Once a Witch (12 page)

“Of course, if you'd rather not…”

“No, no, that's fine. After all, you are sisters,” Alistair says, and there is something in the way that he draws on the word sisters, similar to the way he said Rowena's name, that makes me suddenly sit up straighter.

“I mean, it's the family business and all, right?”

“I'll bring it to you tomorrow. Do you have office hours?” I watch as the features in his face shift to accommodate this.

“Yes, but–”

“Why not now?” Rowena interjects. This time I do connect the blunt edge of my sneaker with her shin, but she barely reacts.

“Your dorm's close by, isn't it?”

“No. And it isn't at the dorm,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Where is it, then?” Alistair asks, leaning forward a little.

“Yes, where is it, Tam?” Rowena echoes. Then she puts it together.

“Oh, at Uncle Chester's house.”

“Your uncle's house?” Alistair prompts with the perfect amount of confusion in his voice, and of course Rowena supplies the answer.

“Yes, our aunt and uncle live in the city. On Washington Square Park. In this wonderful old townhouse that's more than one hundred years old. I always think it should be a museum in its own right.”

“Really?” Alistair leans back in his chair, his eyes on Rowena's face.

“Perhaps you know that I am a professor of art history. Medieval objects are my specialty, but I do love art and artifacts from the Victorian era as well. ”

“Wonderful,” Rowena says.

“Medieval art is so fascinating!”I stare at her. I can't help myself.

“You don't even know how to spell the word medieval.” There is a little silence and then Rowena smiles graciously, leans forward, and puts her hand on Alistair's arm.

“Forgive my sister. Our parents did raise her correctly, but sometimes it doesn't show” She extends one wrist and checks her gold watch.

“I've missed my train, of course,” she says serenely.

“And now I'll have to wait for the next one, which is more than an hour away.

Perhaps we could show Dr. Callum the house and retrieve his object for him. I'm sure you've kept him waiting long enough, Tam” My sister gives me what I like to think of as her poison-apple smile. How did we get here? I had planned to bring the clock to Alistair tomorrow in his office. And to ask him a few questions. I don't know what I expected to accomplish, or why Alistair would be able to shed any light on the mystery of why I was able to touch the clock and not Gabriel. But with Rowena along for the ride, there would be no light shedding tonight.

“AND HERE IS AUNT RENNIE'S collection of inkwells. She has a fascination with them that no one really understands.” I trail after Rowena and Alistair as she leads him through the house room by room, pointing out each treasure.

She's at her best, her most charming. Her voice has flexed and stretched into that honey smoothness. She could be discussing the ingredients in Wite-Out and anyone would be absorbing her every word as if it were a drop of gold. And yet not Alistair. He's making all the right motions–nodding here, smiling there–and I have no doubt that Rowena is completely convinced he finds her irresistible. But there is a stillness to him that's deceiving, an ice-thin stillness that might shatter at any minute. As we troop back into the foyer, I deliberately keep my eyes turned away from the painting that once held the clock.

“I'm sure you want to see what Tam has found for you,” Rowena says at last. As do I, I can almost hear her add.

“Well,” Alistair says a little dazedly, as if this thought did just cross his mind.

“This has been fascinating. What a wonderful old house. How lucky you two are to have it. ” Then he turns to me expectantly.

“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“It's in here. " I lead the way toward the kitchen. The clock is sitting on the table where I left it last Saturday. There is a sudden breathless pause from Alistair as he moves forward and takes the clock in his trembling hands.

“Wonderful,” he says, and he touches the tip of the hour hand with one finger.

“Simply marvelous” His eyes skip over the clock and then his voice takes on a heavy heartiness as he says again,

“Yes, marvelous.”

“This is it?” Rowena asks, and I smile to myself. I can almost hear her thinking, What is so special about this?” Where did… how did you find it?” Alistair turns to me, eyes blazing strangely, and my urge to smile slides away.

“Oh, well, I can't reveal my sources,” I say, striving to make my voice light. A brief spasm twists across his face and he looks entirely different. But it happens so quickly that I almost doubt myself. And then Alistair looks like Alistair again. But this time I am not fooled. Who are you? And what do you truly want? It's obviously not the clock, no matter how pleased you pretend to be. I don't know how long we might have kept the staring contest up, but Rowena breaks in with a delicate laugh.

