With her pulse racing, Maggie hurried back to her own bed and retrieved her phone from the nightstand. She scrolled through her contacts list until she found Joyless’s name, then pressed the call button.
A groggy voice answered after four rings.
“Ms Joy,” Maggie choked into the phone. “Something’s wrong!”
“Who is this?” Joyless slurred. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“This is Maggie Ellmes, in room two-oh-six. There’s something wrong with Isla!”
Suddenly Ms Joy’s voice became more coherent. “What happened?”
“I-I don’t know,” Maggie stammered. “But I can’t wake her. And she looks different.”
“Different how?” Ms Joy pressed, sounding suddenly breathless. There was a series of fumbling noises on the other end of the line, as though Ms Joy were running.
“I-I don’t know,” Maggie stuttered again. “She looks. . .” She glanced at Isla. “I don’t know. . . possessed or something.”
Possessed.
Maggie turned the word over in her mind. She hadn’t meant to say it—it had just slipped out. But now that it had been said, it couldn’t be unheard.
JOEL SAT ON his bedroom balcony, his legs draped through the rusted railing as he watched the dark storm clouds congest the night sky. Specks of rain misted his bare chest, but for the most part, the storm bowed away from him.
It was three a.m. and he’d long given up any hope of sleeping. How could he sleep?
He checked his phone absentmindedly, re-reading the messages he’d received from Maggie for what felt like the hundredth time.
Hello? Any chance you could help a girl out with a curse today?
FYI it’s annoying when you ignore me!
Joyless is on my case again. Maybe she’s the one who’s cursed me? I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a witch. No offense.
Joel’s heart sank. Of course, these were all before his little indiscretion at Casey’s party. These were all before he’d messed up, and the messages had stopped.
Regardless, none of this changed the fact that he had a job to do. He had to help her break this hex.
But. . . how could he help her when he didn’t even know what he was up against? The spell was strong, that was for sure. It had physically thrown him from her when he’d so much as tried to look at it. He couldn’t break a spell that strong; he wouldn’t know where to begin. Even Maximus, with his years of experience, would tell him not to touch it. Sure, a small hex would be relatively straightforward to break—but this was no small hex. And without knowing what was behind it, he didn’t have a hope in hell.
No, he thought. There has to be an answer. If I can trace where the curse is sourced, then I can bind it. I can block it. I can. . . He bit his lip. I can do something.
He stared at the rain water as it pooled on the balcony around him. The gale was rattling the corroded railings fiercely now. Ahead of him, the dark forest sprawled, and Joel looked upon it as though he were its master. The trees swayed in the storm and the wind howled as it ripped through the bare branches.
He looked at his phone again. 3:12 a.m.
The thunder growled, and Joel understood its voice at once. It was a warning.
He shivered.
Something bad was about to happen.
MAGGIE WALKED TO homeroom in a daze. Joel was already in his usual seat by the door. When Maggie walked in, he looked up. He met her eyes for a second, conveying something that she couldn’t quite decipher. All she knew was that he knew something.
She bypassed his desk and walked straight to an empty seat at the back of the classroom. Isla’s usual chair was empty—not that Maggie had expected anything otherwise. She knew full well where Isla was. In the hospital. Unconscious. Unresponsive. Un-Isla.
Maggie felt a stab of loneliness as she sat loyally beside the empty desk, waiting in silence for Mr Fitzpatrick to arrive. Blonde Lauren and Hilary were in their seats, undoubtedly awaiting an explanation for Isla’s absence. But Maggie avoided their gazes. What was she supposed to say to them? She didn’t have the answers. What if Isla’s condition was serious?
Maggie swallowed hard. What if she dies?
A horrible thought kept replaying in her mind: What if her curse had affected Isla somehow? After all, hadn’t The Incredible Psycho Madam Emerald told her that the curse might spread?
It’s my fault, she thought wretchedly. My curse made Isla sick.
Her stomach knotted. How was she supposed to get through the day without Isla?
