Spell Struck (6 page)

"Artemis is the Greek goddess of the hunt and protection." I ran my hand down my poufy mauve scarf with its tiny white stars, trying to flatten it. I felt too conspicuous in the muted color, even though the rest of my outfit was black. This morning when I had looped it around my neck, the grimoire had chirped.

"A maiden huntress—" Aidan pretended to draw back an invisible arrow notched in a bow "—whose aim never erred."

"The Temple to Artemis at Ephesus was one of the Seven Wonders of the World." The scarf puffed up again. What had I been thinking, taking fashion advice from a spell book?

"Sounds like a good place to photograph."

"Evie is the photo editor for Yearbook," I explained.

Aidan's brows lifted. "Too bad the temple was destroyed centuries ago. Arson."

"Wow." Evie slid me a sideways glance. "You two sure have a lot in common. Art. Goddesses." She honed in on Aidan. "Did you take a class in mythology?"

"No." A wounded look flashed in Aidan's eyes before he managed to mask it. "My mother taught me."

Evie pressed her foot against mine, and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was —
he's perfect.

The bell sounded, marking the end of lunch. Aidan downed the last spring roll in two bites then carefully packed up the orange and the empty food containers.

"Math," Evie wailed.

"Be brave." It was her worst subject. At least Aidan had distracted her so she hadn't had time to get too anxious.

"Aidan?" The tenth-grade class president oozed up to Aidan and snaked her arm through his. She reminded me of Amy — pretty, confident, popular. My lunch soured in my stomach.

"Did you forget? I promised to escort you to Biology. You should have sat with me!"

"Sorry. I ran into my friends. " He threw me an apologetic look. "I met Meadow in third period."

Meadow pursed her lips into a pout. "We only have two classes together."

"Quod a misericordia," I muttered. Yeah. A real pity.

Aidan chuckled.
"Absolute."

A hurt and confused expression passed over Meadow's face and she loosened her grip on Aidan. She may not have understood our Latin, but she knew a diss when she heard one. Guilt and relief warred within me. I retreated, just like I had with the Shakespeare scripts. Hoisting my twenty-three-pound backpack over my shoulder, I squeezed a pleasant tone into my voice. "Have fun, you two."

Meadow's expression brightened. "Thanks. Cute scarf."

"Thanks." I could tell she meant it. No wonder everyone liked her.

"See you in Art," Aidan said.

I waved him off, outgunned and defeated.

When they were out of earshot, Evie grabbed my arm. "Don't worry about Meadow. Aidan is totally into you."

"Yeah, because I'm such a catch compared to Miss Popularity."

"Yes, you are." She jerked my arm. "Take a closer look. What do you see?"

A guy who looks as gorgeous from the back as he does from the front.

"Check their body language," Evie insisted.

I watched them cross the cafeteria. Every few steps, Meadow tried to pull Aidan closer. Aidan kept easing away. When they neared the double doors, he glanced over his shoulder, searching until he found me. Our gazes locked. Aidan winked, then disappeared across the threshold, towed by Meadow.

Evie squeezed my arm. "Told you so."

An ember of hope fanned to life within me. "We'll see."

****

Thoughts of Aidan tumbled through my mind, making it difficult to concentrate on World History and Geography.
Does he have a girlfriend? How does he know Latin? Does he like Meadow? Everyone likes Meadow…

After the bell, I headed for Drama. The wind had picked up. The chill stung my cheeks, and I wondered if they were as red as everyone else's. I plastered an aloof, slightly hostile expression on my face as my gaze darted from clutches of cheerleaders and jocks to trios of nerds and random others. No sign of Aidan. Maybe Meadow had kidnapped him.

I had almost reached the auditorium when I sensed a warm presence behind me.

"Saluteum, fairy puella." Aidan maneuvered to my side. The top of my head might graze his shoulder if we were face-to-face and close enough to hug. Which, of course, we would never…

"Do I look like a fairy girl to you?"

"Absolute."

"Then, good sir, I have failed in my mission."

"Utterly. Sorry. The whole Goth Girl look is a good glamour, though. You had me fooled at first."

Goose bumps tiptoed down my neck. "What makes you think it's a glamour?"

