Nothing happened.
Greta smiled. “Well, that’s awesome.”
“It is?”
“Yes. It’s really awesome.”
Iris frowned, suddenly wary. This conversation seemed too easy. “You… you’re not tricking me, are you? You’re not an Antima member pretending to be a witch, are you?”
“Oh my gosh, no. Those guys were Antima, though—but you probably knew that.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“I could be wrong, but I’m pretty good at reading people’s feelings. I’ve been trying to teach myself. I don’t sense any hatred in you.”
“Yeah, no, that’s not me. The only thing I hate is when my breakfast cereal gets soggy… oh, and when my clothes itch. Actually, JK, there’s a lot of stuff I hate. But not witches. Because I’m a witch, and… never mind, sorry, I’m talking too much. I do that when I’m nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?”
“I’m always nervous. Your mood-ring magic can probably sense that, right? ‘Nervous’ is my middle name. JK again, it’s Evangeline.”
“That’s pretty.”
“Thanks. Anyhoo, of course I’m nervous now, because it’s the first time I ever… I’ve never told anyone that I’m… and it’s terrifying. But also cool. But also terrifying.”
“I know what you mean.”
The black cat jumped up and curled itself onto Greta’s lap, purring.
“Hey, little one. You’re going to make Gofflesby jealous,” Greta murmured to the cat.
“Who’s Gofflesby?” Iris asked.
“My familiar. Do you have a familiar?”
“No. I mean, my family has pets. But I don’t know how you can tell who’s your familiar and who’s not your familiar, so maybe they’re all my familiars, or maybe none of them are.”
“Oh, you’ll just know,” Greta said, sounding unbelievably wise. “Have you read the book?”
“You mean Callixta Crowe’s book? Am I pronouncing her name right?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Only like half of it. I picked it up by accident in the library one day—but I didn’t check it out because I was worried that… well, the law and all that. I read like a bunch of chapters and took some notes, but that was it. The next time I went back to the library, it was gone.”
“So you didn’t read the chapter on familiars?”
“No. I’m only kind of familiar with familiars—get it, ‘familiar with familiars’?—from Witchworld. That’s a video game, FYI. But maybe you already know that, so sorry if I’m being redundant. Anyhoo, it’s not like I’ll find a dust dragon or a screaming unicorn or an ice-breathing devil squirrel in the real world, right?” Iris laughed awkwardly.
“Right. Well, according to Callixta, your familiar can simply be an animal you feel a special connection with. They don’t have to be magical or whatever. And you can have more than one familiar at a time. Or no familiar at all.”
“Oh! I didn’t know.”
Greta stroked the black cat between its ears; it lifted its head, purring with pleasure. “You said you’d never told anyone about your being a witch. That probably means you’ve never been part of a coven, right?”
“A coven? You mean like the Raven’s Rage Coven in Witchworld? Or the Healing Hearts Coven? I don’t like that one, though; the witches act like they’re nice but they’re totally not. But you’re talking about a real coven, right? So, no.” Iris blinked at Greta. “Why, have you?”
“Uh-huh. Two of them. The first one turned out to be… it was a bad fit. But the one I’m in now… well, it’s really great. I kind of started it. If you’re interested, maybe you could think about joining.”
Iris pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sat up very straight. “Really?”
“Really. Let me talk to the other girls. Maybe you could come to one of our coven meetings, check it out?”
“Really?”
Iris couldn’t believe her luck. She’d made a new friend—her first one since moving to Sorrow Point—who also happened to be a witch. A nice witch. And she’d just been invited (or sort of invited) to her very first coven meeting (not to mention her first social gathering of any kind since Abigail Roth’s disco-themed holiday party last year, which had been kind of a disaster—okay, a huge disaster, because Iris had hidden out in the bathroom the entire time because the loud music had hurt her ears).
“I have like a million questions to ask you. Like, how many witches are there at your… I mean, our… school? How do they… and you… keep it a secret? Are those three Antima guys dangerous? They are, aren’t they? How long have you known you’re a witch? What about the other witches in your coven? Those girls I saw you with this morning… are they in your coven? The Juilliard fan from my French class and the pink-haired one?”
