Spell Struck (15 page)

"My stomach hurts." Blinking back tears, Amy scrunched closer and leaned her head on my shoulder. Her long, greasy ponytail fell across my chest.

Shock and worry crash-tested inside my brain. I wanted to text Evie or Aidan, but it was one in the morning, and neither of them had cell phones. Besides, Amy would have had a clear view of whatever I texted. So I stared out the rain-splattered window into the fog and blackness and mentally ran through the suicide prevention checklist. I was sure it included neglect of personal appearance, sleep problems, and anxiety. And I had a bad feeling there were other things on the list I needed to worry about.

The rain increased. Fat drops hit my window and were pushed aside by the wind. The rhythmic
whoosh-whoosh of the windshield wipers lulled Amy to sleep. Her head dug into my shoulder
, but I didn't dare push her off.

We reached the Bay Bridge and crawled across it. Dad tuned the stereo to the local soft rock station and set the volume down low. He kept checking the mirrors for cops and drunk drivers. A half-hour later, we arrived home. Amy fell to her knees when she saw Einstein. He sniffed and backed away a couple of times before deciding she was indeed Amy, then followed her to her room.

"Night, sweetie," Mom said after Amy had left. "I like your new look." She squiggled her finger in front of her lips and eyes, indicating my lack of goth makeup. Even with my purple and black hair, I looked more like Amy than Amy did.

"Happy dreams," I replied.

Mom gave me a tired wave before she sleepwalked down the hall.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," Dad said.

"You're welcome. Someone had to ride shotgun." I toed the parquet floor with my boot. "Dad?"

"Toothpick?"

"I'm worried about—"

"Let your mom and me worry about Amy. Your job is to do well in school. Okay?"

"I'll try. Thanks for helping Aidan today."

Dad's head bobbed. "You're welcome." He tweaked my nose. "I'll be keeping an eye on you two."

"No you won't. Amy is back. I'll become invisible again."

Dad's face scrunched up, as if he had no idea what I was talking about. Perhaps he'd never noticed the lack of pictures of me since I'd gone goth. Or the fact he had made it to all of Amy's polo matches but none of my plays. As if being Queen of the Light Board was something anyone could do.

Dad narrowed his eyes, imitating my gunslinger squint. "Don't count on it." He pointed two fingers at his eyes then pointed them at me. I arched my brow at him, the one without the stud, and shot right back with the same I'll-be-watching-you gesture. Dad's eyes, although bloodshot with fatigue, twinkled. Then a huge yawn propelled him down our L-shaped hall to my parents' room.

I made a quick trip to the bathroom, then retreated to my bedroom. Psychic sand and fatigue weighed down my body. No wonder. It was two in the morning, according to the green numbers on my digital clock. I slid open my closet door and eyed the tote containing the grimoire. Nothing seemed amiss. Not wanting to tempt fate, I eased the door closed.

Yawning, I changed into my black jammies, pulled the suicide prevention pamphlet from my backpack, and crawled beneath my top sheet and down comforter. I skimmed over the signs of serious depression because Amy had already been diagnosed. Fatigue blurred my vision. I fought to stay alert and finish the suicide warning signs.
Taking unnecessary risks
. My eyelids closed. With effort, I forced open my eyes and located the spot where I had left off.
Giving away prized possessions. There was more, but the sleep fairy emptied her bucket of knockout dust over my head. My chin plummeted toward my chest
, and I tumbled into a deep sleep.

At first, I thought the sobbing was in my dream. When I realized it wasn't, I fought my way out of dreamland like a swimmer kicking to the surface of a dark, bottomless lake. The room whirled. When it calmed, turtle-like shadows, impossible because there were no lights, scurried across the ceiling. I propped myself up on my elbows and listened. Crying — ragged, muffled, and tinged with hopelessness — shuddered through the wall separating my bedroom from Amy's.

The clock read four-seventeen. "Artemis, Demeter, and Hecate." I slipped into the plush indigo bathrobe I had received last Hanukkah and cracked open my door. Bluish light from the bathroom nightlight spilled into the empty hall.