“Well, I have to say it's certainly a beautiful piece. I'm so glad that Tam was able to find it for you. And so glad that you were able to find us. Not everyone knows the right way to ask. ”

“Yes,” Alistair says slowly.

“I realize how lucky I was. ” He turns to her, smiles, and then checks his watch.

“I believe your train will leave without you unless you hurry. ”

“Yes, of course. And my fiancé will be wondering where I am. ” I roll my eyes.

Rowena has a love affair with that word. She even affects a slight French accent when uttering it.

“Shall we share a cab, then? You're headed to Grand Central, yes? Unless you were planning to take the tube?”

“The tube?” Three curved lines appear on Rowena's forehead and then vanish like words written on water.

“Oh, you mean the subway! Oh, no! I'm not too proud to admit that I've never ridden the subway before. ” She wrinkles her nose impishly.

“The unwashed masses,” she mock-whispers to Alistair.

“You should try it sometime,” I say loudly.

“We don't smell that bad. ” Rowena hardly spares me a glance.

“Of course we can share a cab,” she says graciously and then,

“Tam, can we drop you anywhere?”

“No, I'll walk,” I say shortly. We bustle out of the house into the light rain that has begun to fall.

“Oh, dear,” Alistair says.

“I'm without my umbrella.”

“Some Englishman you are,” Rowena teases and reaches into her oversize black bag.

“He's not English,” I mutter.

“He's–”

“Here it is,” Rowena says triumphantly. She has produced a small black umbrella and is now attempting to loosen the catch as the rain begins to patter more swiftly.

“Of course, it's stuck. I can't–”

“Allow me,” Alistair says eagerly, as if he's been waiting all his life to be at her service. He puts his long fingers over hers and they both struggle with the umbrella for a second before it suddenly bursts open.

“Oh!” Rowena gives a small cry of distress, which clangs in my ear like a bell. It's the first genuine sound she's made since Alistair sat down at our table. She shakes her hand in an oddly graceless gesture, then stops to examine it. From where I'm standing, I can see a thin scratch of blood blooming on her skin.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Alistair says, his voice smooth. A chill travels across my skin that has nothing to do with the rain. A flash of blue appears in his hand and then he's pressing his handkerchief against Rowena's hand, the same handkerchief that he pressed against my wrist in the bookstore.

“It's my fault entirely.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs as he dabs at her hand, then tucks the handkerchief away.

“It's better now.”

“Rowena,” I say, my voice raw and full of warning. But when she turns to me, the words strangle in my throat. The unease in my mind is building, but I can't articulate anything right here and now.

“I… nothing.”

“Look, there's a cab now,” Alistair says. He flings up one arm and the cab sheers through a curbside puddle and slides to a halt beside him. Scattered drops of water spark against my ankles.

“Tamsin, thank you for everything” He opens the door and indicates that my sister should climb in first. Rowena kisses me on each cheek, then draws back and gives me a look.

“Mom will be calling you,” she murmurs.

“She'll be particularly interested in hearing all about this clock and how you found it. As will I” Handing me the umbrella, she steps off the curb, poised again, and tucks herself into the cab. Alistair puts one foot in the cab and is about to slide in after her.

“I'll come by to discuss my price,” I say boldly to his shoulder. He turns, and his teeth gleam in a smile.

“Oh, I look forward to that. I think we have a few things to discuss” The door slams shut and the cab slicks away, and I'm left contemplating all the puddles on the sidewalk that hold small, blurry streetlight moons.

“YOUR MOM GALLED,” Agatha says as I nudge open our door, my arms full of books. She is sitting at her desk appearing hard at work, a notebook spread open before her and a thick yellow highlighter in her hand. Except the room smells like nail polish remover and I notice that Agatha's toenails, which used to be fluorescent pink, are now bright blue.

“Umph,” I reply as I toss the books across my unmade bed. Most of them make it, but two slide to the floor.

“What else is new?” I've been avoiding Mom's calls for a week.

“Paper?” Agatha asks, eyeing the sprawl.

“Three,” I answer, sinking down in the beanbag chair. I look over at our half-size fridge and give a little jump. My eyes are staring back at me.