“Ridley and Binx, yup.” Greta picked up the purring black cat, set it down on the bench next to Iris, and stood. “I so want to answer all your questions, but I really need to go. I promised my mom I’d make dinner. Can you put your number in my phone, so I can call you or text you later? Oh, but before I go—speaking of the Antima… and by the way, I cast a memory-erase spell, praetereo, on those three guys, so they won’t remember what happened here…” She paused and seemed to consider something. Then she nodded to herself. “I want to show you something.”
Greta reached into her backpack and pulled out a small, clear bag. Inside was a bunch of rosemary sprigs and a piece of paper with words and numbers on it.
Iris felt a sensation of icy cold spreading through her body.
“W-what is that?” she asked nervously.
Greta slid the paper out of the bag and held it out for Iris to see. “Callixta calls these shadow messages. Did you get one, by any chance? Or did you happen to cast a spell on this one?”
“What?” Iris peered at the writing:
YOU AND YOUR KIND NEED TO DISAPPEAR.
1415
The sensation of cold intensified. Iris crossed her arms over her chest, shivering.
“Wow, that’s creepy. And rude. No, I didn’t get one of these, and no, I didn’t cast a spell on it. Where did you get this? And what’s 1415?”
“I don’t know. I found it in my pocket before homeroom this morning. Another witch at our school—she belongs to the other coven—found the exact same shadow message in her locker. So you didn’t get one?”
“Nope.”
“We think it might be from the Antima. Maybe even one of those guys.” She gestured vaguely in the direction the SUV had driven off. “Plus, someone—a witch—seems to have enchanted it… enchanted both of them. We don’t know who, or why.”
“That’s so weird!”
Trying to ignore the cold, Iris leaned in and read the shadow message a second time. Her head and Greta’s head were almost touching.
The shadow message seemed to be calling out to her, trying to get her attention.
“Could I?” Iris reached for it.
“Are you sure you want to handle it?”
“I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Iris took the shadow message from Greta and laid her hand on it. The cold immediately dissipated and was replaced by heat. She took a deep breath and let her eyes close.
The images came to her, fast and furious. Flames. A crow skeleton. People shouting. A girl in a red chair, tied up with ropes.
1415.
14.
15.
A, B, C, D…
“Iris? Are you okay?”
Iris’s eyes snapped open.
“It’s… they’re… I think fourteen and fifteen might represent the fourteenth and fifteenth letters of the alphabet? So, what is that?” She quickly counted off on her fingers. “N and O, right?”
“How did you—” Greta gaped at her. “You figured that out just from touching the shadow message?”
“Yeah. It’s been happening to me more and more. I touch stuff, and these images appear. I’m not sure how, or why. But some
times they’re clearer than other times, and this time it was really clear. So N… O, ‘no’? No to what? And why was it in code?”
“I… I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”
“And hey, Greta?”
“Yes?”
Iris wasn’t sure if she should tell her new friend about the other images that had come to her. The flames, the crow skeleton, people shouting…
… and Greta tied up in a red chair, a prisoner.
Of course, these visions might be nothing. She probably shouldn’t scare Greta unnecessarily.
“Be careful,” Iris said simply.
13
RETAIL THERAPY
Be wary of witch-hunters who may be disguised as witches.
(FROM THE GOOD BOOK OF MAGIC AND MENTALISM BY CALLIXTA CROWE)
By the time Binx and Ridley reached the mall, they were out of breath and completely freaked out. Who had spray-painted DEAD WITCH on those gravestones?
Antima, obviously.
Binx leaned against the outside of a photo booth, panting. She quickly texted the photo of the defaced gravestones to Greta with the message:
R and I just saw this in the cemetery. Antima???
Greta texted back:
That’s terrible!!! Whose graves?
Binx wrote:
Not sure. I’ll blow up the pix when I get home and try to read the names. R and I are at the mall now.
