B*witch

by Paige McKenzie

  She was searching for a restroom. Or pretending to, anyway. She was actually on a small side mission—to collect hair samples from each of the Jessup men. The idea had come to her during the conversation with Mr. Jessup (correction, Jared, although she felt weird calling him that) and his sons. They had different-color hair, which would make it easier to distinguish any hair samples she might find: Mr. Jessup’s was silvery-blond, Colter’s was regular blond, and Hunter’s was brown.

  Her plan was to find their bedrooms and en suite bathrooms (the Jessup mansion looked like it would have a lot of en suites) and search through combs, brushes, towels, clothing, pillowcases… whatever might have strands of hair clinging to it.

  And once she had the hair samples, she could go back to her house with her witches and conduct a series of group scrying spells, to uncover if any of the Jessup men had written the shadow messages.

  Div had left Mira and Aysha to keep an eye on the party and make sure no one followed her. Mira was doing a good job fussing and fawning over Colter. Aysha was doing as well as she could, not losing her cool at all the anti-witch talk.

  And Hunter. He was going to be an easy one. He was clearly attracted to her, which she would use to her advantage, just as she always did with people who were drawn to her that way.

  There was a room to the right; soft classical music drifted from it. Div poked her head through the doorway. Floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books, an enormous antique desk… it appeared to be a study or a library. The music was coming from an old-fashioned-looking radio, but the room was unoccupied.

  No, not a bedroom or bathroom. Move on.

  Except… an odd sight caught Div’s eye. Behind the desk, a piece of red velvet the size of a small tablecloth hung on the wall. It wasn’t a curtain, and it looked out of place. Was it covering something? Curious, she walked up to it and pulled up a corner to peer behind it.

  Behind the red velvet drape was a large board made of cork. Div lifted the cover higher. Dozens of items were pinned to it with silver pushpins—newspaper clippings, photographs, handwritten notes, sticky flags. Long pieces of red string connected some of the items to others, creating a bizarre sort of constellation.

  What the hex?

  She’d seen a board like this before. On a detective show on TV. It was called a “murder board,” and it was a technique the detectives used to hunt down a murderer.

  Were the Jessups hunting down a murderer?

  Div leaned forward to study the items on the board. Several of the photographs were faded and sepia-toned, half-torn or crinkled at the edges. Some showed a man with a hawklike nose, bushy beard, mustache, and hair, and small, piercing eyes that radiated coldness even in the mottled, imperfect images.

  She then turned her attention to the newspaper clippings. The articles dated all the way back to the 1870s, 1880s. One headline blared: Famed Witch-Hunter Disappears.

  Witch-hunter?

  Had the Jessups put together a murder board so they could hunt down a witch-hunter? But why? Wouldn’t witch hunters and the Antima be on the same side, basically? Also, the person would have died long ago.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  Alarmed, Div let the drape fall to cover the board. She turned around, already preparing to cast a memory-erase spell.

  A young girl stood in the doorway. Maybe ten or eleven, she wore black jeans and a black T-shirt with a rhinestone heart on it. Her long blond hair had green and orange streaks. She didn’t seem to be suspicious of Div; in fact, she was smiling in a friendly way.

  Div tried to remember what Mira had told her about Colter’s family. She’d mentioned something about twins.…

  “You must be Colter and Hunter’s sister?” Div said pleasantly as she mentally debated—memory-erase spell or no memory-erase spell?

  “I’m Cassie.”

  “Hey, Cassie. I’m Div. I was trying to find a quiet place to make a call, but I don’t seem to have any bars. Also, where is your bathroom?”

  “Which one? We have like three of them down here, for guests, and we have four more upstairs, for the family.”

  Div registered this. So Colter’s, Hunter’s, and Mr. Jessup’s bathrooms were upstairs. Also, Cassie seemed oblivious to Div’s snooping. No memory-erase spell.

  “Wow, that’s a lot of bathrooms!”

  “Yeah. I still have to share one with my sister, Caitlin, which is so not fair. Do you have your own bathroom?”

  “I do. Hey, maybe you could take over one of the downstairs bathrooms and move all your makeup and stuff in there?”

