“So, is it like that time we did one of Dad’s locating spells?” he asked. “That dark one that made us sick for days?”
Evan thought about it for a moment. “Sort of, in some ways,” he agreed distantly. “But it’s better. And I know I’m capable of controlling it now.” He flashed another grin.
Joel kicked idly at the dash. “Must be good to be Chosen.”
Evan shrugged.
“It must be,” Joel surmised. He gave a low whistle. “It’s weird to think that we’ll never be at the same level again, isn’t it?”
“We’re still brothers. We’re just the same.”
“We’re not the same.”
They both fell silent, and by the time Evan steered the Jeep into the parking lot of Denver’s Burger Shack, there was an awkwardness lingering between them.
Joel winced. He didn’t want things to be this way between them anymore. He had to say something. Anything.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his brother got in first.
“Man,” Evan breathed, “I forgot how much I love this place.”
Joel smiled. “Yeah. What a dive.”
“A lot of memories here, though,” Evan added.
Joel considered it for a moment as he looked out at the roadside diner with its weather-beaten sign and grimy windows. After Maximus had left, Joel and Evan had come here nearly every night, just the two of them. Most days they couldn’t afford anything more than a coke between them. But they were good memories. In fact, they were some of the happiest memories of Joel’s life.
Together they left the Jeep and strode into the diner. They were immediately engulfed by the scent of fries and coffee as the thin aluminium door rattled shut behind them. It was relatively busy for a weeknight, with people lined up on stools along the counter and many of the pale blue booths already occupied.
The brothers found an empty booth at the back by the window and slid into seats opposite one another.
Evan scanned the laminated menu while Joel toyed with the salt shaker and gazed out the window at the forest beyond the parking lot. Like all the other cars, the Jeep’s windscreen was gleaming with the reflection of the setting sun.
He scanned the diner, then looked back to the parking lot. “Hey,” he said to Evan.
Evan looked up from the menu. “What?”
“Brunette woman, SUV. Bearded Guy, Chevy truck. Man at the Counter, silver Ford,” he began, rattling off the pairings of drivers and cars. It had been a favourite game of theirs when they were younger. “Young Guy, Lamborghini—”
Evan guffawed. “Nuh-uh. No way,” he disagreed, thumbing towards a rusty black Toyota parked along the forest border. “Young Guy, Toyota.”
Joel placed the salt shaker down on the table and fixed his brother with a steely gaze. “No,” he said defiantly. “Young Guy, Lamborghini. Old Guy, Toyota.”
Evan raised an incredulous eyebrow and placed the menu down on the table. “No way. Young Guy, Toyota,” he reasserted.
“Don’t give me that!” said Joel, laughing. “You may be the Chosen One, but nobody—nobody—knows energy like I do.” He offered his brother a challenging grin, not knowing how the new Evan, the Chosen Evan, would respond.
Evan smiled as the waitress approached. She was a stout woman in her late forties. Her bleached blonde hair was piled like a haystack at the crown of her head and she smelled strongly of floral perfume and tobacco.
“What can I get you boys today?” she asked in a husky monotone through lips that were smeared with cerise lipstick.
“Double cheeseburger with everything,” Joel answered without looking at the menu. “Thanks.”
She scribbled the order onto her tiny notepad. “And for you?” she asked, looking up at Evan and taking a moment to notice his striking appearance.
He gave her a beautiful smile. “Same,” he said.
She tucked the pencil nub behind her ear and waddled off towards the kitchen.
Alone again, Joel and Evan returned to a safe topic of conversation—soccer. Joel watched as Evan’s lilac eyes illuminated while he spoke about the day’s scrimmage and recounted the plays he thought the team should run this season.
After a while, Joel found himself smiling along with his brother.
“See?” said Joel. “You miss it, don’t you?”
Evan blushed.
“If you miss it, then why don’t you just join the team?” Joel asked. “Coach would jump at the chance to get you back.”
Evan’s handsome face was red from ear to ear now. “No,” he said, flustered. “I’m busy with school and. . . you know.”