Greta wrote:
Be safe. I’m in the middle of something, but I’ll text you again in a few min. I have news.
Binx slid her phone into the pocket of her yellow jean jacket. She told Ridley about her plan to digitally enhance the photograph later.
“Good idea. Ugh. That was so creepy.”
“I think we need some retail therapy,” Binx suggested. “How about Auntie Anne’s for pretzels, and then Michaels for supplies?”
Ridley gave a thumbs-up. “Agreed.”
They linked arms and headed toward the center of the mall. Binx could hear Ridley quietly repeating “Pleukiokus” with each step, as though she were keeping time or sounding out a rhythm. Binx herself was on heightened alert, side-eyeing each person they passed to see if they were wearing an Antima shoulder patch. (Did Antima wear other symbols, too? She would have to research that.)
At Auntie Anne’s, the two girls ordered their standbys: a cinnamon sugar pretzel for herself and a pepperoni pretzel for Ridley. Then they made their way to Michaels. Michaels was one of their favorite stores because it was the perfect place to buy witchcraft supplies without appearing to buy witchcraft supplies. Cute little glass bottles with cork stoppers were ideal for storing potions. Cool pens were good for writing in grimoires—for Ridley at least, since Binx kept hers entirely on her phone. And of course there were other items that were useful, like candles, beeswax, and bags of gemstone chips.
Binx and Ridley grabbed a couple of shopping carts. Peering around, Binx noted that the store seemed relatively empty, which was a plus… just a couple of moms with their kids and a few Michaels clerks in their cheerful smocks. At the cash register, a woman in a black leather jacket and red Dr. Martens was talking to the cashier. (Binx made a mental note to order boots like that for herself; they would go really well with her new skater dress.)
“Do you want to wander or do you have a shopping list on your phone?” Ridley asked Binx.
“Both. I definitely need some seashells and feathers. I’ve been”—Binx glanced around and lowered her voice—“experimenting with potions that have a bio-cyber interface.”
“Calumnia,” Ridley cut in. “Okay, now we can talk. Explain.”
“So we use herbs, flowers, and other plants for potions, right? And other natural, biological ingredients like beetle wings and… oh, snap, remember when we used Kyle Morrison’s grody-toady toenail clippings to try to create a new type of polymorph potion? That was epic.”
“Ew. Of course I remember. It was a complete fail. Go on.”
“The bio-cyber interface will happen if I’m able to link up my cyber capabilities”—Binx held up her phone—“with real-life stuff like seashells, feathers, toenails, plants, cat whiskers, whatever. Like with nanotechnology, when scientists can literally change the molecules in your body by inserting you with point-one-micrometer nanite bots and then remote-controlling those bots with external computers?”
“I still don’t know what that means. You’re talking sci-fi gibberish.”
“No, I’m not. I’ll send you some links about nanotech, you should read up, and then you’ll understand. Your problem is, your magical mind-set is outdated. You’re so stuck in the olden days with your palm-reading and numerology and all that Gen-Grandma craft. You’re insanely smart—what’s your GPA these days, like six-point-five?—and you like science, right? You need to get with the program.”
“Maybe. I’m more of a traditional girl, though. I like the grandma stuff from Callixta’s book. Did ever I tell you that I have an antique Ouija board? It was a present from my aunt Viola, and I keep it hidden in my desk at home.”
“Hmm. Well, I invented a magical Ouija board app that’ll blow your Ouija board out of the water.”
“You’re on!”
“I shall hold you to it!”
They meandered through the aisles, past the picture frames and the unfinished-wood birdhouses and the early display of Halloween decorations. (Ridley picked up a couple of plastic skulls.) Binx eyed two skeins of yarn—one violet-purple and one charcoal-gray—and reminded herself to come back for them sometime soon. (She planned to crochet beanies and fingerless gloves for her witch sisters, for Christmas.) When they reached the aisle with the feathers, Binx tossed several bags into her cart: duck, turkey, ostrich, and pheasant, dyed and undyed. She also grabbed half a dozen peacock feathers and two long red boas.