All of a sudden, her text message alert beeped from inside her school bag, jolting her back to the classroom. She fished around the main compartment of her bag and retrieved her phone. One new message. From Joel.
Maggie looked across the room to the back of Joel’s head. She opened the message.
What’s wrong? Your aura is black today.
Quickly ensuring that Mr FitzP was still nowhere in sight, she typed out a response.
Isla is really sick. No one knows what’s wrong with her, and it’s all my fault. She furrowed her brow. And your fault, too, she added before pressing send.
A moment later, her phone beeped again.
How is it my fault?
You won’t help un-curse me and now my curse has cursed Isla.
Don’t be crazy, Joel responded.
This time Maggie didn’t reply.
Her phone beeped again. It was Joel, again.
I’m sorry, was all it said.
Blinking back tears, Maggie let her phone fall into her bag. Then the classroom door swung open and Mr Fitzpatrick hurried in, looking even more flustered than usual. He dropped his briefcase on the edge of his desk and hastily knotted his tie.
“Morning,” he grunted. His cheeks were ruddy from rushing and he was short of breath.
Joel cast a quick glance over his shoulder. He caught Maggie’s gaze and held up his palms, as if wondering why she hadn’t texted him back. She turned away.
Mr Fitzpatrick shuffled through his paperwork before eventually taking roll call. When he reached Isla’s name, he skirted awkwardly around it, then read on.
“Where’s Isla?” Blonde Lauren whispered now.
Maggie took a deep breath and turned to face her friends. “She’s sick,” she whispered back. “Really sick. It happened in the night.”
Hilary’s eyes widened, magnified behind her huge thick-rimmed glasses. “What’s wrong with her?”
Maggie shrugged and looked down at her desk. She wished she knew.
“Are her parents coming?” Blonde Lauren whispered.
Maggie shrugged again. “Ms Joy called them last night, but they said they had a ski trip they couldn’t postpone.”
The girls fell silent again.
When the bell for first lesson rang out, Maggie gathered her school bag and plodded glumly across the room with the flow of people.
Joel was waiting for her in the hallway.
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “What?” she muttered. “Please tell me you’ve got good news.”
“I have. I’m going to help you.”
Maggie folded her arms. “You said that already.”
“But now I’m communicating,” Joel pointed out.
“I guess,” Maggie replied dolefully. “It’s a step in the right direction, I suppose.”
Another classroom door opened and more students began to flood the hallway as they headed robotically to their morning classes.
“I promise,” said Joel over the growing din. “This is going to be okay. I just need time.”
Maggie nodded vaguely as Blonde Lauren and Hilary approached. She mustered a smile at them.
“See you, Joel,” she said, turning her back on him to trail behind her friends as they made their way towards their first lesson.
“See you, Maggie,” he replied to her retreating figure.
THAT AFTERNOON JOEL caught a ride home in Charlie’s Mustang. The car was awash with Charlie’s buoyant energy
and drove how Charlie moved—erratically. Although the boys had been friends for some time, they had only started socialising outside of school in the last year or so, around the time Charlie had gotten his driver’s licence. Sometimes Joel wondered if he was drawn to Charlie’s energy or the car’s—but either way, Joel was glad of the friendship. Charlie was, just like his car, alive with cavalier energy.
The Mustang swerved sharply into the wooded hills, following the narrow path that led up to the old mansion. Joel couldn’t help but cringe as he saw Charlie’s aura change to a murky blue when the dilapidated building appeared before them.
Fear, Joel noted with a sigh.
“Whoa,” Charlie breathed. He hastily cleared his throat. “Is this your place?” He looked at Joel in the passenger seat. “I mean. . . man, it looks different in the daylight,” he finished.
“Yep,” Joel muttered, unfastening his seatbelt and climbing out of the car. He sighed again.
Charlie’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “It’s cool, though,” he added. “It’s cool.” All six-foot-four of Charlie’s enormous build suddenly cowered in the presence of the imposing old building.
