Outside, car doors slammed. Mira must have driven herself and Aysha over in her Miata. Mira wasn’t supposed to drive anyone under twenty who wasn’t a relative, not until she’d satisfied a few more Washington State DMV requirements, but the one time she’d been pulled over, the police officer had let her go (without magic intervention) because she was the daughter of a local political VIP. (Mr. Jahani, a councilman, was running for mayor of Sorrow Point in November.)
The police. Div frowned into the mirror. With the new anti-witch US president and now Antima in their community, would the Sorrow Point Police Department start cracking down on witches and witchcraft? And what did this mean for her coven? Extra measures might have to be taken to hide their magical identities and activities. (Mira had some pull with the police, but not that much pull.)
She texted the girls and told them to come up. A minute later, they bustled into her room.
“There was an accident on Pine, otherwise we would have been here even sooner,” said Mira breathlessly. She plopped down on Div’s bed and adjusted her gray snakeskin boots. “These are killing me, they’re way smaller than when I bought them. I wonder if Binx cast a shrinking hext on them?”
Aysha crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “So what’s up?” she asked Div. Aysha wasn’t big on small talk.
“We need to figure out who wrote the shadow messages, of course,” Div replied.
“I still think Binx fake-wrote both of them,” Mira said.
Div was about to tell her the results of the aequo spell she’d just cast. But she decided to hear Mira out, in case she had new information.
“Do you have any proof?”
“Um, her personality? That’s your proof. She loves to pick fights with us.”
Okay, so no new information.
“That girl seriously needs to get a life,” Aysha piped up.
“Actually, I find her quite interesting,” Div said.
Mira and Aysha exchanged a glance. “Of course, if you say so!” Mira said quickly.
“Interesting how?” Aysha asked.
“She’s a cyber-witch,” Div pointed out. “I don’t know any other cyber-witches, do you?”
“Yooooou’re not thinking about trying to recruit her again, are you?” Mira asked Div suspiciously. “’Cuz the last time, she said she’d rather eat all her devices than be in our coven.”
Div shrugged.
Aysha strolled over to the bed and sat down. “We don’t need that laptop witch. If you want to expand our coven, I have a better idea. Two ideas, actually.”
“Oh?”
“What two ideas? You didn’t tell me, Aysh!” Mira complained.
“I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure. But there might… might… be two new witches at the school.”
“What?” Div was surprised to hear this. Besides themselves and Greta’s coven, she knew of no other witches at Sorrow Point High. The arrival of two new witches could be huge. Fantastic, actually. “Once again, is there any proof?” she asked Aysha.
“Not exactly. Well, sort of. So, there’s these two girls in my English class. Iris something and Penelope something. Iris was sitting across from me. She was wearing this moonstone pendant, and I saw her holding it and whispering to herself like a couple of times during class. And the other girl, Penelope, she was sitting in front of me, and her backpack was hanging from the back of her chair, kind of open, and I thought I saw a deck of tarot cards inside. I used a quick mobilus spell to move them into the light a bit”—Aysha was talented at telekinesis—“and yup, they were definitely tarot cards. Handmade. Really good art, actually.”
Div considered this. If these new girls, Iris and Penelope, were indeed witches, and Div could convince them to join the coven, that would increase their ranks to five. Group spells with five witches would be so much more effective than with just the three of them. Five witches, combining their powers, might give Brandon Fiske and any other Antima at their school—even in all of Sorrow Point—a run for their money.
And if she could convince Binx to join them, too, then maybe Ridley would follow. That would make it seven.
And then finally, Greta would have no choice but to come back to her.
The bedroom door creaked on its hinges, and Prada slithered in. Her stomach area protruded with whatever she’d caught and killed downstairs. She raised her head and flicked her tongue at Mira and Aysha.
Mira fluttered her fingers at Prada. “Um, hey, hi, gorgeous snake!” she squealed nervously. Even though Mira and Aysha had been coven-mates with Div for a while, Mira in particular was still skittish in the presence of Prada, who’d tried to bite her once for raising her voice at Div. (Mira had never made that mistake again.)
