Authors: Kristy Tate
“Wait,” I said, feeling conflicted—guilty for being snotty when she’d just given me not one beautiful dress, but five—and more than a little creeped-out that somehow she’d been spying on me and knew I’d tried casting two spells. “I can’t accept the dresses.”
Birdie pinned me with her gaze. “Yes, you can.”
I looked at the dresses, wanting them, wondering if they would fit and how it would feel to wear them. “I guess I can,” I said.
“Good. I’m glad we’re past at least one bit of nonsense. Now, you will want to wear the blue one. Your friend should wear the yellow.”
“Why? What does it matter?”
“It makes all the difference in the world. Everyone knows redheads shouldn’t wear pink.”
“You don’t think that I look too much like Cinderella?” I asked Bree before climbing out of the Hendersons’ van.
“No, you’re beautiful,” Bree said. “How about me—do I look like a bumblebee?”
I shook my head and tucked one of her escaped curls into the hairpin where it belonged. Her up-do looked great. I worried that mine looked as stiff and silicon-like as it felt.
The pendant warmed against me. I placed my hand on it, feeling its growing heat. The enthralling pull I felt when I first saw it returned. I knew its eerie warmth should bother me, but instead, I found it steadying and comforting.
Bree waved good-bye to her dad before sliding the van door shut. We stood on the sidewalk in front of the theater. Time hung in the brief space between night and day. Lights poured through the theater windows. I knew the buffet tables had been set up in the foyer, but that the actual dancing was outside in the courtyard.
“You’re going to dance with Dylan,” Bree whispered. “I just want you to know I’m okay with that.”
“Sisters before misters,” I whispered back.
Bree nodded, making the curls piled on top of her head bounce as we walked up the broad steps leading to the theater entrance.
My thoughts went back to Hugh and the Thornhills, and I wondered where he was now and why he had never returned. What must have it been like to grow up in this rattling old mansion?
For the first time ever, I thought about my own children. Would I raise them in Birdie’s house? She said that someday it would be mine. Could I imagine my children living there? For a split second, I saw two dark haired children running through Birdie’s yard, and the vision made me pause and close my eyes.
I came back to the theater when Bree elbowed me.
“How can you not love him?” Bree said.
I turned to see Dylan standing in the foyer, watching me. Light from a crystal wall sconce radiated over him, and with his thick bronze hair and lean build, he reminded me of a young lion.
And then it hit me. Dylan didn’t love me, as he seemed to think. He was under my spell—just like Uncle Mitch and Janette. And while it was a good thing for Uncle Mitch and Janette—it wasn’t a good thing for Dylan, or for me.
When someone actually fell for me, I wanted it to be because they loved and wanted me. I didn’t want someone chemically—or magically—charmed. I wanted to be loved and wanted for myself. The knowledge surged through me, tingling my fingers and toes.
Dylan made his way toward us. Reaching out, he took my hand to pull me to the courtyard. “You look beautiful.” He nodded at my necklace, and smiled. “I like your pendant.”
I touched it again, loving the necklace, but hating Dylan’s smile.
“My grandmother gave it to me.”
“I know,” he said.
“Hey! Evie!”
I looked up to see Zorro pushing through the crowd. Little Bo Peep and Batman trailed after him.
“Ryan!” I called out, waving with the hand that Dylan hadn’t taken captive. “Court? Austin?”
Court looked great as Bo Peep, but Austin’s Batman cape floated around him and the hat made him look a lot like my cat.
“Bree, these are my friends from Faith Despaign.”
“I’m Zorro,” Ryan said in a terrible Antonio Banderas accent as he swooped his cape around his shoulder and bowed before Bree.
She grinned in response. “I’m Bree.”
“Is that short for Breetiful?” Ryan’s accent wavered between Spanish and British.
“Hey. I’m Batman.” Austin bumped him with his shoulder, making Ryan stumble.
“Yeah, but you look more like Cat Woman,” Ryan said, dropping back into his everyday California accent.
“You guys want to dance?” Court asked, obviously annoyed at being left out.
“I do,” Dylan said, still holding my hand. He led me through the foyer and out the French doors. The others followed, acting a lot like Court’s sheep.
