Under a Spell (13 page)

“Come on, then. What are you waiting for?”

I bit my bottom lip and Will turned on a sigh. “Sorry about the demons crack, love. I just meant—”

“No.” I held up a hand. “You were right.” I eyed Cathy’s door. “It just seems—wrong.”

Will opened his legs slightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. His eyes staring down at me. Whether the stance was his version of alpha male or Sigmund Freud I wasn’t sure. “Why do you think it’s wrong? We’re investigators, remember?” There was the slightest hint of play in his voice. “We’re investigating.”

I toed the carpeted threshold. “I feel like we’re violating Cathy’s privacy. Her last bit of respite.”

Before I could recoil, Will reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the room. “With all due reverence for the dearly departed, we’ve got business to tend to and a rapidly pressing time line.”

“Right. Yeah, sorry.” I shook myself and did a three-sixty, my eyes sweeping the sweet-pea pink walls. Most of the paint was covered over with posters, photographs of smiling, beautiful teens, and glossy cutouts of sunken-cheeked models stomping down runways. Cathy’s desk was cluttered with papers, makeup pots, and all manner of girlie tchotchkes—all except one thirteen-inch rectangle.

“What do you think went there?”

I brushed my hand over the blank spot. “A laptop.”

“Was that mentioned in the evidence collection?”

I tapped a finger against my bottom lip. “Her backpack, I think two textbooks, a pencil case, and a notebook. Spiral not viral.”

“We’ll want to ask Julia about that. Are you just going to stand there or help me look for some clues?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why, Will Sherman, when did you become a detective?”

He held up an admonishing finger. “Private investigator. Angel Boy is the detective.”

“Noted,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s even a little telling that Fallon was friends with both the girls who went missing?”

“Well, there are four-hundred-eighty girls in the entire high school. Everyone was pretty much friends with everyone, right?”

I snatched a picture of Cathy and someone who must have been Kristy or Kelly from Cathy’s corkboard. Though she was shadowed in the background of the shot, I could still make out Fallon’s low brows, the menacing purse of her lips. “Everyone may have known each other, but everyone definitely wasn’t friends.”

Will slugged an arm over my shoulder and pulled me to him, ruffling my hair and kissing me gruffly on the top of my head. “Aw, like a wounded bird.”

I rolled my eyes and in my attempt to shove Will and his lame attempt at comforting me, I dropped the photo. It wafted to the ground, fluttering just under Cathy’s dust ruffle. I groaned, then dropped to hands and knees. I could feel Will move behind me.

“Did I ever mention—”

I swung my head and glared at him. “If you’re going to finish that sentence with ‘how much I love America,’ I’ve heard it. You seem to become incredibly patriotic whenever my ass is in the air.”

“Not just your ass, love.”

“Even better. Hey.” I swiped at the photo, then slid out the wooden box stashed behind it. “What’s this?”

It was a plain rectangular box about the size of a jewelry box but with absolutely no adornment. I flipped it open and sucked in a breath.

“Oh. Well, that casts a bit of new light, don’t you think?” Will said, pointing at the cluster of herbs in a plastic baggie. I picked up the bag, gave it a sniff, and frowned. “It smells like Thanksgiving.”

Will took the baggie from me, squinted, then sniffed. “It’s sage.”

“You know about herbs?”

“Don’t look so completely surprised. I can cook, you know.”

“You store your cleats in your oven.”

Will shrugged. “I said I
can
cook. I didn’t say that I
do
cook. So, is sage smoking the new black in SF? Or was our girl planning on cooking . . . secretly?”

I took the sage back. “No. Sage is used—especially bunched like this—to cleanse evil spirits from a room.” I put the baggie aside and picked out a few other trinkets—another grouping of dried herbs with flowers mixed in, two orange votive candles burned down to the tin, and a quarter-sized charm hanging from a length of black satin cording.

“What is that?” Will said, taking the amulet end of the necklace in his hand. I chewed the inside of my cheek, my heartbeat starting to thud. “It’s the symbol that was carved into the desk.” I turned the amulet around and showed it to Will.

“Another girl who thought she needed protection.”

