I shake my head and forbid the wind from carrying the voices to me. I look down at the blood on my hands, my fingers red and trembling. I fumble for my phone for the third time and try to call Mama.
There’s no answer.
Again.
As I shove it into my duffel bag, the note she left me that morning falls out. See you at three! I want to scream as I crumble it up and shove it into the deepest corner of the bag, under my street shoes and shorts. I’m still in my cheer uniform. Blood on the skirt. But whether it is from Julieta or Beau, I’m not sure.
“Miss Whittaker?” a deep voice says.
I look up to see two police officers standing there. They stare down, their mouths pressed into straight lines.
“Y-yes?” I ask, my voice cracking. I didn’t realize how dry my throat was.
“Can we speak to you for a moment?” the first officer asks. His name is Officer Downs, if his nametag is to be trusted.
“Umm...should my mama be here?” I ask.
“You aren’t in any trouble,” the second officer says. He’s a man I know from my neighborhood as Officer Jordan. “We just have to take a statement before you can go home and get cleaned up.”
I nod, looking at my red hands. I should wash them. Why haven’t I done that yet?
“Can you come with us?” Officer Downs asks.
I look up and across the hall, through the big open window to Julieta’s room. I’m not sure why I’m not in there. How did we even get to the hospital? What time is it?
Julieta’s mom is in the room talking to the doctors. Julieta is still unconscious, but no one seems worried. Still, I don’t want to leave just yet.
“Umm...I…” I’m not sure what to say, or what to do. I shouldn’t talk to the cops without my mama, right? Isn’t that the law or something?
I feel like I’m about to cry when I catch Julieta’s mom’s eye. She excuses herself from the doctors and rushes to my side.
“Maddie?” she asks, giving the officers a stern eye as she sits in the chair beside me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing at all, Mrs. Hernandez,” Officer Downs says, doffing his police cap at her. Julieta’s family owns the Mexican restaurant in town, so the Hernandezes are pretty well-known. “We just need a statement from Madison so she can go home.”
“Does she need a lawyer or her mother?” Mrs. Hernandez asks, and I am so thankful she is here to take charge.
“No, ma’am,” Officer Jordan says. “She’s not in any trouble. We just need to confirm what we think happened, and then she is free to go. I’m sure she needs the rest.”
“Have you at least tried to call Genevieve?” Mrs. Hernandez asks.
“Yes, ma’am. Several times,” Officer Jordan says, and a knowing look passes between the three of them. My mama is a bit well-known as well, but not for any good reason.
“Fine,” Mrs. Hernandez says. “Come into Julieta’s room. She’s sleeping, so we can talk there.”
The officers nod, and Mrs. Hernandez helps me to my feet and leads me to Julieta’s room. She sets me in a chair and hands me a cup of water from the table next to Julieta’s bed.
I try to thank her, but no words make it through my parched throat, which I now realize is also sore. How long had I screamed before someone found me and Beau?
I gulp down the water and then hand the cup back to Mrs. Hernandez. I nod toward Julieta. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Yes, honey,” Mrs. Hernandez says, rubbing my back. “She just needs rest.”
Officer Downs takes out a notebook and pen. “Can you tell us what you were doing on the field after the siren went off?”
“I was trying to help Julieta get to the building,” I say. “Mr. Barker’s dog was out, and she went to pick her up. Oh! Mimi!” I suddenly exclaim. “What happened to Mimi?”
“Who’s Mimi?” Officer Downs asks.
“Dog that lives near the school,” Officer Jordan explains quickly, then he pats my hand. “She’s fine. One of the other students found her and took her home.”
I don’t know why this brings me such relief, but it does. Why do I care so much about that stupid dog?
“Then what happened?” Officer Downs asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to remember. “A branch or something flew up and hit Julieta in the head. The debris was moving so fast, I didn’t see what it was. She fell. I stayed by her side to—”
I stop myself before I say protect her. I don’t know a lot about being a witch, except that it’s something I need to keep to myself.
