Wicked Sense Read online

  Drake comes back. After a few awkward moments between Gemma and him, I tell him he can go home. I shoot a look to Gemma, who huffs and puffs, but leaves us alone for a moment. I beckon to Drake.

  He approaches my bed. I think about kissing him. But it would only confuse him further.

  Instead, I whisper in his ear, “Thank you. I’ll tell you what happened. I promise.”

  He nods, but leaves without smiling.

  Oh, Goddess.

  Chapter 25: Drake

  Skye called my house this morning. She wants to meet and talk. I’m glad she’s keeping her promise. I pick her up. Yep, I’m skipping school again.

  We need to get new phones (Mona is going to be mad). I choose a mall on the Eastside. We cross the 520 bridge on our way over, the waves splashing on the sides of the floating structure. I want to put an ocean between us and Jane, but I guess Lake Washington will have to do. Besides, I don’t want to run into anybody I know while we have our little chat.

  At the store, I ask for waterproof phones. The sales clerk gives us horrible service, but Skye can’t stop laughing.

  I know of this big, beautiful park south of the mall, nestled between tall office buildings. We buy ice cream and amble over there. We pick a bench apart from everybody else and watch the joggers circle the half-mile ring around the park. On the lawn, away from us, a dog fetches a Frisbee. To our right, water cascades into a mirror pool. I don’t like being so close to water after our recent experience, but Skye doesn’t mind.

  We finish our ice creams and take our time.

  “So…” I say.

  “So…”

  “Ladies first.” I bow theatrically.

  She sighs and looks down. Then a burst of words comes out of her.

  “Jane approached me when school was over. She wanted to talk, away from other people. I still can’t believe I fell for that.”

  I put my hand on hers. “You’re just too trusting.”

  She shakes her head. “I should have learned not to be by now.”

  “What do you mean?” I hope she’s not talking about me.

  Skye glances at me, but soon lowers her eyes again. “I thought the pool building would be empty, and we went there. We talked a little bit, and when I got distracted, she pulled out a knife and hit me with its butt. That’s the last thing I remember.”

  She looks at me with expectant eyes. Maybe she realizes I know she’s lying. Well, no reason to leave her hanging.

  “What did you talk about? Me? Mr. Darcy?”

  She turns to me and says, “Who?”

  “Your boyfriend? Or is he Jane’s now?”

  Her hand grabs the bench. “Jane’s?”

  I’m angry, but I can’t leave her in the dark. “Jane told me she hooked up with your ex. British dude. What is he doing here?”

  Her other hand covers her mouth. A light shines in her eyes. “He knows her! Wait. That’s how he knows her?”

  She bites her fist softly, staring into the distance. It’s like I’m not here.

  “Snap out of it, Skye. Do you think that’s why she attacked you?”

  Skye turns to me, her eyes wide. “It might be.” She sounds detached.

  I try to forget what her shocked reaction spells for me. She has feelings, huge feelings for this guy. I’ll go into that later. Now I need to know something else.

  Slowly, I reach for her hand, the one still covering her mouth, and ask, “What did you talk about then? Why did you act like you knew each other on your first day?”

  She looks past me. She’s making something up.

  Even now, she won’t tell me the truth.

  I give her another chance. “Before you answer, there’s something you must know. When I arrived at the pool, Jane was in a trance of sorts, chanting or praying or whatever, with blood on her hands, totally spazzed out.”

  Skye’s body jerks back. She tries to pull her hand away, but I hold it firmly in mine.

  I hate myself, but I have to go on. “Just like you were when the tree hit me.”

  She stares at me. For a long time, she doesn’t move a muscle. I slowly let go of her hand.

  I have to close the deal. “So, you are in a cult. And you’re messed up enough to try to kill each other.”

  She bites her lower lip. All that, and she still won’t talk to me. I reach for my ultimate weapon. I say, “I’m cool with that, as long as you invite me to your naked dances in the woods.”

  Not even a smile. Tough crowd.

