Broken Spell Page 8

  I wake up with a shudder, gasping for air. The image stays with me for a while.

  A quiet sadness overtakes me. I cannot forget what I have just dreamed. I take a long shower before going downstairs for breakfast.

  In search of a less stressful time, I call Boulder and invite myself over. When I arrive there, Sean is already spread on the futon, eating a snack, eyes on the ceiling, while Boulder hammers on the laptop.

  “Hey, Boulder.”

  “Shh,” he says, raising a finger, not even looking at me.

  The snub doesn’t offend me. I turn my attention to Sean. “Hey, Sean. How are the screenwriting classes?”

  “Doing well,” he answers with his mouth full. “Right now, I’m working on an action movie. Die Hard in Disneyland.”

  I grin. “Sounds awesome.”

  “I know, right? I also have this idea of a sequel to Jurassic Park, only the raptors now know how to hold and shoot guns.”

  “I’d definitely pay to see that.”

  “What about you? What have you been doing?”

  “Besides the missus,” Boulder mumbles from the desk.

  I ignore the bait. “Nothing much. Swimming again. What are you eating?” I ask Sean.

  “Gummy bears.”

  “Those aren’t gummy bears. Those are gummy vites.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “They’re toddler’s vitamins!”

  “So?”

  “So you’re eating almost a full bottle. It’ll make you sick.”

  “Dude, it’s vitamins. It can only be good for you. And I weigh like two hundred times a toddler.”

  “You’ll get sick. And you need to improve your math skills.”

  “I just like them.”

  “Why can’t you eat undetermined ground meat like the rest of us?”

  “I like gummy bears.”

  He does, and he keeps eating them as if time has stopped and nothing else matters.

  “Don’t you worry about anything?” I ask.

  “Of course not. Do you?”

  I have nothing to say. Boulder is looking at Sean as if he’s crazy.

  “What, big guy?’ Sean asks. “Your life’s perfect. What do you have to worry about?”

  Boulder shakes his head and goes back to the computer.

  Chapter 19: Skye

  The stroll in the park left us both freezing. Drake suggests a coffee, and we walk toward one of Fremont’s local coffeehouses.

  “Who do you imagine your mother is?” I ask.

  “I never do.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Okay, I used to. Not anymore. But, for a while, I imagined—no, I wished—that she was a spy. That she had to give us up for the sake of the country or to ensure world peace. And that she lived this mysterious life, full of peril, with the memory of us as the only thing keeping her from breaking apart. And, of course, that she’s been keeping tabs on us the whole time.”

  “Loving you from afar but keeping watch?”

  He says nothing.

  “You’re a romantic.”

  “Silly, huh?”

  “No, you have an active—and ambitious—imagination.”

  Drake snorts. “Can you blame me? My girlfriend is an honest-to-goodness witch. If that is possible, other wonderful things can happen too.”

  We arrive at the coffeehouse, and Drake opens the door for me.

  While we wait in line, I look around the quaint café. Small, unframed paintings cover the walls. They’re all for sale. One artist overuses the color red in abstract images. Another one paints Cubist vistas of Seattle: who knew a geometric troll could look cute?

  Drake is looking through the unwashed window. He says to me, “Be right back,” and goes outside.

  The line moves. I’m curious and follow him with my eyes. He approaches a scruffy guy sitting on the sidewalk. The man wears a worn-out winter jacket and ripped jeans.

  Drake crouches and talks to the man, who’s startled at first but soon answers. Drake reaches into his pocket and hands him a few dollar bills.

  The line moves again, and I order at last.

  Outside, my boyfriend is returning. The man glances at the bills, but looks back at Drake and stares at him walking back into the café.

  I quickly find a table and sit before Drake sees me watching him.

  Drake enters, finds me, and sits down.

  “I didn’t know what you wanted,” I say.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Aren’t you going to order something? You said you were dying for a coffee.”

  “Changed my mind.” He shrugs.