  Cassie considered this. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea!”

  “Right?”

  “’K, I have to go now because I told my friend Sienna I’d be on Roblox like an hour ago. We’re in the middle of a zombies-in-the-desert campaign.”

  “Cool. It was nice meeting you. By the way, I like your hair.”

  “What? Oh, thanks. I wish it had more colors, though, like pink and blue and purple. Then it would be more rainbow.”

  Cassie touched the back of her head as she left the room. As she did so, pink and blue and purple strands suddenly appeared, then disappeared just as quickly.

  Div clutched at her throat, stifling her shock. She hadn’t done that, had she? No, she definitely hadn’t.

  So Cassie Jessup was a witch? And if so, did she know that? Did her family know, too? Except that her family—at least, the men in her family—hated witches…

  She glanced at her phone; the party was halfway over. She needed to get upstairs and get those hair samples. She also needed to find out more about Cassie and about the Jessup family’s fascination with witch-hunters (or with one particular witch-hunter, the guy in those long-ago newspaper articles).

  Before heading upstairs, she decided to take a quick photo of the murder board (or whatever the hex it was). She turned, lifted the red velvet drape, and held up her phone…

  … and in that same moment, a hand covered her mouth, smothering her. Div tried to scream, but the person’s grip was too strong. Panicked, she tried to wrench away… except that the hand was holding a silky cloth, and the cloth smelled like chemicals. Suddenly, her muscles felt like jelly. Her brain felt like jelly. She barely registered her phone falling noiselessly onto the soft carpet as her knees buckled, and her legs gave out, and everything went black.

  26

  ODD WITCH OUT

  Keeping a coven together is of the utmost importance.

  (FROM THE GOOD BOOK OF MAGIC AND MENTALISM BY CALLIXTA CROWE)

  “This is a terrible idea,” Ridley whispered.

  “Maybe. But it’s my terrible idea,” Binx whispered back.

  “Well, I think it’s cool! And scary! And cool! It’s like we’re on a Nancy Drew adventure!” Iris piped up.

  “Guys, please… let’s just get it over with and get out of here before someone sees us,” Greta suggested.

  The sun was setting, and the four witches were crouched behind an enormous bush in the side yard of 146 Blackberry Lane. Penelope’s house. The shrub had peeling brown bark, clusters of small white flowers, and green leaves with jagged edges that reminded Greta of teeth. She recognized it as a ninebark, or Physocarpus opulifolius. She tried to recall its magical properties, but right now she was having a hard time concentrating because her nerves were on edge, and all of her focus was on keeping herself and her girls safe.

  Earlier that day, Binx had proposed this plan to find Penelope’s backpack so they could search for a third shadow message. She’d magically hacked into Penelope’s parents’ calendar apps to pin down a window of opportunity, learning that they had an appointment across town at six o’clock—something to do with arranging the funeral (which was, although Greta was in denial about it, happening tomorrow).

  And so the four of them had driven over in Binx’s family’s Prius (which was not exactly legal, given Binx’s age, but Greta wasn’t about to tell her what to do) and parked down the street to wait and watch. Shortly before si
x, the garage door had opened, and a silver Volvo had emerged and disappeared around the corner. Just to be sure, Binx had hacked into the car’s wireless backup camera and manipulated it to show the inside of the vehicle. In the front seat were a man and a woman who matched the LinkedIn photos of Penelope’s parents.

  The four of them had waited a few minutes to make sure the car wasn’t turning around, then stealthily made their way to the ninebark bush. Now they were in the process of trying to figure out where Penelope’s backpack might be.

  Binx scrolled through her phone. “Calumnia, even though there are like no human beings around. Besides this house, this whole street is nothing but deserted construction sites… yeah, that’s not creepy at all. Okay, so… I’m looking for a magical app that’ll tell us which window is Penelope’s bedroom. Ooooh, calcea! Actually, nah, that’s for when you can’t find your shoes.”

  “Maybe we should just do a group scrying spell,” Greta suggested.

  “Good idea,” Ridley agreed.

  Greta squeezed Ridley’s hand, not just to thank her for the support but to give her support, too. Then all four girls joined hands.

