“Why did you do that?” Maggie accused him, batting her eyelashes innocently.
Joel’s frown lines deepened. “Do what?”
Joyless rose from her chair. “Ms Ellmes,” she scolded gruffly. “Just what do you think you’re—”
“Ouch,” Maggie groaned, gripping her forearm and drawing it to her chest. “Joel, stop it! Okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, alright? Just stop, please!”
The other Victims began to murmur amongst themselves. It took all of Maggie’s willpower to keep from smiling when she heard the words ‘spell’ and ‘witch’ being whispered around the room.
She stole a glance at Ms Joy, who by now was looking utterly dumbfounded, her gaze darting between Maggie and Joel.
“Ms Joy, help me!” Maggie added for effect. “Tell him to stop!”
Joel’s violet eyes darkened. “Shut up, Maggie.”
Ms Joy regained what was salvageable of her composure. “Joel,” she managed with an ever-so-slight quaver. “Please stop w-whatever it is that you’re d-doing.”
He groaned. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Oh, Ms Joy!” Maggie wailed, gripping her arm tighter and rocking back and forth in her seat. “He’s trying to make me pay for”—she paused to slip in a perfectly timed little whimper—“stealing his seat in homeroom.”
The peanut gallery began to utter sentiments like ‘oh my god’ and ‘it’s true,’ causing Maggie to glow with satisfaction. She could almost taste the freedom.
“She’s lying!” Joel spluttered, throwing up his hands—and, Maggie noticed, a choice finger.
“Oww,” Maggie sobbed. “Ms Joy. . . I need . . . to leave . . .”
“Yes,” agreed Ms Joy, flustered. “Yes, Maggie, go. Go.” She adjusted her spectacles and waved at Maggie to leave.
Maggie rose with much effort from her seat and, still hunched over in supposed pain, bundled her notebook and shoulder bag into her arms before hobbling to the door.
It was an Oscar-worthy performance if ever there was one at Blackheath High.
“Joel,” Maggie heard Ms Joy saying, “any more of this behaviour and you’ll be in the isolation block for the rest of the month!”
Ooh, brutal, thought Maggie, with only the smallest pang of remorse.
She stole a glance over her shoulder back into the Dungeon of Joylessness. Everyone’s attention was on Joel now—but the only person Joel was looking at was Maggie.
A tiny smiled tugged at the corner of Maggie’s lips. “Thanks, Joel,” she mouthed. “I owe you one.”
Joel’s jaw dropped as Maggie darted out the doorway and down the corridor to freedom.
JOEL SWUNG THE family Jeep along the dirt path and came to a stop in the clearing in front of the old mansion. He cut the engine and sighed at the dismal building before him. Even after a whole month, he still hadn’t been able to get used to coming home to this ramshackle heap of bricks.
“Come on, Ainsley,” he muttered to his younger brother, who was sitting in the passenger seat.
This was the first year that Ainsley had been allowed to ride shotgun. Normally, Joel and Evan took the front seats on the school run. But since Evan had been so busy being the Chosen One lately, school runs weren’t high on his agenda. Joel didn’t mind, though. As far as he was concerned, Ainsley was marginally more tolerable than Evan at the moment. For a start, he was only thirteen, so he never got to drive the Jeep—which meant that Joel never had to engage in rock, paper, scissors before taking the wheel. Besides, ever since Evan had turned eighteen and been appointed Chosen, he’d been. . .
“Ugh,” Ainsley groaned, interrupting Joel’s reverie. “This place is a dump.” Beneath perfectly corkscrewed blonde curls, his face puckered in disgust. “I mean, seriously,” he added before swearing under his breath.
“Watch your language,” Joel muttered.
To the outside world, Ainsley may have looked like a perfect little angel. But, be warned, Joel mused. This one bites.
“Anyway, this hell-pit is your home now,” Joel reminded him. “So get used to it.” With that, he pulled the keys from the ignition and swung open the driver’s side door.
“It won’t be my home for much longer,” Ainsley remarked as he trailed after Joel along the wooded path towards the mansion’s main door.