Aidan glanced about, then leaned down and whispered, "Your energy field."

Are you serious? I flipped through my mental arsenal of snarky comebacks. Nothing surfaced. Realizing I was gaping like a fish in an animated movie, I closed my mouth. Aidan held open the auditorium door, then followed me inside.

"Do you have Drama, or are you stalking me?"

"Both."

The prospect buzzed my brain. "How'd Bio go with Meadow?"

"The teacher was psycho. Otherwise, easy peasy."

Easy peasy? "
Only one psycho teacher so far? Are you sure you go to Jefferson?"

"I do, for the moment."

"Then let me introduce you to our director." I led Aidan up onto the stage, where Mr. Peters was immersed in conversation with Pilar. They stopped speaking as we approached. Pilar blinked at Aidan with those doe eyes guys find so irresistible. Mr. Peters sized him up too, in a less obvious, detached teacher way. I could tell he was picturing Aidan on stage, haloed by the spotlight. I didn't want to think about what Pilar was imagining. Whatever it was, she flipped her curtain of shiny brown hair and fanned herself with a copy of
Romeo and Juliet.

Mr. Peters pulled an assignment sheet from his nylon bag and handed it to Aidan. "Sarah can go over this with you." He extracted a couple of scripts. "All I have left is
The
Taming of the Shrew and
Romeo and Juliet
. You can use them, or pick out something else from the list. You'll need to analyze three plays."

"I'll start with these."

"Good." Mr. Peters pushed back his round wire-framed glasses. Raising his voice, he asked the assembled students, "Anyone not have three plays yet?"

Aidan and I and a few others raised our hands.

"Then get thee to the library, young thespians. No wandering off. The rest of you, work on your papers here. This will be the last day I give you class time. Don't abuse the gift!"

Nazario and few others saluted and said, "Yes, sir."

"Where's the library?" Aidan asked.

"I'll show you."

We stepped back into the cold gale. I wished I had a fairy tale cloak like the ones they show in the movies, trailing in the snow. I'd look like Red Riding Hood, but without the wolf, and my cloak would be lined with sheep's wool to block the wind and hide my energy field.
Maybe I should have worn a coat this morning.

We passed beneath the flagpole. The California state flag, and the stars and stripes rippled and snapped high above us. The cord jangled against the metal pole, making it hard to hear each other. Conversation ceased. I ducked my chin and plowed forward, clutching my torso.

A weight settled across my shoulders as Aidan's jacket enveloped me. Its brown suede and quilted lining smelled of cookouts. "Thanks, but you'll freeze."

"No I won't." He rubbed his arms to warm them. "Is that the library?"

"Excellent deduction."

Mischief danced in his eyes. "I know. Right? A normal guy would never notice the huge lettering on the side of the building."

"Exactly." I pulled open the door. The wind caught it and would have slammed it against the wall if Aidan hadn't grabbed it. My debt to him mounted.

I stepped into the bright warmth of the library and inhaled its musty book smells. Heat from the furnace thawed my cheeks. Reluctantly, I slid Aidan's jacket from my shoulders and handed it to him. "Thanks again."

"Any time."

Looking into his smoky eyes set off more winged fairies.
It's just the love spell. I pointed to a distant book aisle. "
Shakespeare is this way."

A freshman boy, texting while pushing a book cart, almost sideswiped us. Aidan pushed aside the cart, averting a collision. The library aide glanced up, eyes wide. "Sorry, man."

I expected Aidan to tell off the kid. Instead, he said, "It's the invisibility cloak. Happens all the time."

The kid blinked a couple of times before breaking into a full metal-mouth smile. We eased past him, and Aidan asked me, "Why are you taking Latin?"

I reverted to my tough girl act. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

He leaned against an end display of theater books. "So, it wasn't an idle choice?"

He appeared so genuinely interested. I heaved a sigh. "In part, I was being contrary. You know, take the one language guaranteed to not help me get a job or enable me to read subtitles at the movies."

His lips curved upward. "See a lot of foreign films, do you?"

"No."

"Well, there you go. So what was the other part, the one where you weren't rebelling?"

"I thought it would help me with English."

Aidan shifted forward. "Is English your second language?"

