by Amy Garvey
“Maybe I could figure out some sort of location spell,” Mari says, leaning on the steering wheel and peering out the windshield at the buildings. “I’ve never actually done one before, but I think—”
“We don’t have time to play ‘Occult Nancy Drew.’” I shake my head. My hands are clenched so tight, my fingernails are digging half-moons into my palms. “Wait, I know. Jude. I can ask Jude.”
“Jude?” Mari says, confused, but she’s already turning the car on again. I give her the directions to Jude’s apartment and sit rigid in the passenger seat as Mari takes us there.
I’m so tired, it’s hard to keep my eyes open. But every time I close them, I see Gabriel’s face.
Mari pulls into an empty spot on the block where Jude’s apartment is, and I’m already halfway up to the door before she gets out of the car. I press buzzers until someone opens the outside door, and then I run up the stairs to Jude’s apartment.
There’s no answer. I keep pounding, calling for her, but the door stays firmly shut. When I press my ear to it, I don’t hear anything, not that I would hear her crouching inside, ignoring me. It feels empty, but I knock one more time. “Jude, come on, I need to talk to you!”
A door down the hall opens, and a guy in a backward baseball cap and a pair of basketball shorts sticks his head out. “Christ, she’s not home! Give it a frigging rest, it’s, like, ass o’clock in the morning.”
“It’s almost ten, slacker,” I snap, but I head back downstairs, where Mari is waiting by the door.
“No luck?”
“None.” I push open the door and stand on the walk, shaking. If I can’t find Jude . . .
“Come on.” Mari’s hand on my back steers me toward the curb, but I glance up and down the block first. And maybe someone, somewhere, is rooting for me, because Jude is walking home with a bakery bag in one hand and a giant coffee in the other, just a block away.
My mouth falls open when she spots me—and turns around. She’s not quite running, but it’s close, and I lunge into a sprint to go after her. She turns the corner, and I groan.
I can hear Mari’s feet pounding the sidewalk behind me even as I shout, “Jude, stop! Please, Jude! I need your help! Jude! I mean it, come on! He might die!”
The toe of her sneaker catches on an uneven piece of concrete in the sidewalk, and her coffee lands with a messy splash on the grass beside it, but she finally slows down. We’re two blocks farther into the residential neighborhood on this side of downtown, big sprawling houses set back from the street, the bare trees arching overhead like a canopy. It’s not really the kind of block where you’re supposed to have messy, screaming confrontations, but I don’t care.
She stops and turns around to face me as I jog toward her, panting. Mari is somewhere behind me, but I don’t need her for this. I only need Jude, and suddenly I’m not at all sure what awful thing I might do if she tries to take off again.
“Who might die?” Jude says quietly when I’m finally close enough to hear her. She sets the bakery bag down on the short wall at the foot of the yard behind her. It slopes up in a graceful hill, and the wall is a perfect place to sit. I take it, still trying to catch my breath.
“Gabriel,” I say simply, and let my head hang down over my chest for a minute. “Look, I know this isn’t your problem, but I can’t find Bay. And he . . . he did something to Gabriel last night, and I need to find him. I need to know what he did so I can fix it.”
“Oh, Jesus, Wren.” She drops down next to me and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. It’s freezing, and her cheeks are hot pink with it.
“Look, I know what you said. But I didn’t know why you said to be careful, you know?” I scrub my hands through my hair, trying to get all the facts straight so she’ll understand. “I saw Bay with some other kids, and I heard them mention Adam Palicki’s name. And Bay totally made the grossest moves on me and said awful things about Fiona, and that night, at the party, Gabriel got a glimpse inside Bay, and I know it was about Adam.”
If I was trying to tell this sensibly, I’m not doing a very good job, but I can tell Jude is following anyway.
“But Gabriel and I, we wanted to see if . . . well, first you should know Gabriel is psychic, so we wanted to see if—”
“Wren.” Jude holds a hand up, nodding. “I get it. Bay is poison. What happened to Gabriel exactly?”
