Broomstick, page 16
“Okay, sorry.” He falls back on the couch and watches TV.
I laugh. He looks at me with a smile.
“Thanks, Bryce, but…yeah, it hurts.”
He loses his smile. “I’m sorry—”
“Forget it, Bryce.” And I drink some more beer. It’s an IPA, a little too sharp for my taste. I look at the screen. Then I look back, and Bryce is staring at me with a grin. “What?”
“I can’t forget it, Cadence. I care about you.”
That is super sweeeet.
He’s wearing a button-down navy-blue shirt and slacks, and his curly hair is well combed. How does he do it? The minute he took that ridiculous robe off at Alondra’s, he looked all formal again. This guy spends way too much time looking good—not that I mind.
I usually don’t trust guys like this. But he’s got stubble along his chin. And that imperfection is so like him. And he has this wise-guy look, you know, like, Well, we all know why I invited you to my house, right? And that’s almost annoying enough to convince me to leave. But he’s so sweet about it. And I feel safe with him. I like him. I really do.
“I’m fine,” I say after taking a deep breath. “What about you? Have you ever had anyone close to you pass away?”
“No.” Then he drinks some beer.
I laugh.
“Sorry, I really haven’t, Cadence. And I don’t particularly want to. But I told you, we’re all affected by any loss in the coven.”
I sigh again. Then I scoot up on his sinking cushions. “You know, I really wish you guys just stopped saying coven. It seems like you’re just a bunch of people meeting together. Like a club. Coven sounds so weird.”
“Okay. Club, then.”
“Unless there’s more to tell?”
“Nope.” And he stares at the stupid movie on his screen, stretches out his arms, and yawns. “Look, why don’t you sleep here with me tonight?”
“Jesus, Bryce. I mean, really?” I ask, sitting up straight.
“What? I don’t mean anything by it, Cadence,” he snaps, looking defensive. Then he laughs. “I can take the couch, Katie. You can take the bed.”
“In your room? In this one room, alone? No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” But then he cracks another stupid grin and I giggle.
He sits a little closer to me.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks.
Does it really matter? I don’t think either of us cares as long as we’re next to each other.
At some point, I fall asleep in his arms, and I stay there the whole night.
I wake up in the morning, still in his arms on the couch. I slowly lift his arm, and he moves listlessly, snoring a little. I grab my coat by the door, deciding to walk back to my dorm. His apartment is only a block away from the university.
It’s cold. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and my phone reads 6:32 a.m. There’s ice along the foliage, and it snowed last night. But it’s a temperate winter. Spring will be here soon enough.
I’ll go to the library and study today. I have a big anthropology test Monday. And anyway, I need to work on Alondra’s essay, which is due next week. Maybe I’ll throw in something about psycho witches who harbor Satan-worshipping wizards in animal-sacrificing school cults.
20
Mira Apologizes
I’m reading Broomstick on the third floor of the college library, at a table not far from where I had my first date with Mr. Handsome. I know I’m supposed to be reading about the Kung tribe in Western Africa, or maybe the Black Death, but my curiosity over Alondra’s gift is overwhelming. Actually, I hadn’t thought much of it until our Friday Sabbath. I felt guilty over not even having looked at the book over the past week.
The library is packed; finals are in two weeks. But I’ve stopped studying. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I just can’t study or go to class anymore. It couldn’t be happening at a worse time. So I’m going to have to do what I’ve never done before—cram. Or fail.
So why am I reading Broomstick?
There are no chapters. Actually, the content really has no organization. Passages of beautiful calligraphy are mixed with chicken scratch. The topics are as diffuse as the handwriting. For example, on page twenty-two there is a lovely and inspiring excerpt from a poem regarding sunflowers and childhood training wheels—whereas the next chapter is on studying human feces and how one’s diet can be ascertained from the color, texture, and scent. And the chapter after that is even worse, discussing preparations for copulating during menstruation. By page thirty, the narrator is back to calligraphy, describing prisms and the separation of light into rainbows. The book is an eclectic mixed bag of any and every topic one could discuss about life. There is an odd charm to that. And there are charms and spells too. A lot of them. Many pages of notes are on spells, usually derived by mixing herbs and potions. There are love spells, energy incantations, and even poisons. Sometimes I find my ancient book inspiring; at other times it’s disgusting.