Will pulled the last item from the box—a thin, fabric-bound book.

“That’s the same book Miranda had,” I said, taking it from him. “It’s a book of protection spells. The exact same one Miranda had.” I flipped it over, looking for some kind of discernible marking. “I wonder if it was from the same place.” I could feel myself starting to chew on the inside of my cheek again and I shook myself. “Do you think Cathy knew what was going to happen to her? And if so, does that mean Miranda is next?”

Will took the necklace and the book from me, slipping them both in his pocket and slipping the box back under Cathy’s bed. “Only one way to find out.” He stood and opened the bedroom door. “Coming?”

“We can’t just take that,” I hissed. “It’s Cathy’s property. Shouldn’t we at least tell her mother?”

“I think Julia has enough to deal with already,” Will said without turning around.

It was nearly seven o’clock when Will and I left Cathy’s house. I dialed Alyssa’s home number, my stomach doing flip-flops with each ring. Finally, the voice mail kicked on.

“I guess we’re out of the luck for the day, huh?” Will asked as we crested the Mercy High driveway.

I pinched my bottom lip, held up an index finger, and dove into my shoulder bag.

“What’s that?” Will asked, gesturing with his chin at the thin book I pulled out.

I slapped on the overhead dome light.

“Hey! Careful! Nigella is a collector’s item, remember?”

“A trash collector’s item,” I grumbled, trying to make anything out in the dim light. “Aha.” I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the number. “It’s the high school directory,” I whispered to Will as I let the phone ring. “I’m calling Miranda.”

“Why?” he whispered back.

“She could be next. She could be in danger right now.”

Miranda’s voice mail kicked on and I smacked the phone shut. “Damn it!”

“You don’t want to leave a message?”

My eyes bulged. “Really? What would I say? ‘Miranda, dear, this is your teacher. You’re in grave danger, so try not to leave the house. Or maybe you should leave the house. TTYL!’”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t end with ‘TTYL.’ I was thinking more along the lines of ‘can you call me when you get this.’”

I flopped my head back against Nigella’s cracked maroon headrests. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Will. I feel like we aren’t getting anywhere. Maybe it’s time to leave this one to the professionals.”

Will was silent for a beat before he clicked off the overhead light. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and by that time Will had slipped my hands into his and pulled them close to his chest.

“You are a professional, love. The police department is doing what they’re best at, and you’re doing what you’re best at. Sampson knows—this is not just about teenage girls. This is about witchcraft and you know how to deal with that.”

“That’s the thing, Will. Some toilets blew up. Some girls have spell books. What else proves that this has anything to do with witchcraft? And it is about the girls. We’re looking for bedknobs and broomsticks and Alyssa is still missing.”

He squeezed my hands and the warmth of his—his smooth palm, our fingers interlaced—shot a comforting warmth through me and I wanted to believe anything he said.

“We’re going to find her, love.”

Chapter Seven

Will and I sat in his car for a silent beat. My heart was hammering in my chest and I licked my lips, looking at the monolith of Mercy High in front of me. It was imposing in the daytime, but at night, barely highlighted by the silver slashes of moonlight, the building looked ominous, threatening. I half expected a flash of lightning to crack through the sky, an MGM warning that this particular building sat like a lightning bolt for all things evil.

“We need to go back in the building.”

Will looked at me, eyebrows disappearing into his sandy hair. “Back into the high school? Why? We’ve checked it over twice.”

I sucked in a slow, deep breath. “I don’t think I was ready to see anything.”

Will’s brow furrowed and he pressed his lips together.

I rushed on. “I didn’t want to see anything there except for what I knew—in my head, in my—what is it? Repressed memories.”

Will reached across the center console and took my hand tenderly in his. He cocked his head slightly and blinked, the honey-amber of his eyes warm and inviting. “You’ve never repressed a thing in your life, love.”

I snatched my hand back and grabbed the door. “Are you coming or not?”

We stood in front of the glass double doors and stared, somehow both waiting for the ultimate evil to come barreling toward us or for a commercial break. The school remained silent, the double doors cloudy and revealing nothing, and there was no pause to regroup or offer some sort of cheery distraction. My heart was thundering in my ears and Will had been uncharacteristically silent the whole walk from parking lot to school entrance. A wind kicked up and a handful of skeletal leaves and garbage brushed past us.