She tucked a peacock feather behind Ridley’s ear and draped one of the boas around her neck. “Very glam!”
Ridley struck a supermodel pose. “Why, thank you!”
Binx draped the second boa around her own neck as they went off in search of seashells. They looped back to the front of the store and finally found the seashells near the bins of rainbow-colored fake flowers.
Binx added several bags of assorted small seashells to her growing pile and a couple of large white-and-pink conch shells. She considered a bag of dried brown starfish. “Starfish aren’t shells, are they?”
“Nope. They’re echinoderms.”
“Do you know if they have special properties? Never mind, let me look it up in my grimoire.” Binx swiped at her phone. “Okay, got it! So according to these notes, starfish are associated with the heavens and with instinct and intuition and a ton of other stuff. They make good amulets or charms if you’re sick or hurt or need renewal. Plus, there’s the pentagram shape, which has all sorts of mystical meanings.”
Her phone trilled and she glanced at it as Ridley pulled her own out of her pocket.
“It’s Greta again,” Binx announced. “‘I just met Iris, and she’s definitely one of us,’” she read out loud. “‘She was getting harassed by Orion and Axel and Brandon.’ Oh no! ‘I invited her to come to one of our meetings.’ Um, hello? Maybe you could have, like, asked us first? ‘BTW, Iris thinks that 1415 is a code for the word “no.”’ No what? And how does she know this, exactly?”
Ridley didn’t answer.
“Earth to Ridley!” Binx elbowed her.
“A-hem.” Ridley elbowed her back. “I want to check out cupcake pans, do you want to check out cupcake pans?”
“What? Are you mental? Why would I want to check out—”
“Hi, Ms. O’Shea! How are you?” Ridley called out loudly.
The new history sub? Binx coughed and slid her phone into the pocket of her jean jacket.
A woman was pushing her shopping cart toward them. She wore a black leather jacket and red Doc Martens. It was the person from the cash register.
So this was Ms. O’Shea? Binx’s gaze moved to her jacket. No A
ntima symbol of any kind. But maybe she was wearing a shoulder patch under her jacket? Or maybe she just didn’t advertise her loyalties?
Ms. O’Shea moved closer. Binx’s muscles tensed.
“Hi, Ridley! Hi, Binx! What’re you up to?”
“J-just getting a bunch of stuff for my mom and little sister,” Ridley said nervously.
“How did you know my name?” Binx asked Ms. O’Shea suspiciously.
Ms. O’Shea raked a hand through her short black hair and smiled. “I know quite a bit about you, Binx. And about you, Ridley. And about Greta, too.”
Ridley exhaled sharply. Binx felt the blood drain from her face.
Stay calm. Don’t panic. Figure this out, Binx told herself, trying to still the sudden pounding of her heart. She searched her brain for a spell. Should she do a memory-erase? Or something more… combative? In her peripheral vision, she saw Ridley reaching into her backpack, probably to retrieve her wand.
Binx reached into her backpack, too, and pulled out Kricketune (disguised, as usual, to look like a gaming console). She pointed it at Ms. O’Shea. “Are there more of you here? Is the mall the cool new meeting place for the Antima?” she snapped sarcastically.
Ms. O’Shea fluttered her hands. “Absolutely not! Please, it’s not what you think.”
Binx eyed the exit, which was just past the candy display. Should they just run for it? Then she noticed the contents of Ms. O’Shea’s shopping cart.
Inside the cart were small glass bottles with cork stoppers, beeswax bars, and two bags of amethyst chips.
What the hex?
Ms. O’Shea slipped off her retro rhinestone glasses and pointed them at her cart. “Donare,” she said softly. The bags of amethyst chips rose slowly and traveled through the air. One landed in Binx’s cart, and the other in Ridley’s. “I love amethyst, don’t you?” she added merrily.
Binx and Ridley gaped at her.
“You’re… you’re…” Ridley stammered.
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