  Did he give away all his cash? “I can get you one.” I move to stand up.

  He holds my arm gently. “No, it’s fine,” he says, smiling.

  I smile back, but this reminds me again of the difference in our families’ wealth. He won’t accept me paying for anything. Going dutch, yes, but not treating him.

  “Wanna share?” I hand him the hot cup.

  He hesitates, but takes a tiny sip and gives the cup back to me.

  When we leave the coffeehouse, the man’s still there. He just gives a brief nod at Drake. He says nothing about it. Neither do I.

  ***

  Mona is progressing with her Craft lessons. I’m happy for her—and a little proud of myself. I may be a good teacher.

  Still, I’m troubled by her lack of progress in controlling her energy. This is key. If I cannot teach her to do it consistently, there’s no point in teaching her rituals: she would release another outburst of magical energy and attract all the Sisters in the Pacific Northwest.

  This morning she is upbeat. She’s wearing my special glasses.

  “How do you like those?” I ask.

  “Oh, they’re incredible. I’ve been staring at everyone. I’m a creep.”

  “Found out anything?”

  She nods. “I’ve used what you told me: the inner aura is the nature, the outer one is the how they’re feeling. I’ve even made a table with the colors.”

  “So you’re one of those students who writes everything down?” I chuckle.

  “Only for this. Look: Dad has a green one, with a blue outer. Most girls at school have an orange, and a few are pink.”

  “Pink is always good—what Judi used to call a ‘healthy soul,’ but your father looks worried about something.”

  “What else is new? Here’s Drake’s: pink with a deep red. What does it mean?”

  I gasp. I could never see Drake’s aura for some reason, but it never occurred to me to ask Mona to “spy” for me.

  “Skye?”

  “It’s love,” I mumble. “Deep love.”

  Mona’s reaction is unexpected. I thought she would tease me, or congratulate me, or maybe squeal. But she just looks more stunned than I am.

  “Is that okay?”

  She stares at me. “Yeah, yeah. I’m glad for you,” she says in a rush of words.

  “Mona, are you sure? What else is going on?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “You can tell me.”

  She hesitates. “It’s just…Pain tells me everything. But her aura is even redder than Drake’s. And she never told me anything about anyone.”

  I understand what she is saying, but I refrain from talking about it. We stay in silence for a while, both pondering what those deep red auras mean—and how we are going to handle the people close to us.

  ***

  When I get back home, I’m greeted by the unlikeliest of visitors: Connor.

  “How are you doing, Skye?”

  He’s sitting on the sofa across from Aunt Gemma. They’re having tea and chatting like old pals. A tray of biscuits is on the coffee table.

  “Connor had the courtesy of paying me a visit,” Gemma says. “I had forgotten how charming he is.”

  He displays his toothpaste-ad smile. “My pleasure. But I must apologize. I have been so busy that I didn’t have time to sit down with one of my favorite Knowin
gs.”

  Aunt Gemma lets out a satisfied giggle. Don’t be entranced by him, Aunt. I was once, and I got hurt.

  “I’m happy to have you here,” she says. “Finally, a distinguished visitor.”

  This is a disguised dig at my only other visitors: Priscilla, deemed by Aunt Gemma as “that loose girl,” and Drake, not referred to at all.

  “Connor, this is a surprise,” I say at last.

  “Since you are here, I’d like to talk to you. Gemma, this is coven business, would you mind giving us the room?” His command is delivered with a smile.

  “Of course. I’ll be upstairs.” She shoots him a glance as if they are saying goodbye on the deck of the Titanic.

  “So, making the rounds, huh?” I tease Connor when she’s gone.

  “It’s good politics, Skye. And she is a delight.”

  “Just because she worships you.” I raise my eyebrows.

  “That has something to do with it, yes.” He grins. “But I’m glad I caught up with you. As it turns out, Elsa Dunivant cannot travel anymore.”

  I try to conceal my relief. “Really? You mean, the Mother with Truth Charm?”

