Broken Spell Page 3

  “But still, you can do magic.”

  “Sure. Don’t get me wrong. It’s great. Amazing, really. Being a witch is the greatest experience and totally worth the countless hours of training. But Mona wouldn’t be your regular witch—”

  “As regular as a witch can be…”

  She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Silly. But a good point,” she concedes.

  “How can they get to Mona? If she’s in danger, she can always start a fire or a blaze.”

  “Not without breaking the Veil, she can’t. Then every coven on Earth will be after her again. And what if they—I don’t know—knock her out and steal her powers before she wakes up?”

  I feel a bitter taste in my mouth. “So Mona would be doing what? Training her whole life? Incarcerated in a monastery or something?”

  Skye looks at me with pleading eyes. “That’s where the ‘don’t hate me’ part comes into play. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Not for sure. I can make an educated guess. Mona would be taken from your family. She’d have to live far away, only surrounded by Sisters and trustworthy Knowings.”

  “Wouldn’t that be her choice? They wouldn’t make her a prisoner, right?”

  She stops, making me halt too. “No. Any other Sister, maybe. But not Mona. She hasn’t been raised as a Sister. Her power is so unfathomable that they can’t take that risk. If Mona is exposed, we all are. The covens just can’t hope for the best and let her be free. They must ensure the Singularity will never break the Veil.”

  We see a cyclist and step out of the way, onto the grass. I look around, confused, as if the real world is the strange one.

  “And what would they do?”

  “That’s what concerns me the most, Drake. They would do anything. We’ve heard stories about how rebellious Sisters were kept in check with potions and spells. To protect the Veil.”

  “I thought you were the good guys.”

  Her expression hardens. “We are. But we can’t be passive when someone threatens our existence. Even if the threat comes from inside our own circles.”

  The chilly wind strikes my face. On the lake, a couple of seagulls are playing tag.

  “So do you hate me?” Skye asks. Her voice is raspier than before.

  I lean over and kiss her. She hugs me tight.

  Her face is close to mine when I whisper, “I could never hate you. I need to think about this more. You may have made the right decision, after all.”

  “The truth is, it should be your decision too. And your Dad’s. And Mona’s most of all, of course.”

  We hold hands and resume our walk.

  Something tugs at my brain. I ask her, “What makes you think Mona is in better hands now? We know nothing. She can do magic and post it on YouTube, for all we know, and we wouldn’t be able to stop her. Why would she listen to us?”

  “Because you’re family. And I’m her friend. Mona listens to us. She trusts us. And we trust her.”

  “Does that make a difference?”

  “Maybe that’s the only difference that matters.”

  ***

  When I imagined having a steady girlfriend, I always listed the perks. We’d date and make out and do nothing and everything. It didn’t cross my mind that there would be much more than that. Not negative things. Just unexpected things.

  Skye is a person, not a figment of my imagination or an idealized poster girl. She has the average number of problems of a regular girl, plus the considerations of being the daughter of a famed movie star. Oh, and a witch. Not a regular witch—a celebrity witch, since she found the Singularity.

  There’s also the annoying fact that her ex, Connor, is a witch dude as well. I try to be cool about it, I really do, but it’s…complicated. I want to be the understanding boyfriend, not the psychotically jealous one, but in the end I feel like a mix of both.

  She told me that he called and asked to meet her. His request did not sit well with me.

  At home, alone, I try to wrap my head around it. I look around the kitchen, trying to figure out something useful to do. Even homework would be fine, but my school was razed by the fire. That’s how nervous I am: I miss school.

  Sometimes it feels like a dark cloud follows me everywhere. Then I realize I live in Seattle.

  I open the fridge, looking for a Coke, but I find only green tea and a Red Bull. Energy drink it is.

  Bad choice. After a few minutes, I get even antsier. I resist the urge to call her.

  It’s not that I’m concerned that something could happen. I trust Skye. I don’t trust her ex, especially with all those Fancy Me potions flying around. He’s a player. I can tell. I’ve been friends with Boulder and Sean long enough.