"Amy?" I opened her door. Einstein streaked out, brushing against my legs. The scream rising in my throat flattened into a gasp. After two calming breaths, I whispered, "What's the matter?"
I mean, besides everything. When Amy didn
't answer, I followed the sobbing to the edge of her bed. The covers rustled as she made room for me to perch. My nostrils flared as I breathed in rank body odor and dirty clothes.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Amy stopped mid-sob and sniffed. I handed her a tissue and waited while she honked into it. "S-s-sorry I woke you."

"It's okay. I'm sorry you're having a hard time."

She blew her nose again, then dropped the soggy tissue on the floor.

"Want to talk about it?" I asked.

In the light cast by her atomic spa clock, Amy shook her head. Clutching Flipper, she appeared younger than eighteen, younger even than me.

"Why are you still wearing your sweatshirt?" Heat radiated from her body. I loosened my robe.

Amy shrugged.

"I can loan you something if you can't find your nightgown."

"I'm fine."

"Okay." At least she had stopped crying.

"You stole my dog."

"What?"

Amy pointed to the tissue box, so I handed it to her. "Einstein likes you better than me." Tears welled in her eyes again, as if the dog was one more item in her loss column.

"Einstein loathes me. He tolerates me because I feed and walk him, which is not my favorite chore."
At least not in the rain or when I'm buried in homework. I rose from the bed. "
Since you're home, I relinquish the duty." I couldn't have this discussion, not on two hours of sleep.

I made it to the door, escape within sight, when Amy said, "You always had it so easy."

"Excuse me?"
Are you crazy?

Amy sat up in bed and tossed another wadded tissue on the floor. "Our parents dumped all their pressure and expectations on me. Mom and Dad never expected anything of you. You got to cruise through life."

My jaw dropped. "They never thought I was capable of anything. You were the Golden One. Just ask your old teachers, the ones who thought I could be just like you if I'd try harder."

Amy snorted. "Well, I'm not the Golden One now. Just ask my current teachers."

"But you were Jefferson's valedictorian. Your grade average was above a four point zero."

Her lips spread into a hard, bitter smile. "Just like everyone else at M.I.T."

I took a couple of steps toward her. "So what if everyone there is smart? It doesn't make you dumb."

"Yes it does. I'm stupid. I'm a complete and utter failure." She slugged her pillow. "Forget it. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters." She faced away, dismissing me.

I shook my head. How could she believe such things? I remembered Amy pressuring Mom and Dad to let her play water polo, take violin lessons, and run every club at school. Amy had put all the pressure on herself. And she thought I had it easy!
Is she insane?

I clenched my teeth and strode out of the room. Back in my bed, angry thoughts kept me restless and twisting. After a half-hour, I flipped on the light and powered up the computer. After signing on to my email account, I composed a new email.

From: [email protected]

To Bcc: [email protected]>[email protected]

Subject: Amy is home.

Hey. It is 4:30 in the morning. Hope you are having a better night than I am. The Golden One has returned. Not sure either of us will survive.

~Salem

I pushed
send
.

If only they were up and Aidan had a computer.

Chapter Twenty-One

Muffled, insistent tapping woke me. My eyes flew open, and several facts hit in rapid succession. Cold. Pain. Darkness. Disoriented. Banished.

My head felt lopsided. Panic seized me. Flat on my back, shivering, my fingers dug into shag carpet. The action grounded and oriented me.
I'm in the bedroom of the foreclosed house. I rolled toward the tapping. Dim moonlight backlit a familiar face at the window.

"Nico," Kali said in a loud whisper. "It's me. Open the window."

Her voice reached one ear. I fingered a painful bump near my temple. Beneath it, my ear felt spongy and hot. "One sec," I whispered, staggering to my feet. When I reached for the window, pain jabbed my arm. Teeth gritted, I squeezed the window's release mechanism. It stuck. Maybe the house had been unoccupied for too long. Maybe getting slammed against the van had weakened my grip.

Kali's anxious energy pinged through the glass. Using both hands this time, I squeezed and pushed. It worked. Frigid damp air, slightly colder than the air inside the room, seeped in.

"About time," Kali muttered. "Pop out the screen. I have something for you."