Prada slithered slowly toward the bed. She paused next to Mira’s snakeskin boots.
The color drained from Mira’s face. “Ohhhh! Yeah, these are fake. Pinkie-swear! Div, can you please tell her these are fake, please?”
Div sighed again. She knew Mira wasn’t lying; she often shopped for knockoffs and discount labels and used an enhancement spell to make them look designer.
“Come,” Div whispered to Prada. Prada obeyed immediately, slithering over to the vanity table and coiling herself at Div’s feet. Mira let out a loud, dramatic exhale.
Aysha turned to Div. “So what do you think? About Iris and Penelope, I mean.”
“Let’s come up with a plan to get to know them better,” Div suggested. “We can’t take any risks, in case they might be Antima in disguise, or whatever. But if they are witches, we should recruit them.”
“That’s a super-smart idea!” Mira exclaimed.
“So glad you approve,” Div said sweetly. “Now, back to business. We need to resolve this shadow message matter. First, let’s do a group aequo spell with these hair samples. I did aequo on my own, before you got here, but I want to repeat it with the three of us.”
Aysha stared at the jars. “Does that hair belong to—”
“Yes,” Div interrupted. “I don’t think that the shadow messages were written by their coven, but we should be certain. And if it’s definitely not them, it’s likely the Antima, and we need to try a different scrying spell that doesn’t require hair samples.” Or maybe get the hair samples somehow, she thought.
“Got it.” Aysha nodded and slipped down to the white shag rug and assumed a cross-legged position. Mira did the same.
Div went to her closet to retrieve some candles and gems that she kept hidden in a tampon box, then joined them on the rug. As she arranged the items in the middle of their circle, she felt a renewed sense of resolve and confidence. Everything was going to be okay. Her witches were here. More witches might be joining them soon. Not to mention that she herself had more power and practice than anyone she’d ever known.
The Antima didn’t stand a chance.
She had this.
8
OBFUSCATORS
A person of the magical sort may use her abilities to serve Justice as she sees fit.
But take heed of the consequences.
(FROM THE GOOD BOOK OF MAGIC AND MENTALISM BY CALLIXTA CROWE)
Ridley decided to take a shortcut through the new development on her way to Binx’s house. Greta had called an impromptu coven meeting to solve the mystery of the shadow messages, while Binx was still holding on to the slim possibility that Div and her coven had faked them and were lying about it. They were undeniably skilled at deceit and… what was that word? Oh yeah. Obfuscation.
Greta had also instructed Ridley and Binx to cast pleukiokus spells (Callixta’s book, Chapter 14) for extra protection. Ridley had done so in the girls’ bathroom right after lunch. Now, walking, she could still feel the spell’s effects; it was like the sensation of wearing an invisible cloak. Still, she made herself continue to think about the concept of protection in case the spell wore off; better safe than sorry. Especially now that the Antima had infiltrated her school—but Ridley didn’t want to think about them. Out of sight, out of
mind (and vice versa).
Also, what was up with the new history sub, Ms. O’Shea? There was something odd about her. Unless Ridley was imagining it?
Turning left onto Lilac Street, she decided to distract herself by tapping a complicated bariolage rhythm against her leg. Bariolage was a violin technique that involved layers of sound—one line a steadily held note, another line a melody, and so on. This particular bariolage was from Bach’s Partita in E Major. Ridley hated Bach. She didn’t hate listening to his pieces, which were almost diabolically elegant, but she hated performing them, because there was no wiggle room for mistakes. Nowhere to hide. But her teacher, Mr. Jong, was making her learn the partita for next year’s competitions. In fact, she would have to play it for him at their lesson next week. All six movements, from memory.
Grrrr.