Twinkly lights hung from the trees and tea candles burned on all the tables. Cut crystal vases held bouquets of yellow, orange, and red flowers. Everything looked so beautiful, I felt a rush of happiness as I watched my friends. I thought back to just a few weeks ago when I was sad about leaving Hartly, and scared about going to Faith Despaign. I didn’t know I could make new friends until I did.
I let Dylan pull me into his arms. As the band moved from an oldies number to a Michael Bublé tune, Dylan sang in my ear, his breath tickling my neck.
“You know this?” I asked, surprised, and liking him a little bit better because he knew the words to a syrupy song.
He pulled away so he could look me in the face. “Sure, everyone knows this.”
“I bet they don’t.” I looked over at Ryan. He had Bree wrapped in his arms. “Hey, Ryan, do you know the lyrics?”
Ryan puffed out his chest. “Heck no. I only listen to WROCK and manly stuff.”
“See,” I said to Dylan.
“I bet Batman knows this song,” Dylan said.
“I think it’s cute that you do.”
“I don’t want to be cute. Please don’t think of me as cute.”
“Cute’s nice.”
“If you’re a puppy.” Dylan tightened his hold on me.
“Will you ask Bree to dance next?”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I think she’d like that.”
Dylan looked at Ryan and Bree. On account of Bree’s walking cast, they were barely moving, just swaying in each other’s arms to the music.
“Are you sure?” Dylan asked.
“No.” Suddenly I wasn’t terribly sure about anything. It felt good to be up against Dylan. His breath on my skin sent goose bumps down my spine. His hand on my waist pulled me close, and I liked the way I could feel his heart beating against mine. I closed my eyes and rested my head on his chest. Maybe Dylan wasn’t right for me for forever, but he was definitely right for me tonight.
Hours later when the dance ended, Dylan and I walked through the trellis that led to the parking lot. Away from the twinkly lights and tea candles, we were alone in a secluded shelter of trees.
“Drive you home?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m spending the night at Bree’s, and her dad is picking us up. You know he’s super strict. And if I said you were driving me home when he was already here, he’d make things awkward.”
“Don’t want awkward,” Dylan muttered. Turning, he faced me and touched my chin with his thumb.
I knew he wanted to kiss me, but I wasn’t ready. Not here, not now, and not in front of Bree. Sure, she’d seemed pretty wrapped up in Ryan all night, but . . .
Dylan leaned in.
I pushed away. “Don’t ruin it.”
“How is a kiss going to ruin things?”
I slipped away from him. “Please Dylan, I—”
He took both my arms and pulled me against his chest. “I can kiss you, you know.” It was hard to tell if he was joking or not. His tone sounded light, but the look in his eyes was as serious as a heart attack.
“Dylan, stop it!” I pulled away from him.
A hand on Dylan’s shoulder spun him around.
Josh punched Dylan in the face, bloodying his lip.
“Josh! No!” I stepped between him and Dylan, putting my hands on both of them. They puffed out their chests and flexed their fists.
“Get out of the way, Evie,” Dylan said through tight lips.
“No!” I slapped the front of his shirt.
“You heard him, Evie,” Josh said, sounding ten times scarier than I’d ever heard him before.
“Stop this, Josh!” I grabbed both his arms and walked him away. “He wasn’t hurting me.” I looked to make sure Dylan wasn’t following us. “Besides, he’s your best friend.”
“
Was
my best friend,” Josh growled.
I patted him, looked into his dark eyes, and tried to read his expression. He looked furious. Even more furious than when Lincoln had exposed the cache of love letters he’d written to DeeDee Miller, his childhood crush.
I smiled at the memory.
“What?”
“I love that you’re super protective, but seriously, you have to apologize to Dylan. He didn’t deserve this.”
“Do you like him?”
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know how.
Josh stepped so close his shoes disappeared beneath the frills of my hem. “Did you want him to kiss you?”
“I . . . don’t know.” My voice faltered.
“Not a good enough answer, Evie,” Josh said, turning away.
“Please, Josh, go say you’re sorry. I don’t want to be the reason you and Dylan stop being friends.”
Josh turned and stormed off.
I went back to Dylan. “Look, he’s sorry. I know he is. I don’t know why he’s being this way.”
“I do,” Dylan said, touching his bloody lip. He leaned down. “I’d kiss you, just to prove that you belong with me, but Josh ruined that. I think that was his plan.”
Standing on my tiptoes, I planted a loud kiss on Dylan’s cheek. “There, now go and tell him no hard feelings.”
