Blood Magic

by Tessa Gratton

  I ducked through a side door and skirted the auditorium to grab my backpack. Fortunately, Stokes didn’t have a homeroom class, so his room was empty.

  Standing alone in the room reminded me of the moment I’d realized Wendy wasn’t herself. Of the clinging panic. I slipped my hands into my jacket pockets. My left hand found the crystals of salt we’d crushed with more heather flower. In the right-side pocket was my pocketknife. I’d be expelled for sure if they found it, but there was no way any of us were going to leave the house this morning unprotected. Reese and I had used permanent markers to draw protection runes over our hearts and smear them with blood. If we could have gotten away with putting them on our foreheads and hands, too, we would have. I’d told Nick to do the same thing when he called before school to go over our story.

  Just in case Josephine was here, I’d be ready. I banish thee from this body is what Nick had said. Blood and salt would do the rest.

  Blowing out a deep breath, I prayed Wendy would be safe.

  I dug out my cell phone. The moment I turned it on, it vibrated.

  There were three texts from Wendy. One from Melissa. One from Eric. Wendy’s messages were from right before and after I’d tried to call her from Nick’s cell. They just said, “Call me.” Melissa’s read: “WTF, S?” And Eric chewed me out for freaking on Wendy. That one actually made me smile a little. I was glad he cared.

  I waited in Stokes’s classroom for a few minutes, until I’d have just enough time to get to my locker and then my first class. When it was 7:56, I took a deep breath, put on my sea-green mask, and stepped out.

  The hallways crawled, as usual, with scurrying kids, yelling and laughing and slamming lockers. I was the object of countless corner-of-the-eye glances and raised brows, of twisted frowns and tiny sneers. I was totally unprepared for that. I’d known there would be questions and maybe a little tension with people involved: Wendy, obviously, and maybe the Macbeth cast. But everyone in the school? What were they saying? I ducked my head and made a beeline for my locker. I had to act like everything was cool. Like I wasn’t waiting for the bogeyman to leap out from every corner. In any shape. Act. Act. I could do that. I was an actress. I needed a brighter mask.

  A smiling, glittery pink one, with pearls and flowers trailing down the side.

  Mask firmly in place, it took me a second to remember what classes I had first, and then Wendy was there, grabbing my hand and pulling me around.

  “Silla.” Her mouth was pursed in a worried shape.

  My body clenched in terror. I had to keep my other hand against my thigh or I’d have reached for the salt.

  “Come on.” She dragged me through the crowd and into the janitor’s closet.

  Pressed up against a stack of brooms, I waited. I couldn’t make the opening gambit. All I could think of was Josephine staring out at me, of being trapped inside here while that monster rode my friend’s body. How to tell without giving myself away?

  Wendy peered at me through the dim yellow light. Then she opened her purse and pulled out a tube of shiny purple gloss and slathered it over her lips. I laughed, so incredibly relieved, and Wendy lifted her eyebrows and offered me some. I shook my head.

  As she tucked the lip gloss away, she said, “Look, we don’t have much time before the bell. I couldn’t talk last night, and I shouldn’t really text you or anything like that. At first they thought it was drugs—Mom and Dad, I mean—after Ms. Tripp talked to them. That had to be why I was acting erratically, or whatever. But I’m leaving at lunch to go to the doctor to make sure I don’t have epilepsy or something. And my dad decided that it’s your fault anyway. That’s why no talkies or texting.” She grimaced. “Paul said he saw me run out of the building, you following, and that I punched Nick. Is he okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Oh, good. I thought about calling him, but I wasn’t sure if I should or if he’d want me calling or if his parents knew or should know or what and now I’m babbling and you have to tell me what happened. Spill.”

