Curse of Stone

by Veronica Shade

  We are interrupted when all our phones beep at once. When there are important announcements, we all get texts.

  “Ms. Brewster wants everyone to meet in the common room,” Ms. Boucher says, looking up from her phone screen. “I suppose we should go see what is so important.”

  I’m disappointed we have to cut the training session short. Ms. Boucher is a busy woman, what with being a clan elder and the first year teacher and the air witch mentor and whatever else I’m sure she’d rather be doing.

  There are only four teachers for the whole school. Ms. Holly Boucher for the first-year classes, Ms. Lauren Kane—Jaxon’s mom—for the second-year classes, Mr. Duncan Stewart for the third-year classes, and Ms. Camille Brewster for the fourth-year classes. There are only ten to fifteen students per year, but the formal classes are only part of what we have to do each week. There’s elemental training, for example, and we also follow a homeschool curriculum in partnership with a local private academy so we still get our secular education in things like math and English. Most students also have a personal area of study, like if someone wants to get really good at spellcasting or making potions. I’d really like to spend more time researching the Native American aspects of magic, but I haven’t had any time.

  I rub my neck, feeling the strain set in from all the things I need to do and get caught up on, as I follow Jaxon into the common room. He moves to stand by Krista, and I give her a big smile and wave. Oh yeah, forget about socializing. I don’t know how any of us are supposed to have a life with all the work we have to do.

  “Sit, sit,” Ms. Brewster says to those who are standing near chairs.

  Jaxon, Krista, and I are in the very back, though, so we stay standing. The other three teachers go to stand near Ms. Brewster.

  “Thank you all for coming,” she continues. “I’ll send all this out in an email later, but I wanted to share this new opportunity with you personally as well.”

  She clears her throat, and everyone goes silent, as if listening expectantly.

  “I would like to announce a very special contest of sorts,” Ms. Brewster continues. “I need a rare item that even I have had difficulty crafting. So, I thought why not let everyone here at La Voisin try their hand at it.” She raises her hand, and what looks like a page from a very old book appears in front of her. “The Soul of Loss is a very powerful potion. One that can give the user the power to find anything.”

  The page shows a blue corked bottle and several ingredients listed underneath, along with directions, but it is too far away for me to see the details.

  “What are you trying to find?” one student calls out to Ms. Brewster.

  “That is none of your business,” Ms. Brewster replies, to which a bunch of the students reply, “Oooooooo”’ “However,” she continues, “if one of you can craft this item for me, I will make it worth your while.”

  “What are you going to give us?” Krista asks.

  “Whoever succeeds in crafting the potion,” Ms. Brewster says, “will have the very rare opportunity to train with me privately.”

  At this, several students begin chatting eagerly. I’m not sure why this is such a big deal. Just training with Ms. Boucher is a treat for me. But if even the fourth-year students are excited, this must be a special opportunity indeed.

  Jaxon leans closer to me. “Ms. Brewster never takes on private mentees,” he says, as if reading my mind.

  “Why?”

  “She’s not just the headmistress of the school,” Jaxon explains. “She’s the High Priestess for all North American witches pledged to Hecate.”

  “Whoa,” I say, even though I have no idea what he is talking about. I’m still trying to figure out the whole hierarchy around here. But I’m guessing that means that Ms. Brewster is like the head of all the witches.

  “No one knows more about witchcraft than Ms. Brewster,” Krista joins in. “Anyone who trains with her could learn, well, anything.”

  I nod appreciatively and turn back to listen to Ms. Brewster.

  “The spell calls for a ludisia orchid bloomed in spring, water gifted from under the waves, fire from the flame that burns eternal, and smoke from a promise not kept,” Ms. Brewster reads from the page.

  This sets everyone to murmuring again as they try to figure out what the ingredients actually are.

