Scary Cool (The Spellspinners) (16 page)

Nonny’s
fur
niture matches the house itself. It’s
old-fashione
d, comfortable and bungalow
-y. Her personal space i
s nicely crowded with massive
,
squareish
pieces, all in wood, and lots of pillows of various sizes and colors, because she’s totally into needlepoint and embroidery and all that crafty stuff.
Her room ha
s
a dim,
pleasant scent—
sandalwood, I think.

There w
as a wooden box on her dresser
, but it was full of
old family photos
, stacked and clipped
. A stone jar held a collection of buttons. I sat on the edge of her bed and went through three sewing boxes
and a crochet bag
. Nothing.

“What are we looking for, exactly? An amethyst
, right
?
How big?”

“I’m not sure.” Lance was
scanning
the titles on
Nonny’s
bookshelves. I sent him a mental image of an amethyst the size of a hen’s egg and he grinned. “Not that big. It’ll just be a normal-looking amethyst. You could probably wear it in a ring, if you want to live dangerously.”

“Why dangerously?” I started pulling out bottom drawers. People always hide stuff in bottom drawers.

“You don’t want to lose it, that’s all.”

I
looked at
him for a moment. “Excuse me, but why are you checking the books?”

“
Looking for a
hippie
hidey-hole
.
They used to h
ollow out a book and turn it into a stash box.” I felt Lance’s interest suddenly sharpen. “Like this.” He pulled out a
fat
copy of
Gone With the Wind.
Sure enough, it was a stash box. But when he shook it, it made the wrong sort of sound
– there were papers, not stones
, in there. He opened it, but was disappointed. “Nothing.
Not even
drugs
.
”

“It’s not nothing. What is it?” I took the box from him and
dropped into a chair
while Lance started rifling through
Nonny’s
headboard.

I lifted the lid of her homemade trinket box. What was it that
Nonny
prized so highly that she hid it in a secret compartment
?

I was completely unprepared for the answer. It wasn’t one thing. It was a bunch of things.

There was a little envelope containing a lock of black hair. ‘Zara, age 3’ was noted on the envelope
in pencil
. My first grade report card stared me in the face. Plus a poem I dimly remembered writing when I was eight or so. And every single Mother’s Day
and birthday
card I had given her, ever.

There were a few things I didn’t recognize, or that rang a bell but I couldn’t place: a frayed hair ribbon
of lavender satin
. A receipt for baby shoes. A yellow
wild
flower that had been pressed between the pages of a book and preserved in wax
ed
paper. Had I
picked it for her
? I must have.

My eyes blurred with unexpected tears. I replaced everything, being careful to put them in the exact order I had found them.

“What is it?” said Lance.

I shook my head. “We shouldn’t be in here,” I whispered. “We shouldn’t be going through her personal stuff.”

“We’re looking for your personal stuff.”

I shook my head again. “No. It’s wrong.”

My hands were
trembling
a little as I slid
Gone With the Wind
back into place. The book title suddenly seemed poignant. My childhood
was in there
, gone with the wind.
Nonny’s
little girl
…
going, going, gone. Had
she made a
stash box
out
of
this book, of all books, deliberately?
Probably.

I realized Lance was watching me.
His  mind probed
mine, observing my emotions. Studying them.
And for the first time, I realized that he
was learning
, from
me, how to be human—
as I learned, from
him, how to be
a
spellspinner
.

“You don’t understand,” I said. It wasn’t a question or a protest—just a simple statement of fact.

“
Spellspinners
don’t get sentimental.
Does that seem cold to you?”

“
Yes.
”

We stared at each other across the room. We were so alien to each other. So different.
We
shared a mysterious, unbreakab
le link, and still couldn’t figure each other out.

Lance almost smiled. “I’ve learned a lot from you, Zara. It’s interesting. But you’ll never turn me into a stick.”

“It’s good to be human,” I told him. “You can’t be an island unto yourself
, Lance
.
Power isn’t everything.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Lance said slowly, “whether you are a hundred percent
spellspinner
.
You’re so different from the rest of us.
But you’re so powerful…” He frowned. “You must be.
”

“My spells unravel,” I reminded him bleakly. “
So maybe I’m not.
Which reminds me—you’ll have to help me keep that shield up. Whatever part of it I built will likely fail.”

“Unless we find your power stone.”

I sighed. “Okay. It’s important. I get it. But before we start digging through
Nonny’s
underwear or something
, why don’t you let me just
ask
her?”

I walked back over to her highboy and shoved the bottom drawer shut with my foot. I could feel the resistance in Lance’s mind. He didn’t like the idea of asking
Nonny
point-blank about my power stone.

