Spellcaster (33 page)

“Pizza? And I’m the one with the culinary leanings of a toddler?”

“These are gourmet,” she stressed as she threw the pizza in the toaster oven sitting on the counter.

“Ugh, I can’t believe that assface picked the spot
I
showed her,” Angelique grumbled, folding her arms as she leaned against the counter.

“Megan’s meeting spot? I thought it was weird that she picked a spot in Hell’s Kitchen,” I said, pouring myself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher on the table.

“It’s
my
spot,” she huffed. “Randi used to go up there in high school and hang out, and she showed it to me when I started getting into witchcraft. Sometimes, you know, you just want a place to set up an outdoor altar.”

“What is this spot, anyway?”

“It’s the roof of an old tenement building. You just climb up the fire escape. Easy peasy.”

“That’s trespassing!”

“Oh, okay, Little Miss Set-the-Basement-on-Fire-to-Scare-Kristin, now’s not the time to catch a case of morals,” Angelique retorted, her tone heavy with teasing sarcasm. “We all do what we need to do to get by.”

“Point taken,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

“So now what?”

“Now we have our pizza.” Angelique smiled before narrowing her eyes seriously. “And then we take Megan out.”

Chapter
17

“Do you have
everything?” Angelique asked me for the billionth time as we turned onto
Forty-eighth Street from Ninth Avenue. The popular thoroughfare was lined
with bars and restaurants, most holding lunar eclipse-themed drink specials
and “moon-tinis.” We had to swerve to avoid some intoxicated smokers, who
spilled onto the sidewalk, not watching where they were walking. Instead
their heads were tilted back, marveling at the sky, where a rusty crescent
was staining the curve of the moon. The lunar eclipse had begun.

We’d gone down Ninth Avenue
instead of Tenth, in case Brendan was already waiting for me at the park on
the corner of Tenth. But I didn’t have to see him to know he was there—I
felt such an unconscious pull to him. I wanted to run down the block and
fling myself in his arms. I wondered if he felt the same pull toward
me.

“Emma, wake up!” Angelique said
sharply, jolting me out of my reverie.

“What? Oh, yeah, I have
everything,” I said. I patted my jeans pockets—in my left one was a copy of
my spell, in case I forgot the words, and my cell phone was in my right—and
felt the waistband of my jeans for the item that would really infuriate
Megan. A smile crept across my face when I thought of her
reaction.

“It’s nearly nine,” Angelique
said, and I nodded woodenly. We walked down the dark block, barely
illuminated by the dim light of the lampposts, until we reached a small
metal gate between two redbrick tenement-style buildings. Angelique pushed
open the gate, leading the way into the dank alleyway between the two
buildings. The narrow alley was bathed in an acidic yellow light, emanating
from the uncovered bulb buzzing above an unmarked gray metal door on the
right, just below the fire escape. The alley was a dead end, and reeked of
stale rainwater, urine and garbage, the last one likely due to the
overflowing trash cans pushed against the building on the left.

“Does it always smell like
this?” I asked, wrinkling my nose in disgust.

“What, don’t you want to bottle
this fragrance and wear it every day?” Angelique asked innocently, and I
laughed, grateful for the moment of levity—however brief it was. She raised
the oversize golf umbrella she’d brought, and hooked the black handle into
the bottom rung of the ladder hanging off the fire escape. With a quick but
forceful tug, the ladder came barreling down with a loud bang.

I gripped the sides of the
ladder—it had the texture of rusted-over metal that had been painted
repeatedly with cheap, goopy paint. I set my foot on the second rung and
gave Angelique an optimistic look.

“Here I go,” I said with false
enthusiasm, and she just stared stoically at me, before throwing her arms
around my shoulders for a completely uncharacteristic hug that caused me to
stumble a few feet back. In true Angelique form, she kept the hug brief,
returning to her stiff demeanor.

“Aww, Angelique,” I murmured.
“What made you—”

“Ew. See, you overreact. This is
why I don’t hug,” Angelique huffed, stepping back from me like I were a bear
trap about to snap. I wiped the sappy look off my face and stared at her
coolly.

“I’m just in shock that you
actually had an emotion,” I replied, and she grinned.

“That’s better.”

I looked up at the ladder and
set my Converse-covered foot back on the rung.

“I’ll talk to Brendan, I
promise,” Angelique said. “I’ll plead your case and don’t worry, I won’t
tell him where you are. Last thing we need is him showing up thinking he’ll
save the day and instead getting struck with a lightning bolt or whatever it
is Megan has in mind for him.”

