“It doesn’t matter, unfortunately,” Randi replied sympathetically. “As long as this psycho thinks they are, they’re confident their plan will work.
“And honestly, I don’t even think this spell would work anyway. There’s always a catch when you make dark deals,” Randi reasoned. “Look at what happened with Lord Archer—a curse on his true love’s soul is not what he intended when trying to reunite with her in another lifetime. And I’ve known quite a few witches who have gone down a dark path—so has your mother, Angelique,” Randi added. “Their spells created plenty of chaos, but they never quite had the desired effect.”
“What do you mean?” Brendan asked, confused. “Like, they did a spell for money and ended up broke?”
“It gets far messier than that.” Randi sighed, her eyes sad. “When I started getting a little more powerful and tackling some deeper magic, Aunt Evelyn sat me down and taught me more about the dark things she’s seen, to warn me of what could happen.” She paused, giving Angelique a haughty look. “I’m sure your mother will have this talk with you at some point, too, Angela.”
Angelique folded her arms, glaring at her cousin through thickly lashed eyes as Randi continued her story. “She told me one friend of hers left magic behind after a disastrous love spell. I feel a little ridiculous calling it a love spell, to be honest. It was more like a curse.”
Randi winced at the memory. “A former member of her coven—Cadence—had fallen for an engaged man she worked with at her job. She was a total stalker about this guy. So she stole a paperweight from his office, and decided to use it in a spell to destroy his relationship with his fiancée.”
“I don’t get it—she cursed the paperweight?” I asked, also confused, as thoughts of a demonic snow globe floated through my head.
“No, nothing like that. But when you’re doing a spell that involves another person, it helps to have a touchstone of sorts—something belonging to the person you’re afflicting. It helps you direct the spell to its intended mark. And this spell was quite sinister—that’s why I compared it to a curse,” Randi explained, repulsion etched on her face as she thought about the story.
“As you know, a witch’s power, ultimately, comes from her emotions. This witch, her spell was corrupted. It was so dark, so rooted in jealousy. She didn’t want the other woman to have him. If Cadence couldn’t have him, no one could.”
She paused, her lips twisted in a pained expression. “Her spell essentially worked.”
I felt a chill take over my body.
“What happened?” I whispered.
“There’s no way to prove that Cadence’s spell is responsible for his accident,” Randi began cautiously, “but people don’t fall down empty elevator shafts all that often these days. Especially in modern office buildings. That’s pretty much impossible.”
I winced at the mental picture, and this time, it was Brendan who squeezed my hand more tightly.
“So, did Cadence get her way? No,” Randi answered herself. “But did her spell work? Technically, yes. That other woman couldn’t have him anymore, because, well, he was dead. So her spell worked. Just not how she wanted it to.”
I cleared my throat nervously. “If someone is able to, um, bleed one of us—”
“No one is getting anywhere near you,” Brendan growled.
“I said, ‘If,’” I reminded him. “If someone is able to do this spell, what’s the outcome? I mean, what do they get out of it?”
“Obviously that Hadrian’s story is really exaggerated,” Randi replied. “I doubt if someone drinks your blood that we’re going to deal with an onslaught of crazy witches flying around Manhattan, wreaking havoc all over the city, robbing banks and rockin’ out with their bad witch selves. Ultimately it’s about power—any spell you do afterward will be successful.”
Randi looked down at the last page she read and repeated the witch’s words. “‘Swear allegiance to me! What I say now is law. My power is limitless, your will shall bend to mine.’ Yeah, this is about being unstoppable.”
“Honestly, I don’t care what this is about or what they get out of it,” Brendan interjected, scratching at his hair with the hand I wasn’t holding in a viselike grip. “I only care about what they’re trying to do to Emma. Someone wants this badly enough to disguise themselves and chase her through a park, basically repeating what she went through only four months ago—because what did that story say? Something about how fear makes her blood more powerful?”
Randi looked back through the text as Angelique nodded her head, her computer-like memory confirming what Brendan had said.
“Yes, Brendan, I hadn’t thought of that. You’re so smart.” Randi sighed, her cat’s eye liner tails wagging as she blinked her eyelashes at him approvingly, while Angelique bit her lip so hard I was positive she was going to tear it off. I didn’t get why she was so irritated. After all, it was my boyfriend that her cousin was ogling, and it didn’t bother me—much. And Brendan didn’t even notice Randi’s harmless flirtations, since he was still going off on his rant.
“The knife, the hood, the big chase, the elaborate scheme to get me out of the way…whoever this is, he’s clearly getting off on this—they just love the production! I mean, look at that thing!” Brendan jerked his hand toward where the athame rested on the table, the point of the blade unnervingly facing my direction. I reached out a finger and poked the blade so it faced the wall.
