Spell Struck (9 page)

"Hi Aidan. How was school?" June's face lit with genuine interest. I wondered how often she had heard from her son since he had left for college.

"School was okay." I petted Mitzi, then crouched to pet Artemis. The dog strained against her leash to lick the salt and popcorn residue from my fingers.

"I see you got a ride home," June said.

"Yeah. They're nice people."
Everyone here is so nice. I thought of Papo and his right jab. "
I better go. Homework."

"Sure. Sure. You any good with wood?"

I froze mid-step. "I work with wood a lot. Why?"

"You want to fix my broken step some time? I'll pay you."

"Sure." The stair was a hazard, and I could use the money. "I'll fix it over the weekend if it doesn't rain."

"Excellent." She pulled a pen and used envelope out of her pocket. Next to her name and address she wrote her phone number in small, precise numbers. "Call or just stop by."

"Thanks. I will." I stuffed the envelope into my jeans pocket, then waved goodbye. My fingers were still wet from Artemis's licking. Hopefully someone had saved me clean water so I could wash up.
I bet Jordan and Zhù have never had to go without hot water. Lucky them.

I blew out a long breath, ending my pity party.

Cold from the metal gate latch seared my fingers. I rolled my shoulders.
Home, sweet home. Pushing open the gate, I slid Salem, her friends, and the fun we
'd had into a hidden mental drawer where Papo and Magdalena couldn't touch them. Burying Aidan in another drawer, I slipped into Nico's skin. At the front door, I rapped three times. When no one came to the door, I knocked the code again and pressed my ear to the wood, listening for footfalls within the empty house. Nothing.

Unease wrapped its tentacles around me. Retracing my steps, I realized the van wasn't parked in the driveway. A quick visual sweep of the street failed to locate it. I thought back. Had Papo or Magdalena mentioned going anywhere today? Since they rarely ventured out, I ran through a mental list of possibilities. Maybe their absence had nothing to do with me sneaking off to the movies when I should have been carving boxes. Maybe I wouldn't get a fist or the belt when Papo returned.
Maybe they
aren't
coming back.

"Don't go there," I told myself. But the movie clip set in the hospital had already reopened old wounds, and an emotional tsunami caught my heels and swept me out on a sea of abandonment. I sank into a primal crouch and clutched the wet grass to ground myself.

"Nico?" Kali's hand clasped my shoulder. "You okay?"

I flashed on the day she had led me to Grace Cathedral for free food, then fast-forwarded to the day she, Papo, and Magdalena had spirited me away. I closed my eyes against the memory of the policeman standing over my father and the wail of the approaching ambulance. The police hadn't cared. Not about Dad. Not about me.

"Nico?" Kali's skirt rustled as she knelt beside me. Her arm encircled my shoulder, and she pressed her cheek against mine. I breathed in her cheap hair gel and fast food smells.

"I'm fine."
At least you didn't abandon me. I struggled to stand
, and she released me. "Did you get a restaurant job?

She sniffed. "Can you smell the fries? All I could find was a waitressing job in a fifties diner." She shook a white, grease-stained bag in front of my face. "I brought you a burger."

My stomach growled.

"It used to be warm." She sighed.

"Someday—"

"We'll live in a house—"

"With heat and hot water." I pressed my forehead to Kali's. Fatigue shadowed her jade-green eyes. Playfully, I snatched the bag from her hand and popped a couple of room-temperature fries into my mouth. "Um. Yum."

"You're welcome." She hugged her torso. "It's getting chilly. Isn't anyone home?"

"No. Did they say anything to you about going out?"

"No. There wasn't much gas left in the van. They couldn't have gone far."

I tried the doorknob. Locked.

"Let's check the sliding glass doors."

I chowed down the burger while we trudged through the side yard to the back. I tugged on the master bedroom slider. Locked.

"I am so not in the mood for this." Kali strode to the kitchen slider and yanked on the handle. The glass door glided open. "Thank goodness. I've been on my feet all day and had to hike up the hill from the bus stop." She crossed the threshold into the cold, damp house.

I peered into the bucket by the chipped kitchen sink. "We still have water."

"You'll need it to wash down the dinner I brought you."

I tipped water into two plastic cups Kali had brought home from a previous job. "Cheers."