Joel decided not to invite his friend in. Despite his efforts in the kitchen, the rest of the house still wasn’t ready for visitors. So he signalled a goodbye to Charlie and made for the front porch.
The family Jeep was nowhere in sight, suggesting that Evan and Maximus were probably out on some secret Chosen One business again.
Joel opened the rickety front door and was met with an unusual sight.
Ainsley was lying on his back in the front entryway, making snow angel shapes on the beat-up hardwood floor as he expelled ghostly moans of pain. Alleged Aunt Topaz’s hunched elderly form was pacing around him, misting him with water from a spray bottle.
Joel’s shoulders sagged. “What’s wrong with you?”
Ainsley groaned. “Burning. Burning like fire.”
Joel studied him dubiously. “You’re sick?”
“I’m. . .” Ainsley’s voice quavered. “I’m ill, Joel. The darkness has me.”
Suddenly Joel thought of Isla and her mysterious condition that had Maggie so worried.
“What’s wrong with you?” he pressed, nudging Ainsley with his foot.
“I have. . . P . . . M. . . T,” Ainsley sobbed out the final T.
Joel pursed his lips. “You don’t have PMT. That’s a girl thing.”
“You don’t know,” Ainsley bawled, huge bulbous tears spilling from his angelic lavender eyes. “I have it,” he insisted again as he curled into the foetal position.
Alleged Aunt Topaz took up her spritzing with even more gusto. “There, there, child,” she croaked, looking down her hooked nose at him. “Release the fire.”
Joel turned his attention to Alleged Aunt Topaz. “Stop filling his head with this junk. He’s got enough complexes as it is.”
Ainsley rolled over to face Joel again. “Don’t trivialise my feelings,” he snivelled as he drew his knees up to his chest and locked his arms around them.
Joel ignored him. “He hasn’t got PMT,” he said to Topaz. “He doesn’t even know what that is!”
“Poor Middle Tomlins,” Ainsley choked sadly.
Joel snorted. “Hey, if anyone’s the Poor Middle Tomlins around here, it’s me,” he said, jerking his thumb towards his chest. “Now get up off the floor, Ainsley. You haven’t got PMT.”
Ainsley defiantly rolled onto his stomach while Alleged Aunt Topaz continued to mist him, murmuring soothing sounds in his direction.
Joel’s gaze moved away from them and landed on Pippin, who was cheerfully playing on the staircase.
Joel’s breath caught in his throat. “Topaz!” he shouted, stepping over Ainsley and sprinting up the stairs to scoop Pippin up from the hazardous staircase just a few treads away from the missing third step. “You’re supposed to be watching Pippin!” He glared at his alleged aunt as he clutched the toddler in his arms.
“I’m caring for Ainsley,” Topaz rasped back. “Ainsley is my favourite.” She spritzed him with water again.
“You people are insane!” Joel yelled. “I’ll watch Pippin. We’ll be in my room.”
But Topaz was too busy with her spray bottle to take any notice.
Grumbling to himself, Joel carried Pippin upstairs to his room at the end of the hallway and set him down on the bedroom floor. “There,” he said to his little brother. “You can’t hurt yourself in here. Just stay away from the balcony. And no more playing on the stairs, okay?”
Pippin blinked up at him with doe eyes.
“Do you hear me, Pip?” Joel urged, crouching to ground level to meet the toddler’s gaze. “If you play on the stairs, you’re going to get hurt.”
Pippin smiled, wispy blonde curls creeping over his forehead. “You’re going to get hurt,” he repeated Joel’s words.
A shiver ran down Joel’s spine.
“You’re going to get hurt,” Pippin echoed again, his voice clear and precise. It was the longest string of words the four-year-old had ever uttered.
Something resonated deep inside Joel, but he shook it off. Now wasn’t the time to fret over a toddler’s dark musings.
“Just play here for a while,” Joel told him.
Then he stood up and crossed his room to retrieve his journal from under his bed. He flipped through the aged pages, searching for an unbinding spell that he might be able to use on Maggie.