After an hour or two, I search for a book on Wicca and read about that too. Wiccans, a group of modern-day witches who are good, warn that any harmful spell cast on another will come back to the practitioner in a way that’s many times worse. It makes me think of Escoba and her fate. Then I wonder if my coven believes the same thing. Are we “good”?
So I search Broomstick for any such warning. There’s none I can find.
Maybe we’re bad? Well, some of us are.
So I’m thinking about this, procrastinating on my real studies while staring at a browned, frayed page—at around page one hundred and seventy—when a shadow runs over the blank page. I look up and it’s Mira.
“Hi, Cadence,” she says with a wave. She’s wearing all-black makeup and has her long black hair slicked back.
“Hi, Mira.”
“Whatcha reading?” she asks, but her smile gives away any doubt that she already knows.
“Nothing. Just studying.”
Mira puts her hand on my arm. It’s very pale and feels cold. “Sorry,” she says and forces a smile.
“Did Alondra make you say that?”
“Smart girl, aren’t you?”
“If Alondra sent you to apologize, forget it.”
“Does it matter?” she asks and throws her ugly hair back. “Look, can I talk to you, Cadence?” She points at another chair.
I shrug and she sits down.
“I really am sorry, Cadence. I was acting like a total bitch. And, yeah, Alondra told me to apologize. She was really pissed. And she was right to be. But…I just don’t think you’re gonna be what Alondra wants you to be.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
“You’re just too vanilla, Bo-Peep.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Sorry… I—”
“I accepted the coven whether you like it or not, Mira. So you’ll have to accept me as your sister.”
“I know,” she says. But she looks disgusted by it. “Why do you think I’m apologizing?”
“Apology accepted.”
She smiles. It’s not sweet. It seems wicked. Then she squints and looks down at the book. “So, what’re you reading?”
My Book of Shadows.
“Well, Cadence, do you know what you’re supposed to do with it?”
“Read it and write some spells, I guess.”
“You’re not supposed to read it,” Mira says. “You’re supposed to experiment with your energies. You’re supposed to write experiments, your spells, in the book. It’s like a lab book, but for magic. You have to ignore the other writings… You might want to start with your experience with Bryce. Talk about what it was like fucking him.”
“You’re such a bitch, Mira!” I hiss. A few people turn in the quiet library.
Mira laughs.
“Just go away.”
“Sorry,” she says, trying to get a hold of herself. “I couldn’t resist. But that’s—”
“Just go. Alondra’s apology is accepted. Now go.”
“Well, I’m not really good with people,” she says, looking down.
That’s for sure.
“I really did want to welcome you to the coven. Not because of Alondra. I mean it, Cadence. I’m sorry I challenged you… And I’ll stop saying ‘Bo-Peep.’ Will that make things better between us?”
“Maybe.”
But she still has this annoying smirk on her face.
She gets up and looks like she’s going to leave, but she turns back. Her grimace becomes even more mischievous. “I stopped by to give you a present.” She reaches into her pocket and takes out a handwritten note. She puts it on the table near my book. Then she takes out a few hairs from her other pocket. “Here. It’s”—she smiles that infernal smile again—“a way to get even with your boyfriend. It’s a lock of his hair and a love incantation. You can make him materialize whenever and wherever you want. You can get back at him for what he did to you. Be his succubus. He’ll be yours.”
I throw the stuff back at her. “Go away, Mira.”