  The front door opens, and Mona comes in.

  “In here,” I shout.

  She joins me in the kitchen. “You look terrible. Are you drinking? Alone?”

  “Where have you been, Mona?”

  “Having a life. Definitely not being miserable by myself. And where’s Skye?”

  “I don’t know. She might even be meeting her ex—”

  “She dumped you again? Is that why you’re drinking?”

  I raise the can with the label toward her. “It’s an energy drink, sis. Skye is doing witch stuff, I guess.” I empty the can and smash it on the table.

  Mona is startled.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just wish all the witches were girls.”

  Mona squints at me. “You’re imagining them dancing naked in the woods, aren’t you?”

  In spite of myself, I snort. “No, no! Well, I am now.”

  “Have fun with the thought. Now, I’ll go do homework. Some of us have school tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for setting my school on fire, by the way.”

  She smirks. “When do your classes start?”

  “They say Fremont will be ready for us on Monday.”

  “Are you all going there?”

  “Yes. I don’t know how Priscilla did it, but her father made the district put us all in the same school.”

  “Hey, speaking of fathers: where’s ours?”

  “Still working.”

  Mona starts to climb the stairs. “Some things never change.”

  Chapter 7: Skye

  One of the best things about not having school is spending the morning with your hot boyfriend. His sister is in school; his father, at work. We have the house to ourselves. But we stay in the bedroom.

  For once, Seattle’s weather is welcoming. The trickle of raindrops on the roof is relaxing. My phone plays an endless Maroon 5 playlist at such a low volume that we can’t hear the lyrics. Not that we’re paying any attention to the sounds around us.

  Drake and I have lost our shirts, and we’re under the sheets. From time to time, we stop to rest. I’m in no hurry. We have all the time in the world.

  During one of these breaks, he props himself on one elbow while I lie down by his side, my eyes closed. He touches the tattoo on my hips, lingering there for a while. I catch my breath, but his hand moves to caress the fading scar on my arm, then the one on my temple. I feel his fingertip tracing my forehead, my eyebrows, the bridge of my nose, my cheekbones. His slightest touch sets my body on fire.

  Only the natural light of a dark gray day enters the room through the rain-stricken windows. The softness of the dim light allows me to be less shy. It’s cold outside, but in here, the heat increases.

  I roll onto his chest and kiss his neck softly. It’s his turn to keep his eyes shut. My pale skin contrasts with his darker complexion. His arms embrace me in a loose grip while my lips make their way to his broad swimmer’s shoulders. I dare to give him soft bites. I’m not sure what he likes, but until he tells me to stop, I’ll enjoy myself. My kisses spread to his toned upper body. His chest goes up and down as he takes deep breaths. My hands cannot stop touching his hardened abs.

  The fragrance of lavender and aloe body wash entices me. Drake was taking a shower when I
let myself in this morning. I thought hard about being very forward then, but I decided for the slow approach. I’m glad I did. Now I can’t help it: I’m giving in to my impulses.

  “Do you like it?” I whisper.

  “I do.” His response is almost inaudible.

  “Would you like to do the same to me?”

  He smiles and opens his eyes. I lie back and pull him toward me.

  Drake does as requested and kisses me, starting with the side of my neck. It tickles me at first, but before long, goose bumps spread over my skin. His kisses are firmer, stronger. His warm breath stirs me. When he reaches my shoulder, he slides my bra straps down with gentleness. I know the smallest movement might make him hesitate, so I stay still. But he just leaves the bra, untouched, partially covering me, and takes his lips down to my belly. My back arches; my muscles tighten. Soon I loosen up and let out an involuntary moan. He knows me; he knows how to drive me crazy.

  “Enjoying it?” he asks in a low tone.

  “Very much.” My eyes are still shut. I giggle.

  “What?”

  “You’re using your bedroom voice,” I say.

