Witchtown

by Cory Putman Oakes

  But Aimee’s eyes were huge with concern.

  “Macie!” she yelled, grabbing the water bottle from Kellen’s hand and pouring what was left of it over my feet. “Are you okay? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I assured her, forcing myself to sigh with relief as she had, but feeling ridiculous as I did.

  This is stupid. He knows.

  Kellen didn’t say anything, just took the empty bottle from Aimee and screwed the plastic cap back on top.

  “Let’s get the others and make sure no one else goes near the water,” he said, and turned back toward the meadow.

  Swearing silently and to myself, I bent to retrieve my shoes and socks. For a second, I looked longingly over my shoulder at the angelica. What was that innocent-looking white flower going to cost me?

  I sighed for real then, and reached over to give Aimee a hand up the steep bank.

  While Kellen was busy turning his pupils over to the next teacher, I tried to make a run for it.

  Just get out of here, I told myself, as I walked quickly back toward the path that led downtown. Avoid him for a while. The more time that goes by, the less he’ll remember what he saw. He won’t trust it. It goes counter to everything he thinks he knows about you.

  That seemed like a fine plan, but it was blown to pieces when, an impossibly short time later, I heard someone running up behind me on the path.

  “Macie, wait!”

  I picked up my pace, speed walking now, pretending that I hadn’t heard him.

  “Macie! Stop!”

  Kellen grabbed my elbow from behind, and stopped me in my tracks.

  I jerked my arm free and glared at him.

  “What’s your problem?” I exclaimed, feigning astonishment.

  He ignored my act.

  “Are we going to talk about this?”

  “About what?” I asked innocently.

  “You know what.” His eyes narrowed and he looked at me the way I imagined he would look at one of the six-year-olds after catching them in an obvious lie. “The rowan. It didn’t hurt you.”

  “So?” I asked, hoping to buy time. Think, Macie. Think.

  “I only touched the water for a second, and my hand is still stinging like hell. And my entire mouth is numb. You had your feet submerged in it for a couple of minutes, at least. And you didn’t react until I pointed it out to you.”

  He wasn’t going to just let it go. Kellen was not as trusting as Gayle; he wasn’t going to give me the benefit of the doubt. I was going to have to confront this, head-on.

  “So what?” I asked, throwing the words down like a challenge.

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I can think of two possibilities,” he said. His voice was calm. Downright analytical.

  “Just two?” I mocked.

  “Yes,” he said, still dead calm. “The first is that you’re a Natural. Rowan leeches only channeled power, or the remnants of channeled power. So it only hurts Learneds. Naturals don’t have to channel, since they just use their own power, so rowan is harmless to them.”

  I said nothing. Maybe if I gave him nothing, no reaction whatsoever, he would talk himself in circles. Arrive at no conclusion.

  “Your mother’s a Natural,” he added thoughtfully, relaxing his arms at his sides.” But that doesn’t mean you are. And you don’t wear the ring. I can’t think of a reason you’d hide that. So I’m betting it’s possibility number two.”

  “Which is?” I asked. It was impossible not to ask.

  “You don’t know how to channel. There was no channeled power in you for the rowan to leech, so it had no effect on you.”

  I did my best to keep my face expressionless. But inside, I was panicking. I knew deep down that Kellen didn’t need false assurances from me. What was I going to do when he figured it out?

  What was he going to do?

  I decided there was no point in waiting to find out.

  “I’m a Void, okay?” I told him. The words sounded strange out loud. “I can’t channel.”

  Kellen looked surprised.

  “A Void?” he said, as though that was the last thing he had expected me to say. “Who told you that?”

  “Nobody told me that,” I spat at him. “I just am that. I have been. My whole life.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, you’re not.”

  I was so stunned at his words that I nearly fell over. What?

  “What?” I said out loud.

