Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 03 She's A Witch Girl (21 page)

“You can still run, 666 Girl.” Daniel smiled in a way that made me want to say okay. For a second.

“I’m not a runaway kind of girl.” It was kind of a new realization. I guess there are some things you don’t know about yourself until you find out in some random conversation. Weird.

“Too bad.” He smiled. Still the sexy bad boy, I was reassured to see. Everything was changing on me so much, I liked it that one thing—Daniel and his bad-boy vibe—was still the same. And then he added, “I kind of hoped if you looked me up—”

“You knew I’d look for you?”

He shrugged. “Seventy-thirty odds in favor.” He grinned. Was he telling me he thought I was mega nosy? Or just a first-rate tracker? “But no one else has ever come close to finding you . . .”

“No one else has permission to find me.”

Wow. All this time I’d thought I was so clever, but it was just that Daniel hadn’t blocked my search. That was mind-blowing.

I looked at him. “No one else?”

He grinned. I couldn’t help hoping he’d come back for senior year. And what did that say about me?

I tried, feebly, to encourage him to come home. It would make my life easier, but I knew in my heart it would make his worse. “Agatha misses you.”

“G always misses me—until I return.” His lips pressed together in that common expression reserved for relatives who love us so much, they drive us crazy. “I bet she blames you, doesn’t she? Sorry about that.”

“Mostly she blames me for everything—with good reason. I’ve done lots more bad things since you disappeared.”

I told him everything—the cheering competition, remedial classes, my sweet sixteen, the works. The only thing I left out was Samuel’s mom. He thought it was all hilarious. It was funny how easily I could still talk to him, even though he really had left me to Agatha’s wrath when he’d run away from school and his family again.

We sat sipping coffee, facing the window instead of each other. We watched the beautiful people—and an occasional not-so-beautiful tourist—wander by the window. “Why did you stop sending me the anonymous notes, after that last one at Thanksgiving?”

“I figured you weren’t ready to leave Agatha’s behind.”

“Of course not. I have to figure out how to be a witch. Do you know I still haven’t manifested my Talent?”

“Horrors!” He threw up his hands in mock dismay. “She’s Talentless.”

“Stop it. Everyone has a Talent except me. Do you know there’s even a witch who was switched at birth with a mortal baby and raised by mortal parents who manifested his Talent before me?”

He shook his head, crumpled his coffee cup, and tossed it into the trash can five feet away. “Oh, 666 Girl, you can do better than that.”

No, I really couldn’t. So I went back to the little things. Things he might like to know, even though they didn’t matter. “My locker ghost has been very well behaved since you left.”

“I imagine so, since you know his weakness was brownies.”

“Nothing wrong with having a weakness for brownies.” I felt a need to defend Hi. After all, he’d been stuck in the afterlife haunting a locker. How fun could that be?

“No, guess not.” He prodded, just like I knew he would. Daniel the troublemaker at work. “Nothing wrong with running away, either.”

“That’s different. We do need to learn stuff, even if it’s not always fun.”

“Do we?” He sipped his coffee in silence for a few minutes. “School’s just not for me. G doesn’t get it. I’m a free spirit. I learn what I need to learn on the streets.”

“Why in streets crowded with jaded mortals?”

“They’re not as jaded as they seem, you know.”

“No?” I had lived here for most of my life. “I think they’re more jaded than you realize.”

We talked for a while, long enough that we stopped looking out at the street and started looking at each other. I remembered why I’d gotten into the time bubble with him that first month in my new school. He’d been annoying, for sure, shooting erasers at my face in remedial summoning and spells. But he’d also looked at me. Tried to see through all the fashion and makeup disguises to the real me. Not many people will do that, or maybe I’d become cynical in Beverly Hills. But, really, who had done that in Salem except Daniel? Samuel, Maria, Denise. Tara was beginning
to, but looking past the surface did
not
come naturally to her. Yet.

When my coffee had been cold for quite some time, he stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, and the blast from the past. Come back and see me sometime.”

