The Lingering Grace (12 page)

Alice: Had to go home. Mom needs me.

Thinking for a second, she added:

Alice: She binged on cheesecake, is a total mess. Trying to talk her down.

Since this very thing had happened only a couple weeks earlier, Alice felt little guilt over pulling it out now.

This time, Tony texted back almost immediately.

Tony: Nice of you to take care of her. See you tomorrow.

No harm done. Proud of herself for handling the situation, Alice put the phone back in her pocket just as Eva opened the door, holding two cheese sticks and a bag of tortilla chips.

“How’s your mom?” Alice asked.

“Fine. Why did you have the door closed?” Eva glanced suspiciously around the room, as though she expected to see something out of place.

“I just … ” Alice hesitated. She didn’t have a really good explanation, but Eva’s glare made her nervous, so she continued. “It was dark in the hallway.”

“Are you scared of the dark?”

“Sometimes?” Alice said. It came out as more of a question. Eva’s eyes narrowed, and Alice nervously dropped her own gaze.

Eva must have taken this as a sign of submission because a second later she said, “Don’t worry about my mom. She’s fine. Just a little down, you know.”

Alice breathed easier.

“Yeah, I understand.”

She dared to look up as Eva sat down next to her. Leaning back against her pillows, Eva crossed her legs and smiled. Alice grinned back a little warily; she wasn’t sure why Eva had freaked out over the closed door, but she suspected it was the same reason she had panicked when she realized Eva was sitting alone and unsupervised in her own room. There was something there she didn’t want Alice to find.

Alice’s eyes darted over the stacked boxes, the sparse furniture. If Eva
did
have something important in here, she probably would have already unpacked it. Which meant that, since there was almost nothing unpacked in the first place, the things she valued most would be exposed or thinly hidden.

No wonder Eva was nervous.

“So,” Alice pressed, getting right to the point. “Can I see the magic book you found?”

Eva’s smile didn’t fade, but it stiffened.

“Of course,” she said. “But let’s eat first. I’m starving. Cheese stick?”

Alice took the proffered cheese with a sinking heart. Eva wasn’t meeting her eyes; neither one of them spoke for a minute. As Eva peeled the plastic wrapper away, Alice saw that her hand was shaking. It was nearly imperceptible—just a tremor—but Eva must have noticed it too because she quickly pulled that hand into her lap.

For a few seconds, Alice debated whether or not she should say something. But then she remembered what her cousin had told her shortly after her aunt died. He’d marched up to her at the funeral, grabbed her by the hand, and demanded, “
Why?
Why does everyone pretend everything’s okay? It’s not effing okay.”

Alice reached out and put a hand on Eva’s knee.

“Hey, it’s fine if you’re not okay.”

Eva did not answer immediately; she was staring at her cheese stick like it was the only thing in the world. Her eyes were a little bloodshot. She blinked a few times.

When she lifted her head a few seconds later, her face was oddly blank, her eyes dry.

“I’m fine. It’s okay.”

Alice looked at the hand that Eva had tried to hide and noticed how tightly she was clasping her pant leg. It wasn’t okay.

“Well,” Alice said, uncertain what to do. She thought Eva would appreciate having someone to talk to, but she seemed even more closed off than before. “Okay,” Alice said at last.

“Are you okay?” asked Eva, though her voice lacked any hint of concern.

“Sure,” Alice said. But she was lying too.

If Alice thought she would become more relaxed as the evening wore on, she was wrong. She and Eva sat on the bed for an hour and a half, eating chips and talking about school. It was the sort of things that friends did, and by all logic, it should have put Alice at ease. The tension between them faded to a distant hum but didn’t disappear entirely. Eva was putting off discussing the more important things, and the longer Alice waited to bring up magic, the more nervous she became.

By the time the clock on Eva’s dresser read eight o’clock, Alice’s head was pounding.

As Eva sipped a glass of water, Alice looked down at her clasped hands and wondered again whether this whole thing had been a mistake. She had totally abandoned Tony, and he didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Why chase so hard after Eva’s friendship when she already had Tony? As they said, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

Eva was staring at her intently.

“I’m sorry?” she said, realizing that Eva had just asked her a question.

“I said, have you ever done a trust fall?” There was a dangerous twinkle in Eva’s eye, but her smile was warmer than it had been all night. Alice shifted her weight; her legs were falling asleep.

“Of course I have. Why?”

Eva leaned forward, pushing the empty bag of chips to the side.

“If I’m going to teach you, show you everything I know—”

Alice’s heart leaped.

“—then I need to know that I can trust you. And that you’ll trust me. When you do magic with two people, it isn’t just about following instructions. It’s about listening to each other. We have to work together.”

“I trust you,” Alice said automatically, even though it wasn’t entirely true. Eva had been sending more mixed signals than a schizophrenic. Then again, Eva
had
just lost her sister. And grief did strange things to people. Really, who could blame her for being a little confused? Alice decided to cut her some slack. A bird in the hand was great, but why settle for one bird when you
could
have two? If she pulled away now, then it would be her fault that they never had a shot at real friendship.

“Well, thanks,” said Eva, who looked genuinely pleased. “But I still think it would be a good idea for us to practice a little before we get into the real stuff. Just to make sure that we’re both ready.”

“You mean like a magic trust fall?”

“Exactly.”

Alice hesitated for a second. The problem with a trust fall was that you actually
could
get hurt. Without the risk, trust was less a requirement and more a friendly gesture. Her hands clenched, but she kept her face neutral.

“What do I do?” she asked.

Eva drummed her fingers on the edge of the bed, her eyes boring into Alice’s. “There’s one I’ve read about on the forums. It’s called a promise burn.”

“Burn?”