She tapped her glass against mine. "To dreams coming true."

"Amen."

"Six more months." Her mantra.

"You should leave now."

She ruffled my hair. "Can't. I'm responsible for you."

A rush of sentimentality swept through me. I set the glasses on the counter, then clasped Kali's hands. "You deserve to be safe and happy."

"You too." Her lips trembled. "I'm sorry I got you into this."

"You thought you were helping me." I shrugged. "So don't worry about me. Escape while you can. Just find a way to let me know you are okay."

Kali's brow furrowed, making her look older. "Social media would be the only way. You use the library and school computers sometimes, right?"

"Yeah. I could set up something. I'd do it under my real name."

"Wherever I work, someone always brings in a laptop. I could charm someone into helping me set up an account." Her gaze climbed upward. "I'd do it under Kali Cooper, like we were real cousins, not pretend."

"I like it."

The floorboards squeaked. The flesh on my nape crawled. Heart jumping, I released Kali's hands.

"Well isn't this a pretty sight." Papo's body convulsed and his hands tightened into fists. He glanced over his shoulder. "Old woman, you ever see these two so chummy? Maybe we've been missing something."

The burger congealed inside me.

Magdalena pushed Papo aside like his mean, wiry frame was an incidental bother that had strayed onto her path. The soiled hem of her long skirt swayed beneath her ratty thrift-shop coat as she stormed toward us. Her gaze latched onto me, wild and menacing. Beneath my jacket, gooseflesh rose on my forearms. Magdalena jerked her pointy chin at me. "I smell the
Grey Grimoire on you, boy.
"

Chapter Eleven

Tension crackled in the house like an impending storm. Einstein slipped between my feet as I closed my bedroom door against Dad, against Mom, and most of all, against the specter of my sister.

I crouched and rubbed Einstein's head. "Amy is coming back, you know." Einstein trotted to the door and whined.
So much for bonding. I opened the door wide enough for the cockapoo to squeeze through and then closed it and rotated the lock.

Worry and dread piled like decaying dictionaries in my stomach. I rolled my desk chair to the closet and pulled down the boot box from the top shelf. Like a bomb squad officer handling an explosive device, I carried the box to my altar and removed the lid. Blue light exploded in my face. A cord of magic whipped around my waist and sent me spinning. Silver stars sparkled before my eyes. Blinded, I toppled onto my bed.

"Hey!" I screamed.

The grimoire emitted three cheerful chirps.

I inched into a sitting position. Squeezing my eyes shut did zip to stop the galaxy whirling around me. My eyebrow stud buzzed as if hit by an electrical current. "Make it stop!"

The grimoire whistled, like air released from a balloon. The blue light and silver stars vanished. I lowered my arm, which had been pressed across my eyes, and blinked. The magic's vapor trail had left a sunburn-like swath around my eyebrow stud and the space between my eyes throbbed.

"Toothpick?" Dad rapped on the door, then jiggled the doorknob. "Are you all right? We heard a scream."

"Sorry, Dad. A huge spider just crawled out of my closet."

"Why is this door locked?"

I stumbled to my feet, unlocked the door, and opened it a crack. "I was about to meditate. You know, about Amy."

Dad sniffed the air. "You weren't doing drugs?"

"Have I ever?"

Dad relaxed against the doorpost and flicked his finger down the bridge of my nose. "Don't start. It would kill your mother."

"Promise."

Dad gestured toward the altar. The dictionaries piled in my stomach tumbled. "Ask your Goddess of Compassion to help Amy."

My body deflated. I glanced at my Kwan Yin statue. "Already on it."

"Your mother booked a seat on the red eye. I'm going to drive her to the airport after dinner. Want to come?"

"Can't. Tons of homework."

"Okay. You can meditate until dinner. Afterwards, dishes, homework, then bed. Got it?"

"Got it."

Dad reached out and gathered me in a huge hug. "Love you, Toothpick."

"Love you, too, Dad."

He released me and headed down the hall. His shoulders sagged; his fingers twitched. Amy wasn't home yet, and already my parents were shell-shocked.

With a measured push, the door clicked shut. A rustling sound, like leaves stirred by a gentle breeze, filled my ears. Even though the source didn't seem to be my window, I glanced at it anyway.
Nope. Closed. Absently, I rubbed my left wrist. The rustling stopped. My wrist tingled.