  “Close your eyes and take some nice, deep, long breaths,” Greta instructed in a soft voice. “Let’s all picture Penelope’s backpack in our minds. I’m trying to remember… was it lavender?”

  “Pink,” Ridley corrected her. “The material was light pink and soft… maybe suede or velvet? There might be a notebook inside with doodles and drawings. Penelope was a really good artist.”

  Greta squeezed Ridley’s hand again. “Good. Thanks. Everyone picture that.”

  “When you say ‘take some nice, deep, long breaths,’ what do you mean by ‘some’?” Iris asked. “Like, two or three breaths? Or more? Or do you want us to keep doing nice, deep, long breathing while we’re picturing the backpack in our minds? Sorry to ask so many questions… am I ruining the vibe? I’m ruining the vibe, aren’t I? Argh, I am so useless!”

  “Whatever works for you is fine, and you’re not ruining anything,” Greta reassured her.

  “Oh, whew!”

  They grew silent again. Greta envisioned the pink backpack in her head. She mentally invited other objects to join the image, objects that might help them identify where the backpack was, like the color of the curtains in the room. But nothing came to her.

  Binx broke the silence. “I think we should just use a reverse obex and go into the house. We could find her room in like thirty seconds.”

  “Isn’t that a little bit illegal?” Iris asked.

  “Actually, it’s a lot illegal,” Ridley pointed out.

  “Keep breathing and focusing, guys,” Greta said, frustrated.

  Another minute passed. Still nothing came to Greta… she tried not to feel discouraged, but instead channel her own powers into the power of her coven… her coven plus Iris. She didn’t want to be presumptuous. (Iris hadn’t said yes yet.)

  “Hey, guys? Look!”

  Greta opened one eye and saw Ridley pointing to a window on the second floor. Through the flower-print curtains, in the shadows, a person’s face was pressed against the glass, watching them. Greta sat up, startled.

  But it wasn’t a person. It was a dog.

  “Hi, puppy dog!” Iris called out, waving.

  “That’s Penelope’s familiar, Socrates,” Ridley said with a sigh. “A second ago, I saw him in my mind sitting next to her backpack, and now there he is, for real. I bet that’s her room, and I bet her backpack is in there.”

  “Awesome! Now do the beer-can trick. Muto, then alata, right?” Binx asked Ridley.

  “I’ll try. But first… how do we open the window?”

  “I got this.” Binx tipped her face up to the window. “Obex!”

  The window didn’t open.

  “Really, window? Obex!”

  Still nothing.

  “Let me try,” Iris said, raising her hand. “Open, window, and let in the air. We promise to treat your home with care,” she chanted.

  The window slid open. Socrates stuck his head out, sniffed at the cool evening breeze, and howled mournfully.

  Everyone stared at Iris.

  “Seriously, where did you learn that spell?” Binx demanded.

  “Welllll… I kind of wrote it in my head. Just now. It’s a version of another spell I sorta kinda invented, which has to do with… you know when you’re walking along a path and there’s like a bunch of branches or prickly vines ahead of you, blocking the path, and you want to clear them but you’re in a big rush, plus those prickly vines hurt?”

  “That’s amazing, Iris!” Greta exclaimed, and Iris blushed.

  “Ridley, you’re up,” Binx said.

  “Right.”

  Ridley performed the spells, and a moment later, Socrates pulled his head back through the window and was gone. Half a second later he started barking, and then a pink object appeared where he’d been.

  Penelope’s backpack. It flew out of the window and floated toward Greta and her friends.

  “Yessss!” Binx pumped her fist.

  Greta glanced around, wondering if they should cast an invisibility spell on the backpack. If the neighborhood wasn’t as deserted as it appeared, someone might see it flying through the air and—that would not be good.

  But she decided there wasn’t time, especially since invisibility spells were complicated. Instead, she stepped forward, reached up, and caught the backpack as it descended toward them.

  “Nice catch!” Iris said.

  “Thanks!”

  Greta unzipped the backpack as the other three gathered around. A faint rose fragrance wafted out, and she could feel a subtle shift in Ridley’s aura… surprise, remembrance, grief.