I wasn’t thinking of Agatha when I said, “You come home.” I was thinking of me. And of how much more I’d like to know about Daniel.

He just shook his head. “Not yet, 666 Girl, not yet.”

He leaned in to kiss me. He did it slowly, so that I could duck if I wanted and his lips would land on my cheek.

But I didn’t duck. The kiss was nice. It told me two things: one, there was no way I’d ever turn him in to Agatha without his consent; and, two, he was as totally wonderful a kisser as I’d remembered.

After a little while, he pulled back and said, “I see you’ve figured out how to deactivate your mother’s protective spell.”

“I’m a natural at this witch thing.” I smiled at him.

“That, you are,” he agreed. And then he left the table. I sat there and watched him from the window. He blended right in with all the other L.A. characters.

I sighed, and then detoured into the bathroom so I could pop myself back to my hotel room unnoticed by the mortals in the City of Angels.

Maddie’s brush-off was kewl with me, but Dad
had other ideas. I watched as he called up Maddie’s mother and got us invited for dinner. My only hope was that Maddie wouldn’t be there.

No such luck, of course. Not only was Maddie there, so was Brent. And Maddie was mad. Not that she could let her mom, Armand, my dad, or Brent know.

Me, she let me know how she felt in the way only best-friends-turned-enemies could possibly understand. First, she was extra nice to my dad. I mean butter-the-toast-on-both-sides-and-don’t-sweat-the-calories nice.

Get this: My dad said, “I hoped you and Pru could
mend fences. Good friendships are worth preserving, even over the distances.”

Old Maddie would have smiled and nervously changed the subject. New Maddie? She just smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “You were always so wise, Mr. S.”

Wise. Right. That’s why he beamed at her like he thought she meant what she’d said. Sometimes my dad can be such a sucker, even though being in advertising, he should know better. For example, the way he seemed so delighted to see Armand, even though it was obvious the guy was a complete snake.

I gave Maddie the “gag me” sign behind my dad’s back. Maddie just looked at me like I’d flashed my boobs to her bf. And then she said, “Pru, you’re looking great! The porcelain skin tone works well on you. I guess it’s not the East Coast thing to tan, huh?”

Beeyotch. “I just haven’t had time, what with getting my team in shape for the national championships and all.” I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but she had her arm around Brent’s waist, so I couldn’t help myself.

“Nationals? Do you think that’s wise? I mean, you know we’re going to take it again this year, and coming in second place can be so hard on the ego.”

I laughed as if her words didn’t sting like an entire hive of bees. “Don’t count your competitions until they’re won,” I said, echoing my old coach’s saying—she didn’t
like us getting cocky too soon. She said that was the way to lose even worse than you thought you could.

I looked at Brent and Maddie, curled up together, and made an awkward segue. “We’re going to do great, tanned or untanned. Anyway, my very cute and very distracting neighbor Angelo likes girls with milky skin.”

Yeah, like I said, not the smoothest transition in the world. I just wanted to buzz Maddie back a bit. Technically, Angelo had said no such thing. Technically, Angelo was under so many heavy-duty spells and charms that he couldn’t feel or say such things. So I was embellishing a little. But it’s not a crime to add two and two, is it? I mean, Angelo likes me—or at least he did before Tara came on the scene and he found out he was switched at birth. I have milk-pale skin, ergo Angelo likes girls who don’t live in a tanning salon.

Maddie didn’t bother to pretend she didn’t believe me. Ex-BFF can be like that sometimes. They know you way too well to fall for the stuff that other people would never believe you’d go to the effort to make up.

I lifted my purse, a tiny Coach bag I’d popped up because I knew how much Maddie had liked last year’s version, and dug out my cell. “See? This is Angelo.” I found my favorite and held up the phone.

Brent, who didn’t know me at all, believed I was sincere and leaned in for a look. Maddie, who knew me way too
well for comfort, frowned at him, then tugged on his arm. “Time for dinner.”