"No. But I'm a lousy speller."
And it kills me because Amy always got perfect grades in English.

Aidan kept staring, as if he knew there were more to the story and was giving me time to find the words. "All right. I confess. I missed a lot of first grade because of a serious illness." I shook my head. "Somehow I never caught up."

"Your parents didn't help you?"

"No." An old bitterness crept into my voice. "They were too busy driving my older sister to some reoccurring mystery appointment."

"Hmm." Aidan pulled a copy of
A Midsummer Night's Dream off the shelf, but didn
't open it. "Want to know why taking Drama terrifies me?"

"Okay. I'll bite. Why does it terrify you?"

He lowered the slim volume. "Because in first grade I had to have speech therapy. The cord connecting your tongue to the bottom of your mouth?"

I nodded.

"Mine was too long." He tucked the book under his arm. "They cut it with silver scissors this big." He held his index fingers about a foot apart.

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Total truth."

"Then what happened?"

"The doc handed me a red medicine ball to suck on."

"Your speech is perfect now."

"Thanks. Five weeks of speech therapy. I worked hard. But in my head, I'm still a mush mouth." He lowered his chin. "So what do you say? I'll help you with reading and spelling, and you signal me if I'm making a fool of myself in front of the class. Deal?"

I was pretty sure he was conning me. Maybe the cord thing had happened to a friend or family member. How else would he know enough details to halfway convince me?
But why would he make up such a tale?

"I think the real story involves a silver tongue, not silver scissors. But okay." We clasped hands, and the nerves in my palm and fingers, scuffed by Aidan's calluses, jolted awake. His heat and strength flooded my hand and spread up my arm. My heart leapfrogged a couple beats. If this was the love spell, then I had totally outdone myself. "Deal."

Aidan held my gaze. "The deed is done."

Chapter Eight

Reality struck like a cold shower ten seconds after I crossed the threshold into Art.
Explore! Create! Follow Your Muse! The colorful posters along the wall had nothing to do with me or my life. I wasn
't here to explore my creativity or strike deals with some girl I'd never see again after the Crystal Faire. I was here to work. Papo's bottom line — as long as my art brought in money, he'd keep a roof over my head. The roof might be the van or a foreclosed house, but it was still a roof. Papo relished reminding me it was more than anyone else had offered. Dad had never talked about his relatives; I assumed he didn't have any left. Whenever I had suggested Mom's family might want me, might be looking for me, Papo would laugh or cuff my head.

"You think so, Nico? You think your aunt is desperate to find her missing nephew? Then why didn't she rescue you when your dad hit the bottle and you were starving on the streets? Huh? Because she didn't care. She ain't got any kids. Why would she want some street rat?"

Part of me resisted Papo's brainwashing. After all, when cancer had stolen Mom, Bronwyn had been away at college, barely twenty years old, with no family left except me. But over time it had become harder to remember the truth. Bronwyn
had sent a cop to check on me. My gut twisted. One memory was clear: how Dad had glared at me.

"Tell him, Aidan. Tell the officer how you have plenty to eat and a safe place to sleep."

I hesitated. Dad acted all cool and confident, but I saw the fear in his eyes
—
fear that I'd tell the truth.

Dad kept pressing.
"Bronwyn is just a kid. She's always been a worrywart. Go on, son. Tell him."

The baby-faced cop jabbed his thumbs into his belt. His glance wandered to two women crossing the street. His energy trailed them like a dog sniffing a scent.

"You okay?"

"Huh?" Obvious concern furrowed Salem's brow. I forced my energy to rise and lighten, resurrecting Aidan the Charmer. "I'm fine. Just thinking about the assignment."

"Did you decide to go with your dream or your nightmare?"

"Dream."
As soon as I can conjure up one. Gotta please the clients. "
How about you?" I glanced at the clay figure Salem held in one hand. "Is she your dream, or your nightmare?"

Salem's thin shoulders rose, then fell. "Kind of both, at the moment. I don't think I made her strong enough to carry the stone sphere above her head."

"So make the sphere out of something lighter, like balsa wood."

Salem leaned down and extracted something from her backpack. "But I love this stone." She placed it on the table and it rolled toward me.