  Ms. Brewster claps her hands. “Attention. You will have time to chat about this later. Right now, I want you to listen to me. This potion has not been created for hundreds of years. It will take all of your skill. Honestly, no one other than a Legacy should probably even attempt it. But who doesn’t love a challenge?”

  There are chuckles around the room.

  I catch sight of Giselle, her head held high as though she already knows the answer. She might. She isn’t a Legacy, but according to Jaxon, her uncle is. Her whole family is empowered. She has been surrounded by witches and witchcraft her whole life. She’s also a third-year student. She definitely has an advantage over most people here, not to mention me. Honestly, I am the last person who should even consider trying to forge this potion.

  And yet, I can’t wait to get started.

  I know what Ms. Boucher said about not thwarting laws of nature. But that’s what I want to learn to do. I want to calm the storm. Stop the tornado. I want to save lives. And if anyone can teach me to do that, it’s Ms. Brewster.

  “Whoever would like to try,” Ms. Brewster says, “please come up here and write your name and email address on this list, and I will send you a copy of the spell and anything else you need to know. I would also like for all of you to stay in contact with me on your research and how you plan to go forward. If you think the answer lies in doing something particularly dangerous, I want you to let me know. I don’t want any of you dying for this.”

  “Where’s the reward without the risk?” Giselle asks as she scrawls her information on Ms. Brewster’s list.

  “Risk? Yes,” Ms. Brewster says. “Stupidity? No.”

  Giselle flips her hair as she walks away and leaves the room. Almost everyone in the room who is a year two and up sign the list. Most year ones don’t bother.

  I bite my lower lip. I want to sign. I know I won’t succeed, but I need to try. As the line to sign up dies down, I know I am about to miss my chance of signing up without making a scene. I finally get in line and, to my horror, no one gets in the line behind me.

  I’m going to be the last person on the list.

  When I finally make my way to Ms. Brewster, she raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you sure, Ms. Whittaker? You already have quite a lot on your plate, I would think.”

  “It never hurts to fail,” I say. “It only hurts to not try.”

  She smiles and hands me the sign-up sheet. I write my name and email address in big, proud letters. Then Ms. Brewster takes the list and looks it over before holding it tightly to her chest.

  “Remember, I can only accept one winner,” Ms. Brewster says. “Only one person can be my new mentee. So don’t waste your time getting started. I look forward to seeing who among you I will be spending a lot more time with.”

  With that, she leaves the room, and everyone departs to go back to whatever they were doing or go to their next class or whatever.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any more time to work with you today,” Ms. Boucher tells me, unsurprisingly. “Let’s talk after class tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, then I go up to Jaxon and Kristen. “So, how does a person even start brewing a potion?”

  Kristen laughs, but when I don’t laugh back, she stops. “Oh! You were being serious?”

  I shrug. “I’ve never made a potion. I thought magic potions were like flying on broomsticks or baking children in pies. Fake witchcraft stuff. I didn’t know they were real.”

  “First of all,” Kristen says, “don’t knock a baby pie until you try it.”

  My face falls, and I think I can feel my skin turn green.

  “Secondly,” she goes on. “I�
�m just kidding with you, Oklahoma.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I say, letting out a breath. “You scared me for a minute.”

  “I know!” she says, nearly dying of laughter. “You are like the only person a joke like that would ever work on.”

  “Anyway,” Jaxon says, rolling his eyes at us. “Why don’t you meet me in the library tomorrow morning? I can go over potions 101 with you.”

  “Umm...sure,” I say, shooting a glance at Krista. Even though Jaxon was cool with me turning him down, I still don’t want to spend too much time with him one-on-one.

  “I’ll come too,” she offers, and I give her a little smile. “And I’ll bring a friend.”

  “Great!” I say. “I really need to meet more people.”

  “Sounds good,” Jaxon says. “I need to get going. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, I have plans,” Krista says. “Bye, guys.”

  “Bye,” I say to them, more than a little sadly. I have a ton of reading to do, but I would love to just have a few minutes to hang out with people and have a coffee.

