Charmed (4 page)

In homeroom, Mrs. Davies drones on about the yearbook committee’s desperate call for members, while Bianca stage-whispers in the back of the class to a rapt crowd about the annual
HallowSCREAM!
party she’s throwing the weekend before Halloween (she whispers especially loud so I’ll know
what I’m missing out on by not being invited). To make matters worse, I keep catching Paige’s transfer-student friend Jessie Colburn staring at me. Even when I’m not looking at her, I can feel her eyes following me like the freaking
Mona Lisa
. I decide now’s as good a time as any to get the violin.

I raise my hand.

Mrs. Davies pauses reluctantly. “Yes, Ms. Blackwood?”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“Do you ever,” Bianca says, and the class erupts into laughter.

I cut her a glare.

“Bianca Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Davies says, tsking, then turns to me. “Yes, go ahead, Indigo.”

I snag one of the orange lanyard hall passes from her desk on my way out.

“Not too long!” Davies calls after me.

My shoes squeak loudly in the hall, the sound echoing off the army green lockers. It’s empty now, but that could change at any moment. I make a beeline toward Paige’s locker and say a silent thank-you for the
MUSIC NERDS RULE!
sticker she’s got plastered across the front—I won’t have to waste my time breaking into the wrong locker. I do a quick shoulder check to make sure a teacher isn’t lurking in the hallway, and then take the combination lock into my hands.

I close my eyes and call out to the heat. It responds with a flash of warmth that spreads like fireworks up my body. I whisper the Latin word for “open.”

“Aperi, aperi, aperi.”

The lock clicks heavily in my hands, and a satisfied smile blooms across my face.

“What’s going on?”

I gasp, spinning around to find Jessie with her arms crossed over her chest, an orange hall pass slung around her neck.

Dammit to hell.

“I—I was just…”

“That’s Paige’s locker,” she says.

Heat courses to my cheeks. “I know that. I was…getting something for her.”

She arches an eyebrow, challenging me. Could she have seen me do my little trick?

I push my shoulders back. “She gave me her combination.”

She looks down at my hands, I guess to confirm I’m not hiding a hacksaw up my sleeve. “So then why’d you sneak out to do it?”

“Who says I snuck out? I had to use the bathroom, then I remembered the thing Paige wanted and dropped by here.”

We engage in a staring contest for a few seconds, before Jessie gestures to the locker as if giving me permission to open it.

I pull the metal door open, and have to stop myself from crying out with relief when I see the black violin case propped up on a stack of books.

“There it is,” I say, pulling out the case.

“She went to music school without her violin?” Jessie asks.

Crap.

“Yep. Funny, huh? She was in a really big hurry, and school was closed when she left. I’m giving it to Mrs. Abernathy so she can send it to Paige.”

Jessie stares at me while I hike the case onto my back.

“Well,” I say. “Love to chat, but I need to get back to class.”

I paste on a smile, then make a quick escape down the hallway. I don’t know how I’m going to explain the violin to Mrs. Davies, but in the grand scheme of my problems, it doesn’t even rate.

T
he bell above the door jangles as I enter the Black Cat. I expected to be sad coming to Mom’s beloved occult shop after so long away, but it’s so much worse than that: walking inside strikes me like a baseball bat straight to the gut. If Aunt Penny wasn’t ringing up some goth kid at the till, I might lunge at her.

The big oak bookcase that took up the entire back wall until the night
The Witch Hunter’s Bible
was stolen and the bookcase destroyed has been replaced with a new, more modern dark wood shelf. It’s still filled with the same explosion of occult books, but Aunt Penny has them all stacked perfectly instead of in the pattern Mom preferred, with some
lying horizontally now and then “for variety.” The same pentagrams hang from the low ceiling, the same old Turkish rug is spread across the hardwood floor, but the black cauldron that used to be on display in the center of the store is now in front of the window, and racks of bath salts have taken its place. The shop even smells different somehow.

I hate it.

While Aunt Penny counts out change, I shove the violin case behind a shelf before she sees it and starts asking questions I don’t want to answer. When the customer leaves with his ceremonial dagger or whatever, I sulk over to the counter.

“Like what you’ve done with the place,” I say. “Might have waited for Mom’s body to cool before redecorating, though.”

