrow at her and she grins.

  “I’m the one who should apologize. All of this is my fault.” I scratch the gelding’s cheek. He nickers.

  William shakes his shirt out before putting it back on. “How?”

  “Z’s here because of me.”

  “You don’t know that,” Mary says. She and Evan sit on their buckets again and hold hands. He’s dependable, quiet, and strong. Exactly what she needs.

  “We have to stop her. Then maybe things will go back to normal.” My voice trembles more than I like.

  “How do we stop her? She’s using Zodiac power too.” Mary leans into Evan.

  The gelding gets bored of my scratching and returns to his hay.

  “If we pool all our energies together, we might be able to beat her,” I say.

  “We just did a spell to keep us safe from Z, and now you want to go after her?” Mary digs her toe in the dirt. Evan wraps a protective arm around her.

  I absently slide my fingers across my Gemini pin. I gasp. We may not be the only ones in danger. “Her trinkets.”

  “What about them?” Mary clasps her free hand on Evan’s wrist.

  “Gemini, Aries, and Libra were all missing.”

  “So?” she mumbles.

  I finish the thought. “So it means she still needs to collect those.”

  “I’m a Libra,” William says.

  “And I’m Aries,” Evan adds.

  Mary rests her forehead on Evan’s shoulder. “I don’t get it. What do pins have to do with people?”

  He dips his chin to her head.

  My heart aches. I want William to hold me like that. But we’re “friends.” Nothing more. “I don’t know.”

  Mary closes her eyes. “And why is she after us? Why doesn’t she pick someone else?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She jolts upright. “See? We don’t even know what she does or what she’s capable of. I don’t want to mess with her. Maybe if we leave her alone, she’ll leave us alone and move on.”

  “I doubt it.” I fold my arms.

  William squints and twists his mouth like he’s sucking on a lemon drop. I want to kiss him like they do on every primetime teen drama. Geez. He doesn’t even like me that way and all I can think about is locking lips with him.

  “We need to have a plan in case she comes back.” I lift my chin and plant my feet shoulder-width apart.

  “How?” Doubt seeps off Mary in waves.

  William steps in my line of sight and sets his blue eyes on me. “We need information.”

  For the love of Castor and Pollux, where do we even start?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Girls? Is dinner ready? I’m famished.” Mom calls for us just as we put on our matching black hoodies. I scowl.

  “It’s ten o’clock. She wants dinner now?” Mary unzips her hoodie and has it half off before I grab the sleeve.

  “She can eat leftovers. William’s waiting for us.”

  “So we’re going to sneak out of the house, just like that? She’ll catch us on the porch or something.”

  I sigh. She’s
right.

  “We can scramble some eggs. It’ll only take a few minutes.” She wraps her hoodie around her waist.

  “All right.”

  We file into the kitchen.

  Mom’s butt sticks out of the refrigerator. She’s half-dancing, half-scrounging, so her backside wiggles back and forth in an awkward rhythm. A strand of gold embroidery thread sticks to her pants. It snakes from her hip all the way down to her knee.

  I glance at Mary. Her eyes are already affixed to the metallic strand. Her face is contorted in an “I really need to pick it off her pants” expression. We’ve been through this too many times before. Medicated Mom would be appreciative, but Manic Mom will just blow up at her for being too “particular.”

  I grab her wrist.

  She bites her lip and tugs at her hair.

  “Mom. Want some eggs?” I walk ahead, announcing our presence with as light a tone as possible. I pull a bowl out of the cupboard while Mary paws through the utensil drawer for a whisk.

  “Hmmm?” Mom twists around to face us. A broad smile is plastered across her face. Her hair is kinky and her clothes are more wrinkled than Great-Aunt Edna’s face.

  I come within inches of her to pluck the carton of eggs from the fridge and immediately regret it. She reeks of stale smoke and body odor. “Um, why don’t you hop in the shower? Mary and I’ll make eggs and home fries.”

  She lights a cigarette and takes a long drag before answering. “What? You sayin’ I stink? Nice way to treat your mother. I should make you drink dish soap.”

  Mary ducks her head into the pantry cabinet and returns with a large potato, keeping her back to Mom while she cuts it into even strips, sniffing every now and then.

  What gives Mom the right to treat us this way? Turning into a Grendel because she doesn’t want to take medicine? Totally unfair.

  I gave up crying about Mom’s mood swings a long time ago. Anger rears its scalded, pimple-covered face and urges me to smash her over the head with the frying pan. Then it whispers a plan. Drag her unconscious body to the backyard, douse her in dish soap, and set the sprinklers on her. Lost in the fantasy, I burn my finger on the side of the pan. That’s what I get for imagining something so gruesome. I suck on the burned skin, but it only intensifies the scratchy pain.

  “Have you been drinking the ale again?” Mom shoves my shoulder and laughs. It sounds like steel grating on concrete.