Accidentally Evil (13 page)

Twenty-Four

I
stare at her, confused. The hit to the stomach must have twisted some things up in her head.

She coughs again, holds her stomach in pain.

“That's going to be sore awhile,” Miss A says. She reaches for Ivy's hand and pulls her to her feet. “Why don't you sit down on those chairs for a few minutes, Ivy? Hallie, you stay with her. The girls and I have some work to do.”

She motions for Jo, Dru, and Missy to follow her to the stage, where most of the damage from the fireball is.

I look for Cody but don't see him anywhere. Also missing are Kendall and Zena.

“So?” Ivy asks. “Why did you keep it a secret?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Really. You don't remember stopping the fireball with your bare hands?”

“I did?” I try to remember what happened. The fireball came toward me, and I lifted my hand. “I did! I held up my hand, and the fireball bounced off.”

I don't say what I'm thinking, that I caused Miss A to catch fire, which caused Ivy to run to her and get hit by the fireball. It's times like these when I really wish I was just a regular witch. Or at least a white magic witch. Then my magic would actually help people, instead of hurting them.

Ivy pulls Lady Rose's barrette out of my hair. “Here,” she says. “This was about to fall out.”

I look at the barrette in my hand. At the red stones and the small clear crystals. It sparkles beneath the cndle­light. When the realization hits me, I smile.

“This,” I tell Ivy. “This is why I could shield myself from the fireball.”

“A barrette?” she says, eyebrows drawn together. “What'd you do, steal it from the library?”

I don't answer right away, and she rips the barrette from my hand. “Are you kidding me? You actually took something again? You know what will happen. I can't believe you'd do this.”

I slap a hand over her mouth. “Lady Rose gave it to me. She said it made her feel safer and that her grandmother had given it to her. Sneaky.”

I guess this is what they kept warning me about. They knew something was going to happen but couldn't tell me, so they protected me the only way they could.

“You're lucky they like you. If they were like Kendall, you'd be toast right now.”

“Literally,” I say. We both laugh, and even when Ivy holds her stomach in pain, we keep laughing.

I put Ivy to bed and head back outside to clean up. I'm disappointed I didn't get to tell Cody good-bye. I owe him a huge thank-you for chasing after Kendall and Zena. I don't know where they were running to, but he stopped them, and I'm grateful.

Only a few dozen girls are still on the grounds. Some are stacking chairs, some removing candles, some picking up trash. I stand at the top of the stairs and watch them work together, and I feel isolated, separate from everyone else.

I wonder if I'll make it through Dowling. I used to just “know” I'd be fine, but now I'm not so sure. Do I even
want
to continue here? Nothing I do works out the way I plan. The people closest to me get hurt.

“Now you're just being silly.” Miss A puts an arm around my shoulders.

For once I'm glad she heard my thoughts. I wouldn't have had the guts to say them out loud.

“I don't know, Miss A. Think about it. Nothing I attempt to do works out like it should. It was one thing when Kendall got a forked tongue. But now you and Ivy got hurt. I don't want that to happen ever again.”

She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face her. Her makeup has melted off her face, and what's beneath is a determined and intelligent woman. I wonder why she puts on so much makeup and dresses so outrageously. She's better like this. When she's just . . . her. Miss A.

“Now, you listen to me, little girl. What happened tonight was not your fault. No, ma'am. That was ­Kendall's and Zena's fault, and if I had my way, I'd make sure they never stepped foot in Dowling again.”

“Where are they?” I ask. “I haven't seen them since . . .” I don't finish the sentence. I can't.

“Since Ivy was hit?” she asks. “You can talk about it. It's okay.”

I nod, unconvinced, and repeat my question. “Where are Kendall and Zena?”

“In their room,” Miss A says with a shake of her head.

“What's going to happen now?” I ask her. “Will I get . . . expelled? Suspended?”

