Krysta's Curse (21 page)

“And I brought your makeup work. Lots and lots of
it.” Krysta smiled to take the sting from the words. She pushed
back an errant piece of hair that popped out from beneath her
headband.

My hand instinctively flew to my bald head, which
was hidden by one of my softball caps, and I realized how much I’d
love to have a full head of hair.

Krysta heaved a large sack of what looked like a ton
of books and papers onto her lap.

Crapola
. I grimaced.

“You would think your teachers would go easy on you
when you almost die,” Sophie said, groaning.

I gawked at the bag as Krysta hoisted it back off
her lap, and it fell to the floor with a thud. I shook my head. “I
don’t know if I can finish all this.”

Sophie patted my shoulder. “We’ll help you.”

My grandma stepped into the room. She looked just
like Aunt Bertrice, small in size but definitely not in spirit. Her
eyes always twinkled with something that looked like mischief. I
imagined she and Aunt Bertrice had gotten into a lot of trouble
when they were my age. Grandma tossed her long ponytails behind her
shoulders with a swoop of her head, and then wiped her hands on a
flour-stained apron. Gawd, I hoped they were making biscuits. And
gravy. Lots and lots of sausage gravy.

“Never mind about schoolwork, AJ,” Grandma said.
“You need to focus on healing.”

“If my GPA drops, I won’t be eligible for softball.”
I shrugged, careful of my arm in the sling. “I’ll heal later.”

My mother followed Grandma and tapped her on the
shoulder. “We should tell her,” she said as she stole a glance in
my direction.

“Tell me what?” I asked as a knot of panic formed in
my chest. Had the doctor told them I wouldn’t be able to play
softball? Was my fractured arm broken beyond repair? Surely Aunt
Bertrice could finish fixing up my wounds now that I was home.

“Girls.” Mother waved a hand at all of us. “We have
to talk.”

“About what?” I asked, but I didn’t fight her as she
took me by my good arm and propelled me into the dining room.
Krysta and Sophie fell into step behind us.

“Why, about your futures,” my mother said
matter-of-factly.

As if that explained things.

The dining room was really nice. Mom had this thing
about family dinners keeping us together, so she always kept it
clean and decorated with fresh flowers. The picture window looked
out over her flowerbed and was framed by gauzy pink curtains. Kinda
girly, but nice.

Mother and Grandma sat down at the table and smiled
demurely.

“First things first,” Aunt Bertrice said. She
crossed the room to stand behind a large cardboard box on the
table. There were holes punched in the sides, and I think there was
something in there hissing.

“What’s in the box?” I raised an eyebrow. Grandma
always said her sister was eccentric. For all I knew, there were
snakes in that thing.

“I brought presents.” Aunt Bertrice slowly peeled
back the four flaps of the box and reached inside.

I cringed, expecting something icky and slithery to
come out on her arm. Instead, she extracted a tiny all-white
cat.

“One for each of you,” she told us with a grin.

Sophie gasped as Aunt Bertrice held the tiny white
feline toward her. She held out her arms and cuddled the fluffy,
blue-eyed creature against her chest. “Omigod!”

Next came a lanky beige-and-dark-brown Siamese. Aunt
Betrice deposited the lazy kitten into Krysta’s arms, where it
lolled on its back and playfully swatted at my BFF’s silver
necklace.

My heart skipped a beat as another small form
emerged from the box. It was a rough-looking creature. Her fur was
wild and wavy, and she was covered in different-colored patches:
cinnamon, chestnut, black, and white. She was missing a chunk from
one ear. When Aunt Bertrice placed her against my chest, her warmth
and weight felt right as she settled on my good arm.

“Are these for us? Really?” I asked, stupefied. What
were we going to do with kittens?

Krysta stared down at hers as if it had fleas, her
nose wrinkled. “I’m allergic to cats.”

“You won’t be allergic to your familiar,” Aunt
Bertrice assured her.

“My familiar?”

Aunt Bertrice held her hands out to encompass the
three of us and our new pets. “Your spirit guide.”

I shifted the cat’s weight, my arm already tired.
Miffed, she flicked her tail and climbed onto my shoulder like a
parrot. “What’s a spirit guide?”

“Every young witch needs one,” Aunt Bertrice said
simply. Her ambiguous replies were frustrating.

“Witch?” Sophie’s voice was thin and reedy. “I am
not
a witch.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Aunt Bertrice sat in one of the
chairs at the table and folded her hands on the tabletop. “How else
do you explain your gifts?”

“Mine’s not a gift. Mine’s a curse.” Krysta directed
the statement at her kitten, who stared back benignly.

“I’m sure all of your gifts feel like curses when
you don’t know how to control them,” Aunt Bertrice murmured.
“That’s what your spirit guides are for. They will help you.”

“So let me get this straight,” Sophie cut in. “We
are actually witches, and these cats are going to teach us how to
control our powers?”

Aunt Bertice nodded like a proud teacher. “Yes, your
magical powers.”

I knew my mouth was open, but I couldn’t really help
myself. I mean, come on. The calico kneaded my shoulders with her
claws, her purr loud as an engine in my ear. “But they’re
cats
.”

“They aren’t just cats, AJ. Haven’t you been
listening? They are
familiars
. In each cat resides the
spirit of one of your ancestors.”

Mine, Krysta, and Sophie’s voices blurted out in
unison. “What?”

“I think this is a good transition into what we
really need to discuss,” my mother said, clapping her hands to the
arms of her chair and pushing to her feet. She left the room, and
returned a moment later holding a white wicker basket lined with a
few towels. “If you’d like, the cats can rest here for now.”

