Spellcaster (15 page)

“Ooh, whisper those sweet nothings to me instead.” I laughed, leaning forward on my hands and knees and crawling closer to Brendan, who placed his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me closer to whisper a few choice terms for Kristin into my ear.

“If you keep saying such seductive words to me, there will be all kinds of funny business up in this bed and I’ll never learn this stuff,” I teased Brendan, who laughed before casting a speculative glance toward the open bedroom door. He then turned back to me with heavy-lidded green eyes, and I could practically see the naughty thoughts churning behind them—no one could pull off “bedroom eyes” like he could.

“The way you’re leaning over me like that, there’s nothing
funny
about what I’d like to do with you,” he said in a low, rumbling voice. Brendan slid his hand down around my waist then quickly pulled my body down to him, so I fell onto his chest. With his other hand, he tilted my chin up, his soft lips closing over mine in a full, intoxicating kiss. Nervous about the open door, I pulled away, and he bit my lower lip gently—just enough to make me want to stay.

“Stop making me want you when I have witchcraft to study,” I whispered, kissing him quickly on the cheek before forcing myself out of his arms. I retreated to the relative safety of the head of the bed, leaving my boyfriend lounging at the foot of the bed, the very picture of temptation as he gazed at me through long black lashes.

“Stop,” I mouthed, poking his thigh with my toe. He just chuckled and picked my laptop back from where it had slid next to him on the bed and resumed his Facebooking. I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing thoughts of Brendan’s talented hands out of my head, and returned to the grimoire. I started with the basic spells and began memorizing them—the structure, the rhythm—intrigued by Randi’s notes on why she thought some spells worked and others didn’t.

After a couple of hours, we joined Aunt Christine in the kitchen, where cheesy, meaty stacks of carby goodness waited for us. She’d ordered from a local deli—chicken parm sandwiches for me and Christine, and some crazy Italian concoction stuffed with prosciutto, salami, mortadella and provolone for Brendan that he’d previously raved about. After the sandwiches, we lounged in the living room, watching a heavily bleeped version of some ancient Bruce Willis movie that made all three of us laugh when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

As Brendan cracked up over the line, “Yippie Ki-Yay, Mr. Falcon,” I checked my vibrating phone, finding a message from Angelique.

See you in an hour, getting ready to leave my house soon.

I was suddenly brought back down to earth. Here’d I’d been, enjoying this little domestic scene with Brendan and my aunt—stealing playful kisses when she was out of the room—and I’d let what we were planning to do tonight completely disappear from my mind.
Mr. Falcon, indeed.

I took a deep breath, announcing that I was going to change for the Battle of the Bands. Brendan automatically stood to follow me, but caught Christine’s laser-precision evil eye and sat right back down on the couch.

“I’m just going to watch the end of the movie,” he said casually as if it were his idea, sitting on the couch properly. For once, he wasn’t slouched in his seat with his legs sprawled out in front of him.

“Yes, you do that,” Aunt Christine retorted, giving him the “Funny Business” look. I bit my lip, trying to prevent myself from laughing at the fact that my genteel aunt was just about the only person on earth who could easily intimidate Brendan. I retreated hastily into my room, ditching my cargo pants for jeans and pulling on an embroidered black shirt, a birthday present from Ashley that was a little dressier than my usual hoodie-and-T-shirt look. Inspired by Randi, I tried my hand at cat’s eye liner, but I was too rushed—one tail went up, one tail went down and I ended up looking cockeyed. I smeared the liner with my pinky for a smoky look.

Brendan stood up as I returned to the living room. I didn’t feel like bringing a jacket just to deal with coat check, so I had stuffed a black sweater in my bag. It was decent weather tonight and the school was just a few blocks away, anyway.

“You kids have fun tonight.” Aunt Christine grinned, heading into the kitchen where she pulled out the makings for her routine martini—she drank both martinis on Saturday. “I’m glad you’re going out and getting back into the swing of things, dear.”

I wasn’t naturally this sneaky, yet I always felt like I was fibbing to her about one thing or another. As my aunt beamed proudly at me, guilt churned in my stomach.