The thought of calling my dad and telling him I was kicked out of Dowling gives me a headache. He would be devastated. As would I. If I don't stay—if I
can't
stay—I think I'll always wonder what my life would have been like. And I think that would be an awful way to live.

Miss A chuckles, and it makes me grin. “Expelled? Not hardly. It was self-defense, my dear.” She gives me a wink. I smile even though I know I shouldn't.

“You know, Hallie, you don't have to go through this alone.”

“Through what?”

“The High Priestess competition. You don't have to do it alone. I will help you. Lady Jennica and Lady Rose will too. I don't think you should expect any help from the headmistress, though.” She laughs at her joke, and I laugh with her.

“Do you really think I could do it? That I could be the High Priestess?” Just saying it out loud sounds absurd,
like I'm asking if I could be a two-headed purple-and-green giraffe that survived on lollipops and cotton candy.

“Well, of course I do, darlin'. So does everyone else.”

Except a few, I think.

“Those few don't matter,” she tells me. “But I'll tell you one thing. You have absolutely got to figure out how to lock up those thoughts so other people can't hear them. That could be dangerous with the wrong person.”

The scratch of shoes on concrete interrupts us.

I turn around and see Cody on the step below me.

My heart shoots past normal and jumps into high gear.

“Well, that garbage isn't going to pick itself up, now is it?” Miss A walks away, her burned muumuu having been replaced by oversize sweat pants and a large T-shirt with butterflies painted all over it. She waves her hand above her head. “Bye, Cody!”

“Bye, Miss A,” he calls, laughing. “She's something else.”

I smile and nod. “She's perfect.”

“Speaking of perfect,” he says.

I'm so tired, I can't think clearly. “Perfect?”

“Yeah,” he says. “That'd be you.”

I stare at him for several seconds, and then explode with laughter. “Me?” I ask through tears. “Perfect? You can't . . . be . . . serious.”

He puts his hands into his pockets and smiles at me. “Very funny.”

“Well, come on,” I tell him. “That was hilarious. Did you see what I did tonight?”

“What you did?”

“How I almost burned Miss A to a crisp? And nearly killed my best friend by drilling a fiery hole through her?”

He shakes his head like he's trying to clear cobwebs. “What I saw was a girl defending herself, then rescuing her best friend.”

“That's just the thing, Cody. The fireballs wouldn't have even happened if I hadn't started the argument with Kendall.”

“Maybe not today, but it would have happened another day. Don't deny it. You know I'm right.”

I think about what he's said. He might be right. I don't think I could have gone much longer without confronting her. “Still . . . it was reckless to do it here, at the celebration, where other people could get hurt.”

“I'm glad it happened tonight. I got to see what you
can do, and let me tell you, Hallie. You've got some mad skills.”

Embarrassment warms my face, my chest. Thank goodness it's dark out.

“You were like Wonder Woman out there.”

I laugh. “Yeah. Stopping a fireball. That was a new one for me tonight. Came in handy, though.” I make a mental note to do something special for the two teachers who helped me.

We stand in the quiet, watching the others clean up. It's surreal to think about what happened tonight. It seems more like a movie than reality.
Life is stranger than fiction,
I hear my dad say.

That's when I notice that all the buses are gone. “Where's your bus?” I ask.

“The headmaster let me stay behind with him. He had to do something with the headmistress. Make some report or something.”

“Witches make reports?” I ask. For some reason that strikes me as really funny, and I laugh.

Cody laughs with me, and we both relax. “Sorry we didn't get to spend more time together,” he says.

“At least I kept you entertained.”

“There's that,” he agrees. “You're cool, Hallie. I like hanging out with you.”

My tongue is literally stuck to the roof of my mouth, like I just ate a glob of peanut butter. Or superglue.

Say something. Anything!

“Me too.” I hear the words come out of my mouth, and immediately I want to rewind time and have a do-over.
Me too?
Brilliant, Hallie. You're a regular Shakespeare.

Silence. Not uncomfortable. But silence. And I have to fill it.

“When's our next thing together?” I ask.