“Oh, yeah?” Joel replied as the wind whipped his umber coloured hair across his brow. “How do you figure? You plotting an escape, young one?”
“Maybe,” Ainsley returned brightly as they climbed the poorly patched front steps. “I’m pretty sure I’m destined for bigger and better things.”
“Well, good luck to you,” Joel muttered as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and followed Ainsley inside.
They made their way towards the kitchen, sidestepping the broken floorboards as they went.
The kitchen was a long rectangular room overlooking the forest. It seemed lighter than most of the other rooms, with big windows, a huge stove, and rows of mismatched cupboards. Through the centre ran a table, where Alleged Aunt Topaz was sitting, polishing her crystal ball.
Not unlike all the other aunts, she was only an ‘alleged’ aunt because no one really knew which branch of the family tree she’d come from. Various ‘aunts’ had appeared over time, claiming family status only so they could subsequently claim coven status—and the Tomlins family was the best coven within a one hundred mile radius. Which wasn’t saying much, since they were also the only coven within a one hundred mile radius. Therefore, every ageing witch within the perimeters of Blackheath was conveniently an ‘aunt’ or an ‘uncle,’ sometimes twice removed, and almost always related to their Alleged Great Uncle John. Though the real Tomlins clan had never even met this supposed great uncle, he was purportedly out there somewhere, spawning progeny like no tomorrow.
“Ainsley, my favourite child,” Alleged Aunt Topaz rasped, casting her crooked nose and narrow gaze towards the younger boy. “Come here and let me use your most favourable energy.”
Basking in the praise, Ainsley sank into a seat at the table, ready to be adored. He waved his hands above the crystal ball and began to hum.
Joel let his backpack slip to the floor with a thump. “What about me?” he exclaimed, extending his arms. “Am I invisible today or something? What’s wrong with my energy?”
“Your energy is red,” Alleged Aunt Topaz grunted. “It repels. I need the good stuff.”
Maggie, Joel fumed silently.
“She spoiled my energy,” he added out loud. “It was fine this morning.”
Ainsley and Alleged Aunt Topaz tore their attention away from the crystal ball and turned to Joel, waiting for him to elaborate.
Joel exhaled tautly. “Man, she gets under my skin. I have these. . . feelings for her,” he rambled, pacing around the kitchen table, circling Ainsley and Alleged Aunt Topaz like a shark. “These hateful feelings.”
“For whom, dear?” Alleged Aunt Topaz asked.
“For Maggie,” Joel spat. “Maggie Ellmes.”
Ainsley made some noises of agreement. “Same here,” he said. “I hate Maggie Ellmes, too. She’s so. . . pretty. I want to dip her in dirt or something.”
Joel pursed his lips. That wasn’t it. But he couldn’t put his finger on what it was, exactly. After all, when Maggie had first moved to Blackheath, they’d been friends—or a tenuous version of friends, at least. They would ignore each other nine months of the year, but when summer rolled around—when all the other kids at the boarding house had gone home, back to their families—Maggie and Joel would become allies once again. They’d build dens in the forest and invent complex games with ever-bending rules. But then they’d gotten older, and life had gotten more complex.
Then one summer, a few years ago, Maggie hadn’t come to call for him, and he hadn’t gone looking for her, either. They were officially teenagers, and their tenure as childhood playmates had expired.
Joel paused his circling for a second, then resumed. Alleged Aunt Topaz’s tiny eyes
followed him. They were somehow always on him, even when he was behind her.
“She’s not pretty, Ainsley,” Joel said through gritted teeth. “She’s evil. Pure evil.”
Alleged Aunt Topaz scowled at him. “Enough!” she sniped, stopping him in his tracks. “You’re infecting the sacred area with your rancid red energy. Be gone, Joel Tomlins! And take your redness with you!”
He began to feel the pressure of Alleged Aunt Topaz’s will weighing on him, as though an invisible force was pushing him away from the table.
“Where’s Evan?” Joel asked, taking a step backwards.
“With Maximus.”
Typical, thought Joel.
“And where’s Maximus?” he asked, edging even closer to the hallway.