  I take out my phone and check for missed calls, but there aren’t any. I really want to call Julieta, but I suppress the urge. I’ve been here for almost a week, and other than the occasional Facebook like, I haven’t made an effort to contact her. It was so weird how I left. I don’t want to just do a drive-by call like, “Hey, how are you? Okay, bye.” I want to set aside the time to have an actual conversation.

  But the longer I put it off, the more awkward it feels to call her. Like, where have I been? Just dropped off the face of the planet. I wonder if she went to Beau’s funeral.

  Then again, phones work both ways. It’s not like she tried calling me, either.

  I head back to my room. By the time I open the door, I’m feeling a little nauseous.

  “Geez, bitch!” Giselle says, jumping at her desk and shoving some papers where I can’t see them. “Don’t you knock?”

  I blink, a bit confused. “Sorry, I didn’t know I needed to knock to enter my own room.”

  “It isn’t your room,” she says. “It’s my room. I’m just letting you stay here until they find another place to stash you.”

  I roll my eyes and walk over to put my bag on my bed. “Whatever, Giselle. I just need a place to read.”

  She grunts again and turns to her desk, putting all her papers in the drawer and locking it except for a notebook, which she shoves into the inside pocket of her jacket. “Stay out of my stuff!”

  “I wasn’t going to go through your crap,” I tell her as I flop onto the bed and open my bag. “I got my own life to deal with.”

  “Keep it that way,” she says as she stomps out of the room, then slams the door shut behind her.

  I rub my neck. I seriously don’t know what is up with that girl. I look at her desk, suddenly curious what she’s so determined to hide from me. I mean, if she had just acted normal, I would have assumed it was boring school work. But now, I wonder…

  I walk over to her desk and lean across it to open the blinds and let in some afternoon sunlight. As I exhale, breathing across the papers on her desk, they scatter. Most of whatever she was working on was shoved into her drawer, but there are still a couple on top of the desk. As the papers move, the top one drifts aside. Looking back at me is a sketch of the statue in the grotto. The mystery man.

  I turn it to get a better look. It’s a striking likeness. She captured his strong jaw and the fall of his hair perfectly.

  Is this an art project?

  Beneath the image are strange markings. Kind of like letters, but unlike anything I have seen before. Runes. That’s what they look like. I don't remember seeing any runes when I was in the grotto.

  When I pick up the paper to get a better look, the door flies open.

  “Oh my God!” Giselle screams. “What did I just say?”

  Chapter 9

  I get dressed, quiet as a church mouse. I’d rather die than face Giselle again, who’s asleep in her bed, but I swear I can still feel her watching me.

  She was so pissed when she caught me looking at her papers. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t, that I was just trying to open the window, but she didn’t believe me. Which is fair, since I was totally looking at her papers. I seriously thought she was going to toss me out that window, though. Thankfully, some of the other students in our wing heard her screaming and ushered her off—after she grabbed all of her papers and took them with her.

  I don’t even brush my teeth or put on makeup. I can’t risk turning on the light of our en suite bathroom and waking Giselle. I take my toothbrush and makeup bag with me so I can use the public bathroom down the hall to get ready. I’ll still be way too early to meet up with Jaxon and Krista, but I can do a bit more reading and research on my own until they get there.

  Without the shower the en suite bathroom would have provided, there’s not much I can do with my hair. I’m spraying some dry shampoo in my hair and setting some loose wave curls when my phone buzzes.

  I check the ID. It’s Julieta.

  I nearly choke, and my hands shake as I reach to answer it. What do I even say? Why is she calling? Why didn’t she just text? Why is she calling so early? What if something is wrong? I haven’t talked to Mama, either, and in the space of those split-seconds, I’m already wondering if that’s why she’s calling. That something horrible happened to my mom.

  I tap the answer button. “Hello?”

  Silence.