Cody shrugs. “Not sure. December, I think.”

December.

As in two months away.

“E-mail until then?” he asks.

I look at Cody's face, so perfect, so honest. I
really
like him. But I'm too chicken to say it out loud. Why would he choose to like me? I'm a black magic witch with powers I can't control, headed for a future I'm not sure I can handle or even want.

But here he is. Smiling at me. I don't know why, but he likes me too.

“E-mail until then,” I say.

Before I even know what I'm doing, I lean forward and give him such a quick kiss, I'm not even sure our lips actually touch.

I don't wait for him to say something, just walk down the stairs to the lawn. I'm halfway down the steps when Cody calls my name.

I turn around, smile. “Yeah?”

“It's true,” he says. “The rumor? It's true.”

I give him a thumbs-up, then go to help Miss A.

I can feel his eyes follow me as I walk away, something that would normally make me nervous. But now . . . now it's just right. Like this is the beginning of something wicked good.

Don't miss how it all began!

Read on for a peek at

The XYZs of Being Wicked.

One

M
om's voice is clipped and irritated when she taps her watch. “Tick tock, Hallie.”

I keep my eyes on the television. “When this is over.”

The television clicks off, and I huff out a big breath. I hate it when she does that.

“I'm not packing for you, no matter how long you put it off.”

I lie down on the couch and groan. “I'll do it later. Who knows when I'll get to see my shows again.”

“One, two . . .”

“Really? You're counting? I'm eleven, Mom. Not five.”

She grabs my legs and drops them to the floor. “Now.”

Moving more slowly than honey in a snowstorm, I drag myself to the attic door.

I hate attics. And basements. They're the soulless pits of a house, and I have no use for either one of them. Except today. Today, I
have
to climb into the attic. It doesn't matter that the last time I was in the attic, I fell and landed face-first in the biggest spiderweb any spider has ever created in the history of the world.

I'm on my third jump to reach the cord hanging from the attic door when Dad appears. He drops a step ladder in front of me. “The definition of ‘insanity' is doing the same thing and—”

“Expecting different results,” I finish. Dad's a total quote junkie. This particular Einstein quote has been repeated in my house so many times, I have it memorized.

I take two steps on the small ladder, grab the cord, and pull it down.

“Packing? Already?” he teases, knowing Mom's been nagging me for a week to pack.

“Funny, Dad.” I give him a smile, and my heart pinches. I'm going to miss him. I'm going to miss Mom. I'm going to miss my dog, Charlie. The only thing I won't miss is the heartless Kendall Scott, who has made it her personal mission in life to ensure I never rise above the level of social scum at school.

Dad rubs his hands together like he's warming them
over a fire. “Exciting stuff, Hallie.”

A flame of panic spreads through my stomach. I douse it with the reminder that I'm starting over in a new school with new kids. Dowling's my do-over.

I look up the attic stairs, then back at him. He knows how I feel about attics.“Want me to turn the light on?” Without waiting for me to answer, he climbs the stairs, yanks the light cord, and comes back down. “It's all yours.”

Watching Dad walk off, I wish I'd asked him to go up with me. I grab the handle of the folding stairs that lead to the attic and gently place my foot on the first step. It creaks lightly under my weight.

You're being ridiculous, Hallie Faith Simon. Climb the steps, clean out the trunk, pack, and be done with it.

I hold my breath and take the rest of the steps quickly, exhaling when I reach the top. The attic is as musty and menacing as I remember.

I scan the neatly stacked boxes, plastic tubs, and plywood walking paths. I place one foot on the wood to test its strength, then gingerly walk the plank. The trunk is exactly where Mom said it would be—under the window, covered in dust, daring me to open it.

I drop to my knees and blow on the top of the trunk. Even after I open the window, the dust hangs in the air and I have to wave my hands in front of me to see better. Putting my hand on the metal latch, I close my eyes, and quickly lift the lid. When nothing jumps out and kills me, I peek through one eye to examine the trunk. Seems safe enough, so I dare to open both eyes. Carved on the inside of the lid is something I can't read. I trace my fingers over the cursive letters and try to pronounce the words.