“I’ll save it for you at Alondra’s.” And she winks at me, picks up the lock of hair and note, and gives me the stupid smile again. “I think you’ll take it back after you think of what I’m giving you. You’ll find there are advantages to accepting your powers. And what better way than to cast a spell and fuck Bryce again?”
Then she blows me a kiss and walks away giggling.
Fucking witch.
21
Lacey’s Again
I’m huffing and puffing, running as hard as I possibly can on the treadmill, raising the ramp and sweating so much that my eyes are blurring from stingy, salty perspiration. And I have the distinct feeling that a lot of people in the gym are watching my madness. I don’t know why I’ve decided to make this the most intense workout of my life. My heart rate’s tracking at 125 to 130, my legs are aching, my back and neck hurt, and I’m about ready to collapse, but I’m running really hard, staring at the foggy mist and trees outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the gym. It’s early, but the sun’s out in the clear sky and the gym is already very busy. It’s busier during exam time; a lot of other people on campus are letting off steam too. But I can bet you no one’s exercising like me.
I’m listening to new age music from Constance Demby. There’s the sound of a Japanese koto. It’s not the most aggressive music, and it hardly fits my exercise routine, but somehow the tranquility of Ms. Demby’s mesmerizing voice provides a nice balance.
I’m thinking of Bryce. I’m remembering flying with him over the school. If my body wasn’t shaking from the masochistic torture of my workout from hell, I’d feel a shiver run down my spine.
Bryce told Alondra that we had flown together over the school. How the fuck did he know that? Wasn’t it all a hallucination? Then I’m thinking of the last Witch Sabbath and wondering why they didn’t tell me anything more about the coven. Had I not been initiated? Broomstick is more a diary than a book; it isn’t very informative.
There are so many other questions. Why did Maddie come home looking as if she’d been assaulted? She was bruised and looking shaken. Maddie is the most carefree girl in the world, but something happened to her that night. She never told me what, even after my “initiation.” And what about the candle? When I came back to my dorm after sleeping over at Bryce’s house, it was lit again, and Maddie insisted she’d never lit the candle. And what of Alondra’s new fascination with evil and the devil? Is that what I am now—a devil worshipper? My father’s Catholic. Mom wasn’t very religious, so we rarely went to church, but Dad does. He would never let me anywhere near Alondra if he knew about her.
What about Mom? Maybe all of this weirdness is a way to keep away from my feelings about her. Like this exercise.
I stop the treadmill and do my cool-down walk. I hang my head and lean forward on the rails, breathing heavily. Then I turn to the right and jump. There’s a little boy sitting about ten feet from me, leaning against the glass wall. He startles me because he’s so creepy. So icy. He “feels” cold. I don’t know how else to describe him. And what’s he doing here? Children aren’t permitted in the gym.
He’s a black child, wearing old-fashioned clothes: suspenders with a raggedy beige button-down shirt and baggy pants. He’s maybe ten or eleven. His hands and shoes are muddy, and his black hair’s curled but a little disheveled. His eyes, open wide, reflect the light in the gym, like a cat’s eyes.
He’s staring at me, looking scared.
I lean down on the rail again and wipe the sweat from my head. I’m wearing a pink sweatband, but it’s not doing anything. I look to my left and there’s an older guy—probably a professor—riding an exercise bike. Then I look back at the boy. He’s gone.
I hop off the treadmill and head to a water fountain to fill my bottle.
That’s when I nearly drop the bottle. I see the boy again. He’s at the door on the other side of the gym. He looks so afraid, which spooks me more. I stare at him because, for a second, it seems like I can see right through him.
I wave. His eyes turn big and I watch him fade. As he fades, the glass exit door reveals a tree behind him in the mist.
Now I’m not only completely winded and exhausted but totally freaked out. I turn to the bench press and see a young man sweating and lifting a lot of weights.
“Did you see him?” I ask the stranger.
The man looks at me funny, finishes his lift, and says. “Huh?”