Ridley sighed and glanced around. The new development, called Seabreeze, was actually not on the sea (more obfuscation); she couldn’t even see Puget Sound from where she was. Only half of the houses were finished; the other half were still under construction. The finished ones were all the same—beige McMansions with faux-Greek columns, six-car garages, and pool cabanas that were nicer than a lot of people’s actual homes. The unfinished houses were in various stages of metamorphosis—everything from wood-beam skeletons on dusty, barren lots to almost completed structures with cheerful orange FOR SALE signs. There were short, truncated sidewalks-to-nowhere in front of the finished houses and no sidewalks at all in front of the unfinished ones.
Her phone buzzed as she turned onto Coyote Way. She paused the bariolage and blinked at the screen, which morphed from black to neon pink. Then rainbow. Then a demented Hello Kitty with bloody fangs. Then back to black.
What the…?
Ridley held the phone at arm’s length, wondering what Aysha and Mira were up to, and which counterspell she should use to negate whatever evil they had sent her way. Also, why were they pranking her? They usually went after Binx.
Hello Kitty popped up again, this time with a cartoon bubble over its head:
You’re on your way right?
Ridley exhaled. Binx. She should have guessed.
She typed a reply:
Nice special FX. Yup I’m on my way, there soon.
Great, I shall have the snax ready.
Ridley tucked her phone back into her pocket and continued down Coyote Way. She always looked forward to going to Binx’s house; it was big and beautiful and had an actual view of the sea, as well as a hiking trail down to the beach. Resuming her bariolage, she began leaping nimbly from one sidewalk-to-nowhere to another, which for some reason made her think about The Matrix (although honestly, what didn’t make her think about The Matrix?). The leaping added another layer of complexity to the already complex bariolage rhythm.
Just then, a silver SUV came speeding from the opposite direction, blasting EDM at full, earsplitting volume and killing Ridley’s musical groove. An empty soda can flew out of the driver-side window and landed in a sagebrush bush.
Ridley’s eyes widened. Really? Did everyone have to be so disrespectful?
Stepping behind a palm tree (Greta had taught her the name of this particular kind, a Chinese Windmill, which could thrive even in the Pacific Northwest), she shrugged off her backpack and rifled quickly through its contents. Random notebooks, a copy of Cloud Atlas, sheet music, her grimoire (which she’d disguised as a creative writing journal)… ah, there it was. Her wand, Paganini. (She’d made it herself, just as Greta and Binx had done with their wands, and enchanted it to look like a violin bow, in case any non-witches ever caught sight of it.)
Ridley generally limited her use of magic in public, but the SUV driver needed to be taught a lesson. Besides, there was nobody else around. She pointed Paganini straight at the soda can. Actually, not a soda can, but a beer can, she saw now. Figures.
She closed her eyes and mentally transformed the beer can into a flying object.
“Alata,” she then murmured under her breath. She pictured its aerial path back to the SUV.
She opened her eyes. The dented beer can rose obediently and rocketed toward the SUV. When it was parallel with the car, it curved right and shot into the driver-side window.
Yes!
The SUV braked with a furious screech of tires. The EDM cut out. Ridley thought she could hear a string of swears, and her mouth twitched up in a smile. Mission accomplished.
As she waited for the driver to leave, she ran her hand idly across the rough tree bark and wondered if she should add palm oil to her new healing potion recipe. She admired the new shade of red on her neatly trimmed nails: Crimson Secret.
Another string of swears, and the driver shifted into gear. Good riddance.
Except… the SUV wasn’t going away. It was going in reverse. Toward her.
No no no no no.
The SUV stopped near the palm tree. The driver jumped out of the car, slammed the door behind him, and headed straight for her hiding spot. “I can see you back there, you little witch,” he growled.
Little witch? Was that just an expression, or…
Ridley’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she could feel it drumming against her rib cage. She had to do something. Distract him, make an escape. She jammed Paganini into her backpack and stepped out from behind the tree.
“You must be confusing me with someone else,” she began.
Then froze.
It was him. Brandon Fiske. The guy who’d interrupted the two covens by the vending machine.
“You threw that can at my car, didn’t you?” Brandon demanded.
