Spell For Sophia (7 page)

Trickster.

Oya-Yansa's wind drove the undead and blood mist into the ground. The sharp scent of Papa Legba's pipe smoke and rum tunneled down the channel and disappeared.

The cacophony of bird songs resumed full blast, as if a switch had been thrown. The tension embedded in my eye and shoulders unraveled. The boat creaked. For a glad moment I thought the tide had returned. My lungs inflated with hope.
We're going to make it.

The creaking grew louder. Papa Legba's laugh rumbled through me like a bad omen. The wind funnel reversed course, rocking the boat.

"So-phi-a…" Breaux drew out each syllable like a warning.

A whistle rose above the night sounds. Not a human whistle, rather the whistle of the wind slicing through a narrow space. The boat lurched. Breaux widened his stance and threw me a wild-eyed look.

Magic always has a price.

My body thrummed. A moment passed, like those seconds after an earthquake when you wonder if the next jolt will be a small aftershock or the Big One. "Get down!"

Breaux dropped to a squat, thought better of it, and knelt in the small space beside me. Creaking and groaning, the heavy wooden boat lifted into the air like a dirigible. My stomach whooshed.

"Hold on!" Breaux said.

I looped one arm through my backpack straps and then clutched the seat bench. The boat began to spin.

"No! No! No!" I wasn't sure if the cries came from Breaux or me. Centrifugal force lifted my feet into the air. Rowing had stiffened my hands and fatigued my muscles. My grip slipped.

Breaux hurled himself across my back. My ribs cracked against the plank, expelling the air from my lungs. The hard length of Breaux's body pinned me to the seat bench. The spinning increased. The wind's whistle swelled to a rattling, freight train-like roar. The boat shuddered and torqued. I clenched my jaw and waited for the vessel to rip apart and hurl us to our deaths.

Chapter Seven

Ainslie

Mom slowed the Mercedes as we approached the drop-off zone in front of the Lamorinda Library and Learning Center. "Whom did you say you're meeting?" she asked.

"Evie O'Reilly. She was a year behind me at Carter Middle School." I leaned forward, searching the people milling outside the library for a glimpse of Evie's strawberry-blond hair. "She had Yearbook with Sophia. Remember? I ran into her in Palm Springs over Christmas."

Mom kept her gaze trained on the hybrid sports utility vehicle in front of us, but I could tell her brain was churning. The brow furrow gave her away. "Did she remember you?"

"Everyone
remembers me." I mentally kicked dirt on the flash of anger and embarrassment hot-tracking from my brain. I could still hear the whispers and remember the fingers pointing in the halls.

There's Ainslie Avalon-Bennett. She went crazy after her best friend disappeared.

I heard she spent time in a mental ward after Sophia moved away.

Only Sophia hadn't moved away, not of her own free will. I'm sure of it. And she hadn't been placed in another foster home. Her foster mother would have told me. Besides, Sophia would have called or emailed me. But she hadn't. Which meant her meth-head bio-parents had convinced the court to remand Sophia to their care. Or maybe they had kidnapped her. Either way, it meant her life was in danger. The private investigator my parents hired had tracked Sophia's bio-parents to southern California. Then the trail went cold. "Probably slipped across the border," the investigator had concluded.

Although it might have explained why I'd never heard from her, it didn't feel right or ease my worry. At least now, thanks to Jett's crystal ball fire fortune, I knew Sophia was still alive.

Jett's magic gave me my first clue. Maybe the magic hidden within Evie's ancient spell book will lead me to Sophia.
When I had met Evie in Palm Springs, I had gotten the impression a small group of teens guarded the spell book and were trying to unlock its secrets.

Warmth flooded my cheeks.
I wonder how many of them remember me as the Crazy Girl?

The Mercedes purred into the turnout. Mom brought the coupe to a stop. I felt her stare as I adjusted my scarf, then gathered up my gloves. "I think it's great you are reconnecting with people from Carter." Her eyes widened as her gaze skimmed over me

I lowered my chin so she wouldn't detect the despair rocketing through me.
No, Mom, I haven't shaken off my clinical depression and debilitating obsessive-compulsive disorder. And I'm not ready to transfer from Athenian Academy, my expensive and inconveniently located private school, to Jefferson, the huge public high school three miles from our house.