Sophie leapt forward and deposited her white, fluffy
cat in the basket without a backward glance.

I caught my calico’s eye—she was still on my
shoulder. Reaching up, I gripped her with my one good hand and put
her inside with Sophie’s cat. I looked over at Krysta, who just to
her Siamese harder.

“Have a seat, girls,” Grandma told us.

“Krysta,” my mother said while she toyed with a
frayed string on her apron, “we’ve already spoken to your father.
Sophie, we need to address your mother and father next. I just
don’t know how to go about it. Krysta’s father knows about her
gift, so speaking to him was easy.”

Sophie, Krysta, and I exchanged confused looks. What
was my mom talking about?

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

Grandma cleared her throat before exchanging nervous
glances with Mother and Aunt Bertrice.

I got the uneasy feeling that whatever it was they
were planning, I wasn’t going to like it.

“Well, as you know.” Grandma paused and cleared her
throat again. “Aunt Bertrice is a retired teacher.”

“She won Salem’s Teacher of the Year award three
times,” Mother interrupted, before exchanging yet another nervous
glance with my aunt and grandma.

“This is an important time for all of you,” Aunt
Bertrice said.

“Your powers are changing,” Grandma added.

“Adjusting to these changes can be difficult.”

I don’t know who said that last line. Keeping up
with all of them was making my head spin. Didn’t they realize I’d
just woken up from a coma?

“Learning how to connect to your familiar can also
be challenging.” Aunt Bertrice flashed a crooked smile as she
looked down at her cat—a large, long-legged black one—and scratched
her behind the ears. “They may have the spirits of our ancestors,
but they are still cats by nature.”

Grandma sat forward in her seat, fixing all of us
with an earnest expression. “You need a mentor.”

“A strong witch,” Mother said. “And Aunt Bertrice is
the most powerful witch we know.”

Suddenly it all made sense. The reason they were
babbling and acting so nervous. They were trying to send us to
Salem!

I stole glances at my friends, who were wide-eyed
and gaping at my family. They looked as scared as I felt. “S-so you
want us to go live with Aunt Bertrice?” I stammered.

Mother lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes.

I’d seen that look before. That was the look she
used whenever she knew I was about to talk back.

She nodded. “We’ve already made arrangements.”

My pulse quickened. My heart felt like a hammer
pounding against my chest. “But what about softball?”

Mother flashed what looked like a sympathetic smile.
“It’s only for one year.”

Only for one year!

Had she no idea what missing one year of sports
would do to my athletic career?

“If I miss a full year of sports, I’ll lose my
edge.” My voice rose along with my ire. “It’s bad enough I can’t
play basketball.”

“AJ,” Grandma said, “When are you going to realize
that sports are not your true calling in life?”

My hammering heart deflated. Grandma was supposed to
be on my side. She was the one adult I could always depend on when
the rest of the adults were being unreasonable.

“Salem has a few private leagues,” Aunt Bertrice
said. “I’m sure you could still play softball.”

Private leagues? Yeah, sure, our town had private
leagues, too, mostly a bunch of out-of-shape middle-aged people who
were just looking for something to pass the time. I couldn’t be
taken seriously in a private league. I wanted to play real team
sports.

“So I’m going, too, and my dad is okay with this?”
Krysta asked in a barely audible voice as she clutched her cat to
her chest.

For a moment, I’d forgotten my friends were beside
me. Up until now, they’d been quiet while the adults were intent on
ruining our lives.

Mother patted Krysta on the knee. “He knows it’s
what your mom would have wanted.”

When Krysta’s eyes glossed over, I knew it was over
for her. Of course she’d agree if she thought it was what her dead
mother wanted. What did it matter to Krysta, anyway? She didn’t
play sports. All she ever did was watch celebrity television and
read fashion blogs. You could do that from any town.

Oh, so unfair of my mother for pulling the dead mom
card on Krysta. I’m sure this was all part of their evil plan to
destroy our adolescence.

Heat raced up my chest and fanned my face. I was so
angry, I could practically feel the steam shooting out of my
ears.

“My parents are never going to agree,” Sophie said
in a clipped tone. “My mom freaks if I’m gone from home for more
than an hour. And you can’t tell them about my gift. They’ll go
nuts.”

Mom smiled and leaned toward Sophie. “I was thinking
of telling them that AJ is going there to heal, and she could use
your support.”

Sophie arched away from my mom, emphatically shaking
her head. “I’m in all AP classes. They want me to go to an Ivy
League college like my sister. I know they won’t let me leave.”

Thank goodness I had Sophie to talk some sense into
my family. Maybe she could make them understand that leaving
Greenwood was a bad idea.

“And what about you, Sophie?” Aunt Bertrice fixed
Sophie with a knowing gaze. A slight smile tugged at the corners of
her mouth. “What do
you
want?”

Please, Sophie, please tell them you want to stay
here.

I looked over at my friend and gasped in shock.
Never had I seen her face so flushed. And that look in her eyes.
Sweet, innocent Sophie looked like she was about to rip my aunt’s
head off.

With fists clenched by her sides, Sophie slowly rose
to her feet. “I want everything to go back to the way it used to
be. Back when my gift only worked once in a while.” She began to
shake as tears streamed down her face. “Back before people were
telling me I was a witch, and I needed a stupid cat to control my
powers!”

I was too stunned to speak. Krysta was as still as a
statue beside me.

Mother’s mouth fell open. “Sophie—”

“I don’t even like cats!” Sophie screeched and
stomped her foot before storming out of the room.

In the quiet that followed, her little white kitten
popped its head over the top of the box and cried, a sad, mournful
sound.

Find Visions of the Witch at
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Visions of the
Witch

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