Ridley forced herself to smile. “What? No!”
“You did! And you’re not getting away with it!”
Brandon moved closer to her, so close that she could smell the sweat and grass and dirt on his lacrosse clothes. He raised his fist as if to hit her.
Ridley stumbled backward. “Muto!” she cried out.
A second later, Brandon vanished, and a stinkbug materialized on the pavement where he had been standing.
Ridley exhaled. Her entire body was shaking. Then she began running as fast as she could. As she turned onto a dead-end street, she glanced over her shoulder and murmured: “Muto! Praetereo!”
Brandon rematerialized next to the palm tree. He looked around with a confused expression (the same expression he’d worn after Div cast praetereo on him at lunchtime) and got back into his SUV.
The memory-erase spell seemed to have worked. Whew. Ridley slowed to a jog and cut across an empty construction lot to Briarwood Street.
“Ridley! Hi!”
Now what? Alarmed, Ridley stopped and pivoted in the direction of the voice. A girl was walking toward her on Briarwood. Short, blond, pretty—
Penelope Hart.
“Hi!” Ridley said. She was pleasantly surprised to run into Penelope, but also worried—had she seen Ridley’s interaction with Brandon? Was another memory-erase spell in order? She quickly checked out the line of sight between them and Coyote Way. She couldn’t see the palm tree or Brandon or the silver SUV.
“Hey! Hi! Do you live around here?” Penelope called out.
The girl seemed cheerfully unaware. Maybe the memory-erase spell wasn’t necessary.
“Yeah, sort of.” Ridley gestured vaguely toward the east. Her house was on the other side of Seabreeze, in an older neighborhood full of raised ranches and bungalows. “How about you?”
“We just moved here from Ojala Heights. Well, not ‘just.’ Back in June. Our house is at the end of Blackberry Lane.” Penelope pointed. “It’s that one on the corner that looks like an ugly French castle. Sort of a dog-puke color.”
“Dog-puke, that’s one of my favorite colors,” Ridley joked, folding her arms over her chest.
Penelope laughed. “Right? Couldn’t they have picked a nice shade of brown, like Sienna or Twig or Aphrodite Blush?”
“Aphrodite Blush?”
“Sorry. It’s a lipstick color. I’m a little obses
sed with makeup, can you tell?”
Penelope cupped her hands around her chin, framing her face. She wore two—no, three—shades of beigey eye shadow, so artfully applied that it was impossible to tell where one ended and another began. Her lashes were long and curled ever so slightly, and her brows were perfectly shaped. She wore a rose-pink lipstick and matching blush.
Staring at Penelope’s face, standing so close to her (there was that really nice perfume again), Ridley felt a little wobbly inside. She swallowed once, twice.
“And I’m also a beautuber,” Penelope was saying.
“Beautuber?”
“I have a beauty channel on YouTube. It’s called Just Face It with Penelope! You should check it out. Not that you need it; you’re already gorgeous!”
Ridley’s cheeks grew hot. “Um, thanks.”
“You’re welcome!”
“So where are you—”
Ridley’s words were drowned out by the sound of an approaching car. She turned and saw the silver SUV speeding down Brentwood.
Oh no!
She instinctively grabbed Penelope’s arm and pulled her back from the curb, then frantically ran through various defense spells in her mind.…
The SUV neared, EDM on full volume, then kept going. Brandon hadn’t even glanced at them.
The praetereo spell had held.
“Thank you! Wow, that person was going way too fast!” Penelope exclaimed.
“They should get a ticket,” Ridley agreed.
Penelope closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Whew, okay, that’s better.” She opened her eyes. “What are you doing now? I was on my way to Starbucks for my pumpkin spice latte fix because, you know, September. Do you want to come along?”
“Definitely!” Ridley said eagerly. And then she remembered the coven meeting. Could she skip it? No. Not with the whole shadow message issue looming. “Oh, wait. I can’t. Sorry. I have to go to my friend Binx’s, for this, um, thing.”
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