“Ready?” I asked, my fingers closing around the administration key Principal Lowe had offered me.

Will shrugged and attempted to look nonchalant, but his eyes never left the keyhole. “I guess.”

I unlocked the door and stepped aside, waiting for Will to push it open.

“What?” he asked.

I gestured. “You always open doors for ladies.”

He cocked a brow. “I didn’t know gender roles held firm even in the face of unspeakable danger.”

I steeled my body and tried to sum up confidence I didn’t feel. “What are you so worried about? You said yourself we’ve checked the place twice already and found nothing.”

Will pushed open the door for me and I hesitated before stepping through. “Yes, but that was before your whole ‘I see dead people . . . if I care to look’ routine.”

I huffed, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “I don’t see dead people. I mean, I’ve
seen
dead people.” I shuddered. “I’ve probably seen more dead people in the last two years than most people will see in their whole lives.”

Will glanced at me before slapping a flashlight into my hand. “You’re not the best at putting people at ease, you know?”

I flicked on the flashlight and shined the yellow bulb toward Will’s face. “Hey, you’re the Guardian.”

He slung an arm over my shoulder. “And if there’s a team of fallen angels lurking around this place, then you’re in luck.”

“Otherwise?”

Will flashed his light down the blackened hallway. “Otherwise? You’re on your own.”

“What a relief,” I groaned.

“They don’t pay me enough.”

I rolled up on my tiptoes and glanced through the windows into darkened classrooms that looked as benign as they had during the day—desks in neat lines, unoccupied by witches, hobgoblins, or any other manner of creepy-crawly; stacked textbooks; glossy posters reminding girls to stay off drugs.

“I ask again,” Will said as we approached the last room. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Just keep an eye out for anything that seems . . . off.”

Will swung his light toward me, and I was enveloped in a bright yellow glow. I rolled my eyes.

“You’re funny.”

“You’re off.”

“Upstairs.” I shined my light and took the stairs two at a time. By the time I crested the second floor my hackles had gone up. Something hung heavy in the air; there was a sort of buzz, a crackling electricity that hadn’t been there before.

“Do you feel that?” I hissed over my shoulder to Will.

He just wagged his head, eyes focused on me.

My skin started to prick and I could feel the sweat start to bead at my hairline and over my upper lip. My heartbeat sped up, the thrum a solid ache in my chest.

“There’s something here,” I whispered, shaking my head. I clawed at my chest and pressed my palm against my quick, steady heartbeat. I was finding it hard to breathe. My eyes stung, and every muscle in my body perked, then stiffened. I felt like I was walking into something—something cold, something with icy fingers that walked down my vertebra bone by bone—something evil.

I paused and Will stopped behind me. I could feel his energy—warm and comforting—a hairsbreadth behind me.

“There.” I didn’t know when I did it, but I had turned and was facing a door, my arm extended, index finger pointing.

“We need to go in there.”

Will obeyed wordlessly, slipping past me and pushing the door open. His hand went for the light switch, but I stopped him. “No.”

I knew there was something in the room. I knew there was something that would be disturbed by the light. I clicked my flashlight off and Will did the same, the thin strips of moonlight coming through the window the only illumination in the room.

“This is the art room,” Will said, looking around. “Haven’t we been in here before?”

There were no desks in this room, just a circle of wooden easels surrounded by high stools. Some easels held canvasses in varying stages of completion, some were empty. There were half-canisters of paint, brushes scattered on a long table, nothing out of the ordinary. But still, something nagged at me.

“There,” I said finally, pointing to a tiny scrape of white peeking out from underneath one of the easels. “Do you see that?”

Will’s gaze followed the length of my finger, toward where I was pointing. “Nope.”

I sighed, handed him my flashlight, and pushed the stool and easel aside. I could see another line now, thick, white, and arched, chalked on the floor. “You have to see that.”

I saw him squint in the darkness, then sink down onto his haunches. “I have no idea what you’re pointing at, love. It looks like cheap linoleum to me.”