“This was your idea. Just say the word and we don’t have to go tonight. You look…stressed,” Brendan said once we were in the elevator and he saw the look on my face.
Stressed
was putting it nicely. I felt like I was about to puke.

I took a deep breath and thought about waking up every day, afraid someone was going to come at me in a blackout mask and a knife. And then my decision was easy.

“No, we do have to go,” I said firmly, taking his hand. “Let’s find out who this son of a bitch is and get this over with.”

Chapter 7

“Remind me why we missed being able to come to these things again?” I asked Brendan, nervously chipping away at my nail polish as we sat at a corner table in the cafeteria at Magel High School, Vincent Academy’s “sister” school on Sixth-fifth Street and Lexington. It resembled a traditional high school much more than the former mansion Vince A occupied. We were waiting for Cisco and Angelique to show up—and both were running a little late. Cisco was helping Gabe load his drums into his sister’s SUV, and Angelique was having trouble with the 6 train. She texted me to let me know she was getting out of the E train at Fifty-first and just walking the rest of the way uptown. So we waited for them in the garish blue cafeteria, very aware that people were staring at us—the twosome who, just months ago, were all over newspaper gossip columns and New York-centric blogs.

“We
didn’t
miss coming to them,” Brendan replied coolly. He was slouched low in his chair, his black hoodie up and doing nothing to hide his identity. He reached his hand across the table and threaded his fingers through mine, effectively stopping me from littering the table with dark flakes of polish.

“No one is going to come anywhere near you tonight,” he promised, giving my hand a squeeze.

“Honestly, that’s not even what’s freaking me out right now,” I admitted, averting my eyes after I noticed two girls walk by our out-of-the-way corner table, arms linked and giggles plentiful as they stared at us. I felt so very exposed, so vulnerable. Just like my first day at Vince A, I wanted anonymity. I want to be invisible. I wanted a bag to put over my head.

“I just wish people would st—” I never finished my sentence, because I was interrupted by a high-pitched squeal.

“Emma! Brendan! There you are!” Our heads snapped up as my cousin Ashley bounded over from the vending machines, her heels clicking on the dull blue tiled floor, with her friends Catharine and Vanessa and three guys in tow. When they got closer, I realized one was Liam, following Ashley closely.

“Well, we wanted people to know we were here. Mission accomplished,” Brendan said dryly, sliding his chair closer to mine to make room for my exuberant cousin and her friends, who all pulled up chairs around the table.

“I’m glad you guys came!” Ashley giggled, throwing her arms around me from behind in a big hug, her tangle of red curls hitting me in the face, along with the scent of a perfume so sickeningly sweet I was positive it was going to rot the teeth right out of my head. I squeezed her forearms affectionately before prying them off me—she was practically choking me—and Ashley flopped into a chair across from me. Her new male, ahem, friends dutifully filed in on either side of her as Vanessa and Catharine crowded together next to me. Liam and Brendan did that one-handed half-hug thing before Liam looked at our packed table and, crestfallen, sat on a nearby table. I’ll never understand how every guy instinctively knows how to do that manly man greeting. While they’re teaching us about our periods in seventh grade, I swear they’re teaching guys how to do that bro-pump thing and throw popcorn in their mouths and catch it.

“You’re wearing the shirt I got you!” Ashley squealed happily. “It looks so pretty. Oh! This is Travis.” Ashley gestured to the shaggy-haired brunet to her right before turning to the preppy, baseball cap-wearing guy on her left. “And this is—what’s your name again?” She giggled, cracking open her soda, and Baseball Cap’s face crumbled like potato chips under a steamroller.

“Josh.” He mumbled, defeated, as Travis gloated under his mop of hair. Josh glared at him—and Brendan bit the string dangling from his hood to keep from bursting out laughing. I nudged his foot under the table and he opened his sparkling eyes wide in mock innocence.

“Have you guys gone upstairs to check out the bands yet?” Catharine, a cute brunette asked us. “We heard Freeze Tag kind of rocks. The singer goes to my brother’s school.”

“That’s our friend Gabe’s band!” I threw my fists up in victory, excited that there was some buzz about them. Cisco
had
said they were good.