  “You. Are. Not. A. Void.” He said it plainly, overpronouncing the words. “No one is born a Void. That’s not how it works. You have to do something to Void yourself. Overreach. Channel too much power. Something like that.”

  Annoyance washed over me, and I took a deep breath to calm myself.

  “You seem to be quite the expert,” I snapped.

  “Not an expert,” he said quietly. “But I did know a Void once. I’ve seen one, up close and personal. And believe me, they are empty. Soulless and vacant. You’re not.”

  I clenched one fist, and dug my nails painfully into the palm of my hand. My anger was starting to edge out my fear at being found out.

  “Do you really think I’d admit to something like that if it wasn’t true?” I demanded. “I know they say you can’t be born a Void. But I was. I don’t know how it happened. And maybe I’m nothing like the Void you knew. But I am a Void. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, obviously thinking hard.

  “I’d like to prove you wrong,” he said a few seconds later.

  I just stared at him.

  “What are you going to do? Trick me into accidentally channeling? Force me? Believe me, my mother has tried everything you could think of. Nothing has ever worked.”

  “Not trick you, not force you. Teach you.”

  “My mother has tried that, too. And she’s a Natural. You’re just a Learned.”

  “Exactly,” he said, and his usual cocky expression started to return. “She’s a Natural. Magic is like breathing to her. Which means she never had to learn. Your mom trying to teach you magic is like you trying to teach someone how to breathe. How can you even begin to teach someone something that is just instinct to you? You need a teacher who had to learn it too.”

  I scowled at him. But an annoying little voice in my head started asking if he could be right.

  No, he’s not right. Stop listening to him.

  I closed my eyes. My brain was starting to hurt.

  “Kellen, there’s no point,” I said.

  “Are you sure about that? I’m an excellent teacher. I have references.” He gestured behind us to the little witches running around the meadow by the lake, and grinned at me.

  I did not grin in return. And the chaos in my head swirled into full-blown panic when he reached for my hand and took hold of it.

  Suddenly, I realized how completely I had lost control of this situation. This guy now knew my biggest secret. Or one of my biggest secrets, at any rate. And I had gotten absolutely nothing from him in return. He had me badly off balance.

  I had only confided in one other person about being a Void. And that had been under different circumstances. Very different.

  My thoughts started to wander. I started to smell the sweet, thick scent of sawdust . . .

  I shook my head clear of the memory and took a step backwards, pulling away from his hand.

  “I told you,” I said flatly. “I’m with someone.”

  He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest again.

  “I have no idea why that should interfere with what I’m proposing,” he said, sounding mildly affronted. The bastard. “What kind of magic do you think I’m going to teach you, anyway?”

  “It doesn’t matter what kind,” I told him. “It won’t work.”

  He put his hands up in surrender.

  “Then I might be wasting my time. I’ll consider myself warned. But I’d like to try anyway. What’ve you got to lose?
”

  I considered this. He wasn’t letting it go. But it didn’t seem like he was going to go running to the mayor to tell on me, either. For whatever reason, he wanted to try to teach me. He wanted something from me. That opened up possibilities.

  “Okay,” I said reluctantly. “You can try and teach me, but on one condition. Wait, no. Two conditions.”

  “Name them.”

  “First, this is our secret. You will tell no one what you know about me.”

  “I figured that. Done. What’s the second condition?”

  I hesitated.

  “What do you know about poltergeists?”

  It was dark when I approached the Depot door for the second time that day. My hands were shaking and my lungs ached with the memory of the smoke, but I tried to shove all that aside. I was not going to let one measly near-death experience scare me off.

  The lock on the door didn’t give me as much trouble this time, which struck me as more ominous than convenient. I walked inside with my arms crossed protectively over my face. Which, judging by his smirk, Kellen seemed to find amusing.

  “Just wait,” I warned him, then peeked through my arms and searched for the poltergeist—​for Bradley. I didn’t see him, but I was getting that weird feeling of being watched again, so I knew there was no guarantee he wasn’t seeing me.