Delicias fuge ne frangaris crimine, verum

Coelica tu quaeras, ne male dipereas;

Respicias tua, non cujusvis quaerito gesta

Carpere, sed laudes, nec preme veridicos;

Judicio fore te praesentem conspice toto.

Anxiety swims through me. I may not be able to read it, but I know these words will be important in my new world. Engraved below that are words I can actually read.

SIMON FAMILY TRUNK

DOWLING ACADEMY SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT, Est. 1521

More curious than afraid, I peer into the trunk. Part of me hopes there's a copy of
Witchcraft for Dummies
inside, but all I find are two weird things that look like they belong in a museum.

A small stick that looks like a miniature totem pole leans in the corner of the trunk. Again I blow the dust off and lean in for a closer look. But I can't see it the way I want and slowly slip my hand into the trunk. I grab the stick and pull it out quickly, like rattlers are threatening to strike. When lightning doesn't fry me, I let out the breath I've been holding. Call me crazy, but digging in a dead witch's trunk puts this girl on edge.

The stick is so light, I can barely feel it in my hands as I hold it up to the sunlight. Symbols I don't recognize are carved into the stick, and instead of totally creeping me out, it calms me. I can't explain it, but something like relief washes over me.

I put the stick back into the trunk, and, braver than I thought possible, I grab the only other item in the trunk. A book of yellowed pages with an
S
embossed in the center fills my hands. I wipe the black leather cover and let my finger trace the
S
. Is the
S
for “Simon”?

Gently I open the cover and read the inscription.

This Book of Shadows Belongs to Elsa Whittier Simon.

I grin at the small angry letters scribbled at the bottom.

HANDS OFF!

I don't make friends easily, but I think I would have liked my great-great-grandmother.

I reread the inscription.
Book of Shadows.
Another part of my new life I know nothing about. Thumbing through the pages filled with perfect cursive handwriting, I stop at a dog-eared page.

Hear us now, the words of the witches,

The secrets we hide in the night.

Our magic is sought,

Invoke our power,

In this hour,

On this night.

I whisper the words as I read them, over and over again.

“Hal?”

The sound of my mother's voice behind me stops my
heart for a full second. I whip my head around, but before I can tell her how badly she scared me, wind swirls inside the attic, first soft and refreshing. Then churning faster and faster and faster, like an angry tornado. Boxes, papers, and pieces of insulation hurl through the room so fiercely, I can barely hold my place on the floor. I clutch the Book of Shadows to my chest to keep from losing it.

I attempt to scream through the storm. “Mom!”

The trunk seems to be the only thing not flying through the room, so I grab it in a death grip.

There's no reply from Mom, and I've lost sight of her in the storm debris.

My glasses begin sliding from my face, and I drop the Book of Shadows to hold them in place.

In that instant the room stills.

My eyes dart through the room, taking in the attic, the attic that should be filled with trash but looks exactly as it did when I first climbed the stairs.

Hand still clamped on the trunk, I take a shaky breath. What in the world just happened? Did I imagine it?

When I finally lock eyes with Mom, her body is frozen in fear.

No. I did not imagine this. What just happened scared
her even more than it terrified me, and I remind myself that she's as new to this as I am.

“What— Did you— How . . .” She stutters over her words, trying to make sense of the bizarro scene. All the relief I felt just moments ago has evaporated, and in its place is sheer panic.

I can't do this.

I can't do this.

I can't be a witch.

But a voice thunders in my head.
I have to do this.

I toss the book into the trunk and shut the lid before dragging the piece of luggage closer to Mom. I need to get out of here and immediately pretend none of it happened, pretend I didn't cause the storm, and pretend I'm not going to a school for witches.

“See?” I say. “Didn't I tell you? Nothing good happens in attics.”