  I look at the phone and see that there’s no connection. I waited too long. The call must have gone to voice mail.

  Dang. She’s going to think I’m avoiding her or something.

  When the voice mail doesn’t ping, I convince myself it must not have been important. But just as I lift the curling iron to wrap another section of hair, another panicked thought springs to mind:

  Maybe she is leaving a message. Maybe it’s a really long message, because something horrible happened.

  Okay, I’m probably overthinking, but there’s only one way to find out. I tap the call back button. She answers after the first ring.

  “Bueno?”

  “Hey, Julieta,” I say, trying to sound calm in case I really am panicking over nothing. “Sorry, I was curling my hair.”

  “No problem. I was afraid I was going to wake you, but I wanted to call before morning cheer practice.”

  I whimper a little. All of a sudden, I miss cheer practice. I hadn’t even thought about it until this moment.

  “Is something...wrong?” I ask.

  “Oh, no! Not at all!” she says. “I just wanted to talk. Is that okay?”

  “Of course!” I probably sound way too excited now, but I’m so relieved. “Things are just crazy, you know?”

  “I guess…” She’s frowning. I can tell because her frowns have a way of reaching her voice. “I mean, things are pretty quiet here now. I think everyone is pretty down...about everything.”

  “What happened with the championship?” I ask.

  “We dropped out of the running, and no one has talked about it since. This will actually be the first cheer practice we’ve held. The basketball team has a few games left, so we are going to support them.”

  “Cool, cool.”

  I pace the small bathroom, my face reflecting in the two mirrors over and over as I pass them.

  The line goes quiet as I debate asking the big questions: How’s Mama? Did you go to Beau’s funeral?

  I’m scared of the answers.

  “Are you...okay?” Julieta asks, and I let out a long exhale as tears fill my eyes.

  I want to collapse into her arms and just let it go. There’s no one here I can talk to about what happened. In many ways, finally being open about witchcraft has been freeing. But not being able to talk about what happened...what I did...has been stifling. Frustrating. I’m so lonely. No one really understands why I’m here. But I can’t tell Julieta about being a witch. I can’t really be myself or be open with anyone.

 
“No, I’m not okay,” I say finally, and it feels good to admit it.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Don’t be,” I say. “It’s not your fault. I’m just having a hard time. It’s hard to find people to talk to.”

  “I thought you went there so you would have people to talk to,” she says. I hear the hurt in her voice, that she wasn’t someone I felt I could talk to.

  I shouldn’t have said anything.

  “I… Yeah,” I stammer, trying to remember what I told her when I left. The lies are compounding, and it’s hard to keep them straight. “But, you know, learning to trust people is hard.”

  “Well, I’m here if you need to talk,” she says. “Or if you want to come back and need a place to stay. My parents were so mad that you ran off without giving them a chance to help you. But they calmed down and know you have to do what is best for you.”

  I chuckle. “It’s nice to know they care.”

  “Look, I gotta run or I’ll be late,” she says. “But we’ll talk later, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”

  “Bye,” she says, and the line goes silent.

  I stand there staring at myself in the mirror, my emotions swirling around in me, confused about what I should actually feel. Happy she called? Sad of the memories? Angry at Mama? I don’t know. Everything is just...so jumbled.

  I toss my stuff into my bag without finishing my hair or makeup and run out of the bathroom and down the hall. It’s still early, but late enough that the early risers are out. I rush past two girls who are friends of Giselle, my bag bumping one of them. She scoffs, and her friend mumbles something like “so rude,” but I don’t stop. I need to get out of here. I need air. Space.

  I run across the grounds, my footsteps leaving a trail through the morning dew on the grass. I slip into the grotto, thankful no one else is here. There are no footprints or any evidence that people have been here since I found the place. It’s like no one else even knows this little spot exists.

  The statue looks just like it did before. The head tilted down slightly, as though he is looking at me. His hands open, inviting me to take them. As though he wants me to unburden myself to him.