The screen yielded in seconds and Kali placed it on the ground at her feet. "Why didn't you use the bedroom door instead of going outside?" I asked.

"Papo yanked one of the seats out of the van and shoved it in front of the bedroom door. You could get past it, of course, but it would slow you down. I didn't want to mess with it." She handed me a cup of water and a small container of ibuprofen. "Guess he thought you were too hurt to open the window." She peered at my arm through the darkness. "Good. You got some movement and strength back."

I tucked my hair behind my ears. "Yeah. I don't think anything is broken."

"Your ear looks bad."

"It feels worse."

Kali frowned. "What were you thinking, going after Papo?"

"I was thinking he needed to be stopped." I shook my head, igniting fresh bursts of pain. "He's out of control. You could have been killed."

"Thanks for pulling me out of the way."

"No problem." I gulped the water and two painkillers.

"What are we going to do?"

I raised my injured arm, flexed my hand, then fisted it. Another couple of days and I might be able to handle a saw and hammer. "We wait."

"For what?"

"To see what Papo and Magdalena do next." I leaned closer. "Ask yourself. Who brings in the money and food?"

Kali's brows scrunched together. "We do. You with your art, and me with my restaurant money and fortunetelling."

"So who needs whom?"

Kali glanced off to the side. I could tell she was running the numbers, rethinking who had the power. "But Magdalena has magic." She scratched her throat where the hex hive had erupted.

"Yeah. I know. But for some reason she thinks I'm the key to finding the grimoire. And she believes the grimoire will give her more power. So, I have leverage."

Kali picked a dead moth off the windowsill. "They holed up in the kitchen after Papo barricaded your door. They kept their voices low, but I heard them."

"What did they say?"

Kali's glance darted to the bedroom door. "Magdalena was furious. She said her bones tell her time is running out for finding the grimoire. And by injuring you, Papo may have changed Fate."

"Fate?"

Kali nodded. Behind her, the sky lightened. "I don't know what she meant."

I did.
Magdalena senses I'll destroy the grimoire. I handed Kali the empty cup and bottle of pain medicine. The wind stirred. Somewhere in the neighborhood, chimes clanged like tiny pewter bells. "
It will be dawn soon," I said. "Hand me up the screen, then go back inside."

"I have to work the day shift. Maybe I should call in sick so I can stay here and keep an eye on things."

"Don't jeopardize your job." I jimmied the screen into place. "I'll be fine. Remember, they need me. And Papo is afraid of Magdalena."

"You should be, too."

"Duly noted. Be careful. And if we get separated, remember our plan."

Kali nodded. "Social media. Kali Cooper. Next time I get to a computer, I'll set up an account."

"Likewise." I slid the window closed and watched until she disappeared through the gate leading to the driveway. Seconds later, an ambulance or police siren sounded. I strode to the bedroom door and pressed my good ear against it. What if Kali had just opened the front door? What if the siren woke Papo or Magdalena before Kali slipped inside?

I listened, not breathing. When no voices reached my ears, my muscles relaxed, and my hands unclenched. I released a long breath and slumped to the floor.
Papo barricaded the door. I worked the thought over like Salem kneading clay. The van
's seats were heavy and bolted to the chassis. Papo must have been good and scared to go to so much trouble. If he had just been worried I would escape, he would have rigged the window. Maybe he thought I was too injured. Or maybe he didn't care if I left through the window because then I would be locked out of the house and couldn't sneak up on him while he slept.

Well. Well. The realization Papo might be afraid shifted something deep within me. Excitement hopscotched through my cells and synapses, as though I had just won the lottery or pulled Excalibur from the stone.

As morning's first light crawled into the bare bedroom, I realized the sword was double-edged. Fear would make Magdalena more vigilant and Papo more dangerous. To stop them, I might have to destroy the spell book before Salem got it translated.

She would never forgive me.

I rested against the wall, despite its embedded bad energy, and closed my eyes.

I will finish high school.

I will go to college.

I will live in a warm house with running water and electricity.

Salem will be my girlfriend.

I will find Bronwyn.

All I had to do was evade two kidnappers, protect Kali and Salem, translate a mysterious text, cure some girl of severe depression, and destroy the grimoire.