The hairs on Alice’s arms stood up. She hugged them over her stomach, hoping Eva wouldn’t notice.

“I know it sounds awful, but it’s really not. As long as we work together, it’s perfectly safe.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Just hold still. It’s intense magic, so I’ll do the incantation.”

“Oh.” Alice couldn’t help but be disappointed. This was a pretty one-sided trust fall.

Eva must have noticed the drop in her tone because she reassured, “Not that your part is any less important! It’s essential.”

“What’s the spell, then?”

Eva’s fingers drummed faster though her voice stayed steady.

“It’s an old ritual—a rite two witches would perform so that they knew they could trust each other. It’s pretty much just a promise to have each other’s backs, but it’s held in place by magic. The spell holds each party to their word for as long as the spell lasts.”

“And how long is that?”

“It’ll fade after about a month.”

This was sounding more and more like a campy blood oath taken under the moonlight with the flick of a knife. But Alice was more excited than repulsed. A magical promise was something solid—something to rely on. She liked the idea of Eva looking out for her.

“I’ll say the words and then, when I breathe out, there should be some kind of … fire.” Eva hesitated, watching Alice for a reaction. Alice gave her none, and she went on. “Then all you have to do is open your mouth and inhale it and swallow. From what I’ve heard, your mouth will get a little warm. But the fire won’t hurt you.”

Alice swallowed roughly, imagining what it would feel like to gulp down a ball of flames. She didn’t let herself think about it for too long. It was just like a trust fall, really, and if you stood on the ladder for more than a few seconds, you were bound to talk yourself out of letting go.

“Let’s do it,” she said, nodding.

“You—you’re sure?” Eva asked, studying her. Judging by the surprise in her voice, she’d been planning on having to do a lot more convincing.

“I said I trust you. And I do.”

Her teeth clenched with the effort of saying it.
It’s not a huge lie
, she told herself.
And if I didn’t trust her
…
I wouldn’t tell her anyway.

“Ok. Well … I guess … ” she took a deep breath and opened her mouth, then closed it. Her chest heaved up and down; her eyes were bright. “I guess … let’s do it.”

“I guess so,” Alice agreed.

Eva nodded. She breathed in again, closed her eyes, and started to recite.

I flame out,

You flame in.

Fires join,

Ashes swim.

We—the fire.

But if we burn

One another—

Cinders.

Alice was learning to recognize the way magic felt. Instead of passing through her, it lodged in her chest and curled into a swirling bulge that sent tingles up her spine and down the backs of her legs. But until Eva began speaking this incantation, Alice never noticed the smell. Maybe it was because Eva was more practiced than she was, or maybe it had something to do with the spell itself, but the scent hit her in several waves. It was earthy; it was decaying pine needles and driftwood and damp sand. Not unpleasant, but distinctly old.

The smell only held Alice’s attention for a moment; as Eva spoke the last words, tendrils of blue light curled out from her lips. They didn’t dissipate—they twisted in the air in front of her, tying knot after elaborate knot. The crowd of intertwining blue threads grew more and more compact until it was a sphere no larger than a golf ball. Alice watched it as it spun, keenly aware of her heart drumming, her palms sweating. She realized she should have been terrified, but she was entranced by the little globe, how wild yet dainty it was, how much she wanted to reach out and hold it in her hand …

But before Alice could lift her arm, Eva, her eyes lit by the glow, opened her mouth and exhaled.

The serene blue sphere exploded into yellow flames.

Alice jumped backward, startled.

The ball quadrupled in size in a matter of seconds, burning so brightly gold that Alice couldn’t look directly at it. She could feel heat on her face from what may as well have been a miniature sun suspended in front of her. Alice tried to scoot backward on the bed, but her grasping hands found only the edge of the mattress; she was as far back as she could go.

In a moment of sheer panic, she realized that there was no way she could swallow this thing that was twice as large as her fist. It wouldn’t even fit into her mouth.

“Eva,” she cried out, voice trembling, “Eva, you have to stop it.”

But Eva did not stop it. Eva puckered her lips and blew, sending the globe spinning straight toward Alice. Alice recoiled and nearly fell off the bed, then, recovering her balance, looked up and found the fireball only a foot from her face. She froze, stunned by the brightness, paralyzed with fear, wanting to push it away but afraid to touch it. Sweat trickled down her forehead; she was sure her face would melt off.

“Alice, just trust me! Open your mouth!” Eva called, but Alice hardly heard her. The fire was only six inches from her now. Only four …

She began to blow on it as Eva had done, trying to force it away. It only flared brighter.

Then, when the globe was only two inches from her, Alice closed her eyes in terror. Almost involuntarily, she opened her mouth to scream.

But the sound never made it past her lips.

Heat—tingling, tickling—forced itself into her open mouth. It pressed against her cheeks and tongue, too hot, too painful, and Alice bucked against it. She fell backward off the bed and crashed onto the floor, landing on her back. Her head hit the wall and the world spun and for a second, she felt nothing.

As she lay crumpled against the wall, the heat faded. A not-unpleasant warmth trickled down her throat, leaving nothing in its wake. The only pain she felt was the throbbing in her head and ribs.

“
Alice!
”

Eva was at her side in seconds. She grabbed her arm, put a hand on her face. Alice’s vision was swimming; she saw not one, but two foggy faces in front of her. Both were wide-eyed and pale.

“Alice! Alice?” Eva said again, shaking Alice’s shoulders. “Alice, please say something!”

Alice blinked and the two faces resolved into one. Her head pounded as she pulled herself into a seated position.

“Ouch,” she moaned. It was the only word she could think of. She was reeling from the impact, but her racing pulse had less to do with her tumble and more to do with the fire and the heat and the pain.