I had never had dinner in Maddie’s formal dining room. We’d once gotten into trouble because we’d made a princess castle under the massive oak table. We’d taped princess stars made out of silver paper all over the table legs, buffet, and the erstwhile clean glass front of the bar. And more than once we’d spied on a candlelit dinner party where the guests laughed and the glasses clinked and we pretended we were princesses trapped in the tower of a mean king and queen.

I guess maybe I should have realized Maddie wasn’t making up her play fantasies out of fairy tales without weaving in some of her real life. But I’d been a kid then, and I’d assumed her parents were happy, like mine.

Instead, we’d always eaten in Maddie’s room or at the big kitchen table that looked out over the hills. We’d told creepy stories about wolves and coyotes and mountain men who were looking to eat little girls. We’d had things like pizza and hot dogs, and—when her mom was on a vegetarian kick—carrot sticks with hummus and fresh fruit. Nothing like this fancy dinner of poached fish, glazed vegetables, and awkward silence.

Dinner got even more awkward after Armand had had his second glass of wine. It had been bad enough with Maddie and me at polite daggers up. But I stopped wishing that Maddie would sprout zits and break up with Brent right in
front of us when Armand started talking like he was the king of this particular castle.

I looked at Dad, wondering how he felt about it. Armand was maybe thirty. Maybe. And he acted like he owned the house. Dad seemed fairly kewl with it, although I saw his eyebrows twitch once or twice when Armand said something along the lines of, “I don’t allow laziness in my house.” This, after he’d admitted he hadn’t yet found the perfect career. I think he’d been trying to get my dad to offer him a job. You know, the kind of job that pays a lot and doesn’t require you to work. As if.

I’m not sure about that, though, because I tuned out most of what he said right after he yelled at Maddie for chewing too loudly—which she totally wasn’t. Dad’s brows definitely furrowed at that one.

By the time dinner was over, I just wanted to bury the hatchet—in Armand—and run. Instead, I went into the little pink powder room off the kitchen and took the arguing spell off. Maddie wouldn’t be compelled to fight with Brent anymore. It was the least I could do.

Except—no, there was one more thing. I quickly put the spell on Maddie’s mom and Armand, with a little twist. I added a nice subtle touch to the spell that was just perfect for Armand. Maddie’s mom would now smell the faintest whiff of skunk whenever he was near. It was the least I could do for the girl who used to be my best friend.

Under Dad’s critical eye, I hugged Maddie and shook hands with Armand—his was sweaty and gross, yuck. “Thank you for dinner,” I said to Maddie’s mom. “I hope we can be friends again,” I said as I hugged Maddie tight, for Dad’s sake. I remembered old times, but I was pretty sure they were buried forever.

Maddie air-kissed my cheek—for Dad’s benefit, of course. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. See you at Nationals.”

Nationals. Ummm. Yep. That was still a problem. Agatha had refused to talk to us, and our parents, while seeing the benefits of mortal competition, weren’t willing to take Agatha on when her mind was so firmly made up. Most of them had gone to Agatha’s at some point in their lives, so I guess I understood that—not that I approved of weenieness in general.

The gleam in Tara’s eye had grown, though. She wasn’t going to just follow the rules this time. “Agatha’s moratorium is totally unfair, and we aren’t going to stand for it.” Or at least, that’s what she wrote in the air in the locker room before practice—and then quickly wiped it away so no one but we cheerleaders would see it. Step two in our plan was underway.

We were already meeting for secret practices, so it was easy to get some private time to talk to the rest of the team. Even though Tara was over Angelo, she talked him into
having the meeting at his house. His mother made good cover, being clueless about witches and all. The witches’ council wasn’t going to question a bunch of witches hanging out with another witch—after all, he had to quintuple time his education, didn’t he?

All the girls felt sorry for Angelo and his situation, though none of us could understand why we had found him so hot in the days when we thought he was a mortal. Maybe out of pity, or kindness, everyone gave him freebie tips and showed him how to deal if his mom accidentally caught him doing magic.