Under a Spell (21 page)

“You can tell me anything, Kayleigh. We can keep it just between us.”

“Fallon would murder me if she knew I was talking to you, but this—this is getting really serious. You—you don’t know the whole story—everything that’s happening with Fallon and Miranda.”

“No, I guess I don’t. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Kayleigh licked her lips and hugged the strap of her bag tighter against her chest. She opened her mouth, but her words were drowned out by three hard, heavy raps on the glass. She whirled and my head snapped up, just in time to see Fallon’s narrowed eyes, that slate-blue stare boring into me. She was in the hallway, her lips set in a hard, thin line. She disappeared from view, the snap of her gum echoing in the hallway before she pulled open my door. Her eyes regarded me coolly before zeroing in on Kayleigh. I was shaking for her, the sweat breaking out at the back of my neck, but Kayleigh dropped into the iceberg-cool mode I was sure I’d never master.

Fallon snapped another bubble.

“Do you want a ride home or not? I’ve been waiting for you for, like, ever.”

I surreptitiously glanced at the clock: nine minutes since the last bell. I was about to let Kayleigh off of Fallon’s barbed hook, but she spoke, shaking her long hair over her shoulder and turned her back on me.

“Old lady Lawson said my Beowulf paper lacked depth.”

“She should know all about lacking depth,” Fallon said in a low snark.

I rolled my eyes, then grabbed a page off my desk, scrawled my number down and stepped in between the girls, shoving the half-folded paper into Kayleigh’s hands. I caught her eye, held it.

“Here’s your paper back. If you’d like help, you can call on me, anytime.”

I waited for a miniscule flash of thanks or apology to flit through Kayleigh’s eyes but got nothing. She just snatched the page and edged past Fallon to get out the door. Fallon said nothing, but she shot me a look that was so icy that I actually shivered before she let the door go. I caught it before it snapped shut and stood there, considering. When I caught a mane of fuzzy dark hair out of the corner of my eye, I dashed toward it.

“Miranda?”

Miranda, her back to me as she sipped from the water fountain, straightened, then turned slowly.

“Um, Ms. L?”

I leaned in so our foreheads were nearly touching. “I need to talk to you.”

Miranda tried to inch away from me, her butt up against the water fountain. “I told you—”

“It’s not about Fallon,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not about bullying or what happened in the hallway.”

Miranda looked around. I realized we were circled now, girls strategically angled to look like they weren’t paying attention to us, but every eyebrow was quirked, every glossed lip was pursed in a slick smile. Miranda looked part horrified, part pacified—as though being the center of unwanted attention was something she had gotten used to.

“Please?” I said on a whisper.

Miranda took a step forward and I led her to an alcove in the hall. I would have dragged her into my room, but after Kayleigh and Fallon, I figured it wouldn’t be long until Heddy or Principal Lowe stationed an armed guard there.

“You’re not really a teacher, are you?”

I started. “Well, no. I’m a substitute.”

Miranda smiled. “Yeah?”

I felt an instant wave of guilt and I made a mental note to get my hormones checked. I was investigating a crime scene undercover, and feeling guilty for lying to possible major players.

“Yeah. Look, I know we talked a little bit before—about clubs and stuff on campus.” I held her eyes, hoping my raised brows would convey what I didn’t want to say.

“Yeah, so?”

I lowered my voice. “And the covens?”

Miranda shrugged. “Yeah, we talked about that.”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, I don’t work for the school, okay? At least not officially. But I really need to know, Miranda, are there girls who think they’re witches here?”

Miranda didn’t seem startled by my question, but she didn’t answer, either.

“The book that you dropped in your scuffle with Fallon? This is it, right?” I unfolded one of the color copies of the book’s cover.

Miranda gave it a cursory look, her shoulders rising a half inch. “Yeah, why?”

“It’s a book of spells, Miranda.”

“I know. You don’t think that I—I’m not some kind of witch. I just—some girls . . .” Her voice trailed off, her eyes focusing on her shoes.

“It’s okay. I know what they are.”

Miranda’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “You do?”

“Protection spells. I know what this is, too.” I unfolded the copy of the symbol carved into the desk in my classroom.