Never be the same again.
His health? His personality? His memory? Megan’s
words echoed through my mind. I flinched at the mental picture, squeezing my
eyes shut. I couldn’t imagine casting the spell
and
fearing for Brendan’s life. I
looked back up at the ladder, adrenaline beginning to course through my
veins, saturating my bloodstream.

“Yeah, um. Okay,” I said
awkwardly. “Enough stalling. See ya in a bit.”

I gripped the handrails, the
black paint flaking off on my palms as I pulled myself up the ladder to the
first floor. Whoever lived in that apartment had a security gate, blinds
that were closed and curtains drawn.
It’s
probably darker in there than it is in Hollister.

The metal creaked from lack of
use as I gingerly stepped to the narrow staircase, which trembled as I
climbed to the second floor. The fire escape shook less by the third floor,
and I raced to the fourth and fifth floors with ease—too much ease. I got
confident, stepping as assuredly as if I were on smooth pavement, and
tripped over the uneven metal slats that made up the fire escape. My stomach
hit the railing, my head pitching forward as I grabbed the iron bars,
breaking the momentum of my fall. Whether it was the adrenaline coursing
through my veins or my brain chiming in to protest with a “Girl, you’re
crazy,” my heart definitely skipped a beat as I stared down, five floors, to
the alley pavement that nearly became the last thing I ever saw.

Emma, what the hell are you
doing?
I tried to force myself to calm
down before I had a full-on panic attack.
This
is the dumbest idea ever.

“That’s it. We’ll figure out
another way,” I whispered, resolving to bolt out of there and forget the
whole night ever happened. I gripped the handrail tightly, and my Claddagh
ring—the one Brendan had given me—clinked against the metal. It was all the
motivation I needed to keep going. I had to keep him safe. I hoisted myself
off the railing and stood up straight, my resolve strengthening as I turned
around, facing the small metal ladder bolted to the building that led to the
roof.

I grabbed it and shook it
experimentally, and the sound of loose metal scraping brick greeting my
ears. I scrambled up the ladder as quickly as I thought was safe, and placed
my palms flat against the grainy fiberglass tiles that covered the low wall
surrounding the roof. Ancient, brown-shingled water towers dominated the
roofs of neighboring buildings, the bulky, weatherworn structures rising and
falling at different heights. Across the street, Christmas lights twinkled
merrily above the packed rooftop of a shorter building, where partygoers
milled about, flashes from cameras going off sporadically as the revelers
took pictures of the sky. In the distance, the boxy shapes of the midtown
Manhattan skyline—brightly lit office buildings splashed with sporadic
flashes of light from the blinding billboards on Broadway—sliced into the
dark blue night, appearing miles away instead of a few blocks. Overlooking
it all like an eye in the sky was the moon, a deep rust color bleeding into
its side as the lunar eclipse continued to progress.

My eyes searched the shadowy
tar-covered roof—in the center was a small redbrick structure with a door,
which I assumed was for residents of the building. Roof access in Manhattan
might be prized by its residents, but I couldn’t see how anyone would
want
access
to
this
roof; I saw old, musty leaves and errant articles of soggy clothing that had
clearly spent more than a few nights in the rain puddled in corners, and
uncovered storm drains dotting the ground, just begging to trip someone.
What I didn’t see was Megan.

My phone went off in my pocket,
Brendan’s ringtone piercing the stillness on the rooftop.
I guess Angelique told him what’s up.
I pulled my phone out quickly, silencing it and
setting it to vibrate before sending a quick text message.

I’m sorry. I had to. I love you.

I had just hit Send when a harsh
voice echoed through the rooftop. “Do I hear a visitor?” The artificial
cheerfulness in her voice sliced through me, turning my stomach as I noticed
the faint glow of light flickering from behind the stairwell.

“Yeah. Do I hear a…crazy
person?” I replied with the same forced friendliness that Megan had used. I
wished I had come up with a better insult, but my heart had started a rapid
solo drumbeat in my chest.
Calm down, Emma. Play
it cool—it’ll drive her crazy. Well, crazier.
I cautiously crept across the roof, turning the
corner behind the stairwell.