  Chapter 26: Skye

  Jane performed a ritual. And Drake saw me performing mine in the woods.

  Oh, Goddess. I broke the Veil.

  I try to think of a story. Anything will do. He mentioned a cult. That’s a good one. Go with it, Skye.

  But I draw a blank. My thoughts keep coming back to Connor. To Connor with Jane. To Jane. Why didn’t she finish me off? Why would she perform a ritual while I drowned? I list the rituals I know and the ones I’ve only heard of, but nothing fits.

  And Drake knows. He just knows. That’s why he’s overwhelming me with all this. He looks at me in a way he never did before. He’s not exactly angry, or sad. But all his sweetness is gone.

  As if on cue, he says, “Won’t you tell me the truth?”

  I can’t bear it. “What do you want me to say? That I’m a witch? That’s ridiculous!”

  He shakes his head. “Skye, in the woods, a tree hit me. My dad was right. I should have been gone. I was gone. You brought me back.”

  I’m trembling. “I was gone, and you brought me back,” I argue.

  “Through CPR, not some weird voodoo!” his voice rises. “Level with me, Skye.”

  I look down. “I just can’t.”

  He sighs and says, “Explain it to me, or I’ll go to the police. Give me a good reason why Jane shouldn’t be in juvie right now.”

  Drake isn’t kidding. I look at him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  His voice is cold, and it breaks my heart. “I’ve been nothing but understanding since I’ve met you. Come on, Skye. You owe me that much.”

  Forgive me, Goddess. I just can’t go on.

  “I’m a witch. And Jane is a witch. And Connor, too. A male witch.” I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud.

  And I hope he can’t either.

  “So, is that a cult, a religion, a New Age thing?” No sarcasm in his voice.

  I’ll just lay it on him. “It’s none of those. Well, it is a religion. But it’s the real deal. And we can do magic.”

  “Do it, then.” His expression is inscrutable.

  “What?”

  “Do you have to hide? Is that it?”

  Something’s wrong. “I don’t understand,” I say. “Do you believe me or not?”

  He sighs. “I believe you believe it, or you wouldn’t waste time doing a ritual while I was dying. And I believe Jane believes it, or she wouldn’t let you drown while she did her thing. So,” he says, leaning back, “unless you are both psychos playing with other people’s lives, I imagine you have a good reason to say you can do magic.”

  I look around. We’re still alone. “We can do it. It’s just a part of our philosophy, but we can do it. Through rituals, enchantments, potions, charms.”

  “You have no idea how silly this sounds,” he says.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Okay…” he says. “So, there’s no wand? No turning into a toad? Or, what else? Oh, I know. What about controlling the elements, shooting fire from your fingertips? No?”

  It’s disheartening watching Drake turn into this cynical, cruel guy.

  “That’s not fair,” I mumble.

  “Yeah. To me,” he says.

  “Put yourself in my shoes, Drake. What do you want from me? You asked me about it.”

  He shakes his head. “Okay, okay. Just assume I’m stupid, and tell me how this works.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Let’s not get into that right now. Just convince me.”

>   This is ridiculous. I don’t want to convince him, quite the opposite. But he’ll go to the police and create a real mess. I prefer trying to explain it to him than to anyone else. I imagine a detective telling me, So, you’re saying that when the victim, Drake Hunter, was lying unconscious on the ground, you, instead of calling for help, decided to perform an ancient, ahem, ritual. And you’re the daughter of Katherine Lexington-Ellis… Not the British actress, I presume?

  They would involve Aunt Gemma. And Drake’s family. The school too, since Jane attacked me on the school grounds and we’re both students. They would bring Jane for questioning: who knows what that psychopath would do then? News sites would carry the log line, “Movie star’s daughter caught in intrigue of murder and witchcraft,” or something cheesy like that. Oh, Goddess, imagine the tabloids back home! The Mothers would go insane.

  That would be a huge breach of the Veil, in addition to totally compromising the search for the Singularity.

  Forgive me, but I’m going to break the Veil a little bit, to just one person, because the alternative could be catastrophic.