  That’s right, I said silently, to the ceiling rafters. I’m back.

  I jumped as Kellen closed the door behind us, the sound shaking my bravado just a tad.

  He smiled an apology, shrugged off his backpack, and suddenly, the way that his T-shirt fit over his arms became very distracting. Kellen’s shoulders were no rivals for the insanely muscled Royce, but they were broader than I had thought. Strong, in a lean sort of way. Which, frankly, I had always preferred . . .

  What are you doing? There’s a poltergeist in here who tried to kill you earlier today and you’re noticing people’s arms? Focus, Macie!

  Kellen paused in front of the freshly charred counter and raised an eyebrow in my direction. Then his eyes traveled down, taking in the scorched cuffs of my jeans and my slightly melted shoe. I hadn’t told him any of the details of my earlier encounter with the poltergeist; only that I had had one.

  I needed something to do, so I walked toward the large pile of boxes in the center of the room. As long as Bradley was taking his time, I figured I might as well get some of this stuff sorted out. This place would feel a lot more like a shop with stuff on the shelves.

  “Did you know any of the previous owners?” I asked Kellen. The first box I opened contained dozens of candles wrapped in tissue paper. I set it aside and struggled to lift another, slightly larger box marked “Incense Burners—​Assorted.”

  “No,” said Kellen, taking the heavy box out of my hands and placing it on a shelf behind us. “I didn’t move here until the Depot had already burned down once. The next two owners weren’t around for very long before—” he stopped, catching himself.

  “Before the place burned down over their heads?” I finished for him.

  “Let’s just make sure that doesn’t happen again. Oh, I forgot, I have something that might help with that.”

  Kellen walked back to the door and pulled something bulky out of his backpack. He hid it behind himself until he was in front of me, then he bowed dramatically and handed me a bright red fire extinguisher with a large white bow taped to it.

  I gave him a severe look as I took the surprisingly heavy metal cylinder from him.

  “Gayle told me a little about what happened earlier, when I stopped by the bakery on my way home today,” he admitted.

  “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

  “She’s my mentor. Everyone in Witchtown gets assigned an Elder mentor. School here is regular classes in the morning, mentor time in the afternoon. You’ll see in the fall.”

  I winced. Gayle had mentioned school earlier today too. As though it was a foregone conclusion I would still be here to attend classes. But I knew I wouldn’t see fall in Witchtown. My mother and I rarely stayed in one place more than a few months. By the time school started again, we—​along with every memory of us—​would be long gone.

  “Gayle told you I needed help?” I asked. I didn’t know why I felt offended by this, given that it was completely true.

  “She . . . might have suggested I find a way to work on the wind spell with you,” he said sheepishly, nodding at the fire extinguisher. “But given what happened earlier, in the creek, I thought this might be more practical.”

  I turned the extinguisher over in my hands and ran my fingers over the white bow. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given me a gift.

  “Maybe it’ll come in handy,” he added, with a furtive glance around the Depot. “I hope not, though. But my mother always said it was bad manners to arrive empty-handed at a housewarming. Er, Depot-warming, in this case. So I had to bring you something.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I cleared my throat quickly, embarrassed at the slight wobble in my voice, and set the fire extinguisher on the nearest countertop. Then, to make conversation, I added, “Does your mother know anything about poltergeists?”

  “Possibly,” Kellen said, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I mean, she’s dead, so . . .”

  He trailed off and I felt my mouth drop open.

  “Oh, Kellen—” I started, knowing that I had no idea how I intended to finish that sentence. I should have caught the past tense when he first brought her up.

  “It’s okay,” he said hurriedly. “It happened a long time ago.”

  He cleared his throat too and looked away from me, toward the pile of inventory. After a moment he looked up and his normal smug smile had returned.

  “So what are you going to do with all this stuff?” he asked.