Realization crept up my spine and activated the high beams in my brain. I rolled my eyes downward for a sneak peek. The silver leaves on my wrist swayed. Maybe the blue light had damaged my vision. Maybe I was the crazy one, not Amy.

I dove for my bed and pulled my pillow over my face. A spicy scent tickled my nose.
The grimoire. I chucked the pillow, checked my necklaces, and confirmed I hadn
't lost my protective pentacle in the magical smackdown.

As an added precaution, I mentally drew a five-pointed star in each corner of the room. The time for protective warding had long passed, but the familiar act helped me focus. The spell book's magic was far beyond anything described in my beginning Wicca books. I hoped the grimoire couldn't smell fear. If it could, I was in deeper trouble than I had thought.

I glanced at my framed
Practical Magic movie poster. The two actresses portraying witch sisters stared back.
What would a powerful witch do?

I flashed on the warning signs listed in the suicide prevention pamphlet: unrelenting low mood; hopelessness; change in eating or sleeping habits; withdrawal from friends, family, and activities; mental illness; drug and alcohol use; neglect of personal appearance; anxiety; stomachaches; headaches; fatigue; previous suicide attempt… The list went on, causing fear to scroll down my spine.
If Amy doesn't get help, she might die. I needed whatever Get Well spell might be hidden within the damaged grimoire. I needed it
now.

I oozed off my bed, hit the floor, and knelt on my hands and knees. Dropping further, I commando-crawled to the altar. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sprang up and grabbed the grimoire. "Listen, you—"

I gaped down at the spell book. A fresh patch of the cover had been restored to plum leather with embossed silver leaves. "You're getting better!" I pulled the box onto the floor and placed the spell book on the altar. "But why?"

The grimoire banged open, knocking a silver bell to the floor. Singed pages — partially vellum, but mostly modern paper — riffled, creating a cool, spice-scented breeze. The book fell open to a familiar, half-damaged page.

"The love spell." I could still decipher the remaining spidery scrawl with its dire warnings against binding a person through magic. "But I didn't direct my spell at a particular boy. I asked the Universe to send me a boy with certain qualities."
And it sent Aidan. I thought back to how he had traced the silver leaves on my wrist.
And now there are more leaves on the grimoire.

"I was right! Parvani's wrongful love spell almost destroyed you. Now, my rightful love spell is restoring you."

I flipped through the grimoire. Most of the vellum with its spidery handwriting was still gone. The modern-day pages revealed innocuous spells with titles like "Best Friend Bonding Balm," and "Speak to Magical Creatures Spell." I knew they wouldn't contain a cure for Amy. The spell I needed, if it existed, would be found in the ancient part of the grimoire.

I sunk back on my heels.
There's only one way to restore the spell book.

I have to get Aidan to fall in love with me.

Chapter Twelve

"Your nose is playing tricks on you, Magdalena," Kali said. "Nico smells like cold burger and fries, not some ancient grimoire."

"You dare question me?" The old woman traced a symbol in the air and spat words I couldn't understand. Kali shrieked, then clutched her neck where an angry-looking hex hive had erupted.

"Stop it!" I shouldered in front of Kali.

Papo shoved between Magdalena and me and grabbed my jaw. "Where have you been, Nico?"

My eyes watered as Papo's fingers dug into my skin. "Just school." His forearm pressed against my throat, cutting off my breath. "Nowhere… else."

Papo jerked his hand away. His eyes narrowed as he studied my face, probably calculating how visible my bruises would be tomorrow morning. If I showed up at school with a bruised face, someone was bound to call law enforcement. If they did, no way would I lie to protect Papo. I'm not a little kid anymore, and Papo sure isn't my father. He had broken his own rule, Number Three: avoid trouble. Ditch anyone or any scene likely to attract the cops, or worse, the Feds.

I shielded my thoughts. The last thing I wanted was to be kept out of school or spirited back to San Francisco and thrust into foster care.

"Let me see," Magdalena commanded.

Papo stepped aside, and Magdalena narrowed her bulging eyes. It was the same squint she always gave the map just before she picked the next town she was sure harbored the elusive spell book. Behind me, Kali inched closer. My back tingled as she blended her energy field with mine.