  “I like to be accurate, you know, location-wise. I’ll shut up now.”

  His lips resume their exploration. He kisses the side of my tummy and comes back to the region he skipped. His mouth touches the exposed top of my chest.

  I melt.

  “Wait…” I tell him.

  He pulls back slowly. I look at him. He’s still smiling.

  “Excuse me a little bit,” I say, squeezing from under him and leaving the bed.

  Drake’s face works hard to hide his disappointment. But he has no reason to.

  Still gazing at him, I walk to the bedroom door and lock it. “Just in case,” I say, using my bedroom voice.

  His full smile returns. His sinuous, sculpted torso beckons.

  I go back to him.

  Chapter 8: Drake

  Seattle’s maddening weather has never been sweeter. I had never noticed how much the gray clouds look like classic marble sculptures. I decide to leave the car at home and walk.

  The cold breeze lashing at my face makes me feel alive. The constant drizzle of the rain cleanses me and energizes me for a new day. I walk to the pool with light steps, as if I’m floating above the ground. Life is good.

  When I arrive at Greenwood, I cast a glance to the main building. They have almost finished removing the debris and cleaning the area. The reconstruction will take some time. I feel a twinge of guilt before remembering it couldn’t have been avoided. It was an accident, and nobody got hurt. Well, except Brianna and me. And we ended up better than expected. You know, alive and all.

  Soon the thought leaves my head, and I open the door to the pool building across the street from the school. The pool hasn’t been damaged, and it’s still open for students.

  Splashing sounds and chattering startles me. I enter the pool and find the swim team practicing.

  I usually pick a time when the pool is deserted, but today I forgot to check. I just wanted to swim.

  A lane is reserved for laps for the public. I’ll use that one.

  But Coach Summers sees me before I head to the locker room. “Hey, Mr. Hunter! The Black Swan himself. Did you finally decide to join the team?” He gestures to the gang of Speedo-clad, goggle-wearing guys and girls racing in the water.

  I smile at him. For some reason, the talk I had with Skye is imprinted in my mind. College. Maybe a swim scholarship.

  “May I?”

  Skye is right. What’s the big deal? Why can’t I swim with folks? I can do my thing and be eligible for a scholarship if my times are good enough. Maybe things will break my way.

  “Come on, don’t be sarcastic with an old man. It’s disrespectful.”

  “No, I mean it. May I practice with the team?”

  Coach Summers stops and looks at me as if I’m one of the body snatchers’ clones. “What are you talking about? You, the loner, want to join?”

  “It’s not actually a team sport, is it?” I say.

  His eyes narrow. “It totally is. The events are individual, but we’re a team. Always remember that.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me.

  “So what do you say, Coach? Come on, you’ve been pestering me for months to join the team. And when I finally agree, you treat me like this. Were you joking about it?”

  “Are you?”

  “I’m a hundred percent serious. I want to try out for the team.”

  A smile the size of the skyline blossoms on his face. “That’s great news.” He looks at me and grins like a kid. He catches himself soon, though, and his face regains its crusty expression. He barks, “What are you waiting for? Get ready and jump in! We don’t have all day.”

  “Yes, sir.” I head to the locker, but look back to sneak a peek at him. He’s smiling again.

  Good moods are contagious.

  ***

  “What’s up with Sean?” I ask Boulder.

  Boulder is driving us to the mall. In the backseat, Sean types on a laptop. Not only Sean has given up shotgun, he’s silent. And, most shocking of all, typing.

  “Hey, Shakespeare, wanna tell him?” Boulder yells.

  “What? I’m writing,” Sean says, eyes glued to the screen.

  “Sean’s taking online screenwriting classes. He wants to write the next blockbuster. A Hollywood snob.” Boulder shakes his head.

  “Hey, be supportive, dumbass,” Sean tells him.

  I agree with Sean. “Yeah, Boulder, don’t be a hater.”

  “I’m not a hater. I’m a huge disliker.”