  I still felt like I should say something to acknowledge what he had just told me. The first piece of personal information he had ever offered. But I also felt like I should follow his lead, and he was clearly done talking about it.

  “I guess we can start by unpacking it,” I said. “I’ll have to order more, obviously, but there’s probably enough here for me to open the shop, once I get it all organized.”

  My eyes were drawn to a plastic box marked “Herbs.” This was the part of owning a supply depot—​or pretending to, at any rate—​that I was the most excited about. I grabbed the box eagerly and as I did, Kellen smiled at me.

  “What?” I asked, impatiently.

  “Nothing. Just . . . you’re excited. About this place. It’s cute.”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. Cute?

  I worked my thumbnail underneath the packing tape. Kellen was different this evening. Here he was, bringing me gifts, paying me compliments, and finally letting a crack appear in that swaggery armor of his.

  It’s because he knows you’re a Void, I realized suddenly. He thinks he has you all figured out now.

  An interesting and most unexpected side effect of his finding out. I would have to think about that. There was still something about him I didn’t trust. Something that still needed figuring out.

  The box was full of small plastic baggies, all sealed for freshness and labeled. I dug in, thinking of how I would display the herbs. Bins, probably. And the more exotic ones could go in glass jars, maybe above the bins . . .

  I picked up a bag marked “Dried Feverfew” and opened it, sniffing carefully and bracing myself for the herb’s strong, bitter scent. But it didn’t come.

  I looked more closely at the bag. It contained a handful of green leaves that had been dried and crushed. A lot of herbs were stored this way; they all looked alike and could be distinguished only by their scents. But this one did not smell right.

  “What’s wrong?” Kellen asked, looking up from a box titled “Assorted Ritual Garb.”

  I took another sniff inside the bag to confirm what my well-practiced nose was telling me.

  “Basil,” I muttered. “This bag is marked ‘Feverfew,’ but it�
��s full of dried basil.”

  “Are you sure?” Kellen asked.

  “Of course I’m sure. I know my herbs.”

  My curiosity, and the depressing thought that the entire box of herbs might be useless, was eclipsing my fear of the poltergeist, for the moment. I pulled out another baggie. This one was labeled “Rosehips,” but the crumbly, dry plant inside was entirely the wrong color. I examined baggie after baggie and I felt my heart sink. In some cases, the herbs were merely misidentified; a dried bulb marked “Wild Garlic” was clearly daffodil, a strip of bark obviously from a eucalyptus tree was labeled “Alder Bark,” and so on. But in most cases, it looked (and smelled) like most of the herbs had been swapped for cheaper lookalikes. Dried basil appeared to be the filler herb of choice.

  “It looks like the previous owner was running a scam,” I said to Kellen.

  “Or someone was scamming them,” Kellen suggested, picking up a couple of the baggies. “I wouldn’t know the difference between most of these. Maybe they didn’t either?”

  “You wouldn’t know until you tried a spell and it went wrong. Or worse,” I added, as he examined a baggie that held a delicate dried plant with feathery green leaves and white flowers. “Be careful with that one. It’s toxic.”

  Kellen peered at the label.

  “Queen Anne’s Lace?” he read, frowning at the unassuming name.

  “Nope. It looks a lot like Queen Anne’s Lace, so it’s an easy mistake to make. But you see those purplish, red spots on the stem? That’s poison hemlock. No reputable herbalist would ever mix those two up. I mean, someone could die if they ate or drank something with hemlock in it! Hello? Socrates?”

  Kellen gingerly handed me the baggie. I set it on the counter, wondering how I was going to dispose of it in a way I could be sure would prevent anyone from touching it. That might be pretty hard, given Witchtown’s aggressive recycling and compost programs.

  I looked mournfully over the rest of my stock.

  “Hey, don’t sweat it,” Kellen said cheerfully. “Maybe we could—​hey, is it cold in here?”

  He was right; a chill had descended over the shop. I rubbed my bare arms.