Spell For Sophia (8 page)

"Wow." Aidan stared at the tote. "What makes you think it's a voodoo primer?"

"Just a feeling." Evie's gaze dropped. "I haven't actually opened it yet." She glanced up and her voice grew defensive. "You know it has always creeped me out. And now it has an alligator-skin cover and it smells swampy and it has a heavy, dark aura."

"Why didn't you leave it in Palm Springs with your grandmother?" Aidan asked.

"Too many people had seen it during the fundraiser. Nana feared someone would recognize its value and try to steal it." Evie scooted her chair away from the table. "She didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands."

"So we don't know if the pages are still blank?" Salem pressed.

Evie shook her head and then bolted upright when Salem reached for the tote. "What are you doing?"

"I want to see it. Don't worry, I won't open it."

"Wait." Aidan rose from his chair and walked to where he could see the glass door and interior windows. "Okay," he said as he returned to the table. "The coast is clear."

I leaned forward and clutched my gloves. Salem unzipped the tote with a quick
ri-i-i-i-p
as though she were tearing off a bandage. A green mist and earthy swamp smells escaped. Aidan's nostrils flared and he leaned back.

"Told you." I coughed into the crook of my arm.

Salem jabbed her hand toward the tote, but pulled back at the last second. Narrowing her eyes, she fingered her pentacle necklace. "This way," she seemed to think out loud. She circled the table and snuck up on the tote from behind. Quick as a cobra she grabbed the corners of the tote and tipped it on end. The spell book slid out. We all shot back as though an angry alligator had crawled onto the table. Evie shrieked and dashed across the room.

"Anyone bring liquid sage?"
We seriously need to cleanse and protect this room.
I fanned the air with my gloves, then placed them back on the table, aligning them as precisely as possible with the curved edge.

"No, but I have salt." Aidan stood, reached into his pocket, and pulled out three packets.

"Good idea."
A little late to form a ring of protection, but…

Aidan tore open two of the little white packs. Moving clockwise, he whispered a protection spell as he sprinkled salt around the grimoire. When he finished, he handed the last packet to Salem. She opened it, poured some salt onto her palm, and then rubbed her hands together.

I rolled my shoulders. "We need to think this through." My showdown with a demon at Spiral Journeys had put me off scary magic for…probably ever. Worse, I had been home for three days without a single sign my dragon had followed me.

Salem rose. "It started as
Teen Wytche,
right?"

Evie nodded and inched back toward us.

"It morphed into a gypsy grimoire because of Aidan and his Rom blood. If it has gone voodoo, then it's because—"

"Don't look at me," I protested. "Maybe it has something to do with Betty and Arthur."

"Voodoo is huge in parts of Africa and Haiti. Are they African-American or Haitian?" Aidan asked.

"No. Caucasian."

"Maybe they used to live in New Orleans, or Haiti, or Africa," Evie said.

"Arthur gave me his email address," I said. "I'll write and ask him."

"But there has to be a teen connection. That's how the book works," Salem insisted.

Evie's sympathetic gaze slid to me. "Which leaves one person."

"Who?" Aidan asked.

"After the time-space continuum shattered, the last thing Arthur and Betty saw in the crystal ball was a teenage girl," Evie said.

Aidan shifted his focus to me. "Who was she?"

"Sophia, my best friend from middle school. She disappeared three years ago. I think the spell book holds the key to finding her."

Aidan straddled his chair again. "Was she into voodoo?"

"No. Of course not."

Aidan drummed his fingers against the seat back. "We need help. Evie was right. It feels like the grimoire has gone over to the dark side. We need someone powerful enough to deal with this kind of magic. Someone who won't be corrupted by it."

"How about Ainslie's boyfriend, the dragon shaman?" Salem asked.

I shook my head. I couldn't betray Thor's secret and tell them about his heart condition. "He's too far away."

"We need boots on the ground here," Evie added.

Aidan rose. "I may know someone."

My spirits lifted. I would have hugged him if Salem hadn't appeared poised to hex me.

"But I have no idea how to contact her," he added. "We'll have to wait until school resumes."

"But Sophia needs our help now." Panic eddied around my boots and threatened to rise.

"We could look her up in the school directory," Evie suggested.

"I don't remember her name."

"What year is she?" Salem asked.