“I couldn’t leave her alone,” I say finally.
“That was very dangerous,” Officer Downs says.
“And brave,” Mrs. Hernandez adds.
Officer Downs presses his lips together.
“How did you find Mr. Redbird?” Officer Jordan asks.
My breath hitches in my throat at the callous way he refers to Beau. Some part of my mind was not ready to think about that. To think that he’s really… That he’s really…
Tears well up again, but I need to get this over with. My hands are still red with his blood.
“The storm passed,” I say. “I went to get help for Julieta. He was on the ground. The rebar…”
I press my red hands to my face and let the tears fall. Mrs. Hernandez kneels by my side and wraps her arms around me.
“That’s it, honey,” she says. “Just let it out.”
And I do. I cry and cry and groan out my pain. I don’t think the pain will ever stop. It sits like a sick rock in my stomach I wish I could vomit out, but I know it will never come up.
Finally, the tears calm. I wipe my nose on the back of my hand and pull away from Mrs. Hernandez, her brown curls just like Julieta’s getting tangled in my own straight blonde hair.
Officer Jordan goes to the table, refills the water cup, and brings it to me. I hold it and stare down into the water. Mrs. Hernandez steps away to talk to Officer Downs, but I focus so I can hear their words.
“Best we can tell, ma’am,” the officer says, “after everyone else was inside, Beau noticed the girls weren’t there. He went back outside to look for them and was struck by the debris. Just a terrible tragedy. An accident.”
An accident.
The words burn in my mind. It wasn’t an accident at all. I sent the rebar flying. I caused Beau’s death. It was my fault. I chose not to attend La Voisin School for Young Witches. I chose not to train. To learn how to control my powers. I stayed away. Hid. Lied.
I killed Beau.
I push past Officer Jordan and into the small bathroom of Julieta’s room. I lunge to the toilet and vomit. I heave and groan, forcing up the guilt, the pain, the regret.
I use my power to purge my body of the poison. The poison that is me. My stupidity. My foolishness. My pride. I vomit until there is nothing left.
And yet, nothing came out. The pain is still there, an eternal rock in my gut that will never leave.
I wipe the sickness from my mouth and flush the toilet.
“We can drive her home,” Officer Jordan offers Mrs. Hernandez. I can hear them standing in the doorway, watching me. Talking about me.
“No,” she says. “I’ll do it.”
The officers silently shuffle from the room, and Mrs. Hernandez kneels beside me, rubbing my back. Then she tugs at my arm, pulling me to my feet and to the sink. She turns on the water and places my hands under it. She pumps the soap dispenser. She rubs our hands together until the red washes away down the sink. She uses a paper towel to wipe my face. She pulls a hair tie out of her pocket and pulls my hair away from my face and into the tie.
When I dare to look up at the mirror, I look halfway normal. Other than the bloodshot eyes, you’d never know I killed someone today.
“Let’s get you home,” she says, leading me out of the bathroom and toward the door.
But I pull my hand from her grasp and go to Julieta’s side.
“Are you sure she’s okay?” I ask Mrs
. Hernandez.
“She will be,” she says.
I look down at Julieta, her head wrapped in gauze. An IV drip in the back of her hand. A monitor bleeping nearby. I hesitate, but then I take her hand in mine. I nod. She will be okay. I shudder to think what would have happened if I had left her on the field alone.
No. Such a thing never even popped into my mind. Even if I wasn’t a witch, I wouldn’t have left her there. But would I have done things differently? Tried harder to get her off the field instead of facing the storm? Gone for help sooner?
If I hadn’t deflected the rebar, she’d be dead. But Beau would be alive. Did I choose my best friend over my boyfriend? Was it a choice at all? Would I make the same choice again?
“Come on,” Mrs. Hernandez says, tugging me toward the door again. “You need your rest too.”
I let her lead me out of the room. I grab my bag that is still sitting in the hallway as we head to her car.