  And I still have a little hope he won’t believe me.

  Chapter 27: Drake

  Skye pauses again, calculating. I don’t care. We have the whole day.

  “If I tell you, do you promise you won’t go to the police?”

  “I can’t promise that,” I say. “She did try to kill you, after all. But I’ll tell you what: if you give me a good reason, I promise I’ll consider your request.”

  She nods. This must be hard for her. She looks at the trees, as if begging their forgiveness. Or maybe I’m getting crazy too.

  “The ritual I did was an old one. It was supposed to stabilize your body, or to affect your blood flow. I don’t know how it works, actually. Mum never explained it to me.”

  “Your mother? Is she a witch too?” Now I’m wondering whether Skye was brainwashed as a child.

  She bites her lower lip before saying, “Y-yes. We can go into that later. What I don’t know is why Jane didn’t stab me.”

  “I have no idea,” I say. “Maybe to make it look like an accident?”

  “I don’t think so. Maybe it’s related to the ritual that she was performing. I bet she wasn’t trying to save me. I really don’t know.”

  “You don’t know much, do you?” I’m amused.

  “It’s all very complicated. It takes us years—a lifetime—to learn. I doubt there’s even a single person that knows all the rituals and everything that’s behind them. Jane and I, we’re so young; we know just the basics. And not the same things, obviously.”

  I kind of settle into the wackiness of the conversation. We might as well be talking about music, or the weather. I lean back on the bench, asking casually, “What about the other things? Enchantments and whatnots?”

  My posture relaxes her a little bit, or maybe she’s just that into the subject, because her mood improves. No more hand-wringing now. She says, “These are incantations we say out loud, usually protection and shield rituals. Some of us do them every morning.”

  “Like prayers?”

  “Kind of, but they are more effective.”

  I nod. What can I say? I have no religion. I am a non-practicing, no-thinking-about-it generic Christian, and I go to church exactly once in never. But I respect other people’s beliefs, and I try not to mock them. You know, just in case they got the right answer, and I’m somehow angering their god. Or gods.

  But I give her the same look I give Scientologists.

  She must be expecting it, because she doesn’t miss a beat. “The potions can be beverages or oils or creams or—”

  “Like the one you used on your face,” I interrupt her. “You know, when you went blind?” I say without thinking. Boy, I didn’t even notice I was getting carried away.

  She stares at me. Then she slaps my leg. “Of course!” she says. “That was Jane! But that doesn’t explain how I didn’t feel her presence—”

  “Wait!” I say, raising my hand. “You can feel each other’s presence? Like the Force?”

  “Like what?” She narrows her eyes.

  “The Jedi thing?”

  “Oh,” she says. “Well, when you say it like that…”

  “Sounds crazy, I know.” I say, nodding.

  She slaps my leg again, this time trying to hurt me. “Stop it! You wanted to know.”

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t have fun too,” I say, rubbing my thigh.

  She ignores my comment. “We all can feel each other when we’re close. But I have this special Charm that lets me feel other…” She pauses, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder. “…others of my kind from much farther away.”

  “A Charm?”

  “Yes, it’s like an innate power. We can’t turn it off. We all have two.” I look at her inquisitively, and she goes on, “My other is Allure. This sounds embarrassing saying aloud but… I just look good.”

  “I agree,” I say. Come on. That was too easy.

  “And it’s not just that. My skin recovers fast. Minor imperfections go away. I never had an acne problem. I bet my scar”—she points to her right temple—“is going to heal much faster than yours. You’ll see.”

  She pauses, probably catching her breath. Or wondering if I’ll run away from the crazy girl. This gives me time to think. A new batch of questions pops into my head.

  “So, what do you call yourselves?” I ask.

  “Sisters,” she whispers. “Or Mothers, if you’re an elder. And, okay, sometimes, witches.”

  “No, I mean, the name of your church or whatever. What do you call yourselves, I don’t know, in the online forums or in the Facebook groups?”