"Junior." To me, he added, "She's a year ahead of me."

"I'm a sophomore, too," I said.

"The upperclassmen don't hang with us lowly freshmen," Salem said. "But maybe we know
of
her. Is she a cheerleader or something?"

Aidan chuckled, a sardonic, not-in-a-million-years sound. "I seriously doubt it." His finger twirled near his shoulders. "Long blond dreadlocks…"

"I know who you're talking about!" Salem said. "The shaman girl."

I stiffened. Her tone sounded a lot like
Crazy Girl.

Aidan pointed at Salem. "Yes! I met her once on the city bus. She was able to see the demon behind me."

Chills shivered down my arms. "What?"

Aidan's smile belonged on the big screen. " Don't worry. The demon is long gone."

Says you.

Salem addressed Evie. "Maybe you photographed her for Yearbook. Pretty biracial girl, dresses thrift store chic. Kind of a loner."

Aidan fingered his frayed cloth bracelet. "She had a weird name."

"Not weird," Salem clarified. "Unusual. An African goddess…"

I thought back to the goddess images displayed at Spiral Journeys. "Maat, Isis, Sekhmet, Yemaya—"

"That's it!" Aidan said. "She pronounced it Yeh-mah-yah."

"I don't remember her," Evie said. "Any idea where she hangs out?"

Aidan's expression brightened. "Here!"

"You two stash the grimoire," Salem instructed. "We'll search."

Evie grew so pale even her freckles faded. Aidan and Salem hustled out, leaving the door half open. They jostled past a surprised-looking elderly couple before disappearing among the tall bookcases.

"I'll do it." I rose from my chair.

"Thanks." Evie speed-walked back to the corner and crouched behind a half-empty book cart.

I blew out a long, calming breath and extended my hand. My fingers crossed the ring of protection and came within two inches of the grimoire. My mind barely registered the scent of fried shrimp and backwater before I heard the warning
chomp
of powerful jaws clamping together. Magic zapped my fingertips. Pain like an electric shock jolted up my arm.

I jerked back my hand and feinted to the right, missing the bolt of malevolent magic by a nanosecond. It shot across the room and struck an electrical outlet. The lights flickered. Black smoke poured out of the outlet. As the fire alarm shrieked, my dragon hissed to life behind me.

Chapter Eight

Invisible claws clamped my shoulders and pulled me back. Warm dragon energy seeped beneath my skin and tingled down my arms. The muscles between by shoulder blades tugged. I rolled my shoulders, adjusting to the pull of massive, invisible wings restless to unfold.

Heat rose to my face. My nostrils flared. The acrid stench of magic and an electrical fire gave way to the crisp, fresh scent of deep-water lakes and forbidding mountain summits.

It's about time you showed up, dragon.

"No, no, no, no, no," Evie wailed. "Not again!" She rushed to the table and pointed her finger at the grimoire. "Stop it right now!"

The grimoire bunched in the center, then flattened like a surly dog told to lie down. I removed my scarf and wound the ends loosely around my hands, leaving about two feet in between for maneuvering.

"What are you doing?" Evie asked.

The dragon nudged my back. My wings vanished as quickly as they had appeared. "Making a magical potholder."
I hope.

"Hurry. We're about to have company."

"Hold open the tote."

Evie sucked air through her teeth as though I had just poured salt water on an open wound. But she lifted one side of the tote, creating an open maw, and edged it toward the grimoire.

Help me out, here, dragon.
I sensed the creature's neck slithering near my shoulder. With any luck it had positioned itself to snatch the spell book if I failed. Going on faith, I lunged.

Zap!

Crap.
Even with the protective scarf, hex magic stung my hands. Maybe the dragon had corralled the spell book, or the fire alarm had distracted it. Somehow I grabbed the grimoire and tossed its bolt-shooting, hex-zapping sorry self into the tote.

Evie, her cheeks flushed and jaw clenched, closed the zipper. "Hah!"

The door flew open.

"What is going on here?" The librarian, a middle-aged woman dressed in khaki pants and a navy button-down shirt open at the collar, stopped short when she saw me. "Ainslie? Ainslie Avalon-Bennett?"

"Ms. Lambert. Thank goodness you're here!" I positioned myself in front of the table and maintained eye contact while I unwound my scarf. Evie sidled up beside me, then stumbled to the side when she bumped against the dragon's aura.