“Ooh, I can’t wait to check them out!” Ashley cheered, bouncing up and down in her chair. I fought the big sisterly urge to put my palms on her shoulders and stop her from jiggling. She had a long striped cardigan over her tank top, but still, Ashley was liable to give herself a black eye—make that two black eyes—and give Josh and Travis whiplash.

“Guys, I heard it’s between them, and some other rock band, the Dorian Something Project,” Travis said, addressing everyone but staring only at Ashley.

“That’s their name? The Dorian Something Project?” Liam chimed in, swinging his legs as he sat on the table. “That’s a dumb name.”

“No, I just can’t remember the guy’s name. Supposedly they always win.” Travis shrugged.

“I want to see them, and some wannabe rapper that’s supposed to be so bad it’s funny,” Josh added, adjusting the brim of his hat. “Kenny something. I heard he thinks he’s— Whoa.” Josh trailed off, his brown eyes wide as he looked above my head.

And then I heard the very pained voice of my dear friend.

“Hey, everyone,” Angelique croaked. Her voice sounded weak, thin—lacking any spark. The debilitated way someone sounds after they’ve had the flu for three days.

I stood up to greet her, and had to hold back a gasp at her appearance. Not what she was wearing—although that was probably what took Josh by surprise. She had a vinyl corset-style top over her long black skirt—and sweeping over the whole ensemble was a hooded velvet cape with purple lining. She looked a little more suited for the Battle of the Minstrel Bands than a bunch of cover bands, but the look worked on her. I could never imagine her wearing something from The Gap. It would probably scald her skin, like holy water on a vampire.

What surprised me was how
frail
Angelique looked. She was drawn, sapped of all energy, with heavy shadows under her dull, red-rimmed eyes—and this time, it wasn’t makeup making her look like a tragic Gothic heroine.

Brendan looked up and did a double-take, standing up quickly and pulling his chair out.

“Here, take my chair,” he offered, hopping up onto the nearby table next to Liam, who promptly launched into a diatribe railing against their coach. Brendan interrupted him, pretending to be mad about me mistaking Liam for Brendan the previous morning. Liam paled, and Brendan started laughing.

Angelique almost collapsed into the chair without any of her usual grace, looking at me and shaking her head warily. Slight beads of sweat were forming around her purple-and-blue streaked hairline.

“Do you want the rest of my soda?” Ashley pushed her can of Sprite across the table, leaving a trail of condensation on the royal-blue surface. “I only had a few sips. You look like you could use some sugar or something.”

“I’ll be okay, but thanks,” Angelique croaked, giving Ashley an anemic smile.

“Okay. Well, we’re going to head upstairs and watch the bands. We’ll be right by the stage in the front so come find us!” Ashley chirped, nodding her head encouragingly as she pushed her chair back to stand.

“Sure thing,” Angelique said weakly, and Josh blanched.

“I hope you feel better,” Ashley said, grabbing Vanessa’s and Catherine’s hands as they started half skipping to the staircase that led to the auditorium. Then Ashley stopped, calling, “Liam, you coming? Come on!”

“Uh, yeah,” Liam said, a big smile replacing the crestfallen look on his face as he followed after my cousin and her group of friends. I realized that he was probably waiting for
her
in front of the school on Friday—Ashley often went with me to basketball games and casually knew Brendan’s teammates.
Poor Liam, so clearly put in the friend zone.

After they were out of sight, Angelique exhaled slowly and took a swig from the soda Ashley left in front of her.

“Are you okay? Do you have food poisoning or something?” I asked, concerned. Angelique looked a little better, but still had that on-the-verge-of-puking air about her.

“No, I’ll be okay,” she said, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “I’m just stupid. I wasn’t prepared for all this.”

“All what?” Brendan asked, hopping off the table to slide into the chair Vanessa had vacated.

“All this.” Angelique fanned her palms toward the cafeteria. “It’s just…a lot. Anxiety, stress, insecurity, betrayal. There are a lot of emotions here. And lust. Ugh, the lust! God, I hate high school.”

Angelique grimaced as she took another gulp from the soda. “I swear, I practically dry humped the guy who took my ten bucks to get in, the lust in this place is so overwhelming. And he wasn’t even cute. Sorry, Brendan,” she offered when he squirmed, scrunching his face up in discomfort.