“I don’t know.” For the first time, tears are threatening again, because at the heart of this mess is Gabriel, unconscious on his bed. “He got all spacey, and then he was in pain, and then he passed out, but he was still in pain, and he’s sort of . . . comatose now, or something.”
She shakes her head, closing her eyes briefly, and then stands up. “Come on. Come back to my apartment for a minute, and then I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Jude tries Bay’s phone when we get upstairs, and sighs when she hangs up a second later. “This number is no longer in service, apparently,” she says. “I bet he just took off. I got sort of . . . freaked out about him not long ago, and probably about a week before I met you, I did a little digging on him. It seems like he’s done this before. I don’t think he’s really a freshman, either.”
“What about Fiona? Do you know her home phone or where she lives?”
“Yup.” Jude picks up her phone again, but I can tell no one’s answering. “Maybe we should swing by there, just to see.”
I know where we’re going when we’re still half a block away, and when Jude tells Mari which house to pull up to, I groan.
“Here? God.” It’s the house Gabriel and I were walking by when he had his first headache all those weeks ago. I can’t believe it. All along, he’s been picking up Bay’s nasty frequency, and I had no idea.
Jude and I get out of the car and walk up the driveway. There are no cars parked there or in the garage, and the house has the locked-up, lifeless look of something empty.
“We could probably get in,” Jude says with a shrug. “I mean, I know we could—it’s nothing to open a door. But I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”
“At the moment, I don’t really need to add breaking and entering to my list of crimes,” I tell her, and lean against the back door for a minute. “You know what happened to Adam, don’t you? That’s why you were so uncomfortable with them?”
She nods, her colorless hair falling forward to hide her eyes. “It was just us, Adam and Fiona and Bay and me, here. Fiona’s parents were away, like always, and Bay . . . wanted to party. Adam had been hanging around, and he didn’t really have any power, but he wanted to learn the spells, the craft, and Bay liked to . . . play with him. Adam was a sweet kid.” When she looks up, her eyes are glassy with tears.
“It was an accident, really. They were goofing around, and we were all drinking a little, and Adam wanted to fly. Bay had been sort of dosing him all night, giving him little jolts of magic, and I don’t think Adam realized it. Next thing I knew, Bay was coming in from outside and telling us all to clean up, putting Fiona to bed. I think he did some kind of spell—she doesn’t remember Adam at all now. For her, he never even existed.”
I’m staring, my blood frozen into sludge inside. “Fly?”
She just nods, and suddenly I can imagine it all, Adam up on that roof right there, the blood . . .
“What did he do with the . . . the body?”
She swallows hard. “I don’t know. I thought Adam had just gone home at first. But when we were leaving, I saw the . . . the blood in the driveway.”
Oh God.
“I was so scared of him then, Wren.” She grabs my arm, fingers too tight. “I mean, I thought it was just fun, I’d never met anyone who could do what I could do, and I knew it was sort of slimy the way he treated Fiona, but she just didn’t get it, it was all a game to her, it was just make-believe, fairyland, and—”
“Stop!” I’m shaking again, my stomach rolling with the dark, foul taste of all of it. “Do your guilt on your own time, okay? Right now my b
oyfriend is sick. Can you help me or not?”
She straightens up, sniffling. “Absolutely.”
There’s no time for formal introductions when we get up to Olivia and Gabriel’s apartment. I probably could have brought in Merlin, and Olivia would have simply nodded and told us to get out our wands.
There’s no good news yet.
“I’ve found pieces of other spells, or spells almost like what you need, but without knowing what we’re fighting, it’s hard to be specific.” Dad looks beyond exhausted.
“Are you a . . . what they are?” Olivia asks Jude, blunt and wild-eyed. She seems to be disappearing farther into the huge sweater every time I look at her, nothing left but crazy, knotted hair and tearstains.