Driving down the road is hazardous. Debris has scattered everywhere. Uprooted trees. Downed power lines. Emergency vehicles. Mrs. Hernandez drives slowly and cautiously, taking much longer than usual to get me home. I feel bad; she’s leaving her daughter at the hospital to take care of me because my own mom couldn’t show up to do it herself. But I’m also thankful.
It’s pitch dark. Most of the houses are without power, and the streetlamps are dead. I check the clock on the dash. It’s after ten p.m. I hardly remember anything after finding Beau. Where did the time go?
“Beau’s parents?” I ask, suddenly realizing I didn’t see them at the hospital.
“They know,” Mrs. Hernandez replies.
For the first time, I’m glad his parents rarely have the chance to make it to his games. They have to work a lot to provide for their three kids and Mr. Redbird’s ailing mother. It would have been terrible for them to see him like that…
We pull up in front of my house.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” Mrs. Hernandez asks me.
“No,” I say firmly. The house is dark, but I know Mama’s in there. Whatever state she’s in, I don’t want Mrs. Hernandez to see her. It must be pretty bad for her to miss the game and a tornado warning.
Mrs. Hernandez reaches behind my seat and hands me an emergency flashlight. I give her a smile, but I feel my resentment toward my own mother growing. The flashlight. The hair tie. Talking to the doctors and cops.
Mrs. Hernandez is the perfect mom. Always prepared. I love her. I appreciate her. She’s been there for me so many times when my own mama wasn’t. But she makes me angry, too. She reminds me how much my own mother sucks.
I’ve lashed out at her before. Called her a stuck-up bitch. Rolled my eyes when she tried to give me advice. Poured half a jar of salsa over her famous tamales when they don’t need it just to get under her skin.
But she’s never replied in kind. Never been mean back. Never prevented me from being friends with Julieta. She never gave up on me when the other mothers wouldn’t let me within ten feet of their daughters. As if being the daughter of a junkie was contagious.
Truth is, I owe a lot of my success to Mrs. Hernandez. She’s the reason I never did drugs. Did well in school. Tried out for cheer squad. Met Beau. No, I’ve never really, truly been angry at Mrs. Hernandez. It’s Mama I’m angry with.
I look back at the dashboard clock. 11:00. How long have I been sitting here? I take a deep breath and open the door.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Call if you need anything, honey,” Mrs. Hernandez says.
I grimace and shut the door, then head to the house. I know Mrs. Hernandez won’t drive away until I’m inside. I reach into an outside pocket of my duffel and pull out my house key. I push open the door and then wave to Mrs. Hernandez.
As I step into the house, I flip the switch on the wall to see if we have power. We don’t, so I flip on the flashlight.
“Mama?” I call.
I shine the light around. The room looks normal. I forgot to see if there was debris in the yard, but it doesn’t look like any of our windows were broken. I’ll have to climb up on the roof tomorrow and check the shingles.
I walk down the hall toward Mama’s room, and my heart sinks when I see a man’s shoes on the floor. I’m not sure I want to keep going. There are some things a child—no matter how old—just doesn’t need to see her mama doing.
But I have to check on her. She’s brought home some real sleazeballs before. Some that beat her or stole from us. I need to make sure she’s at least safe.
The door to her room is cracked open, so I don’t knock. I push the door open just enough to see in. The floor is littered with cotton balls, needles, clothes, and food wrappers.
I aim the light at the bed and see Mama and two people I don’t recognize—a man and a woman—sprawled out. The other woman raises her head and looks toward me, but it seems like she doesn’t really see me. Her gaze doesn’t focus and her eyes are bloodshot. Her head lolls as if it is too heavy for her neck.
When she looks away and goes back to sleep, I turn my attention to Mama. Her chest rises and falls. She’s still alive.
I pull the door closed and go back down the hall to the stairs and then up to my own room, where I lock the door behind me. More than one of her junkie friends has “accidently” made their way into my room at night before.
I strip off my clothes and go into my private bathroom to shower. I just stand there for a long time, letting the hot water fall over me and out the drain. Wishing it would wash me away, too.