"We heard a pop, then sparks flew out of the electrical outlet." I angled toward the scorched unit.

Mrs. Lambert followed my gaze and paled. "Oh my. Was anyone hurt?"

Evie shook her head. My eyes watered from the pain in my fingers. I kept my hand hidden beneath my scarf, afraid the librarian would think I somehow had vandalized the outlet.

Ms. Lambert signaled a man standing in the doorway. "Burt, please cut the alarm and the electricity to this room. Have someone call the fire department and an electrician."

Burt hustled off. Salem, Aidan, and a girl with long dirty-blond dreadlocks slipped into the room.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Ms. Lambert stepped closer and half-shouted over the fire alarm. Her gaze dropped to my hands. "You singed your beautiful scarf. Oh, I am so sorry."

I frowned down at the cashmere. It had been my favorite. "I used it to stamp out sparks on the carpet."

"Quick thinking," Salem said, joining us. Aidan and the newcomer circled the table behind me. The alarmed silenced. Some of the tension ebbed out of my shoulders.

"What happened?" Salem asked.

"The electrical outlet shorted," Evie explained. "As if by magic."

Burt must have found the fuse box because the bank of overhead lights went off. Daylight from the street-facing windows illuminated the room.

"Do you mind if my friends and I move to the Walnut Room?" I asked. "If it hasn't been rented."

"It's available. Of course you may use it."

I fixed her with my best Junior Cotillion smile. "Thank you so much."

"Please give your parents my warmest regards," Ms. Lambert said.

"I will."

Aidan and Dreadlocks gathered beside us. The girl had slung the tote over her shoulder. It rested against her hip, and the outline of the grimoire pressed against the black nylon. She flicked an appraising glance my way, then settled on a spot a several feet above my head.

Uniformed firefighters strode into the room, distracting Ms. Lambert. I gathered up my things, noting the salt had been swept from the tabletop. Evie and I followed the others out of the room.

"Where's the Walnut Room?" Aidan asked.

Dreadlocks shouldered past him, fluttering her blue-feathered earrings. "This way." A faint southern accent tinged her words. She glanced back at me. "Look for the silver sign proclaiming,
Donated by the Avalon-Bennett Family."
Evie's strawberry-blond eyebrows shot up.

Brushed nickel, not silver,
I mentally corrected.

Aidan waited for Salem, then clasped her hand when she caught up. I hustled past them, anxious to keep the tote in sight. Dreadlocks — Yemaya — must be new in town. All the local elementary schools funneled kids into Carter Middle School, where eighth graders ruled. As a sixth grader, I would have noticed an older skinny girl with a headful of dreadlocks. She must have had them back then. Uncle Esmun, who kept his dreads short and spiky, had told me long dreadlocks took years to grow.

Yemaya strode past the technology lab. The imitation leather had frayed on her boots and the heels had worn down to bare wood. A water stain showed above a gap where the sole had pulled away from the rest of the boot. Black leggings peeped out from under her long gray skirt. Her thin jacket, layered over two scoop-necked tops — one mocha, the other charcoal — appeared way too lightweight for even a California winter. I mentally added thrift shops to her list of hangouts.

Yemaya swept past the donor sign and opened the door to the Walnut Room. The oval walnut table my parents had hand-chosen filled the small meeting room. It seated six. The dragon nudged my upper back, propelling me toward the power seat at the far end. Yemaya pulled back the chair on my left and placed the tote on the table in front of her. Aidan and Salem took the seats across from Yemaya. Evie closed the door, then hesitated. I could tell by the way her gaze jumped from the tote to the remaining seats that she was tempted to put as much distance between the black bag and herself as possible. But she surprised me and took the chair next to Yemaya. As Evie pulled back the leather seat, I noticed she rolled the chair away from the tote before she sat down.

Aidan said, "Yemaya, meet Ainslie, Evie, and my girlfriend Salem. Ladies—" he gestured across the table, "—this is Yemaya."

"Welcome," Evie said.

"Thanks for letting us kidnap you," Salem said.

"No problem. It happens all the time." Yemaya swiveled in the chair and gawked at the space above my head. The dragon placed a warning talon on my shoulder. "I'm surprised we haven't met before."