“It’s okay,” he said, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

“Why is it so much worse than a regular day at school?” I asked my besieged empath friend, who just shrugged.

“I have an idea,” Brendan said, chewing on the end of his hoodie string. “At school, everyone’s kind of reserved—I mean you can’t exactly hook up in the hallway. You keep yourself in check because you’re at school. But—” he jerked his head toward the vending machines where two students were pawing at each other like bears fishing for salmon “—here, that’s not so much an issue. There are a few teachers around, but I can’t imagine that any teacher
likes
giving up a night to be here. They’re not exactly making the rounds looking to catch anyone or do any paperwork. But what do I know?” He shrugged.

“No, that’s a good point,” Angelique admitted begrudgingly, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “But it’s not the reason why. I meant it when I said I was stupid. I also did a spell to amplify my powers—so we could catch this psycho right away.”

“Angelique! Why would you put yourself in danger like that?” I cried, reaching out to hug her then stopping short when I realized that might make things worse. Also, she reacted to hugs the way most people reacted to sewer rats—by recoiling in horror.

“It’s a temporary spell, and will be over by dawn. I’ll be okay,” she assured me. “I just needed a minute to adjust.”

“So, do you still have that foreboding feeling?” Brendan asked a few minutes later, after Angelique began looking a little less nauseous and a little more relaxed.

“Yes, I hate to say. But as I’m getting a little more balanced, it’s weird. It’s like there’s a hole or two in what I’m sensing. Like Swiss cheese. I don’t know if that just means no one’s there or what, but it feels like blind spots, almost. It’s unnerving. I’m probably just overwhelmed.” Angelique shivered, distress etched all over her face.

We stayed in the cafeteria while Angelique downed another can of soda, and when she felt confident enough in her abilities, we headed upstairs. We had just gotten to the top of the staircase when Cisco texted us that Gabe’s band was on next.

After some careful weaving through the crowd—Angelique tried to avoid touching anyone, since that provided a stronger channel—we arrived at the front of the stage, joining my very exuberant cousin, who bounced like she wore springs instead of stilettos as the band onstage warbled their way through a classic-rock cover. Travis was definitely encouraging the bouncing and Josh was definitely enjoying watching. Finally I just pulled my sweater out of my bag and forced her to wear it, earning scornful, crestfallen glares from her coterie of admirers and a grateful look from Liam.

Cisco joined us just as Gabe, his brown hair newly streaked with strips of blond, made an appearance onstage, waving his neon drumsticks in the air. He was smartly dressed in black pants and a black button-down shirt with a shockingly bright green tie—and each band member sported a different color neon tie. They kicked off with a fast-paced punk cover of an old Britney Spears song, which sent Ashley and her friends racing to the front of the crowd, dancing and giggling. Even Angelique nodded her head in time with the music, although she refused to sing along to any pop song as “a matter of principle.” I rested my back against Brendan’s chest, and he put his arms around me as we bopped along to the music in the darkened auditorium.

I tilted my head up, turning my face to kiss him on the cheek, but Brendan was looking behind him with a hateful look twisting his features.

“Something wrong?” I asked, pulling his ear down to my level.

“Um, no. Nothing,” he reassured me with a halfhearted smile. Brendan excelled at a lot of things, but lying sure wasn’t one of them.
Probably someone staring at him or taking a picture with their cell phone.
I hadn’t even noticed—much—the few who did persist in staring at us. Those same giggly girls who kept walking by us in the cafeteria did a few more laps around us in the auditorium. Their phones were definitely overflowing by now with pictures of Brendan. But apart from them, and a skinny brunette with heavily made-up raccoon eyes, only a few seemed to be paying particular attention to Brendan and me.

Freeze Tag wound up their last song and I was sure they’d won—even though I hadn’t watched any of the other bands. Everyone was cheering for them—and I snuck a peek at Angelique, who bore a beatific, almost drunk smile on her face from the good vibes in the room. I was relieved to see there could actually be an enjoyable side effect to her empath skills for a change. And I took her cheery demeanor as a good sign—maybe Randi was right, and my psycho attacker really was just a one-time thing. Maybe I could start to relax a little.