  My mouth opened and nothing came out. Nick and I had decided on a general lie, but I didn’t want to offer it to her. She deserved better. But did I have a choice? Quickly, I said, “You just suddenly freaked out—I think all the pressure of the audition and SATs coming up and everything, you know? You were babbling and then suddenly just ran off. I ran after you, and you got outside and—and went for Nick. He told me he said something obnoxious to you, and I guess you were so upset you didn’t think and just swung. He grabbed you, held you off, and … that’s it. You were bleeding and I—I had to go.” I lifted a hand toward the wound under her jaw. A shudder clenched up my backbone as I remembered Josephine pressing the letter opener to Wendy’s neck.

  Wendy grasped my hand. “I’m scared, Silla. I hate not remembering.”

  “Wendy,” I whispered, throwing my arms around her. I squeezed her hard, and she put her arms around my ribs and squeezed back. “I’m so sorry,” I told her, overwhelmed by the cherry-vanilla reek of her hair. I didn’t deserve her.

  By lunchtime, the glitter was flaking off my mask. Three pearls dropped off and rolled down the tiled hallway.

  Despite what I’d told Reese, I suspected everyone. All the teachers, all my classmates—everyone who looked at me could have been hiding Josephine inside them. Wendy and I passed notes like we always did, about superficial, totally unimportant things, and I tried to pay attention instead of thinking about the ritual that night or my looming meeting with Ms. Tripp.

  Between History and Physics, I found a folded piece of paper slipped into my locker. In huge red block letters it read: LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER.

  I tore it into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet.

  Melissa, who I normally talked to in Physics, didn’t look at me once. If it hadn’t been for Wendy and our being cast as a trio, she probably would have ditched me weeks ago.

  I hadn’t done anything, but I was being blamed for everything.

  As I detoured from my usual path to the cafeteria to go to Ms. Tripp’s office instead, it was all I could do not to run to a bathroom stall and cry.

  Tripp offered a sour-cherries smile as she held open her door. I entered silently, and she closed the door, gesturing for me to sit down. I did, clutching my backpack on my lap like a shield.

  Today, her soft-and-simple attitude had vanished. The violet cardigan was more like a flak jacket than professional attire. She sat behind her desk for the first time, and folded her hands in front of her. I lifted my left hand and pressed it against my chest. I could feel the dried blood over the permanent marker rune, could feel the energy scorching between my palm and my heart even through layers of jacket and sweater. I was ready, just in case.

  The tense silence ended when Ms. Tripp said, “I’m afraid we’ve come to a very serious situation, Silla.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Tell me what happened yesterday afternoon.”

  Closing my eyes because I was a crap liar when I didn’t have a script, I said, “Wendy had some kind of panic attack. I couldn’t calm her down, but Nick managed. The blood upset me, so I left. I had to go, even though she fainted or whatever.”

  Ms. Tripp was quiet long enough that I finally risked a look. She hadn’t moved at all. “You and Wendy had argued?”

  “Yes.”

  “About what?”

  Part of me wanted to spill my guts. To let it all out in a dramatic monologue. What could I tell her that would make her leave me alone? That she wouldn’t need to clarify with Wendy, or call Nick in for? Ms. Tripp gazed at me steadily until I said, “My dad.”

  Her smile tipped into sympathy, and she scooted back her chair to come sit with me. I let my backpack slide down to the floor.

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  I fiddled with my rings, turning the emerald around and around my middle finger. “Wendy agrees with you, that I should, uh, should stop defending him like I’m defending myself. That he might have made
bad choices.”

  “And that angered you.”

  “Yeah.”

  Taking my hands loosely in hers, Ms. Tripp said gently, “Silla, dear, it’s time you took these off.”

  Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. I flicked my eyes up to her face. Was she Ms. Tripp, really? Or was this another trick of Josephine’s? “Why?”

  Her eyes reflected the light falling in through the office windows. Normal. Safe. “You’ve got to let go of your trauma. Normally, I wouldn’t propose pushing through it so quickly, but, Silla, with all this acting out, I’m afraid you are becoming a danger to yourself and even to others.”

  “Acting … out?” I’d never understood the meaning of the word aghast. But now, I was it.