Jude nods and takes off her coat and sits down next to my father. “Can I take a look? I’ve studied some of this, just out of curiosity.”
“Kids these days,” Mom says faintly, and Mari puts an arm around her.
“It was partly to get familiar with the history of the practice, and partly because . . .” Jude trails off and looks at me with a sad shrug. “Well, I was scared I might run into someone who liked the black arts.”
I shudder and turn away, wrapping my arms around myself. The door to Gabriel’s bedroom is still partway open, and I walk over to it to peek inside.
It doesn’t look like he’s moved. For a moment, he looks so much like Danny did, lying on the same bed just months ago, dead and undead and hurting all because of me, that my stomach turns with horror.
But the feeling twists itself into something new a moment later: determination. No way am I losing Gabriel. Absolutely not.
“Give me a book,” I say, facing the others again. “I’m figuring this out right now.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
THREE HOURS LATER, I’M AS READY AS I’M ever going to be. The words in the books are running together, and every new suggestion is just confusing the issue. Dad keeps muttering about “what this kid did to Gabriel” and every time he says, “this kid,” his voice drops into a growl. Mom and Mari are propping up each other in exhaustion, and Olivia is passed out on the couch. Jude’s flipping through the books so intensely, she barely says a word, scribbling notes on a pad beside her instead.
I’m done. I’m getting my boyfriend back now.
I raised Danny from the grave without a book, after all, even if I did crib some notes. I can heal Gabriel, too.
“Okay,” I say, standing up, and it’s so quiet in the room that everyone jumps. Even Olivia stirs on the sofa, and Mari goes over to get her up.
“Honey, did you find something?” Mom asks. She’s rubbing her eyes.
“Sort of.” I attempt a smile. “I’m just using basic principles here, but I think it will work with enough, well, power behind it.”
Dad looks stricken and even afraid. I don’t have time to deal with how awful that makes me feel for him, though. “You know I can’t . . .”
“I know, it’s okay.” I nod at him, and Jude closes her book and looks up at me, hands folded.
“Basic principles” are just that, and I don’t want to admit that some of them I borrowed from Buffy and Charmed. But I explain that we’ll need a circle, and they’ll have to repeat the words I give them three times.
Not to mention the full force of everyone’s power hurled at Gabriel like magical grenades. Peaceful, healing magical grenades anyway.
“It could work,” Mari says, and Olivia murmurs, “It has to work.”
“I wish Mom was here,” my mother says, finally looking up at my dad. Her smile is rueful, brief, and she reaches across the table to squeeze his hand just as quickly. “Thank you, Sam.”
He shakes his head. “Least I can do. Literally.” He touches my shoulder as he passes, and I lean into it for a second, letting the warmth bleed in. “I’m going to see what Robin’s up to. I’m . . . I’m so sorry I can’t do more, kiddo.”
Gratitude wells up like blood from a wound, hot and urgent. “Daddy, you’ve . . . you’ve done a lot. Thank you.” I take a minute to hug him hard, drinking in the solid comfort of him. It’s beginning to feel familiar again.
“Now? Please?” Olivia’s voice is a husk of sound as she waits at the doorway to Gabriel’s room. Dad watches as the five of us walk inside, but I hear the door to the apartment open and close as we gather two on each side of Gabriel’s bed and me at the foot. He’s still lost somewhere, drifting, anchored here by nothing but his body.
It’s up to us now.
“You know I don’t . . . have abilities, right?” Olivia whispers to me.
“Intentions matter more than magic,” Jude tells her with a smile, and Olivia relaxes.
“I have to get a few things,” I tell them. “For now, just stand here in a circle, and think the best, most healing thoughts you can at him. If you pray, go ahead. It won’t hurt.”
Mom’s expression is pinched with concern, but she nods, and all four of them close their eyes, hands clasped. The simple gesture is so powerful, I have to choke back tears.