“With Evan. Now be gone, Joel Tomlins,” Alleged Aunt Topaz ordered again. “Be gone until you aren’t so unpleasant.”
With a final surge, Joel felt himself being driven from the kitchen. He submitted to it and left without complaint. He’d already faced enough resistance for one day.
JOEL LUMBERED UP the staircase, avoiding the cracks in the treads and brushing aside cobwebs from the banister.
He made a beeline for his room and collapsed onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he glared at the light fixture. What had once been an elegant chandelier was now layered with dust and grime. To his eyes, it looked like a set of twisted brown arms reaching out towards him threateningly.
Joel raised his palms up towards it and it began to sway gently, showering dust over the bed. Coughing, he waved away the particles with his hand and the chandelier stopped moving.
Heaving a sigh, Joel reached into his jacket pocket. He retrieved a crumpled piece of paper and unfolded it.
Soccer Tryouts, the heading read.
He withdrew a pen from his jeans pocket and pulled off the cap with his teeth. Smoothing the paper against his thigh, he underlined the time and place: Friday at 4:00 p.m. He needed an after-school activity to boost his school credits, and anything that kept him away from this house was a bonus. Actually, anything that kept him away from Maximus was a bonus.
Ever since Maximus had returned, everything had changed. He and Evan had been fine on their own, taking care of the younger ones by themselves. Why did Maximus bother coming back at all? Just to take Evan away, Joel decided grudgingly.
Anyway, the autumn carnival was starting that Friday, so at least he could get out of the house by working the rides every weekend for the next few months.
To anyone else, spending the weekends working might have sounded like the short straw. But to Joel, the carnival was home. In fact, the entire Tomlins family played a big part in the carnival. Not just Joel’s immediate family, but his vast extended family as well. Alleged Aunt Topaz and her alleged sisters each had a booth at the carnival, along with all their various alleged offspring—none of whom Joel particularly liked, but who were family all the same. Allegedly.
They were the Blackheath Witches, as far as anyone else was concerned.
Joel smiled and the chandelier began to sway again.
JOEL DRIED HIS hair with a towel in the locker room on Friday after soccer tryouts. He propped his foot up on the bench and laced up his sneakers, quietly confident as he listened to the other hopefuls second-guess their performances.
He felt a sturdy slap on his shoulder. “You nailed it, Buddy!”
Joel looked up to see Charlie Wells giving him a knowing smirk. Joel stood up and grinned back at him.
“You did alright, too,” he replied.
“I’m calling this team,” Charlie said under his breath, while numerous other candidates filtered in and out of the shower block. “Me, you, Henderson, Lomax, Wyatt. . .” He continued reeling off a list of his predicted teammates while Joel chewed over the possibilities.
Yeah, Joel mused. This is sounding like a good, solid team. . .
Suddenly his attention strayed to the locker room door, which swung open to reveal Evan venturing cautiously inside. The door fell shut behind him with a resounding thud.
Across the room, a cheer broke out from Coach Andrews. “Tomlins! Better late than never!”
Joel frowned. I’m Tomlins, too. . . he thought. Or perhaps Tomlins Two, he corrected with a grimace.
Charlie abandoned his conversation with Joel and turned towards the doorway, flashing a wide, toothy grin. “Tomlins!” he yelled. “You’re trying out? My man! We got this season in the bag now!”
Evan just stood there with a refined smile on his blemish-free face, a slight blush rising in his cheeks. “No, I’m not trying out this year,” he answered.
The statement was met by a chorus of outraged boos.
Joel pursed his lips.
Coach’s bushy eyebrows knotted together beneath his bald, glistening head. “Son,” he said to Evan, touching his snug-fitting XL polo shirt above the heart. “Think about it, please. We’ve got a shot at the championship this year, although”—he attempted to lower his voice, but years of hollering at players had totally skewed his sense of volume—“without you, we’ve got no hope.”
It took every ounce of self-restraint Joel had not to scowl.
“Sorry, Coach,” said Evan, squirming in discomfort under the coach’s beseeching gaze. “Really, I am, but I just can’t. I’ve got too much school work this year.”