And then I gasped. Megan had a
folding table set up as a makeshift altar—on it sat an elaborate pewter
goblet and glass jars of varying heights that held an assortment of herbs
and liquids. Some I recognized, some I didn’t—because they were gelatinous,
dark masses that quivered, or murky black mists that coiled and swirled
within tall, sealed jars. I didn’t know what she planned to do with them. I
didn’t want to find out.

But her makeshift kitchenette
from hell isn’t what surprised me.

On the black tar floor, she’d
spray painted a giant red pentagram. A thin trail of black soil was
sprinkled on the crimson lines, and she’d set black and red candles at each
point. The candles were lit, flickering in the light wind on the roof. And
Megan stood at the center, in black jeans, a black hoodie—and the blackout
mask she’d worn when she attacked me at the Cloisters.

“Crazy person? Is that any way
to treat your host?” Megan asked, an athame in her hands. She held the tip
of the blade against her finger—not with enough pressure to break the skin,
but just enough to keep the knife aloft as she twirled it slowly.

“Nice mask. Having seen your
face, it’s a definite improvement,” I said casually. Angelique had clued me
in to how poorly Megan reacted to such insults. But my dig didn’t hit my
intended mark.
Target: missed.
She just laughed, grabbing the hem of the hood and
pulling it back to reveal her smirking face. Her brown hair was stringy, and
fell limply on her shoulders. The raccoon-style eyeliner was gone, her black
eye on full display. A purple bruise, ringed in a sickly shade of yellow,
dragged down her cheek from underneath her left eye. Courtesy of
me.

Megan looked around, confusion
etched across her thin features.

“You came alone,” she said,
almost in wonderment as she craned her head a bit to scan the roof. As if
Brendan were hiding behind me—he’s a lot taller than me.

“Yeah, so?” I asked, saturating
every word with bravado. “Those were your little instructions, weren’t
they?” I rolled my eyes as I spoke, and Megan gave me a dirty
look.

“I figured you’d hide behind
your friends.”

“Why? You don’t scare me,” I
scoffed. But as I took in her almost maniacal appearance, I realized that
yes, she did scare me. Very much so.

“I was looking forward to
teaching you—and him—a lesson.” Megan pressed her lips together in a
disappointed grimace as she spun her athame more rapidly, lost in her
thoughts. “I had this whole scenario planned out. You would beg me to stop,
he
would
beg—for once in his life, the ultimate player would have to swallow his
pride and beg a girl for something… .” Megan jerked the knife sharply in her
hands as she spoke of Brendan, and a thick drop of blood fell from her
fingertips. She didn’t notice—Megan’s deep-set eyes were facing the sky as
she got lost in her malicious little reverie. One where she fantasized about
inflicting untold tortures on Brendan.

“Can we get on with this?” I
interrupted her sharply. “I really don’t need to hear your unresolved issues
about
my
boyfriend.”

“You should be nicer to me,” she
snapped, pacing slowly, continuing to twirl her knife as another heavy drop
of blood fell to the ground. Then she stopped short, looking at me
thoughtfully. “You know, Kristin called me, freaking out about your big-ass
fireball display. I’m a little surprised that you did that. That’s not at
all what I expected from
you.
”

“You don’t know me,” I seethed
through clenched teeth, and Megan just laughed.

“Oh, but I do. I’ve been
watching you for about two months now. And I thought you were just a
simpering little lovesick idiot. I didn’t think you had it in you to make
Kristin experience hell on earth. Literally, hell on earth.”

Megan eyed me thoughtfully. “You
know, Emma. You
do
hate Vince A just as much as I did when I was
there. And from what Kristin says about you, you sure don’t have that many
friends. Why don’t you just let me bleed you, and then we can talk about how
you and I can teach everyone who’s ever put us down a lesson?”

“The way you taught my cousin a
lesson?” I hissed, my fists clenched tightly. “Ashley’s never done anything
to anyone.”

Megan just shrugged her thin
shoulders, which stuck out sharply in her sweatshirt. “Collateral damage. I
really thought I was putting the spell on
you,
” she explained graciously, as if
that made it all better. “But seriously, Emma, you should think about it
after I bleed you tonight. This doesn’t have to be so…combative. We could
both be winners in this scenario.”

She paused, pointing her athame
at me, and I flinched involuntarily as the blade glinted in the dim
moonlight. “Imagine it—making Kristin see fireballs in the middle of Latin
class. Or having the power to root that big giant date-rapey Anthony Caruso
out of whatever lavish, four-star hole he’s hiding in? I could help you with
that—if you help me out, of course,” Megan purred with an inviting
smile.