Spellcaster. Cara Shultz Lynn
concentrating nearly hard enough. Born witch or not, you’re new to this. Just shouting out spells isn’t going to work,” she said sternly, adding, “as I’ve told you about a thousand times.”
“It did in the beginning.” I sulked, thinking of some early spells that I’d successfully pulled off. It’s probably because the spell is in Latin. And you hate Latin.
“Well, your focus was a lot better then,” she retorted. I looked up as Angelique stood and tossed the bag on the bed next to me, adding, “And the spell is a repulsion spell. It’s meant to make something move away from you, not go sliding across the floor to you.”
She took an oversize blue pen out of the bright yellow souvenir Florida mug on her desk and cleared a space for it on the messy surface.
“Watch,” she instructed, turning to her desk with her eyes slitted in concentration. She held her left palm out and took a deep breath.
“Emoveo,” she whispered, her fingers splaying out as she focused.
My breath caught in my throat as the blue pen twitched.
“Emoveo!” Angelique repeated more forcefully, holding her arm out straighter, locking her elbow at the joint. The pen flung backward as if someone had tugged it off the surface with an invisible string. It hit the wall before falling down behind her desk.
She turned to me with a self-satisfied smile while my eyes were about as wide as bagels. Angelique rarely flaunted her skills just for the sake of showing off. Sure, her empath side would occasionally get slammed with someone’s mood on the subway—and she’d elbow me with a whispered “They totally just did it” and nod toward two people sharing shy glances—but generally, Angelique thought it was an abuse of the craft to just show off.
“Have you always been able to do that?” I asked, awed at her display.
“Of course not. I wanted to show you what a little practice can do,” she said, her voice dripping with a “nyah-nyah-nyah-I-told-you-so” tone.
“Message received.” I bowed slightly to her. “I’ll practice on focusing my emotions more.”
“Good,” she replied, a big grin on her face. “Remember, dabbling with witchcraft is like playing with guns. It’s dangerous. Besides, the more you practice, the more quickly you should be able to find your emotional center. It’s something you have to feel out…it’s not really a tangible thing. Once you can access that emotional place, your spells will come together more, um—” her eyes darted to the burn mark in her rug “—effectively. Which is why I asked you to bring the dress. Did you?”
I nodded, digging in my backpack and pulling out the item she had asked me to pack—the black tulle dress I’d worn to the dance where Anthony had attacked me. I didn’t know why I’d even saved it. It was ripped and dirty, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out. I felt like I needed a reminder—like I couldn’t get too comfortable with my current, blissful situation. So it had spent the past few months tied in a plastic bag in the back of my closet.
“Well, considering our last couple of potions haven’t gone so well,” Angelique began, cautiously eyeing the burn again, “I was thinking we should go back to the basics.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, not looking directly at the dress as she inspected the tulle and satiny liner.
“Well, your most effective spells were, um, ones that happened when your emotions were running very high. And since you’re so happy these days, you’re having a little trouble finding your center to do these spells, so I had an idea…” Angelique trailed off. I had a sinking feeling that I knew where she was going with this.
That night on the rocks, I was able to somehow summon my brother’s spirit to help me pull Brendan to safety as he dangled more than one hundred feet above Turtle Pond. Thinking about my brother, and how I felt like I lost him twice—Angelique knew the kind of pain that caused me. And there was no way I was going to reach out to his spirit, especially if he was finally at peace.
“No,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to disturb Ethan or do anything like that.”
“I don’t mean…summoning spirits,” Angelique said, raising her palms. “The spell I have in mind, you need for this to work. I’m hoping this dress will just be a prop to remind you, kind of a shortcut to take you to back to that emotional place.”
“So this dress is my GPS system?”
“Basically.” Angelique nodded.
“I was able to levitate that highlighter. I mean, that was cool, but it wasn’t exactly crucial that I do it,” I countered. I was not looking forward to reliving that battle in Central Park with Anthony.
“I don’t want to take any chances. The spell I have in mind, you need to do.”
Her ominous tone sent shivers through my body, and I nervously began tugging on the row of small silver hoops in my earlobe as she pulled a large boot box from underneath her bed. She plopped it next to me, the weight of the box causing the comforter to pillow and plump on the sides. Angelique lifted the lid to reveal the worn, intricately carved leather cover of Hadrian’s Medieval Legends, nestled among some tissue paper and small jars filled with herbs.
“You still have it? I thought your mom had to return it!” I exclaimed, staring at the book in awe. It was in that old book that I had learned about the ancient curse that bound my soul to Brendan’s—and doomed me. It was also where we figured out that we had broken the curse—but our story shared space with tales about dragons, demons and witches. And those weren’t real…well, except for the witch part.
“She’s a little scatterbrained, as you know, and forgot that I even have it,” Angelique confessed. “She’ll remember when the school asks for it.” Angelique’s mom, Dr. Evelyn Tedt, was a professor of Medieval Studies at Fordham University, and one of the brightest minds in her field. She could tell you the date an illuminated manuscript was created just by inspecting the scrollwork in the border. But where Angelique had a photographic memory, Dr. Tedt couldn’t remember to put the milk back in the fridge. It had caused many an unpleasant surprise when Angelique and I tried to have cereal.
“Won’t you get into trouble with your mom? That book is ancient, I thought!”
“Not ancient. Just an antique. It’s from the late 1800s.” Angelique shrugged casually, as if the book was merely an old magazine.
“Still, Angelique—she’s going to kill you when she finds out.”
“I don’t care. I’m glad I kept it. Especially since I can tell you’re feeling a dozen emotions looking at it—that bodes well for the spell,” she added wisely.
“A dozen emotions might be an understatement,” I mumbled, my eyes still riveted on the book. “So what’s this spell that’s so important that I had to have props?” I held up the dress and shook it toward Hadrian’s.
“I’ve been feeling…I don’t know how to describe it. Almost like I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack at all times,” she said, getting that faraway look she always got when she explained what it’s like for her to read emotions and people. “You know when you’re watching a horror movie, and you’re waiting for the killer to pop out? And the music is building? Well, I feel like the music is building. And it’s getting louder and louder, but the killer hasn’t popped out yet.”
She rubbed her ear, as if she were trying to shake the ominous sound out. “I just feel very unsettled. The last time I was anxious like this…” she paused to look up at me, and when she continued, her voice was very low “…it was right before the winter formal. But I just thought I was feeling sick because of the flu—I’d never felt like this before,” she explained quickly. “How was I supposed to know I was sensing any kind of danger? I don’t know if this is an empath thing, or just me being in tune with the universe, but I figured I’d better pay attention.”