“Chosen One stuff?”
Evan nodded.
“So make time,” Joel suggested. “You have to have some life outside of witchcraft, no matter what Dad might say.”
Evan shook his head. “No, I can’t. Besides, this is your year. It’s your turn.”
Joel leaned back in the booth. “Come on. I could use a challenge. Who knows? I might actually beat you.”
They both laughed.
Joel’s phone buzzed inside his jeans pocket. “Hold that thought,” he said.
He retrieved his phone and opened his message inbox. His eyes widened when he saw the text message displayed on the screen, sent from an unknown number.
Help me. Maggie.
For a second Joel was lost for words.
“What is it?” Evan asked from across the table.
Joel re-read the message to himself. How did she get my number? he wondered. It wasn’t as though they ran in the same circles or anything.
“Joel?” Evan prompted. “Who messaged you? And why are you smiling like that?”
Am I smiling?
Joel instantly puckered his lips into a scowl. “It’s nothing,” he said, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. “It’s just. . .” he trailed off.
He didn’t really want to tell his brother about Maggie. Evan would harp on about the dangers of exposing his powers to a non-witch, not to mention the repercussions of interfering with another witch’s spell.
And he’ll probably tell Dad, Joel thought.
“It’s nothing,” he finished.
Joel glanced out the window just as the young guy was climbing into the Lamborghini. He broke into a wide grin.
“Well, what do you know?” he said, pressing his index finger to the window pane. “Young Guy, Lamborghini.”
MAGGIE’S FINAL LESSON on Thursday was Chemistry with Mr Hickman. As far as teachers went, Mr Hickman was kind of okay. In fact, Maggie had always thought he seemed like someone’s grandpa who’d got lost on the way home from Bridge Club and somehow landed in a school where he proceeded to spend his days blowing up chemicals. His hair was snowy white, streaked with remnants of a ginger hue, and he was doughy and about as eccentric as any Chemistry teacher should be.
Another advantage of Mr Hickman’s class, was that he was deaf enough to let classroom chatter slide. So naturally Maggie partnered with Isla, and generally, they chatted.
Today was no different. Maggie and Isla were stationed at their usual work bench, equipped with a glass beaker and a selection of corked test tubes. Blonde Lauren and Hilary occupied the work bench behind.
While Isla busied herself preparing the experiment, Maggie took out her phone and began idly browsing online.
“Are we going to Casey’s party tomorrow?” Isla asked as she organised the test tubes in order of use.
Maggie shrugged. “I guess,” she replied without enthusiasm.
Isla shot her a quizzical look. “You don’t sound excited.”
“I’m not excited,” Maggie sighed, toying with the end of her ponytail. “These parties are always the same. Blah.”
Blonde Lauren lunged across her work bench to join the conversation. “No way,” she argued, platinum waves tumbling over the edge of the table as she leaned forward. “Casey’s party is going to be. . .” she paused, holding up both palms to emphasize her declaration, “uh-mazing.”
<
br /> Maggie rolled her eyes, then returned her attention to her phone, scrolling mindlessly over a web page.
“Right,” Hilary drawled from the seat beside Blonde Lauren. “Because the definition of amazing is watching a herd of wasted meat-heads battle to be alpha male by displaying their peacock feathers to the women-folk. Blah,” she seconded Maggie.
Blonde Lauren gasped and her eyes widened in despair. “But, you are going, aren’t you?”
Hilary shifted in discomfort, folding her arms across her chest. “Well, obviously,” she grumbled. “It’s not like there’s anything else to do in Blah-heath.”
Isla swivelled in her stool to face the girls. “I don’t know,” she mused. “Personally I’m really looking forward to it. Kaden will be there, so. . .” Her smile glinted in her chocolate-brown eyes.
Maggie looked up from her phone and frowned. She’d never seen Isla so taken with a guy before. Normally the boys pursued Isla, while she remained distinctly blasé. But in this instance, it seemed as though Isla was the one doing the chasing, while Kaden remained elusive.