I slipped my hands into my red leather gloves. They were less obvious than using my cashmere scarf as a germ shield. Even though Mom and Dad had been nicer to each other since their ill-fated Christmas cruise, I still worried my OCD would drive them back to the brink of divorce.

"Text me when you're ready to come home," Mom said.

"Will do. Are you and Dad still planning on a date night?"

"We'll see." Which meant they would if he was still sober by dinnertime and there had been no arguments. He was trying to cut back on his drinking and save the marriage. I had to give him credit. "We have reservations. But I'm hoping to talk him into a movie instead."

"I'll be sure and end early enough to make it happen." Restaurant dinners were landmines for Dad. He was on a first-name basis with every sommelier in town, and they all loved to visit his table and press their most expensive wines on him. Dad loved the attention. Mom, who doesn't drink, hated it.

"Do you have your meds?"

As if I could forget.
I shook my handbag. My antidepressants and anti-anxiety pills pinged noisily inside their orange plastic containers.

"Okay. Have fun. See you later."

"Thanks. Bye." I pushed open the car door, stepped onto the sidewalk, and gave Mom a little wave before closing the door. As she eased back into traffic, I inhaled the crisp air. Hard to believe it was December twenty-eighth and no northern California storms were on the horizon — weather-wise, anyway. I had no idea what sort of storm might await me inside. Evie had said she'd bring everyone who knew about the spell book. I should have asked her how many of them had attended Carter Middle School.

I plastered a confident, look-I'm-not-mental-anymore expression on my face and headed for the automatic glass doors. They whooshed open as I approached and I passed beneath the silver letters proclaiming OPEN DOORS OPEN MINDS.

The Teen Center was hidden off to the right past freestanding bookcases where new non-fiction books were showcased. A petite goth dressed in an oversized gray sweater tunic, black leggings, and clunky black combat boots blocked my entry. Spying me, her ice-blue eyes narrowed into slits. She angled her head and a lock of purple hair fell across her silver eyebrow stud. Recognition flared in her eyes.

Spots of high color flamed to life on my cheeks. I tightened my death grip on my crossbody handbag.
She remembers me from middle school.
I straightened my spine.
I'm a high school sophomore. I'm not the Crazy Girl anymore. Well, maybe a little crazy if you count my dragon.

"Ainslie?" she asked.

There had only been five goths at Carter, so even the ones in the lower grades had stood out. I searched my memory. "Yes. Uh…Sarah?"

She huffed air out her mouth as though I had passed some kind of test. Maybe she was relieved I no longer resembled a mental ward escapee. "Call me Salem," she said. "You look good."

"Thanks. You, too." Okay, the last part wasn't totally truthful. I vaguely remembered her from elementary school. She had stuck out then because she was so tiny and ethereal. Why she had dyed her blond hair purple and black and overwhelmed her delicate features with heavy kohl eye makeup and Bite-Me plum lipstick was beyond me.
Something must have happened. No one changes drastically for the fun of it.

Salem stepped aside, allowing me entry. I followed her narrow-eyed squint to the other occupants in the brightly lit room. They sat at the Sneak Table, the one in the back hidden from the floor-to-ceiling glass wall separating the Teen Room from the rest of the library. Evie and a totally hot stranger rose as I approached.

"You made it!" Evie exclaimed.

"Yes!" My gaze flicked to Evie, then jumped to Dark-and-Handsome.
He must be new in town.
I definitely would have remembered him.

"Aidan Cooper." He extended his hand, revealing dusky skin and calluses.

"Ainslie Avalon-Bennett." My germ phobia overrode my good manners and I shook his hand without removing my glove. My Junior Cotillion instructor would have had a seizure had she seen me.
An outdoor glove!

A jolt of magical energy shot through the dyed red leather and buzzed up my arm. Aidan's eyebrows arched.

"What?" Salem assumed a possessive stance beside him, signaling in no uncertain terms that Aidan was hers.

My shoulder blades tingled.

"Nothing." Aidan released my hand and averted his gaze.

Salem widened her stance and crossed her arms over her chest. Aidan hugged her to his side before returning his gaze to me. "Magic is afoot."

"Excuse me," a put-upon British-accented voice said behind them.

