Spell Struck (13 page)

Despite his disoriented expression, Aidan scrambled to his feet and followed me into the hall. With a warning glance at the grimoire, I closed the door and pushed Aidan toward the entryway.

The garage door rumbled down, and Dad opened the door from the garage to the kitchen. "Toothpick?"

Aidan and I sauntered into the kitchen, my backpack and Aidan's frayed black messenger bag in hand. "Hi, Dad. This is Aidan. Aidan, my dad."

Aidan composed himself. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

Dad loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his sky-blue shirt. "Likewise." The two shook hands. They could not have been more unlike — Aidan with his long, dark, poet's hair and baggy, threadbare clothes, and Dad with his upper-management haircut and tailored suit. To my relief, Dad flashed a welcoming smile. His eyebrow twitched when he glanced from my flushed face to the minor feast still laid out on the table. "A little food to fuel your studies?"

"There's some chili left if you'd like some."

Dad gave me a sideways hug. "Thanks, but I'm good for now. You two polish it off."

I hugged him back. One thing I had learned from Evie — don't take your parents for granted. Accidents happen.

"Which classes do you two have together?" Dad scratched his chin stubble. Silver salted his wavy brown hair.

"Drama and Art," Aidan and I said in unison. "We were about to hone our playwriting skills," I added. "We're doing a takeoff on
The Taming of the Shrew."

Dad picked up his briefcase from the floor. "Sounds like fun."

"Any word from Mom?"

His eyes deadened. "They're catching the red-eye tonight."

They, not
just
Mom. I felt as though I was standing on the beach and a wave had pulled the sand from under my feet. I curled my toes and dug in, afraid I
'd topple over and the riptide would drag me under.

"We'll talk later." Dad shifted his attention to Aidan. "What time do you need a ride home? I don't want your guardian to worry."

"I often stay late at the library, so no set time. Whatever works for you."

Dad checked his watch. "Write your play. I have some calls to make and other work to do. If you finish before I do, come get me in the study."

"Sounds good." The rushing sensation abated. "Thanks, Dad."

"Yes. Thanks, Mr. Miller."

Dad tweaked my nose like I was a three-year-old. Maybe he wanted to revert back, like the grimoire, to a different time — back when Amy and I had been his two little princesses and life had seemed simpler.

"We'll still have time for Chinese food tonight. Aidan, you are welcome to join us."

"Thanks, sir."

For a second, life sprung back in Dad's eyes, and he winked at me. I bet he planned to order a massive amount of food, then insist Aidan take home the leftovers. "My door will be open," he warned over his shoulder.

I held still, barely breathing, while Dad strode down the hall, his progress measured by the quick thud of his footfalls on the parquet floor and the fading click of Einstein's nails. When he didn't say anything about the brimstone stink bomb, I blew a long breath out my mouth.

"Shall we get to work?" I reached for my backpack.
Write the play, eat dinner, take Aidan home, discover a Get Well Spell,
then go to airport. Maybe I
'd get lucky. Maybe Aidan suffered from selective amnesia and would forget about the grimoire.

He crossed his arms across his chest. "We need to talk."

Guess I can scratch amnesia off my list.

"Okay." I unzipped my backpack, pulled out my notebook and copy of
The Taming of the Shrew
, and sat down
.

Aidan twirled the chair next to me and straddled it like he was getting on a horse. I swallowed a nest of nerves. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on top of the black seat back. "How long have you had the
Grey Grimoire?"

"The what?"

His hands clutched the lacquered chair. My stomach knotted as the color drained from his knuckles. "The
Grey Grimoire. You know, the insanely dangerous spell book you hid in your boot box.
"

"It's not dangerous. It's just — rambunctious. And FYI, its name is
Teen Wytche.
"

He jerked back.
"'Teen Wytche?' What are you talking about?
"

"Shh. Lower your voice." I glanced toward the hall to make sure Dad wasn't spying. "It started as a paperback book called
Teen Wytche. Then it morphed into this ancient-looking grimoire with vellum pages and a plum leather cover. Then something happened and the grimoire went into self-destruct mode. I
've been trying to fix it."