I find a candle in the kitchen, and Olivia’s been growing lavender on the kitchen windowsill for a few months. It’s not much, but it’s supposed to be good for love and healing. I take a bowl down from the cabinet and gently strip leaves and petals into the bottom of the bowl. I don’t have my athame, but a kitchen knife will probably do just as well. I scrub it clean with steaming-hot water and soap and carry all of it into the other room.
The hush is calming, so I walk softly to the end of the bed and place the bowl on the mattress between Gabriel’s feet. I put the candle on the dresser and light it with a pack of matches I found in the kitchen drawer, and turn around to face the others.
“Okay, this is not the best idea, but I think it will help. If you don’t want to do this part, you don’t have to.” I hold up the knife a little sheepishly. “Just a drop from your fingertip will do it, I think.”
“Oh, Wren,” Mom says, but she disappears for a moment and comes back with a wet paper towel. “Wipe it in between. Well.”
I make the first prick and hand the knife to Olivia. It doesn’t take much to squeeze a fat drop from my finger, and it darkens the lavender when it falls. The others follow without a word, and when I’ve put the knife away everyone joins hands again.
“Repeat the last part after me three times, okay?” I tell them, and take one last look at Gabriel, pale and motionless, before I close my eyes to begin.
Please, please let this work.
My voice shakes with the first words.
We call upon greater powers to heal this boy
For him we seek peace and health
His life was cursed, to heal him is our plea
Spirits bright, spirits kind
Brigid, Airmid, Dian Cécht
All the hooded spirits
Witness our invocation
To health you return, Gabriel
Peace awaits you
A curse has no hold on you anymore
By the light of the sun
By the light of our love
We command this to be
With this symbol of Gabriel
With our blood
We command this to be
Heal him, great spirits
Heal him, powers kind
Heal him, great spirits
Heal him, powers good
Four voices join me as I repeat the last verse, echoing twice more—Mom’s soft and steady, Jude’s determined, Olivia’s breaking with tears. Mari’s voice is strong and sweet, completely confident, and I want to hug her.
I take a deep breath before I open my eyes, and we’re all frozen, hands clasped tight, staring at Gabriel with dread and hope and love. The silence rings all around us, complete and stark, and then Gabriel gasps.
Olivia’s grip tightens so hard, I wince, and Jude steps back from the bed, hand to her mouth. Mom and Mari are still frozen, waiting.
And me? I’m pushing them out of the way to lean over him, shaking so h
ard I can barely see. “Gabriel?”
He draws another long, shuddering breath, and opens his eyes. They’re fogged, unfocused, but in another moment they’re clear, narrowing and blinking and the eyes I love.
I’m the first thing he sees. And his slow, sleepy smile is all I need.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“SO WHAT HAPPENED?” JESS BLOWS ON HER latte so hard the whipped cream ripples. “Is he okay now?”
“It’s migraines, I guess,” I tell her, but I’m staring into my own coffee. Geoff made it special for me, and there’s a bag of pastries and cookies in the back to take to Gabriel and Olivia when I leave. Gabriel has grown on him, and even Trevor thinks, and I quote, that Olivia is “adorable enough to eat.”
“I’m so sorry we missed the last song,” I say to Darcia, who’s nibbling her way through a ginger-cranberry muffin with brown-butter-cinnamon glaze. Or something. I hate it when Geoff makes things that take longer to say than to eat. “You were awesome, though.”
Dar actually smirks. She licks a shiny smear of sugar off her finger, and says, “Well, next time, hopefully you won’t have to miss it.”
Jess lifts a brow. “Next time?”
Dar bites her bottom lip, but her grin escapes anyway. “They asked me back. Next month.”
“No way!” I high-five her across the table, and Jess leans over to plant a noisy kiss on her cheek. “Rock star all the way. I told you.”
“I don’t know about rock star,” Dar protests, but she’s still beaming when she bites into her muffin again.
“I’ll do all the promotion.” Jess is gazing out the window, mouth pursed as she plans. “Email blasts, Facebook, free MP3s. Wren, you can be the tour photographer.”