Miranda took the page from me and studied it. “Is this in the book? I didn’t really read it.”

“You don’t recognize this symbol?”

Miranda swung her head. “Should I?”

“You said you weren’t friends with Cathy Ledwith.”

Miranda leaned against the alcove wall and yanked on the straps of her backpack. “Not really, no.”

“You knew her from around school?”

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes skittering to mine, then going back to her toes.

“Did you know she had the same spell book that you have?”

Miranda looked up, but the “oh my!” expression I was wanting wasn’t there. Instead, she shrugged again and said, “No. Was she one of the witches?”

I swallowed hard. “No, I don’t think so. But the book is for protection. So is the symbol. Cathy had both and now you—you at least have the book. What—or who—are you afraid of, Miranda?”

Miranda kicked at the ground, the toe of her sneaker grimy and well worn.

I hunched so I was directly in her line of sight. “Miranda, this is important. You’re not going to get in trouble if you tell me.”

Finally she looked up, her cheeks blazing red. “I bought it by mistake.”

I felt my eyebrows arch up. “By mistake?”

Miranda kicked at the floor again, checked her backpack straps a second time, and glanced at the ceiling—anything to avoid my gaze while the blush on her cheeks went all the way to the tops of her ears. “I thought it was a book on love spells.”

“Love spells?” I said it out loud, then clapped a hand over my mouth. Then, in a whisper, “You wanted a book of love spells?”

“Yeah.” It was barely a mumble.

“What for?”

Miranda looked up at me. “What do you think?”

Now I felt myself blush.

“Look at me, Ms. L.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Because I’m smart, funny, and some day some amazing guy is going to come along and realize it, once guys are mature enough to see over my current idiocy? Thanks, I’ve heard it. I’m sixteen. I’ve never even held hands with a guy.”

“Well, you are at an all-girls school.”

“I know it’s stupid, but I don’t have any friends at school so it’s not like I can even go to one of the mixer dances. Like I’m just going to walk in there alone and stand there the whole night, waiting for Mr. Mature to throw someone like Fallon or Kayleigh aside and ask me to dance. Never. Going. To. Happen. Never! I thought maybe—I don’t really believe in the stuff—but I thought maybe I could get a little extra help.” Her smile was small, almost apologetic. “I figured, what could it hurt, right?”

I sighed, wanting to hug her, wanting to gush about all the dances I sat at home through, how the last actual date I’d been on ended with a jaw-snapping werewolf and a zombie pub crawl. But I also wanted to give this kid hope.

“You don’t need any book of spells to get a boy to notice you. Maybe just—” I put an index finger under her lowered chin and gently tilted her head up. “Maybe just look up once in a while. Make eye contact.”

Miranda smiled, her cheeks still pink. “I was so embarrassed buying that book that I walked into the store, went straight to the book shelf, and assumed any book with a red binding must be about love. I guess I picked wrong. I hadn’t even opened it.”

“So you didn’t buy a book of protection spells because you thought you were in any danger?”

“Only in danger of being alone for the rest of my life.”

“That won’t happen. But no more spells, okay?”

“Okay.” Miranda turned and was halfway out of the alcove before I stopped her.

“Hey—what do you know about Lock and Key Club?”

She shrugged. “Only that I can’t get in. Ask one of the perfect girls.” She waved, made a point to look me in the eye, and disappeared down the hall.

I went back to my classroom to gather my things and sat there, alone, until the school quieted as students filed out of the halls and into the parking lot. It was still early, but the fog had already rolled in, casting shadows through the large picture windows. I was in a silent, mourning stupor, which is why I nearly tossed my cell phone across the room when it started sputtering a jazz-heavy version of “God Save the Queen.”

“You changed my ringtone again, didn’t you?”

“And a good day to you, too,” Will chirped into my ear. “Where are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple question, love. Where. Are. You. I, myself, am sitting at your kitchen table enjoying a spot of tea.”

I hopped off the desk, offended. “Why are you at my house? How did you get into my house?”

“A good Guardian shall always have access to his charge’s place.”

“A good Guardian wouldn’t have to call to know where his charge is.”

“Touché.”

“I thought you’d come down here, to the school,” I said, pressing my fingers against my just-starting-to-ache forehead.