Sounds like me and Joel, she contemplated the irony. Only with a little less romance and a little more curse. Joel still hadn’t replied to her text message and he’d categorically avoided her all week. She snuck a quick peek across the lab to where he was seated. At that moment, he and Charlie were hunched over a sheet of paper, discussing it heatedly.
Surely there not that excited over the worksheet? Maggie wondered. She craned her neck to see the paper that had them so rapt. It looked more like a diagram of soccer strategies than a chemistry experiment. Figures, she thought. If only he got this enthused about de-hexing his acquaintances.
At the front of the classroom, Mr Hickman was mid-experiment of his own, pouring colourful liquids into a clear glass beaker and watching with glee as the concoction fizzed and foamed. He was happily prattling away to himself—or to his students, Maggie could never be sure.
“So,” Isla was saying, her focus returned to the experiment as she held two half-filled test tubes at eyelevel, “we add this to this and we should get . . .” she poured both contents of the tubes into the beaker and cheered when the blend began to foam, “that!”
“Cool,” said Maggie, slipping her safety goggles over her eyes. “We did it.”
Isla raised a fine eyebrow. “We?”
Maggie smiled sheepishly.
“Oh!” Mr Hickman hooted from his desk. “There she blows! We have a fizzer!” Nudging his plastic goggles up onto his head, he gestured wildly towards Maggie and Isla’s work bench.
All eyes turned to them, and Isla beamed with pride.
Mr Hickman returned with his best Lunatic-Grandpa smile. “Girls, would you be so kind as to tell your fellow students how you accomplished such a feat?”
Isla delicately folded her hands together on the worktop. “Of course, Mr Hickman.”
While Isla dived into a detailed breakdown of their experiment, Maggie stifled a yawn and checked the browser on her phone.
Ooh, she thought, scanning a pop-up article, Blockbuster reopening for the holidays…
“Maggie?”
Huh? She glanced up to see Mr Hickman staring right at her, his toothy smile plastered in place.
“Miss Ellmes?” the teacher prompted.
Why is he saying my name?
“Yes?” she replied warily.
The classroom went silent. Maggie looked to Isla for back-up, but Isla merely offered an awkward smile and nodded towards the experiment, which was now foaming inside the beaker.
“Can you explain what happened when you added the hydrogen peroxide?” Mr Hickman asked.
What is this? Maggie almost fell off her stool. Why is Hickman asking questions? He wasn’t supposed to ask questions! He was the one teacher she could count on to leave her in peace.
What is this school coming to? she thought, frankly incensed. Every lesson someone’s asking you something. It’s ridiculously unreasonable!
She glanced at Isla again, searching for the answer, hoping it could be telepathically conveyed… or vocally conveyed, for that matter. But Isla’s pursed lips gave nothing away. Her eyes, however, darted frantically between the test tubes and the beaker.
What does that mean? Maggie panicked. Curse my inability to mind-read! She winced. Curse was the taboo word. In fact, this could very well be yet another cruel blow from the word-that-shall-not-be-named.
She sighed. “It exploded?” she guessed.
There were a few snickered around the lab and Maggie’s cheeks grew hot.
Mr Hickman’s enormous smile began to collapse as though someone had popped it with a pin.
“No, no,” he said, patiently. “The hydrogen peroxide.” He enunciated the words as though he still held hope that she might have misheard the first time. “We’ve been studying this for eight weeks, dear.”
Eight weeks? Maggie frowned. Has school even been running for eight weeks?
She drew in a deep breath and took another shot at it. “Well. . .” She stared down at the beaker, watching the pale pink foam spill over its ridge. “This happened,” she said, pointing to the foam.
Silence.
All of a sudden, her phone lit up from where it lay dormant in her lap. Maggie glanced down in time to see a text message flash across the screen. The message was from Joel and it simply read, changed colour.
“It changed colour!” Maggie cried.
Mr Hickman’s megawatt smile pumped back up again. “Good, good! And to what colour did it change?”
