White Witch (7 page)

When I step outside, I look for Toni, Eric and Paige but only find Keller sitting at the table, looking as if he’s been waiting for me. My heart rate triples, and my nerves go all jittery. It’s not magic this time, at least not the bad kind. Without my realizing it, my brain signals my feet to propel me forward.

“Where’d everyone go?” I ask as I near the table.

“Eric had to go to work down at the Amoco station, and Toni’s mom picked up her and Paige.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” I shrug. “Embarrassed. Made quite the impression on my first day. God, that even sounds strange. It seems like this day has been a week long.”

Keller licks his lips as if he’s marshaling his courage. “You’re probably wishing you were back at your old school, huh?”

I look into his dark eyes, trying to gauge if he’s fishing for information, if he has any clue what really happened with that gust of wind. If he suspects, he’s very good at hiding it.

“My mom home schooled me, so no. Today had its drama, but I
 . . .
I like it here.” And I like him way more than is safe or sane for either of us.

“Would you like a lift back to your car?”

I hesitate for a moment then nod. “Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

I feel him watching me as I dump the contents of my tray into the garbage can. I certainly hope it’s because he likes me and not because he’s trying to figure out what his Spidey sense is telling him is wrong about me.

Please don’t think too hard, Keller, please.

I swing my leather tote onto my shoulder and follow as he leads the way to his Tundra.

“Nice truck,” I say for lack of anything more interesting. Guys like compliments on their vehicles, right?

“Thanks. Go ahead and get in. I’ll be right back.”

I slide into the passenger seat then watch in the side mirror as he runs inside. A minute or so passes before he comes out with a cup. When he gets into the truck, he extends the cup to me.

“What’s this?”

“Chocolate milkshake. They’re better when you drink them.”

I let go of whatever reserve I’ve been hiding behind and laugh. It feels like I’ve opened a release valve after the stress of the last few minutes. For now at least, he’s good for my state of mind. I offer a smile before taking a sip of the shake.

He smiles back, and I know deep in my bones that no matter how crazy and irrational it seems, I feel like I’m already halfway to falling in love with him. How is it possible that I feel safer with him than I ever did with my own family? His protector vibe should frighten me because I’m the thing he protects others from, but it curls its arms around me in an unexpected embrace. For a moment, I relax and let myself experience what it might be like to be carefree, to not have to carry worry around like a lead weight in my stomach.

Before I do something insane like declare my undying love for someone I met eight hours ago, I take another long drink of the shake.

Keller starts the truck and heads for the school parking lot. “So, what does your mom do?”

“She’s an art dealer,” I say, pulling from the fake background I’ve created for myself. “Works with artists to get their work into galleries and shops across the country.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Yeah. She travels a lot.”

“That sounds even better.” Something about how he says it, how he looks like he’s staring far beyond Baker Gap, gives me the oddest sense that he feels . . . trapped. Like I had within the coven’s compound.

I catch myself before I reach out to touch his arm, to offer what, I don’t know. Comfort? Understanding? I shift my gaze away from him, pretending I hadn’t detected that unexpected sense of longing. What would a
normal
girl say now?

“What about your parents?”

“Mom’s
 . . .
she’s gone.”

I hate the hurt I hear in his voice because I understand what it’s like to lose a parent. “I’m sorry. My, my father’s gone, too.”

“I’m sorry, too.” A couple of moments pass as Keller maneuvers around a car parked on the side of the street.

“What about your dad?” I ask then bring the straw to my lips again.

“He’s a Methodist minister.”

I choke on the drink of milkshake I’m in the middle of sucking up through the straw.

“You okay?” He looks prepared to pull over if necessary.

I wave away his concern and bring my coughing under control. “Fine,” I squeak out.

“No offense, but I don’t think you and milkshakes are getting along today.”

I give him a shaky smile while wondering about my incredible lack of luck. A minister? Seriously? Let’s see, I’m insanely attracted to a hunter. And if that’s not bad enough, his dad has to be a minister—not exactly big fans of witchcraft, even if all they know is the perfectly harmless kind practiced by Wiccans. I suddenly feel as if my head might explode, that I can’t get out of the truck fast enough while also wanting to stay inside it forever. My emotions and defenses feel beaten and bruised.

“Don’t worry. I’m not one of those preacher’s sons you have to look out for,” Keller says.

I laugh a little, but the knot in my center has put a damper on our time together. And that ticks me off. I want to be able to enjoy being with Keller without thinking about him trying to kill me or his dad burning me at the stake. Okay, so there hasn’t been a witch burning in a long time. Doesn’t mean they won’t decide to start them up again if given half a chance. Especially if they ever find out what kind of power I have.