“I’m not going to tell her what it is
,” I reminded him. “
She won’t know.
You just don’t like to ask for anyone’s help.” I looked quizzically at him. “Is that a
spellspinner
thing, or a guy thing?”

“
Both
.” His smile was perfunctory.
“You’re too trusting, though. Too emotional.”
Too much like a stick.

The drawer wasn’t closing all the way. The collar of one of
Nonny’s
sweaters was poking out. I dropped down and reopened the drawer to adjust the sweater—and
Nonny’s
voice sounded from the doorway.

“What on
earth
are you doing?”

I froze. The drawer
was open. My hands were in it.

Lance was standing by her bed.

It was one of those awful moments where you realize, in a flash, that not only should you not be doing what you’re doing—what you’re doing looks even worse than it is. I
glanced
over my shoulder at
Nonny’s
furious, amazed expression and my heart sank.

“Looking for something,” I said lamely.

“In my sweater drawer?”

“
Um
.” I stood up. “Pretty dumb, I guess.”

“Get out,” she said. “Both of you.”

We got.
Marching back down the passage,
I felt like a criminal. Plus I was embarrassed. It probably didn’t help when I blurted out, “I thought you were at the nursery.”

“I saw a motorcycle in front of our house,” she said crisply. “And I didn’t recognize it. So I came over to
find out
whose
it was.
N
ow I know.”

We had reached the front parlor. She turned to confront Lance. “I hope,” she said—and her voice was deadly quiet—“I never see that thing in front of my house again.”

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

“We can explain,” I began, but Lance cut me off.

“No, Zara,” he said. His voice was just as quiet and level as
Nonny’s
. “We can’t.”

He opened the door to leave, but paused on the threshold. His green eyes focused on
Nonny’s
, his expression grave. “We’re both trying to keep Zara safe,” he told her softly. “You have your ways, and I have mine. But
we’re on the same side
.”

Her tight mouth did not relax one iota. “Goodbye,” she said. And he left.

The house immediately seemed unnaturally quiet.
Even when the motorcycle roared into life, it felt quiet.
Nonny
beckoned me into the kitchen and sat me down. “Talk to me,” she said. “Because I’m too mad to talk.”

I was miserable. “I forgot you didn’
t want him
here
,” I said. “I
honestly forgot. I
know that sounds
feeble
.”

“I
t sure does. I
can’t believe you’re
even
friendly with that boy. Zara, he
hit
you! What are you thinking?” She was so upset, her voice was shaking. “What’s this
b
.s.
about him being on your side
? I don’t believe that for a minute, and neither should you.”

But I did believe it. I saw it in his mind. How could I explain that to
Nonny
? I couldn’
t. And while I was trying to figure out what I could say and what I mu
stn’t, she was watching my face—and getting even more upset as I didn’t answer right away.

“And what were you doing in my bedroom? Great Scott!” She was so worked up, she almost bounced out of her chair. “I
tell
you I don’t want him on my property, and
then
I find him in my
bedroom?
With
you?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Honest. I didn’t think how it would look.”

“Why were you going through my things
?”

“We were trying to find…”

And I suddenly had one of those brain flashes that str
ike a person, sometimes, in a moment of stress
. I remembered sitting at this same kitchen table with
Nonny
not that long ago, and
Nonny
telling me the story of how I came to be ‘her’
little girl.
You were wrapped in a white blanket…
s
omeone—your mother, I suppose—set you down at the commune gates and rang the bell…

I felt the hair
rise on the back of my arms
. If my power stone was anywhere, it was there. Had to be.

“My baby blanket,” I said. “We were looking for my baby blanket.”

She looked puzzled. “Baby
bl
—“ and then the penny dropped and
she understood
. “You mean the one I found you in?”

“That’s the one.”

Fresh anger snapped in her eyes. “Did you tell Lance that story? Of all
people
—“

“
Nonny
, it’s important. Please. I’ve got to see it.” I placed my hand over hers. “You may have to trust me a little on this. Lance is…”

I couldn’t say it. I literally could not make my mouth form the words to tell her what Lance is. Every instinct in me was screaming,
stop!
G
enerations of my kind
had
bred
me
to secre
cy. My very blood
warred with my desire to confide in
Nonny
. And won.

I shook my head and gave her a weak smile. “It’s complicated,” I said weakly. “But he’s okay. Really.”

“Why didn’t you
just ask to see the darn thing
? I would have shown you whenever you wanted.”

“Well,” I said
, trying to sound reasonable
, “that’s what I’m doing now.”

She pointed at me. “You stay here.”
She
disappeared down the hall.
And came back with something that looked like a shawl, folded and wrapped in tissue paper. She set it on the kitchen table in front of me and sat down again, watching me.

I was
so nervous I
couldn’t move. I sat with my hands in my lap and just stared at it.