  “Yes. She’s not that young, and we’re having trouble finding someone else with Truth.”

  “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to it.” I’m shameless.

  Connor leans back on the sofa. “Oh, don’t be worried. You will travel there to meet her later. Meanwhile, we will take your statement here. You don’t mind taking a Truth potion, do you? It’s not the same thing—the Truth Charm cannot be countered, but in this case, a potion will have to do for the time being.”

  My blood freezes. I thought I was scot-free. But he’s right. I can beat a potion with one of Yara’s Dispels. Not a Charm, though. Charms are immune to Dispels.

  He adds, “I’ll let you know when.”

  I snap out of my brain stoppage. “Yeah. Sure. But my calendar is pretty busy.”

  He narrows his eyes, but still smiles. “Is it?”

  “Yes. New school and all. Parties. New friends. Boyfriend.”

  “Still dating?”

  “Connor, we talked about it. I can’t—”

  He raises his palms. “No, no. Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I just want you to know I am willing to give us another shot. If you are.”

  His eyes pierce me with sincerity; it’s not just his Trust Charm at work.

  “Connor—”

  “Just leave the possibility open. That’s all I ask,” he whispers.

  It’s weird rebuffing him again. I should end it, but it’s cruel destroying his hopes just like that. I nod.

  His face relaxes, and Connor tells me he needs to leave. This time, when he kisses me goodbye on the cheek, I blush the slightest of pinks.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Chapter 20: Drake

  We’re all checking our phones when the Kidd Valley girl calls “Boul—Bal—Boulder?”

  I look up and see her frowning at the receipt slip.

  Sean says, “It’s ready, big man.”

  “Then go get it,” Boulder replies.

  They still have their eyes on their phones.

  “They called your name,” Sean says.

  “I order; you pick up.”

  “No. You order; you go.”

  “It’s the order for the whole table.”

  “Just go.”

  Skye slaps the table. “Oh, for Goddess’ sake! I’ll go.” She rises.

  “Do you need help?” I ask her.

  “I’ve got it,” she says, already on her way.

  Her outburst finally makes them forget their phones. “Did she just say ‘Goddess’?” Sean asks.

  I try to save her. “She said ‘goodness.’ It’s her accent.”

  “Accent? She’s got almost no accent,” Sean says. “Weird.”

  When I glance over at the counter, I see Skye trying to balance two full trays. Seven sandwiches, tons of fries, and an army of soda cups. I’m about to get up and help her, but she sees me and shakes her head.

  “Skye?” I ask, pointing to the trays.

  “I’ve got it!” she insists.

  She can manage. She doesn’t need my help.

  She doesn’t need my help. This stays with me while my friends attack the food. Since I first met her, right after she arrived in Seattle, she seems to have the hang of many things. Her confidence shot up, and she knows what she wants. I’m glad one of the things she wants is me.

  “Hey, zombie boyfriend,” she says. “Your ground animal is getting cold.”

  Sean pauses, his open mouth about to get a bite. “Skye. Please.”

  She giggles. Skye has changed so much in the past few weeks.

  ***

  The annoying honk can only mean one thing: the guys are here to pick me up. And my clean t-shirts are hiding or something. The Hendrix shirt I wore yesterday is a candidate. I sniff it and put it on. It’ll have to do. It’s only us guys anyway.

  The honking is back. Just one long honk, like a factory’s siren.

  “Stop it!” Mona yells.

  I look out the window. Mona is in front of the house, hands on her hips.

  “Sorry,” Boulder says. “Did I wake you, little girl? Didn’t know it was naptime.”

  My sister throws her hands up in the air and stomps back into the house.

  I leave the bedroom and pass her coming up the stairs. I ask her, “Why isn’t the laundry done?”

  “Because it was your turn to do it, dummy!”

  Oh. Right.

  After I grab my jacket, I climb into the back seat.

  “You could just text, you know?” I say, shoving my cell in Boulder’s face.