“Agatha!” I cry and leap up to snatch her sketch off the fridge door.

“Oh, that,” she says, waving her highlighter at me.

“Like it?” I hold the sketch at arm's length.

“You made my nose crooked.” Agatha looks at me, then examines the sketch.

“Oh, yeah. What about that one?” she asks, pointing toward the closet door, which is uncharacteristically closed. I hate to think about all the clothes, shoes, belts, and purses massed up against it, waiting to tumble out the next time we open it. I study the second sketch of me taped to the door.

“My eyes are too close together in that one. Yuck–is that how you see me?”

“Okay, picky, how about that one?”

“What one?”

“The one on the mirror. Gabriel liked that one the best.”

“What? Where? He came here?” I whirl as if he might step out from behind the dresser at any moment.

“Why didn't he just find me?” I ask my reflection in the mirror. Then I notice that Agatha is staring at me.

“I think that was the point of him coming by?”

“Oh, yeah… I mean… why didn't he just call my cell phone?”

“He said that he did. It was off.” I fumble for my phone and look at its blank face.

“Oh, yeah. I turned it off when I went to the library” I flick it back on and watch the screen light up. Three missed calls. Gabriel. HELLCRATER. And another one from HELLCRATER.

“So, um… what did Gabriel want?” It's probably too late to sound casual, but I try. There's a crinkling sound as Agatha rips open a bag of Twizzlers with her teeth.

“You,” she answers through a mouthful of plastic.

“What?” She's grinning as she pokes through the bag of candy.

“Kidding. He said he was in the neighborhood. That kind of thing. Wanted to see how you were” Chewing thoughtfully, she adds,

“He's really cute. If you're not going to go for him, can I?”

“What?”

“I thought you'd say that. Twizzler?” she asks, holding the open bag toward me.

“Thanks, but I'm not that into red plastic” Waving a thin red rope at me, she says,

“Puritan.” After Agatha heads out to her pre-calc study group, I straighten every single magazine in the room, aligning the edges perfectly. Then I pull out Agatha's Swiffer wipes and dust our desks, our night tables, and the dresser we share. I untangle all the necklaces in my jewelry box, stack my rings and bracelets and anklets in neat shining piles, and then begin to whip through my stack of SAT flash cards. When the words begin to blur in my brain, I finally pick up the phone and dial home, taking about a minute between each digit. My mother answers before the first ring has even gone halfway through.

“Hello!” she commands, and I nearly drop the phone. Then I take a breath, probably my last one, and say,

“Mom, hey–Agatha said you called? And I know you've been calling my cell.

I've just been so crazy busy here with papers and tests and SAT stuff and, well, I just sort of forgot to tell you that–-”

“Oh, Tamsin,” she murmurs. I wrap the phone cord around my finger tighter and tighter until all the blood drains from the tip.

“I can explain,” I say numbly.

“I'm not sure what Rowena said, but–”

“How was the wedding dress shopping?” The cord springs free from my hand.

“Um… it was okay. You know, Rowena tried on a bunch of dresses and looked bridelike and then . .”

Suddenly, I wonder if this is even about Alistair at all. Hoping my mother is distracted by the wedding drama, I add hastily,

“You know, maybe she isn't sold on the white-dress thing after all. I mean, she didn't buy anything.”

“She's insisting on going into the city again this week. On Friday” My mother says city but really it sounds more like den of iniquity.

“Oh, well. .”

Idly I begin counting the books in a pile on my desk. I'm up to nine when a horrifying thought occurs to me.

“Do I have to go shopping with her? Again?” There is a damp and heavy silence on the other end. I stare at Agatha's side of the room, at the pile of clean laundry that I just folded and left on her bed.

“Mom? What's going on?”

“Your sister seems… off lately. ”

“Well… popular wisdom has it that people go a little crazy before getting married. ”

“Yes, I know. But… for the past few days she's been… different. ”

“Different how?” My mother sniffles a little and I frown at the phone.

“Mom, are you–”

“Just… just keep an eye on her in the city, will you?”

“Sure, fine, no problem. ” We hang up, but I have the distinct feeling that my mother is not reassured. And neither am I. Why didn't Rowena tell my mother what I had done?