"You've been trying to fix the
Grey Grimoire?"

"No.
I've been trying to fix
Teen Wytche.
"

Aidan plowed his fingers through his hair. "Let's back up. What made the spell book self-destruct?"

I squirmed in my seat, shifting my knees away from him. "I can't tell you."

Aidan straightened his spine, his hands dropping to his thighs with a loud slap. "Come on!"

"I'm sorry, but it's a secret."

"At least tell me how you acquired it."

"Someone gave it to me." I shot him my best I'm-No-Stool-Pigeon stare, but Parvani's name begged to catapult from my lips. A frustrated silence stretched out between us.

Aidan rubbed the back of his neck, then angled toward me and resumed strangling the seat back. "Okay. I'll go first." The intense look in his eye sent shivers rippling across my shoulders. "Some extremely dangerous people—" his voice dropped half an octave "—are searching for the grimoire."

"Teen Wytche?"

"Its real name is the
Grey Grimoire
. According to the treasure hunters, two sisters, Elena and Ana, fell in love with the same guy, Cristofor Grey. Both women possessed magic, but only Elena recorded her spells. When Grey fell in love with Elena instead of the more beautiful Ana, Ana was convinced Elena had entrapped him with magic."

My thoughts leapt to Parvani and how she had tried to ensnare Jordan with a wrongful love spell.

"Ana became obsessed with stealing the grimoire. She was sure it contained the most powerful magic imaginable."

"Did she steal it?"

"Yes. But she could never unlock its secrets. The book transformed and became unreadable. Ana went mad trying to change it back. Then the grimoire disappeared. Ana believed Elena had reclaimed it. Ana's descendants have been searching for it ever since."

I swiveled toward him and leaned in. "Are the dangerous people you mentioned Ana's descendants?"

"The Roma offering the reward may be related to Ana. But they have no clue you have the grimoire. I don't know about Magdalena or Papo."

"Who?"

Aidan shook his head. "It's complicated. The important thing is they will do anything to steal the grimoire.
Anything." A shadow darkened his smoky eyes. I swallowed, wondering what horrible memory Magdalena and Papo had conjured up.

"Magdalena smelled the grimoire on me after you and I held hands in the movie. We can't let her steal it. She wants it to acquire more power."

"Are you serious? She can smell magic?" The nearly invisible blond hairs on my forearm stood on end. "What did she do?"

Aidan fingered the bruises on his jaw. "I don't want to talk about it."

My heart tightened.
Had she hit him? Should I tell Miss Gaya or one of our teachers? Shouldn't someone call Child Protective Services?

"We have to destroy the grimoire."

"We can't!" Desperation thinned my voice. "It might contain a cure for Amy. It has to."

"You wanted to repair it to save your sister?"

"Can you think of a better reason?"

"Guess not." Aidan swung off the chair and paced. "You know it's a long shot, right? Magic can't cure anyone."

My shoulders lifted in a shrug. I felt like my little statue in Art, unable to hold up the world.

Aidan sighed. "Grab the book. We'll search for a healing spell."

"But you can't touch it or Magdalena will—"

"I'll read over your shoulder. Do you think the pages were restored?"

"I don't know. It doesn't look like
Teen Wytche anymore. It transformed into something older.
"

Aidan frowned. "The
Grey Grimoire
."

"Maybe. Stay here. No boys allowed in the bedrooms."

A sheepish grin curled the corners of his mouth. "Miller Rule Number One? I already broke it." He moved as if to follow me.

I pressed my palm against his chest. "And if Dad catches you in there, I'll be grounded and you won't be allowed back."

He raised his hands in an I-Give-Up gesture and backed up.

"We can't tell my dad. He has enough worries." I knew finding a curative spell was about as likely as me getting an A on an English exam, but it was the only hope I had. "Be right back." I squared my shoulders. It would take more than a madwoman named Magdalena to stop me.

Chapter Eighteen

The sense of doom festering in my stomach worsened when Salem returned. The heavy-looking tote bag slung against her hip caused her to list like a sailboat in the San Francisco Bay. Judging from the desperate glint in her eyes, she was one setback away from losing it.