"Parvani!" Evie rushed around the table and bent over an open laptop. "Sorry!" She swiveled the display toward me. "Ainslie, may I present Parvani Hyde-Smith. Parvani was supposed to be here in the flesh, but her parents decided to keep the family in London a couple more days."

Parvani brushed back her long black hair and adjusted her ebony designer eyeglasses. The lapels of her expensive-looking pajamas peeked out from the neckline of her spa bathrobe. If she had gone to Carter, I didn't remember her, and she didn't act as though she recognized me. Some of the tension eased out of my hands and shoulders.

The lights had been dimmed in the elegant room behind her. I leaned in for a closer look. "Are you staying at the Chesterfield?"

Her sleepy expression brightened. "Yes! Do you know it?"

"We've stayed there a couple of times. It's so elegant. Isn't it near midnight in the UK?" I tugged off my gloves, then strung my handbag and jacket over the back of one of the chairs.

"It is. The terrors are in a suite adjoining my parents, so I can talk."

"She's referring to her twin brothers," Evie explained.

I glanced at Evie before eyeing the group. "So you all know about the spell book?"

Parvani huffed air out her nose. "I'm banned from being in the same room with it."

"Your wrongful love spell nearly destroyed it." Salem's eyes flashed with residual anger.

"But we've forgiven you, even if the grimoire hasn't," Evie said.

"Yeah. Right." Salem rolled her eyes.

"Evie and I never had a chance to talk about the spell book," I said. "What's the deal with it?"

Aidan plowed his fingers through his raven hair. "The grimoire keeps changing."

Evie said, "It's gone from an innocent-looking paperback called
Teen Wytche
—"

"To an ancient gypsy spell book named the
Grey Grimoire,"
Aidan finished.

"Then the writing changed to Hindi before vanishing all together." Parvani squared her shoulders. "Which was
not
my fault."

"It totally was." Salem glanced down at the familiar black tote on the table beside the laptop. "So what happened to it in Palm Springs?"

Evie and I exchanged a quick glance as we sat down. "Another change," Evie said. "I think it has something to do with voodoo."

"Then count me out," Parvani said. "The grimoire already hates me. If it has gone dark, then…" She shivered.

"Can't blame you." Aidan rotated a chair so its back was to the table, then straddled it. Salem settled onto the chair beside him.

Parvani yawned. "I'm going to sign off now and hope I don't dream about pins being stuck into a Parvani lookalike doll."

"See you soon." Evie waved.

Parvani swiveled her hand in a royal wave, then the screen went black. Evie shut down the laptop and closed it. The four of us stared at the black tote. Against the burnt orange tabletop, it reminded me of Halloween.

"So Evie's grandmother is on the board of your aunt and uncle's mystery school?" Salem asked.

"Yes." I shifted on the chair. "It's how Evie and I met."

"The grimoire — when it was still the
Grey Grimoire
— liked being around Ainslie and her boyfriend, Thor." Evie leaned across the table toward Salem. "He is a dragon shaman."

Salem's brow crinkled. "Seriously?"

I nodded and flashed on Thor's solstice present, a rose quartz pendulum, which was stashed inside my handbag.

"What made the spell book transform again?" Aidan asked.

"We were doing a fundraiser at Spiral Journeys—"

"The name of her family's metaphysical store and mystery school," Evie explained.

"And Jett—"

"An emo-looking sixteen-year-old who works at Spiral Journeys," Evie added.

"Jett," I continued, "was performing a fire fortune for Betty and Arthur, an elderly couple."

"Fire fortune?" Salem and Aidan asked in unison.

"They're amazing." I placed my gloves on the burnt orange tabletop. "Jett psychically locks onto someone while touching a crystal ball. As soon as he makes the connection, a ring of fire ignites within the crystal and a movie-like image starts. It shows the person's future."

"No way!" Salem said.

"It's true." Evie's head bobbed up and down.

"While Jett was onstage with Arthur and Betty, the grimoire fought its way out of the zipped tote and commando-crawled toward the stage."

"Then—" Evie sat taller in her chair, "—it shattered into a bunch of vintage letters and postcards, which flew up on stage."

"Breaking the time-space continuum," I said. "At which point the room suddenly stunk of swamps. The letters and postcards flew together and formed a new spell book."