We arrive at the school, and despite everything, it feels much too quickly.

“Here we are, front-door service.”

“Thanks for the ride.” I wrap my hand around the door handle, ready to flee.

“Jax?”

“Yeah?” I look back at him with my eyes feeling too wide. There’s a question in his, and I don’t really want to know what it is.

“Uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I manage another half smile, one that feels sad, then head for my Beetle. He sits there in the truck, watching as I drive out of the lot. Have I somehow given myself away?

Should I just keep on driving, leaving Baker Gap, my new life and Keller behind? All my instincts tell me yes, but I can’t do it. Instead, I turn toward the campground and hope I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.

Toni skips ahead of me, walks backward for a few steps as we approach Mr. Callahan’s classroom. “Toots, you better be looking somewhere outside this county.”

I can’t help a glance in Keller’s direction as I enter the room, but he has his head down, reading his textbook. A wave of sadness I can’t begin to explain dampens my mood like a thick, cold fog coming in off the ocean. I slide into my seat, wishing things could be different, that
 . . .
well, there’s no sense wishing for what can never be. I remind myself to focus on schoolwork, on maintaining my pledge to avoid using my powers, on building friendships and living as ordinary a life as I can. I’ve taken a lot of chances for this opportunity.

“Today, we’re going to talk about ignorance and intolerance, two things that have been with mankind pretty much from the word ‘go’,” Mr. Callahan starts, as he leans against his desk.

I try to pay attention as my classmates provide examples from the 17
^th
century American colonies, but I keep wondering if Keller is looking at me and whether he can possibly know the truth about my identity. I don’t dare look back at him though, not sure I really want to see the answer in his eyes. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

I take a slow, deep breath, reminding myself that I’m being paranoid.

“Keller?” Mr. Callahan says.

That gets my full attention.

“The Salem Witch Trials,” he says.

Cold wraps around my heart, and the urge to run swamps me, tightening the muscles in my legs. Thankfully, common sense wends its way through my mind, dislodging the fear. Keller has given me no reason to suspect he knows there is anything supernatural about me. I let my muscles relax and the tension flow from my body so that I don’t give him a reason to suspect.

Keller probably gave the witch trials for no other reason than the fact it’s the most famous example of ignorance and intolerance from that period in America’s history.

I look down at my notebook, pretending to study the notes I’ve been taking, but the words blur in front of me as I remember the truth of what really happened in Salem.

“Good example,” Mr. Callahan says. “Twenty supposed witches were killed during the hysteria.”

I nearly laugh, and it’s not a humorous one. Talk about ignorance. Sure, all the books and records list nineteen as being hanged and one pressed to death during the Salem witch hunts, but I know the truth. There were more than a mere twenty put to death, much more. The names of the victims scroll through my mind, names lost to human history. But they haven’t been lost to witchkind. The names of the witches hanged and burned and drowned and pressed to death throughout history are as much a part of my brain as synapses and neurons. Every witch starts learning our history pretty much as soon as he or she can talk.

I stare at the board where Mr. Callahan has listed the official names of the dead. Mentally, I add dozens more, including three Phersons, my ancestors.

I make it through the rest of the morning in my best normal-girl fashion, comparing notes on assignments, chatting about a new shipment that’s arrived at Celene’s, Baker Gap’s only decent place to shop for clothes, giggling about how crooked Principal Wood’s roadkill hairpiece is sitting atop his head. I even manage to keep my complete cool, not even a rumbling of magical energy surfacing, when I pass Stacy in the halls.

The only time I sober is when I spot Keller. No matter how many times I tell myself to not let paranoia take over, I can’t help being anxious when we cross paths. Once, I notice him quickly slipping something into his pocket. My self-preservation instinct wonders if it’s the bloodstone, if perhaps that episode at Squeaky’s has him thinking like a hunter.

I do my best to avoid him without being obvious about it, but in a school the size of BGH, well, that’s nearly impossible. Particularly when fifth period rolls around and Coach Billings decides that since it’s started raining outside, it’s going to be volleyball day. And as luck would have it, Keller and I end up on the same team.

I do my best to ignore him as I go through the motions of playing the game, but that’s so incredibly hard when he’s playing in front of me, stretching out his tall, lean, gorgeous frame to hit the ball over the net. Toni, being a Buffy fan, would appreciate the irony if she knew the situation. All that tortured, star-crossed longing between natural-born enemies.