With care, she hefted the nylon bag onto the table beside her copy of
The Taming of the Shrew. "
There's good news—" her voice cracked "—and wretched news."

I swung my leg over the chair and sat. "Give it to me."

"The pages have been restored. No more burned parts or machine-printed pages."

"Awesome." I gripped the seat back. "And the bad news?"

Salem blinked back tears and swiped her sleeve across her eyes. "The writing isn't in English anymore. Amy returns tonight, and I can't decipher a single word. I can't believe this!" She slid the grimoire from the bag and opened it to the first page.

I squinted at the miniscule writing, skimming over the unfamiliar letters and symbols. "What kind of person writes so small?"

Salem shrugged. "Someone who doesn't want to be read?"

"Or someone who wants you to work for it." I scooted closer to her to improve my angle. Energy, like a live wire, encircled my worn hiking boots, twitching my toes. I stomped one foot then the other to dispel it, but the force coiled up the narrow divide between our bodies. Tiny jolts zapped my ankle, then my calf. My thigh buzzed. My stomach tumbled. My elbow hurt as if I had struck my funny bone. Salem splayed her hand. I gripped the seat back, ready to lift the chair and move aside, when a word at the bottom of the page rippled and reformed. My breath caught, like a genie trapped in a bottle.

Salem gasped.

I jumped from the chair and reread the signature. "Elena
.
"

"No way
."

Tiny, distant bells pinged in my ears. The current between us vanished. Amber, jasmine, and musk filled the air.
Wait until I tell Kali. Queasiness snaked into my gut. How long would Kali be able to hold out against Magdalena
's hex hives and Papo's fists?
Not long.

"Come on. Come on," Salem urged the book. "Show us more."

Nothing.

Salem glided her hand above the page. "Language lost, meaning hidden. Reveal your secrets as bidden."

My lungs swelled with trapped breath.

Nothing.

"So mote it be," Salem commanded.

"Check some of the other pages."

"Right." Salem fingered the vellum page edges, then opened the grimoire to a page two-thirds into the book. Her shoulders sagged.

"Try another one," I urged.

She chose a page from the middle of the grimoire. "It's not working. The words and symbols are still unreadable." She leaned low over the spell book and pleaded, "Please show me how to help Amy."

I willed the grimoire to respond.

Three sharp barks from the entry shattered the silence. I would have jumped out of my hiking boots if the broken strings weren't knotted together.

Salem flattened her hand against her chest. "Einstein! The neighbor's cat must be on the porch again." She fingered the skin around her eyebrow stud. "What made the writing change?"

"I have no idea."

"What language do you think the rest of it is? Greek? Arabic?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I have no idea." I thought the Roma rarely wrote things down. So if one did, what language would she use? What did Romany derive from?

To her credit, Salem didn't say something snarky like, "You're useless." Instead, she scratched the silver leaves on her wrist. "There is something familiar about the way the words are written."

"Don't witches have a secret language?"

"In modern Wicca, sure. But it resembles runes, not this." Silence stretched out between us. After several minutes, Salem shook her head. "I'm too freaked out to remember."

"Put away the spell book." I forced myself to sound calm, as if I wasn't terrified Magdalena would seek me out and detonate another psychic attack. Or worse, pound on the front door. "While we do our homework, your subconscious will figure it out. Or maybe more words will change into English."

"I hope so. Weird how the signature changed for you."

"For us."

Salem fired off a doubtful expression, but closed the grimoire and slid it back inside the tote, which she placed at her feet. Her narrow shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. "Okay. Gears switched. On to Shakespearean English. Kill me now."

"Nah. You're too much fun alive." I cleared my throat and straddled the chair. "I believe we established Hortensio could, indeed, unknowingly give Bianca an ancient grimoire disguised as a book of sheet music. True?"

Salem's lips spread into a wicked smile. "If such a thing existed."

My gaze flitted to the bag at her feet. "Which would be highly improbable."

"Totally." Salem's eyes gleamed. I could almost see wings unfold from her shoulders. Fairy. Witch. Goth. I didn't know what she was. I just knew I couldn't let Magdalena or Papo anywhere near her.