School work? thought Joel. Yeah, right. Evan had barely been in class since the semester started. He was too preoccupied with being the Chosen One.
“Then why’d you come down here?” Coach asked with strained good humour. “To torture us or something?”
Evan smiled. “I was just watching my little brother try out.”
Around the locker room, a few mildly interested gazes flickered to Joel before returning to Evan.
Huh? Joel thought, surprised. He’d never looked into the bleachers. He hadn’t thought there’d be any point.
“You did great, Joel,” said Evan as he began to weave through the people on his way towards his brother.
Joel busied himself re-tying his sneakers. “Thanks,” he muttered without looking up.
A silence fell between them.
When the silence was just about to draw on for a second too long, Joel stood up to face his brother eye to eye. “So,” he said, clearing his throat, “are you working the carnival tonight?”
“Yeah,” said Evan. “I’m on a stall. You?”
“Yeah,” said Joel. “I’m on the Haunted House.”
They both broke into matching grins, and for a split second the boys were like mirror images of each other. The mention of the Haunted House always seemed to have that effect on them, bringing out a playfulness between them that often got forgotten these days. Especially since they’d moved into Really Old Aunt Pearl’s house.
“Dad let me borrow the Jeep,” said Evan. “You want a ride?”
“Sure,” answered Joel as he moved towards his locker. “Let me just get my bag.”
“Cool. I’m picking up Dad on the way.”
Joel froze. His fingers fiddled with the combination on his locker while he considered Evan’s words. “Actually,” he said at last, “I think I’ll walk.”
Evan’s handsome face pulled down into a frown. “Joel. . .”
“I should walk,” Joel explained, retrieving his rucksack from the locker. “I need the warm-down anyway.” He slammed the metal door shut, and the clang reverberated against the locker room’s cement walls. “I’ll see you there, okay?”
“Okay,” Evan muttered. “But. . .”
Joel started heading for the exit without waiting for his brother to finish. “Oh, and Evan?” he called over his shoulder.
“Yeah?” Evan replied, his tone rising quizzically.
“Thanks for coming.”
JOEL LEFT THE school and began walking along the narrow path leading through the orchard. Stone walls circled the campus and, up ahead, an archway carved into the stonework marked the exit of the school grounds. Autumn leaves had begun to
fall, scattering across the pathway like crisp flames.
A chill moved through Joel as he crossed beneath the stone archway and emerged out onto the quiet streets of Blackheath. He could walk to the carnival from here. In truth, he would enjoy the walk. It was only a couple of miles, and besides, he liked the sensation of the cool breeze wrapping around him.
Joel closed his eyes for a moment, trusting his instincts to guide his way. Content in his solitude, he listened to the rustle of birds moving through the thickets and the sound of church bells chiming in the distance.
After a few moments he came to a standstill and slowly opened his eyes. He was alone. The school was concealed behind the looming stone wall behind him, and the street was otherwise deserted. With a deep breath, he focused on a nearby tree that had yet to shed its leaves.
Its branches stirred in response to his gaze.
Joel shivered as he felt the familiar rush of witchcraft move through his veins. Drawing in a quick breath, his body gave a tremor. He could feel a flood of electricity rocking through him, building inside of him with a flutter of urgency, bliss. . . and power.
“Fall,” Joel whispered.
On his command, a gust of wind funnelled through the street and wrapped itself around the tree. It rattled the branches and loosened the leaves from their nodes, freeing them and sending them showering down over Joel and the pavement.
A rasp of breath escaped Joel’s lips and he laughed.
“Joel?” came a voice from behind, startling him.
He spun around.
“Maggie,” he said tightly, swallowing as her pale green eyes bore into him. He was still peeved about what she’d pulled on him in detention a few days before.
“That was weird,” she said, turning her gaze upon the now bare branches of the tree.
Joel held his composure. “It was, wasn’t it?”
She took a step closer to him, her movements cautious. “What are you doing hanging around here so late, anyway?” she probed suspiciously. “School finished hours ago. Haven’t you got a home to go to?”