Aunt Penny chews the corners of her fingernails and looks around the store anxiously. “You hate it. I’ll move it back. I just thought I’d try something new. The cauldron took up so much space in the middle of the room.”

Mom always said that too. I say nothing, though, plopping heavily into the chair behind the till.

“Listen, thanks for doing this,” Aunt Penny continues. “I really need to sort this house stuff out. It’s been such a pain trying to get the mortgage moved over to my name. I mean, I don’t exactly have the most solid credit history and—”

“Yep, no problem,” I interrupt.

Aunt Penny visibly deflates. I feel a pang in my gut about
being such a jerk after she poured her heart out to me yesterday, and briefly consider apologizing, but she’s already grabbing her purse.

The door jangles on her way out, and I’m alone in the shop. I pull out my cell and text Bishop.

The wicked witch is gone.

“You don’t say.”

I shriek, practically leaping off the chair.

Bishop leans against the bookcase, his hands jammed in the pockets of his slim black pants and his lace-up army boots crossed casually at the ankles. He gives me a brazenly sexy smile that makes laugh lines sprout up around his eyes, and his dark hair falls in tangled waves around his chin, almost concealing the naked Betty Boop tattoo that snakes out from the collar of his faded leather jacket. My mouth goes dry at the sight of my boyfriend. The guy could wear footie pajamas and still look sexy.

“You scared me, you know.” Which is
so
not convincing when I’m smiling like an idiot.

He pushes off the bookcase, laughing as he approaches.

“Couldn’t help myself. Been thinking about you in your old cheerleading uniform all day. It was torture.”

“God, you’re such a perv,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.

He hooks his fingers in the belt loops of my jeans and tugs me against his chest, so I have to crane my neck to see
his face (being the six-three giant of a boy that he is). My heartbeat quickens at his nearness and the sight of his brown eyes winking with mischief.

He moves a hand from my jeans and tips my chin up. My stomach warms as his lips brush mine, and this time it has nothing to do with my magic. He pulls his fingers through my hair, sending a tingle down my spine. Then he cradles my head in his hands to take the kiss deeper. When his tongue finds mine, a moan involuntarily slips out of my mouth. My cheeks flame, and he chuckles against my lips.

Huffing, I push against his chest until there’s a big space between us. “Laugh it up, asshole.”

“Hey, come back here,” he says, grinning.

It’s tempting, but I’m sober enough now to realize that a snogfest with my boyfriend while my best friend is missing definitely qualifies me for some sort of Shitty Person award.

“I don’t know how long we have before Aunt Penny gets back,” I say, crossing to the door. “Get the curtains.” I flip the dead bolt closed and flick off the neon Open sign while Bishop lowers the venetian blinds over the big picture window so that we’re enveloped in darkness. A sense of déjà vu washes over me, and I remember the summonings we did to hear Mom’s voice. I won’t let myself do those anymore. It’s too painful.

“You got the goods?” Bishop asks.

I pull the violin case from its hiding spot behind the shelf
near the door. “Yep. And for the record, you sound like a drug dealer.”

“What would you know about that?” he asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched high.

“I’ve watched movies,” I say, mock-offended. “So, what do I do with this?”

“Lay it down there,” he says, indicating the center of the rug. Metal scrapes as he drags the cauldron from its display by the window and hauls it next to the violin. Then he disappears down a darkened aisle. He returns moments later with five fat candles bundled in his arms.

“Hope your aunt doesn’t mind us borrowing,” he says, grinning.

He sets the candles around the violin and cauldron. With a flick of his hand, the candles burst into flame, lighting the room with a soft orange glow. I realize that if I connected the dots, they’d form the shape of a pentagram.

Bishop pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket and brings it close to his face.

“Oh. I guess we should have gotten inside the circle before I lit them,” he mumbles.

“Dear God, tell me those aren’t instructions,” I say.

“What? I’ve never done it before.” He pockets the paper. “Okay, we need to get inside the circle and face west.”

I take a careful step between two burning candles and stand next to Bishop as he pulls a little black pouch out of his pocket. He releases the tie cord and shakes the bag’s
contents into his hand. A mushroom with a fat stem and bulbous, black top with tiny freckles of white sits in his palm. My heart gives a hard beat.