  She looks at me as if I’m the delusional one. “We don’t have this type of public discussion. It’s not something that we announce to the world.”

  “I can imagine why,” I say. Sometimes I wish I’d shut up.

  Her hoarse voice takes an authoritative tone. “Drake, it’s not a fad. It’s the real thing. We don’t sell our teachings for ten bucks. There’s no downloadable PDFs, no webinars, no speaking gigs, no selling spells on eBay, no workshops. The knowledge is truly secret, passed verbally or via handwritten books, from generation to generation. And only to the true Sisters, the ones who possess magical energy. The ones who had a Daybreak.”

  Skye probably sees a big question mark where my face should be. She sighs. “The day our magical energy activates is called a Daybreak,” she says. “It happens when we’re fifteen or so. Have you ever heard of debutante balls or quinceañeras? Those are remnants of ancient celebrations of girls’ Daybreaks. The true meaning is lost nowadays, of course.”

  Something comes to my mind. As much as it pains me to talk about it, I need to know. “But what about your ex? I mean, he’s a dude, right?”

  “Very much so,” she says, and then she looks at me in alarm. “I mean, it’s rare, but sometimes a man can be a witch.”

  So, the boyfriend is a rare bird. Like a straight male ballet dancer. Which means all the straight female ballet dancers will fall for him, eventually.

  Stop being an ass, Drake, you have more important things to consider.

  “It’s too much,” I say. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my hands pressing my forehead.

  “Hey, you wanted the crash course.”

  Staying still, I ask, “Is there any way you can prove it? To make things easier on me?”

  I wait for a response, but I don’t have to wait long. “We can’t create fireballs or ice storms, nothing like that. The effects of a spell are subtle, sometimes over a long time.”

  “Can’t you brew me a strength potion, or something?” I say from my hunched position. “Do you have this? Like love potions?”

  “I know how to brew a fancy-me potion. It’s very basic, but it lasts just a couple of hours. It’s huge with recent Daybreakers. It makes the boy dizzy and open to suggestion.”

  A spark ignites a memory inside my head. I
straighten up out of reflex.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “How does it taste?”

  “What?” She cocks her head. “Why—”

  “Just tell me,” I plead.

  “You want to see if I’m making this up, right? Like, if I can’t come up with ingredients, you’ll know it’s a lie.”

  “Humor me,” I say with a hint of impatience.

  “Okay. I won’t give you the specifics, not that you could brew it. Even if you could, you have no personal magic. But it’s still a secret. It takes wild berries, silica powder, honey—”

  “Anything citrus?” I ask, interrupting her. “Like orange?”

  Her jaw drops. “Yes, orange, or grapefruit. How—”

  “And an earthy flavor?” I can barely contain myself.

  “Yeah. A mushroom. Why?”

  “Because,” I say, “I think that if you mixed it with beer, it can be a powerful date-rape drug.”

  Skye’s eyes bulge. “How can you possibly know that?”

  Jane drugged me and took advantage of me. I have mixed feelings about that.

  Also, I’m concerned it’s going to sound like the lamest excuse in the history of excuses.

  Chapter 28: Skye

  Drake tells me what he’s been thinking. His theory is not as far-fetched as he thinks. Based on Jane’s actions, it’s totally possible—probable, actually—that she would drug Drake to get some information about me. Or was it just to get Drake to go along with her seduction?

  This is the part where I’m surprised at my own reaction. I recognize the sensation I had many times while (and sometimes, after) dating Connor.

  It’s like this tiny, forgotten part of me is having an anxiety attack. You are well, but this small piece of you keeps nagging you, nibbling your brain, tugging at your heart, making you uneasy for no apparent reason. Yep: jealousy.

  So, I do have feelings for Drake. Huh. For a moment I wonder if it’s just a territorial thing; a sense of entitlement maybe. I feel childish: how dare Jane try to win over my man? Never mind I abandoned him forever and dumped him by text: I called dibs on him!

  I smile in my mind, but my smile somehow spills over my face, and Drake sees it.