  Tripp made her pretty pout and turned my hands over. The parallel slashes on my palm, one pink and healed, the other scabbed and red, stood out against the little nicks from the possessed blue jays. “Deliberately hurting yourself is never a real way to feel again.”

  My palm tingled. “This isn’t about making myself feel, okay? It was a—a fluke.”

  “A fluke twice?” She shook her head, and her massive curls bobbed. “I want to help you, Silla. I think if you let go of your dad, this huge burden will vanish. Admit your pain, and you can move on.”

  Did she get her grief training on the Internet? I jerked my hands away.

  “Cutting yourself is unacceptable. It’s dangerous and can lead to worse things. And now arguing with your friends, violence, the suggestion drugs were involved—Silla, I am very, very worried about you. It’s why I called last night and tried to talk. I don’t want to recommend you be suspended, but it might be better for you to spend some time away from all this pressure.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Suspended!”

  “If I have to, Silla.”

  “I have to go. Please.”

  “Come back tomorrow at lunch. I am going to insist on these meetings every day until I see some improvement. And if you fall out of line again, Silla, I’ll recommend your suspension immediately.”

  I grabbed my backpack, trying to imagine a mask growing out of my skin.

  “Think about what I’ve said, Silla,” Ms. Tripp continued. “Think about letting it go. Let it out and cry or scream, or whatever you need to do. Just don’t hurt yourself anymore. A lot can be said for little personal rituals.” She glanced at my rings again. “I think taking those off would be a great place to start.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I promised, knowing I wouldn’t.

  I fled outside and flipped open my cell phone. Dialed Reese. It went straight to voice mail. Panic beat at my throat. “Reese, oh my God, where are you? I can’t believe you aren’t answering your phone. How do I know you’re okay? I have to talk to you. I can’t go home right after school—I can’t skip rehearsal. Tripp is threatening to suspend me if I do anything wrong, and if that happens I won’t have anything left. I won’t be able to even be a stupid witch in the stupid play, and I’ve always been in the plays, Reese, I don’t know what to do without it.” I took a long, shuddering breath. “I haven’t seen Nick all day, either. Everyone looks at me, and I don’t know who they are. I think I might really be going crazy, Reese. God. Why hasn’t she done anything? Where is she—”

  My phone beeped that I had an incoming call. Reese.

  “Oh, God,” I answered. I closed my eyes and leaned against the hard yellow bricks of the building.

  “Bumblebee, what happened?”

  I babbled it all again. “And I’m scared, Reese. I have to stay, but I want to ditch, too, and get the magic over with. Be safe.”

  His calm voice washed into my ear. “Refresh the blood on your heart. It will keep you safe for now.”

  He didn’t know. He was making it up.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you, too, Silla. Be careful. You’ll be fine.”

  January 1961

  The first month of a new decade. I heard on the radio a reminder to make resolutions to improve one’s life. Such as: Always have dinner prepared on time. Keep your shoes shined and your hair tidy. Iron daily. Rest for fifteen minutes before your husband arrives home so that you will be fresh and gay to greet him.

  I thought, I am going to find my errant wizard, and drag him home to me. There will not be another decade lost to his petulance and longings. I have had fifteen years to rest. Fresh is what he’s getting.

  SILLA

  It was a relief to focus on rehearsal. It was a relief to have made it to rehearsal with no Josephine encounters. And without being suspended. I did it by huddling at my desk, ignoring everything but the text in front of me. By keeping my eyes down between classes.

  Macbeth opened in two weeks—less than—and only had four more rehearsals before we began tech runs. Assuming I survived that long.

  Between scenes, Stokes sent me into the hallway with Wendy and Melissa to be fitted for our costumes. I had to leave my jacket in the auditorium, and barely had time to transfer the salt to my jeans. The knife was still in my jacket pocket.

  Stokes had given the show a contemporary theme, and we witches would be sporting a goth look. With black makeup and everything. The sewing club was making us corsets with lots of silver buckles. Madison, who was lacing me into a mock-up, cussed me out for losing another half inch off my waist.