Oh, good god, Maggie deflated. This is never-ending!
“Pink?” she guessed, based on the pinkish hue of the liquid inside the beaker.
Mr Hickman’s smile began to droop again. “But, before it turned pink. . .?”
Maggie’s nose creased. Wait, what? When was it another colour?
Her phone flashed again. She hastily looked down at the screen. It was a second message from Joel.
Blue, the message read.
“Blue,” said Maggie.
Beside her, Isla exhaled in relief.
“Yes!” Mr Hickman cheered. “Terrific, Terrific!” Satisfied with her response, the teacher turned away and began talking to another duo about their experiment. The usual lab chatter resumed and Maggie felt herself relax. She looked across the room to Joel and smiled.
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
He grinned, then returned his attention to the paper that he and Charlie had been so focused on. Maggie returned to her own work, determined to pay attention to. . . whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.
A moment later, her phone lit up again.
She checked the screen. It was from Joel.
You should pay more attention in class.
She smiled to herself and replied. On it.
Before she had chance to put her phone away, the message alert flashed again.
By the way, of course I’ll help you.
She met Joel’s eyes across the classroom and they exchanged a grin.
“Thanks,” she mouthed.
“No problem,” he mouthed back.
ON FRIDAY NIGHT Maggie trudged the streets of Blackheath towards Casey’s house. She trailed dutifully behind her friends, tuning in and out of their conversations as they headed for the party.
Blonde Lauren was tottering along the suburban path in stiletto heels and a micro-mini dress, while Hilary and Isla flanked either side of her, supporting her when she wobbled. Maggie dropped a few paces behind them, texting while she walked, and only occasionally glancing up to check she wasn’t heading into peril. With a curse on the loose, who knew how many lampposts she could end up walking into?
Holding her phone securely, she scanned the last text message from Joel.
It might help if we knew who had reason to cast a spell on you, the text read. Do you have any enemies? Anyone who might be holding a grudge?
Maggie thought about it, then texted back. You.
Her
phone flashed with a response. It’s not me. Who else?
Maggie glanced up to ensure she hadn’t strayed from the pavement, then quickly typed a response. I don’t know. I don’t annoy anyone else.
I find that hard to believe, Joel replied. Think, Maggie!
So she thought some more.
A minute later, another text message came through to her phone. It was from Joel again.
Are you going to this party tonight?
A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Was this a business question. . . or personal?
Yes, she replied. I’m heading over there right now. After a pause, she added, Are you going? She pressed send, and found herself holding her breath while she waited for a response.
Lame, she reprimanded herself. It’s only Joel. Why would I care if he’s at a party or not? So lame.
After what felt like a lifetime, Joel replied. Yeah.
A delirious grin spread across Maggie’s face.
“Hey,” Isla called over her shoulder, scrutinizing Maggie with a curious expression. “What are you so happy about?” Her long dark hair swayed gently in the evening breeze, glistening beneath the moonlight.
Maggie blushed and slipped her phone into her jacket pocket. “Just lame stuff,” she answered, then picked up her pace to catch up with her friends.
“Well?” said Hilary as Maggie approached.
Maggie frowned. “Well, what?”
“Have you noticed, or what?” Hilary elaborated, eyeing Maggie through her thick red-framed glasses. She was dressed head to toe in black, including a miniature top hat complete with a square of black netting which curved over her brow like a veil. She was statementing, as she’d put it. Mourning the demise of society.
“Noticed what?” Maggie asked, her brow furrowed. “The death of society thing?”
Hilary groaned. “No,” she scoffed, adjusting her tiny top hat. “Not the death of society thing. I’m talking about Joel.”
“Joel?” Maggie felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “What about Joel?”
Isla linked her arm through Maggie’s as they walked. “Hilary thinks Joel likes you, Mags,” she said with a knowing smile.
“What?” Maggie’s voice went up an octave. “No. Really? Why? No?” She cleared her throat, regaining her composure. “What makes you say that?”