  “Ridley, you don’t have to stay for this if you don’t want to,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be okay,” Ridley whispered back, although she didn’t sound too sure.

  Greta rifled through the backpack. Folders. A notebook. A makeup bag. A glittery purple pen. She handed the items to the others, then proceeded to search through the zippered inner compartments.

  “No shadow message here,” Binx said, flipping through the notebook. “Some cool drawings, though.”

  Ridley held up the folders. “No shadow message in here, either.”

  “There’s nothing in the makeup bag, except some really pretty lipstick. I didn’t know there even was a color called Revenge of the Strawberries!” Iris piped up.

  Greta unzipped the last compartment. “Wait, what’s this?”

  She plucked out a square cloth and brought it into the light. Embroidered on the fabric was an image of a cage burning over a bonfire.

  An Antima shoulder patch.

  “What the?” Binx said. “Why would she have an Antima patch?”

  “Maybe it was her boyfriend’s?” Iris suggested.

  “But what’s it doing in her backpack?” Greta asked.

  “Maybe she found the patch—found out about him—just before she… before she…” Ridley stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. Binx leaned against her and put her head on her shoulder.

  Someone’s phone buzzed.

  Binx straightened. “I think that’s me. Uxie, who is it?”

  “There is a new text message from Mira Jahani,” Uxie reported.

  Ridley pulled her phone out of her pocket. “It’s a group text. I got one, too.”

  “Me too,” Greta said, glancing at her screen.

  Mira had written:

  Guys, Div disappeared and we can’t find her anywhere. We think she might be in trouble. Can you help?

  “Crap! This is not good,” Binx declared.

  “W-what’s happening?” Iris asked nervously.

  “Div’s missing,” Ridley explained, then turned to Greta. “What should we do?”

  Greta touched her raw amethyst pendant, trying to still her racing thoughts. Div was missing. Was she in danger? What if Penelope’s murderer was at the party and they’d done something to her?


  Be strong, she told herself. You need to be a leader.

  “Okay. All right. Ridley, can you and Iris stay here and deal with the backpack and the window, make sure we leave everything exactly as it was? Binx, can you drive us to the Jessups’ house and… Binx?”

  But Binx was already running to her car, smart key in hand.

  Fifteen minutes later, Greta and Binx reached the Jessups’ house. Mira had texted them again, warning that there was a security guard posted at an electric gate and also a couple of “greeters” inside the house checking off guest names on their iPads.

  Binx managed to magically hack into both and add her own and Greta’s names, which enabled them to get past the guard and the greeters. Mira and Aysha were waiting inside the house; they stood by a long antique table in the entryway, pretending to check out JAHANI FOR MAYOR buttons and bumper stickers. The sounds of conversations and live music floated in from another room.

  Greta and Binx joined Mira and Aysha. The two greeter girls were having a conversation about college applications and seemed oblivious to the witches.

  “Calumnia,” Greta whispered. “What’s going on? Tell us everything!”

  “So, we were hanging out with Colter and his brother, Hunter, and their dad,” Aysha said quickly. “Div slipped away during the political speeches. She wanted to find hair samples.”

  “Whose hair samples? What for?” Binx asked, puzzled.

  “She wanted to figure out if one of the Jessup guys wrote her shadow message,” Aysha replied. “It’s this, uh, spell she does.” Mira clucked her tongue, but Aysha ignored her. “That was a while ago. She hasn’t come back, and she’s not answering her texts. Mira and I tried a couple of quick scrying spells to find her, but no go.”

  “You’ve been here before, right, Mira?” Greta asked Mira.

  “Of course! Lots of times!”

  “Can you take us through the house? You could pretend you’re giving us a tour.”

  “Got it! Follow me!”

  Mira started down the hallway and began pointing to random paintings and furniture, tour-guide-style, as Greta and Aysha and Binx trailed behind. As they passed the French doors to the living room, Greta could see a big crowd of guests. Colter and—was that Hunter?—were hanging out in a secluded corner, speaking with Brandon and Orion and Axel from school. Their heads were bent close together.