“A boy? Did you see a boy? A black boy?”
The stranger shakes his head.
“How about you?” I ask the old guy on the exercise bike. He just looks at me like I’m crazy.
I walk over to a nearby weight-lifting bench and sit down. I lower my head again, still breathing hard, feeling exhausted. Then I stuff my earbuds in my pocket.
The stranger puts his barbell down and sits up and turns to me. He has that jock I’m-gonna-hit-on-you-now look. I’m really not in the mood for that, so I look away.
“Kids aren’t allowed in the gym,” he says.
“Oh,” I say, finally catching my breath. “I thought I saw a boy.”
I did see a boy. No, I saw a ghost.
It’s seven o’clock, and I’m on my second dinner date at Lacey’s. I’d told Bryce how much I’d liked the place last time, so he brought me here again. I wish he had thought of somewhere different.
“You’re so mysterious, Cadence,” he says. I’m feeling déjà vu.
“Oh, I’m mysterious? What about you and your cult?”
But then we’re interrupted by a waitress in a suit. “Is your steak all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” says Bryce.
But everything’s not fine. I’m unnerved by the gym incident. And I’m upset that, even though I’ve joined the coven, I still feel like everybody’s keeping things from me.
The waitress nods and walks off. I look around the dark restaurant. Each table has a single small candle, and many couples are holding hands or leaning in close to one another. I recognize my sociology professor in the flickering light. His wife has long gray hair. She’s pretty—she was probably gorgeous when she was younger. It’s cute how the older couple’s staring into each other’s eyes.
“The coven is not a cult,” Bryce says, a little miffed, cutting into his steak. “We’re family.”
“Hmm, well, if we’re family, it’d sure be nice if my family told me all their secrets. I’ve been initiated, but I still don’t know what the hell’s going on.”
“What do you want to know?” He’s very sincere and that’s sweet.
He also looks really handsome tonight. He’s wearing a red sweater and green shirt. It looks like Christmas, and only someone as hot as Bryce could make it look good. And jeans—blue jeans. I’m wearing a simple black dress.
It’s time, I think. Since he asked, there is something I’ve been wondering about for a long time. I push my steak and utensils to the side. Then I look into his gorgeous blues and force myself to ignore them.
“I want to know what happened to my friend. Maddie’s initiation was a lot different than mine. After hers, she came home looking like she’d been in a fight. Every time I confront her, she says she can’t remember everything.”
He’s surprised by this. He was probably thinking I was curious about another random historical fact about witchcraft. “And what makes you think it was so different?” he asks.
“Just tell me what happened, Bryce.”
He nods and pushes his food to the side. He becomes very serious, which makes me more nervous. Then he pauses for a moment. “Believe it or not, Cadence, your friend had exactly the same initiation rites as you.”
I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that at all. “Bryce, Maddie is why I joined. I’m worried about her.”
“Maddie isn’t why you joined,” he says with a smug look.
“Well, something happened to her that night. She had scratches all over. And her clothes were torn. Were you with her?”
“Yes. I saw everything.” He hesitates.
That means he’s known all along. Well, of course he has. But then…why hasn’t he told me?
He looks around. The other tables are far enough away that if he speaks softly, neighbors won’t hear. “Madison took mandrake too.” He takes a deep breath. “Only she didn’t have someone with her to watch her. She got intoxicated on the drug, something happened, and we lost her in the woods. When we found her, she had fallen in the brush. That’s what all the scrapes on her skin were from.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, “there’s more. Tell me what happened.”
But I’m not sure I want to know. I feel like I’d be relieved if Bryce came up with more extraneous facts to block the real truth. In my gut, I know exactly what happened.
I look down at the candle and it starts to bother me. It reminds me of my mother’s candle, the one that keeps lighting by itself. Before it seemed so quaint in the restaurant. Now it’s almost spooky. And it seems to be flickering more brightly. I’m getting anxious and upset.