“You’re going to get hurt,” said Pippin brightly as he amused himself on the floor of Joel’s room.
BY FRIDAY JOEL was no farther along with helping Maggie than he had been at the start. As far as he knew, Isla had not awoken from her comatose state. Worse, Maggie had given up asking for his help—which meant that she had completely lost faith in him, his witchcraft, his morals, and his word. And he could hardly prove otherwise. Not until he found a spell that might help her, anyway. He’d have to find a spell that could identify the hex, or at least the root of it. If only she knew how diligently he was working to make that happen If only she knew how diligently he was working to make that happen.
Tonight, however, he would have to pause his pursuit. It was Halloween, and there was no time for research. That was because tonight—much to Joel’s dismay—the Tomlins family was hosting a dinner party.
For most people in town, Halloween was a time for partying, trick-or-treating, or dressing up in torn clothes and fake blood. For Joel and his family, though, Halloween marked the start of Erridox, a welcoming of a new dawn—and the time of year when witches would begin their recruiting. Over the coming week, a coven would choose a human to recruit, then set out to take them through what Joel understood to be a deep immersion in some pretty dark witchcraft. The Luna phase was in its third quarter, and by the time the moon was full, the coven would have secured their human-witch hybrid. The human had no choice in the matter, of course, as was the way of Erridox.
The Tomlins clan was one of the few witch families that refrained from recruiting. For starters, they already had enough alleged family members and hangers on to account for; they certainly didn’t need any more. But mostly, Joel knew, it was because the Tomlinses had chosen to live like regular civilians—and recruiting a non-witch human into a coven without their consent was pretty brutal by even the laxest civilian standards.
And besides, in Joel’s opinion, there was no good outcome to the Erridox ritual.Ideally, the human would embrace the opportunity to thrive amidst a host of witches,absorbing any power that they were offered. In reality, however, most humans were understandably hostile to the recruitment process, which led to two common outcomes: either the human would die during the dark spell, or else they would remain trapped for the rest of their lives as little more than a slave in a coven of barbaric, uncivilised witches.
Nevertheless, the festivities of Erridox were there to be enjoyed. Witch families would travel from town to town, seeking their recruit and dining with their kind along the way. Tonight,
the region’s dinner party would take place in Blackheath, and the Tomlins family was playing host.
“Finally,” Maximus declared to his boys, his chest puffed out with pride. “At last we’re hosting Erridox in a home we can be proud of.”
Joel swapped a look with his brothers, all of whom were seated on ascending steps at the foot of the staircase. He watched as Evan surveyed the cobwebs and cracked floorboards with a dubious look on his face.
“I just hope they don’t want to spend the night,” said Evan worriedly, his blonde curls catching the light from the oil lamp suspended in the entrance hall.
“Or use the bathroom,” Joel added.
“Bathroom,” Pippin echoed from Joel’s knee.
Ainsley grimaced.
The Tomlins boys had worked tirelessly—for a total of thirteen minutes—to prepare the dining room and shut the doors to the other rooms to keep the respective messes hidden from view.
But even Joel had to admit that the dining room did look spectacular. Its arched black wooden door opened out onto a polished wood floor that set off the darkly stained beams which ran from floor to ceiling. Down the centre ran a long mahogany dining table laid with thirty china plates and matching side bowls, not to mention glistening wine glasses and the late Really Old Aunt Pearl’s finest silverware. Even the crystal chandelier had been cleaned and fitted with bright new bulbs.
While the boys had set the table, the alleged aunts had been busy preparing the Erridox feast. The aromas of meats and spices had been wafting from the kitchen for hours, and the squawk of the elderly women bickering continued to reverberate off the high ceilings in the hallway.
The sound of a car engine approaching came from outside. The brothers jumped up.
Maximus, dressed formally in a shirt and black robe, straightened his shoulders. “This is it,” he said, beaming from ear to ear.
His boys lined up before him, trying their best to look presentable.