“And,” Brendan continued, his voice getting more agitated, “it’s not like this psycho is going to make clean little surgical cuts. Look at that knife. Listen to that story! He’s going to—” Brendan cringed, looking away, his rant abruptly halted. He didn’t have to finish his sentence for me to know what he was about to say. He’s going to slice her open.
“And all for what?” he asked, his voice quiet but gradually rising to its previous volume. “Power? Power doesn’t mean anything.” Brendan slammed his palm on the table in frustration. “Why go to all this trouble for something as lame and intangible as power?”
“It doesn’t mean anything to you because you have it,” Angelique snapped, slamming her own palms on the table as her eyes turned steely cold. She took a deep breath, as if she was trying to organize her thoughts. I could practically hear the bitchy and the reasonable thoughts fighting with each other. Thankfully, when she opened her mouth, reason had won.
“Think of that curse that doomed Emma,” Angelique said calmly, her eyes closed as if it took inhuman effort to address Brendan directly. Clearly the bitchy side got a few good licks in. “Part of the deal was that you be reincarnated into this charismatic, oh-so-strong Sex on a Stick that everyone just falls all over themselves to do things for. What? It’s true,” she said defensively when she opened her eyes and saw my astonished face. It was true, but still…she didn’t have to say it like that. I darted a glance to Brendan, who looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. At least she didn’t call him cute.
“Anyway,” she continued, her tone matter-of-fact, “you have power, Brendan, whether you realize it or not, so of course you don’t see why it’s important. You’ve got to be a pretty angry person to turn to black magic—I don’t think most people get to that point on their own. So think of how attractive all this power would be to someone who feels marginalized.?
??
“So shouldn’t we be calling the cops, then?” Brendan asked. “No offense, Randi, you’ve been great—”
“Oh, thank you. Um, none taken,” she trilled, blushing again, and Angelique snorted, spreading her palms as if to say, “See?” Randi shot her a look so acidic, I thought it would bleach Angelique’s hair back to her natural blonde color.
Randi smoothed a lock of her hair around the flowered clip self-consciously before replying to Brendan. “So, Brendan. You were asking about cops? Yeah…that’s not a great idea.” She shook her head and laughed bitterly. “Trust me on this. They never believe you and always think you’re lying or want attention. And if they do believe you, that’s almost worse. Do you want people knowing spells work? Anyway, it’s especially not a good idea for you guys—do you really want to go to the cops sounding like a bunch of wackjobs when there’s still a case against that Anthony kid?”
“You’ve got a really good point there.” Brendan sighed, resignation etched all over his face as he slouched back in his chair.
“It’s easier to police magical things on your own—unless you can catch this psycho in the act of attacking Emma or something. And I don’t think they’ll come back,” Randi mused, taking another swig of water. “This was probably some newbie to black magic, who thought they could intimidate Emma or just attack her really quickly and get away. I think they weren’t expecting Emma to be able to fight back like that. They definitely didn’t expect her to fight back with magic. Of course, you’re upset and worried about her, Brendan, but let’s face it, there is always some danger associated with real magic. And Emma’s a true witch. It comes with the territory.”
Randi’s cell phone rang, and she answered it, mouthing, “It’s my mother” to Angelique.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, her long blond hair sweeping behind her as she hurried into a bedroom in the back of the apartment. Once she was out of the room, I turned to Angelique.
“Do you think she’s right, that this psycho will back off now? Or do you still have that crazy foreboding of dread?”
Angelique looked at me almost apologetically.
“I have it, and it’s really, really strong. I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, her forehead wrinkling with concern. “I’m not causing these feelings—I’m just a receiver, not a broadcaster. And,” she said as she sighed, shoving the Hadrian’s book back in front of me and pointing to a line in the prose, “read this again.”
I looked down at the scrolled text. “‘On this unholy day when the stars align’?” I read aloud. “What about it?”
“There’s a lunar eclipse on Wednesday,” Angelique explained, then shuddered. “It’s a special one, too—at least for pagans. A full moon during March is often called a ‘death moon.’”
“Death moon?” I snorted. “It sounds like the name of some new action movie about ass-kicking astronauts.”
“Funny as you might think it is,” Angelique said, ignoring me, “a lunar eclipse has to be what they’re referring to in this story. I mean, I doubt these witches had telescopes and could figure out when Jupiter is in Aries. This had to be something visible with human eyes, like a lunar eclipse. And this psycho’s time is running out to do this spell.”
“So we just have to keep this son of a bitch away from Emma until after Wednesday? Done,” Brendan declared, taking both my hands in his. “You can fake sickness for a few days. And I’m going to look like the most psychotically overbearing boyfriend, but I’m not leaving your side until Thursday morning. Sorry, but I’m going to be a real pain in your ass,” he said, chuckling humorlessly.