  “Who has the time?” Boulder swats my arm away and starts driving.

  “Right. Guess who Mona will blame for it?”

  Sean turns in the seat. “Mona is looking good, D-Man! You be careful.”

  “Thank you, pervert. She can take care of herself.”

  “I’ll never hit on her, Drake. Damn! She’s like my own little sister. I’m just saying: keep her away from the creeps.”

  “Like you two?” I slap both of their heads in turn.

  Boulder laughs. “Exactly! Remember when Sean’s sister started to fill out?”

  “Keep it to yourself, Boulder.” It’s rare to see Sean so serious.

  “Come on, Sean. She’s safe now that she’s in college.”

  “She’s family. Do I tell you your mom wears her gym clothes too tight? I mean, really tight?”

  “Dude…” Boulder says.

  Sean keeps going, “Seriously, sometimes I need to look away. Like, I force myself to make eye contact with her the whole time.”

  Boulder growls. “Okay, no need to go there. Somebody can get hurt, you know?”

  ***

  “Okay, you guys stay here.” Boulder wags his finger at us.

  Since he looks older, he’ll try to secure the alcohol for the party. It usually takes him three to five tries to find an unsuspecting—or irresponsible—convenience store attendant.

  Once he’s gone, Sean turns to me. “Are the Weird Sisters coming?”

  “I think so. It was Greta’s idea, after all.”

  “Do they know if the other girls in school are game?”

  “From what Greta told Skye, the buzz in Fremont is high. They may hate us, but a party is a party.”

  Sean laughs. “Boulder’s parties are legendary.”

  “Yeah, but he’s putting a lot of thought into this one. He’s pumped. He was talking about hiring a DJ. He needs this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can you imagine how it must feel for Boulder? He was the star of our team—and he played defense. People came to games just to watch him play. Then he screwed up by getting himself suspended. The Greenwood students were angry because now the team sucks, and the players were mad because they have no chance and no one cares to watch them. He went from the most popular to being a pariah. Two differe
nt schools hate him!”

  Sean’s laugh lines vanish. “Did he tell you this?”

  “Are you kidding? He doesn’t talk. Does he talk to you?”

  “No,” Sean says.

  I shake my head. “It’s the same thing when he lost the scholarship. Dude won’t open up.”

  I see Boulder coming back and tap Sean on the shoulder to warn him.

  “Empty hands, big guy?” Sean asks.

  “Let’s hit the Arco in Shoreline,” Boulder answers in a gruff tone.

  ***

  We leave the liquor at Sean’s house. Boulder’s parents already know all the hiding places their son uses in their house, so the beverages will be safer at Sean’s. Boulder is going to pick them up on the day of the party.

  When Boulder drives me back home, the earlier conversation with Sean is still in my mind.

  “So Boulder, why are you throwing the party again?”

  He drives with one hand. His left arm is perched on the driver’s windowsill. The freezing wind coming through the opened window makes the car a rolling fridge, but Boulder has a Mustang, and he’ll drive it with the windows rolled down, weather be damned.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fremont High is not exactly a welcoming place.”

  “That’s my reason. For better or worse, we’ll be stuck there for a while. I just want my life to be easier. All of our lives.”

  He honks at the car ahead of us, whose driver didn’t notice the light changing to green.

  “Are you okay?”

  Boulder looks at me, puzzled. “What?”

  Damn, this is hard. “How are you, Boulder?”

  “Dude, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m just asking you how you are feeling. You know, the football, the scholarship, and all that stuff.”

  “Damn, D, are you trying to analyze me?”

  Thickheaded Boulder. Where’s a Truth potion when you need one? “I’m just worried about you. I know what you’re going through, man.”

  “The hell you do!” His expression darkens. “Seriously. Shut. Up. Mind your own business, or I’ll go nuclear on your ass.”

  “I’m trying to help,” I mumble.

  “You can help by dropping it,” he mumbles back.