I stay until the water runs cold before getting out and toweling off. After I put on my favorite comfy jammies and sit on my bed, I let out a breath. What now? I’m not tired, but I don’t want to be awake. I don’t want to think.
I go over to my desk and pick up my tablet, figuring I can watch something on Netflix. But as I do, my eyes flit to the corkboard over it. The pamphlet for La Voisin school is there. I mean, it’s always there. It has been there since I was fourteen.
I was supposed to enroll when I was fifteen, like all witches, but I didn’t. I just ignored it. I didn’t want to leave Mama. I didn’t want the training. I didn’t want to leave Julieta or my school or my town. I wanted to live a normal life. Go to college. Get married. Have an awesome job. And I was on my way to that—until tonight.
I don’t know a lot about witches. Mama is a third generation “mundane,” meaning she’s the third person in our family to be born without innate witchcraft. But for some reason, the witch blood came to life in me. I thought I could control it. I’d used it a few times. It made raking the leaves easier when I could just blow them into the neighbor’s yard. I used it to protect myself by blowing a guy across the room who had snuck into my room.
I’d never considered that I could use my powers to...to kill someone.
I pull down the pamphlet and open it. An incredible old gothic mansion, now called La Voisin, graces the pamphlet cover. The faces of the other students smile up at me. They are young witches, like me, holding witchcraft items like a Book of Shadows, wands, and magical crystals.
On the back are instructions to get to the school, which is located in Danvers, Massachusetts.
“Any mirror opens the way,
Be prepared to change your life today.
Touch the glass and open your heart,
’Take me to La Voisin. This is my new start.’”
I turn to the full-length mirror behind me and run my fingers over it. It’s just a plain old mirror I bought at the Dollar Store like five years ago. But all mirrors can serve as portals.
My great-great grandmother was a witch. I didn’t know her, but she passed some witch lore down through the family. Most of what I know was told to me by my grandmother, who knew my great-great-grandma, but how much was real or accurate was up for debate. Since she wasn’t a witch, she couldn’t try the things she had learned, and I didn’t have much desire to be a guinea pig. Or a witch, for that matter.
Until now.
If only I’d been trained to use my powers, things would have gone differently today. I could have controlled the debris. Or gotten Julieta off the field. Or stopped the damn tornado itself.
“Take me to La Voisin,” I whisper. My reflection melts into a dark scene. It’s raining in Danvers, and just as dark there. The mansion is in the distance, surrounded by a tall dark hedgerow. “This is my—”
Lightning strikes behind La Voisin school, lighting up the mirror. I scream and jump back, suddenly feeling that same gripping fear of being back on the high school field, facing down a tornado, lightning striking, thunder roaring.
I run to my bed and wrap the covers around me. The image of La Voisin in the mirror fades away, and the glass returns to normal. I rock back and forth on the bed as the tears come again.
“I don’t want to be a witch. I don’t want to be a witch,” I mumble to myself.
There is power in words. But these words are not powerful enough. Even I know that I can’t change my nature.
I am a witch, and I can’t avoid that or the danger that comes with it forever.
Chapter 3
I stand at the window, sipping my coffee, as the news vans and reporters gather across the street. The first of them arrived shortly after I woke up. I’d startled when I’d stepped outside to grab the morning paper.
“Madison! Madison Whittaker!” they called as they ran across the street, up the steps to our house, their microphones outstretched.
“What can you tell us about the death of Turkey Hollow’s star football player?” one of them yelled.
“Tell us about saving your friend, Julia Hernandez!” another said, getting Julieta’s name wrong.
“Is it true Beau was cheating on you?” someone else yelled.
I’d grabbed the paper and slammed the door shut. Apparently, Beau’s death was big news in a small town. I said a chant to calm my nerves and went to brew a cup of coffee. When I sat down to read the paper, I gasped at a photo of me crouched over Beau’s body, screaming. My hands shook as I held the paper.
“Star Player Dies in Girlfriend’s Arms,” the headline read.
Who would have been so callous as to take a picture like that and print it?
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