“Or, instead of Brendan having to constantly shadow you like a stalker, we could try to draw this person out and catch them in the act,” Angelique said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “There’s an average of two lunar eclipses a year, guys. Since this witch attacked you on Friday, I don’t think they’re worried about bleeding you during the eclipse. As long as they have your blood, they’re set.”
“So they can come for me on Monday or months from now,” I realized, the anger and panic churning in my stomach. “No. No! I’m not going to live in fear. I want my life back. I want to find them and end this. Now,” I growled. My fists were clenched so tightly my nails left little half-moon marks in my skin.
“I have an idea. It’s a rough one, but it’s something. Isn’t there some big prom or dance tonight?” Angelique asked, wrinkling her nose.
“It’s a Battle of the Bands over at Magel High School,” I explained. “All the private schools are invited. I think a lot of Vince A people are going.”
Angelique spun one of her silver bangles on the table, thoughtfully tilting her head as if she were running through something in her mind. Finally she smacked her hand on top of the bracelet, causing the metal to slam into the wood table with a musical clang. “I have an idea that you’re going to hate.” She got up and peered down the hallway where her cousin had gone into her room.
After hurrying back to the table, Angelique dropped her voice so Randi couldn’t hear. “No one is going to hate it more than I do, but…I think we should go.”
“You think this psycho will be there?” I asked.
“It’s worth a shot. Obviously this über-witch wannabe either goes to Vince A, or is working with someone at Vince A, since no one on the class trip had a black eye but they knew where you were and when you were breaking for lunch.
“We go, I see if I can sense anything—and if someone tries to go after Emma again, we know she can take care of herself.”
Brendan frowned, shaking his head. “No way. We’re basically walking Emma into a trap, you realize.”
“Well, yeah, that’s what we’re doing—using her as bait to catch this psycho. Although, you’re probably the target now that this psycho knows Emma has a few spells up her sleeve.”
“Then why don’t you and I go, Angelique, and Emma can stay home where she’s safe? I don’t mind being bait,” Brendan suggested calmly, and I tried to ignore Angelique’s look of abject horror at the thought of hanging out with Brendan—alone, horror of horrors—for a night. You’d think he just suggested that he cut Angelique’s hand off so he could smack her in the face with it.
Brendan noticed her reaction, an entertained smirk threatening to break out across his face. “Why not, Angelique?” he asked innocently. “As you so eloquently put it, I’m super-strong Sex on a Stick, right? I’ll be fine. I can handle it.”
“Whether or not you can handle it is irrelevant,” I replied, stifling a smile as I tried to squash what could easily devolve into an argument. “Besides, we’re in this together, I thought. Your words, remember?”
“That’s different,” Brendan argued.
“No, it isn’t,” I insisted. “Look, this is as good an idea as any.”
“How do we even alert this idiot that we’re going to be there? It could be a waste of our time,” Brendan argued diplomatically.
“That’s the easy part,” Angelique scoffed, waving her bangle in the air. “Facebook your face off, Brendan. Write on a few people’s pages. Word will get around.”
We all sat up straighter as Randi strode back into the room, stuffing her cell phone into the pocket of her crinoline-puffed skirt. She’d also applied lip g
loss.
“Sorry about that. My mom said she was wrapping up her brunch with your mom and they’re going to be home soon. So we should probably end this little magical tête-à-tête. If your mom even sniffed a whiff of danger, she’d bind both of your powers,” Randi said, her eyes rolling before they settled on us suspiciously.
“What were you all talking about before I walked back in here?”
“Nothing, Randi—I’m just giving Emma a hard time for not devoting herself more to her witchcraft studies,” Angelique lied effortlessly. It was impressive.
“She’s got all this natural talent. Imagine how good she’d be if she actually studied instead of just trying to levitate highlighters.”
“You can do that?” Brendan elbowed me, impressed. “You never told me you could do that.”
“I can’t do it well. Besides, Angelique, I’m bad enough at Latin,” I defended myself. “Learning the spells is just more Latin.” Truly it was daunting.
“You know, that gives me an idea,” Randi exclaimed, disappearing from the kitchen with a, “Be right back.”
Moments later, she returned holding a small black leather notebook, bound in a black cord.
“My first grimoire. Some basic rules of Wicca, some of my favorite spells, just to get you started,” she explained, holding up the notebook and shaking it. “I know Angelique knows her way around an incantation, but you should read some of these, just to get an idea of the ones you want to start writing. When I was starting out, I felt more secure using proven spells. Oh, and they’re entirely in English,” she added, tossing the book on the table.
“English?” I blurted out, picking up the book and flipping through it. “Wait, I’m confused. I thought—”