Bishop makes a fist and crushes the mushroom, then shakes the crumbled black remnants into the cauldron, dusting off his hands when he’s done. Then he pulls a medicine dropper from his breast pocket. Red liquid sloshes inside.

“What’s that?”

“Blood of fox.”

“You killed a fox?” I shriek.

“I bought it pre-vialed,” he says. “Relax.”

I don’t bother to ask from where as he leans over the cauldron and carefully dispenses three drops inside. When the third drop hits, a huge puff of smoke erupts. Bishop reels back in a coughing fit. When the smoke settles, I see that the cauldron is full to the brim with thick, black bubbling liquid. Steam hovers around the edges of the pot, filling the shop with the metallic scent of blood and, strangely, cooked meat.

“Whoa,” I breathe. “That’s insane.” I peer into the cauldron. “So what now? Eye of newt? Toe of frog?”

“Now we sit,” Bishop says.

He settles onto the carpet. I sit cross-legged next to him, our knees bumping awkwardly in the candlelit room.

“Wanna make out first?” he says into my ear in a corny soap-actor voice. I give him a playful punch on the shoulder that almost knocks him over. “Right. Later, then. The goal
of the ceremony is to invoke the energy of the person we’re trying to locate. The personal item allows the magic to focus on the correct person.”

“Did you get that from your cue card?” I ask.

“I thought we were being serious,” he answers.

I motion that I’m zipping my lips.

“According to my cue card,” he continues, “the witch or warlock should put their hands to the cauldron and summon all their magic inside it while chanting the spell. If done correctly, an image should appear inside the cauldron of the location of the missing person.” He looks at me, going off script. “You could probably do it by yourself, but I figured you might need the boost since you’re new. I hope you don’t mind.”

I smile at my boyfriend; he could be doing anything in the world right now, and he chooses to be with me, doing everything in his power to help me find my best friend. I interlock my fingers with his. He gives me a small smile, and we put our hands onto the cold metal of the cauldron.

“I feel like a real witch,” I whisper.

Bishop hisses at me to be quiet, suddenly all business.

I call the heat. Maybe it’s the candles—which Bishop says are like an energy drink for witches—but my magic bursts to life inside my stomach almost before it’s a thought in my head, burning like a hot oven in my body, making me delirious. A thrill passes through my veins as the heat surges down to my fingertips. The sound of busy Melrose Avenue traffic becomes muted by the thumping heartbeat in my ears.

And then I close my eyes and concentrate, because moving my magic outside of my body has always been the trickiest part.

“Inveniere Paige Abernathy,”
Bishop says, his voice loud in the quiet shop.

I join in.

“Inveniere Paige Abernathy. Inveniere Paige Abernathy.”
Our voices sync, and beneath my hands I feel the cauldron vibrate slightly with our combined force.
It’s working!

Bishop shifts beside me. I open my eyes to find him kneeling over the cauldron. I follow his lead and peer inside.

Nothing but the swirling black sludge.

“What happened?” I ask. “It seemed like it was working.”

Bishop pulls out his note and scans the directions. “We didn’t miss anything.” He shoves the paper back in his pocket and grabs hold of the sides of the cauldron again. “Come on,” he says, nodding me into action.

We repeat the words. Just like last time, the cauldron hums to life under our touch. And just like last time, the spell doesn’t work.

“I don’t get it,” Bishop says.

I slump back onto my butt, disappointment weighting my heart. “Maybe we did it wrong,” I say listlessly. “Maybe that was a bunk mushroom.”

“The mushroom was fine. We did it right.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but still, he scans the directions again.

“Maybe it’s the violin,” he says. “Can you think of anything more personal to Paige?”

“This is her prized possession. There’s nothing better in the world.”

“Then I don’t get it,” he says. “It doesn’t make sense.” He continues to examine his note and mumble to himself, while I sit in silence, feeling dead inside. We’re back to square one. The realization that we might not ever find Paige makes tears prick my eyes. I should never have gotten Paige involved. Never asked for her help. It was selfish. Unbelievably selfish and awful and—

“I know someone we can talk to,” Bishop finally says.