Dylan barked. “The hell I will.”
Court, Ryan, Austin, and Bree came through the trellis, laughing about something someone had said, but they stopped when Dylan, like a losing prizefighter, stormed past them.
“Oh! I think we missed something!” Court said.
“What happened?” Bree asked.
“What’s with Fox?” Ryan asked.
“Did you do that? Did you bloody his lip?” Austin asked me, his eyes lit with surprise and admiration. “Will you teach me how to box?” He pumped his fists in the air, sparring with no one.
“I didn’t hit Dylan,” I said.
“Someone did,” Bree said, watching his retreating back.
I nodded and took her hand. “Come on, let’s go home. Josh is here.”
“Josh?” Bree echoed as comprehension filled her expression.
“Who’s Josh?” Court asked.
“My brother,” Bree said.
“Oh-h-h,” Austin and Ryan both said at the same time.
“He’s not in a good mood,” I told Bree. “We’d better go.”
Bree and I walked in silence to the idling van at the curb. We didn’t say anything on the car ride home, either. Josh sat behind the wheel, his jaw tight and his expression hostile.
“Can you take me home?” I said.
“Didn’t you want to stay the night?” Bree asked.
“I just want to go home,” I said.
Once in my room, I stepped out of my dress and put on a pair of jeans and a Yale sweatshirt. I grabbed the first book of spells I came to and flipped through it. When I found what I was looking for, I headed for the kitchen.
Uncle Mitch sat at the kitchen table, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, and an open book in front of him. “How was the dance?”
“Good. It was fun until the end.” I put my spell book on the counter and started pulling out ingredients from the cupboard. Turmeric, cumin, sage, rosemary.
Uncle Mitch chuckled. “What happened at the end?”
“It just wasn’t as much fun.” I found a large mixing bowl and a wooden spoon.
“Because you were hungry?” Uncle Mitch nodded at my mess.
“Dylan tried to kiss me, and Josh punched him.”
Uncle Mitch’s coffee mug froze in the air. “Good for Josh,” he said after a moment.
“No, not good for Josh. Dylan is, or was, his best friend. Besides, it was all stupid. Boys are stupid.”
Uncle Mitch smiled and raised his coffee mug at me. “Yes, they are. And they have cooties. Remember that.”
“I’m making these . . . scones for Josh to take to Dylan so they can make up and be friends again.”
Uncle Mitch sipped his drink. “Not sure that’s going to happen, Petunia. Scones don’t have that kind of power.”
“These will.”
“You sound pretty sure of your scones.”
I shrugged and attacked my batter with the wooden spoon. I got the frying pan out, and by the time the oil was popping hot, Uncle Mitch had already squeezed my shoulder on his way to bed.
I glanced at the Hendersons’ house through the window. Despite the fact that it was past midnight, all of their lights were still on. I knew if I walked over there, Josh would be furious and insist on walking me home. And I was done with Josh for the night. I also knew scones were better piping hot. Oh well. They’d have to wait for the morning.
While they cooked, I murmured the incantation.
“Oh Mother Earth and Father Sun,
Set me free of this beloved one,
Remove his power and crippling hold,
That I may dwell in peace alone.
Plague me none with thoughts of him,
Remove from him thoughts of me.
That we each complete may be.”
Right before I went to bed, I checked the book Birdie gave me. I didn’t know if I was happy or sad that the words of the spell didn’t magically appear as Birdie had predicted. But then I noticed the strange lettering running along the edges of the pages, and I realized I’d seen similar lettering before in Tabitha Fox’s scrapbooks. I pulled them up beside me.
I loved looking at the 1980s hairstyles and crazy clothes. And it was especially interesting to look at Tabitha Fox and Lauren Silver—they were both runway model perfect, but Lauren had a fragile, almost eerie beauty. With every page I turned, she caught my eye first. What had happened? What steps had led the 1980s Lauren to become the drunken woman in the orange parka?
I stared at the strange lettering at the bottom of the page. As far as I knew, it wasn’t Russian or Greek, and definitely not Asian. It seemed familiar, and tugged at a distant memory that I couldn’t place. I looked at it closer, and realized the lettering was, in fact, Western, but just really ornately drawn with lots of curlicues and swirls. I went to a translation page on my computer and typed the words in. The translation told me the words were in Gallic.