  “You do look awful, Sil,” said Wendy, her arms raised so that one of the freshman girls could pin down the top hem of the corset.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Melissa added, from her post against the wall, “It kinda looks like you ran through barbed wire.” How nice of her to stop ignoring me in order to be mean.

  “Have you been eating?” Madison asked. “Because really, this isn’t going to hold your tits up if it isn’t tighter.”

  I looked down. There was a quarter-inch gap between the lining of the corset and my breasts. Even though they were in a bra and under a sweater. “Yes, I’ve been eating, and sorry I’m not looking like I walked out of Vogue.” I didn’t bother keeping the bite out of my voice.

  “It’s a pain, and we have to keep redoing your stupid corset.”

  “I’ll just stuff it or something.”

  “You aren’t puking, are you?” Melissa asked.

  “Melissa!” Wendy glared.

  “Well, anorexia, psycho freak-outs, whatever.”

  Madison jabbed a needle at Melissa. “Bulimia. That’s what puking is.”

  “God, whatever.”

  “And no,” Wendy said, “she isn’t.”

  I just stood there, mouth slowly falling open. Was Melissa possessed? No, I thought, she’d always been such a bitch.

  “How do you know? You said she’s too busy putting out for the new guy to stay with you when you pass out—”

  “Don’t.” Wendy’s cheeks exploded into fireworks of color, though, so I knew Melissa wasn’t totally making stuff up.

  I began untying the corset mock-up, tearing at the laces.

  “Running away again?” Melissa smiled nastily. And Wendy actually paused for a moment, looking between us like she wasn’t sure who to be angry at. All the freshmen were slowly backing off.

  “The thing isn’t going to fit anyway, so I’m leaving.” I slapped it onto the tiled floor.

  “Poor Silla!”

  Wendy rounded on Melissa, but I caught her arm. “Don’t. It isn’t worth it.”

  “Yeah,” Melissa sneered. “Besides, stay too close and you might get shot.”

  I hadn’t been particularly angry before. But the meaning of Melissa’s accusation seeped down over me like I’d been drenched with cold pudding. I stilled. Even my heart seemed to stop. I stared at her. “What?” I whispered.

  She didn’t answer except to lift her chin, jutting it out slightly.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wendy hissed at Melissa.

  “I know crazy is genetic. I know spending time with Silla is bad for your health.”

 
“You don’t know anything.” I whirled around, wrapped in my own drama, and stalked into the auditorium for my backpack. I ignored the confused glance from Stokes and strode right back out again. I didn’t care that I was ditching the last half of rehearsal.

  The sun glared at me and I threw up my hands for shade. Most of the parking lot was still full. Everybody had practice or rehearsal or a club meeting or something. I was supposed to hitch a ride with Nick, but he hadn’t been at rehearsal. Not even backstage. I’d texted him a few times during the day, but he’d only sent back one after lunch. A haiku about Mr. Sutter’s toupee. Nothing since.

  I marched through the lot. Home wasn’t far. I’d walked it most of my life.

  But as I wove through two lines of cars, I saw Nick’s convertible. It was unmistakably shiny amid the old assortment of dusty compacts and station wagons and pickups. And the top was down. I climbed in and slouched into the passenger seat, arms crossed over my stomach.

  NICHOLAS

  She was asleep. In my car.

  I stood next to the passenger side for a minute, looking down at her. The sun made her skin seem translucent and bloodless. For a moment, it didn’t matter why I was falling in love with her. Just that I was.

  As quietly as possible, I got behind the wheel and lifted my bag into the back. When the engine growled to life, she groaned softly and stretched. I didn’t bother shifting out of park, watching her instead. Her eyelids fluttered and she sat up, rubbed her cheeks, and peered into the light. “Nick?” she murmured.

  “Hey, babe. You need a ride home?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost five.”

  “Were you at rehearsal? I didn’t see you there.” She leaned forward and turned in the bucket seat to face me. Her hair stuck out oddly in the back where it had been pressed against the leather.

  “I had detention.” I grimaced for her.