“I have my every confidence in you. Besides, football’s on.”

I could hear the rush of the crowd from his side of the phone. “Whatever. I’m going to grab a couple of those yearbooks, maybe poke around a bit, then I’m on my way home. Be ready to go by Alyssa’s house when I get there.” I glanced at the closed door. “And maybe Fallon’s. Okay?”

“Aye aye, love.”

I hung up the phone on a groan.

I heard the clack-clack-clack of Heddy’s shoes before I saw her. Then suddenly she was in front of me, all pudges and grins.

“Well, Sophie! I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Um, just wrapping up a few things. Actually, though, it’s a good thing I ran into you. Does Mercy have a policy against bullying?”

Heddy’s eyes were wide behind her big round glasses. “Oh my, yes. The bullying has gotten so bad nowadays.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “So you’ve had bullying here on campus?”

“Heavens, no! The girls here all get along. They’re just angels! Well, you remember that from your years here, don’t you?”

I thought back to my cowering, terror-filled years, the overwhelming silence and screaming into my pillows at night. “Yeah, sure. It was a big ol’ love fest.”

Heddy smiled at me and hiked up her bag, flipping up her collar as though she were heading into the Arctic. “I hope we get to see you around under better circumstances,” she said as she pushed open the door.

I offered her a pressed-lipped smile and waved. The door snapped shut behind her and echoed through the silent hall.

Chapter Twelve

The semi-deserted parking lot shouldn’t have been scary. There were splashes of light from poles that dotted the concrete, and five hundred feet away cars honked, tires squeaked, and muddled bass thumped as traffic eked down Nineteenth. But either way I was a woman who was aware, who watched all the “it could happen to you” specials and who had been pummeled by everything from a sweaty book agent to a rabid vampire. I walked with purpose, making a zippy beeline toward my car with my keys threaded through my knuckles—a makeshift set of eyeball-gauging claws.

It was these claws that tumbled from my hand when I awkwardly tried to stab them into the door lock. I bent over to retrieve them and my shoulder bag walloped me in the chin while my backpack clipped the back of my head. I steadied myself against my car door and pressed myself back up slowly (lest I behead myself on a side view mirror). That was when an engine revved and the headlights from the car half a parking lot away clicked on and flooded me and mine in glaring white light. I was temporarily blinded, unable to see anything but the glowing white orbs. I squinted and the driver revved his engine again.

“Big engine, small dick,” I mumbled, searching for my car key.

I heard the faint crunch of gravel and then the unmistakable sound of rubber peeling over concrete. My head snapped back and the white orbs were growing bigger and bigger as the car came hurtling toward me, its engine throbbing so loudly that the sound pinged through my bones, made my teeth feel weird and achy.

The driver saw me, I know he did. Or if by chance he didn’t, there was no mistaking my car beside me, my smashed-up,
vampire
-scrawled car. But he didn’t seem to care. The headlights didn’t waver, didn’t move a millimeter to either side. The driver knew where I was and was aiming right for me—quickly.

My brain told me to move, to dive, to swerve, to run, but my feet weren’t mine. They wouldn’t respond,
couldn’t
respond, and kept me rooted to the vibrating concrete as the car closed the distance between us.

I could smell the exhaust from the car, the fast burn of gas on the chilled night air. I knew it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds—five at the most—but it felt like a lifetime, me rooted to that spot, my meager offering of skin and bones and muscle and flesh against two thousand pounds of rocketing steel. Adrenaline shot through me in fiery waves and my legs gave out. I felt my hair whip across the flying car and I clenched my eyes shut, crushing my palms against my ears as the sound of metal pulverizing metal deafened me. I heard the pop of glass, saw the shards fall in delicate slow motion—like snowflakes, I thought—as they danced to the ground, glistening in the weakening light. I felt my flesh breaking, hot against the concrete.

And suddenly it was quiet. Dead quiet.

I couldn’t feel anything. My heart wasn’t beating, the blood that had been coursing through my veins was stiff and oddly silent. I dropped my head and felt the concrete grating into my cheek.

Then there was pain, and noise.

Cars honking, tires squeaking, the muddled bass of cars on Nineteenth.