  Sean raises his head. “You’re going to be a character in this one, big man.”

  “Really?” Boulder is interested all of a sudden.

  “Yeah! I’m thinking Passerby Number Two. You’ll die a gruesome death.”

  Sean and I cackle and high-five. I’ve missed that. Being one of the boys.

  “You sure you wanna do that, little writing man? It’s on! It’s so on.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  Boulder says, “I need a new haircut. Need to look good for the Fremont girls. Can’t rely only on my chick lasso.”

  Chapter 9: Skye

  Drake and I arrive for our first day at Fremont High. He sees Boulder’s car in an isolated corner of the parking lot, drives up, and parks next to it. The bright yellow Mustang and the muted brown Volvo couldn’t make for a bigger contrast.

  Through the window of his car, Boulder nods in our direction. He lowers the window and motions for me to do the same. “Where’s Priscilla?” he asks.

  “She texted me. She’s almost here.”

  Boulder nods again. It’s weird seeing this hulking guy so nervous. It was his idea to brave the new school together.

  Fremont High is the home of the Spartans. Drake told me that when Boulder played football, he caused a full-on brawl between Greenwood and the Spartans. Our old school forfeited the game and Boulder was kicked off the team. He is concerned that the Spartans may gang up on him. And his former teammates, still pissed at him for costing them a victory, most likely won’t come to his rescue.

  “Why do you need us?” I ask him. “Priscilla and I wouldn’t do much good in a fight.”

  “Guys will die to impress hot girls like you. No way they want you to see them as jerks. Just stay around me, and I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you afraid, Boulder?”

  “It’s not fear. It’s tactics,” he snarls, glaring at me.

  I look past Boulder and see Priscilla sneaking in front of the car. She raises her hands and bangs on the Mustang’s hood.

  Boulder jumps in his seat. Priscilla laughs and walks between the two cars, approaching our windows.

  “You on edge, big boy?”

  He grumbles. “Just be careful with the machine.”

  Priscilla chuckles. “Okay, I’m here to protect you. Can we go now?”
>
  The four of us get out of the cars and assemble. People are already staring at us.

  “Don’t worry,” Sean says. “They’re looking at your egg-yolk car, big man.”

  “Maybe it’s Drake’s stool-colored one.”

  “Hey!” my boyfriend protests.

  Priscilla shakes her head. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She takes point. Drake holds my hand, and we trail her. Boulder and Sean follow, trying to hide behind the group. They scrunch up a little, looking ridiculous, since they are even taller than Drake.

  Boulder’s “tactic” is backfiring. Priscilla looks like a model, and Boulder looks like a linebacker—which he was. Together, they practically force the Fremont students to stare at our group.

  I feel a sudden tingling. Two sources of magical energy are closing in on us. I slow down and look back to the parking lot, trying to find the witches. Priscilla, Sean, and Boulder pass me by and continue their awkward march, but I don’t follow them. I’m curious.

  Drake stays with me and keeps silent, his hand still holding mine.

  The sensation intensifies. Even knowing the general direction, it’s hard for me to determine who they are. Too many students are arriving at the same time.

  But a couple of them are turning their attention to me. Two girls. One of them looks familiar. Before I can place her, though, she approaches and greets me.

  “Hey, it’s you!” A pierced girl with dark make-up flashes me a broad smile.

  I blink a few times before a name comes to me. “Greta?”

  She opens her arms, moves forward, and gives me a cozy hug. With her so close to me, the sensation of my True Sight Charm becomes a faint electric shock. The other girl, a beauty with large brown eyes and curly black hair, wearing a Sailor Moon tee, stares at us with an amused smile. I can easily feel her energy too.

  Greta lets me go and turns to Drake. “Hi to you, too. Boyfriend or beard?”

  “Boyfriend. Name’s Drake,” he says.

  Greta doesn’t blink, but her eyebrows rise the slightest bit. She points to the anime girl. “This is Yara.”