Witch Test, page 16
Cameron lets out a low whistle. “Impressive.”
Daya ducks her head. “My dad taught me that. C’mon, let’s keep moving.”
I take my place in the back of the line and flash my light from one side of the path to the other. The roots show at the base of the thick cornstalks, the tendrils sprouting out from the stalks like fingers, before digging back into the dirt. It’s like the cornstalks are broomsticks popping up out of the ground. I really do have witches on my brain.
We come to a spot where the path forks off in two directions. Daya checks the map and directs us right this time, straight into a masked man with a chainsaw. She screams as the chainless saw buzzes loudly but harmlessly above her head.
We skirt around him, my nerves on end with what we might run into next. It’s a delicious balance of being truly frightened for a moment while also knowing you’re not in any real danger.
Screams and the buzz of the chainsaw come from behind us as another group gets a fright.
In between the scares, Daya expertly navigates the maze. In the past, my friends and I would wander around, randomly picking which way to go. We might’ve glanced at the map when we reached a dead end or got lost, but it was a haphazard approach compared to Daya’s precise one.
Sure enough, when we reach another fork in the path, Daya confidently steers us. Cameron and I are content to follow her lead, and at this rate, we’ll be out of the maze in no time.
To keep things interesting, there are new scares every few corners—a deranged clown with severed fingers in her hair and a wolfman that chases us to a dead end before howling at the moon and disappearing into the cornstalks. There is even a green-faced witch, tendrils of familiar gray hair poking out of the pointy hat, revealing she’s the farmhand Susan. She compliments our costumes and spares us the scare.
Then we reach a point where it’s oddly quiet as we venture deeper into the maze. My friends’ breathing, their soft footfalls on the packed dirt of the paths, and the occasional rustling of the cornstalks are the only sounds. We pass no other groups or frights.
It’s as if no one else exists.
The bright moonlight, rising ever higher in the velvety sky, kisses the top of the stalks, reaching far enough into the maze to cast our faces in white light. It gives my friends a skeletal look despite their layers of make-up. The night is cold, but my feathered cape is warm, so there’s no reason for the chill creeping up my spine.
Cameron comes to an abrupt stop and I almost run into him. In front of us, Daya stands at the crossroads of three paths, one to the left and two to the right that fork off from each other. Straight ahead is a wall of cornstalks, and standing tall on the other side are the trees that lead to the woods.
Daya stares intently at the map, her eyebrows knit in confusion. “I don’t understand.” Her voice is a whisper, like she’s talking to herself. Then she looks to us as if we can offer her an explanation. “I don’t see this on the map.”
“Are you sure you didn’t get turned around somewhere?” Cameron asks. “Maybe after the wolfman?”
Daya shoots him a withering glare. “No, I’ve been following the path perfectly…right up until here.” She points to a spot.
Cameron leans over, and they argue over what direction to take. Their voices sound too loud. Without any recent scares, the adrenaline has worn off and is turning into a creeping numbness.
There’s a stillness to the air, a deep quiet underneath the arguing. I swallow and my ears pop, but there’s no airplane or mountainous car ride to explain the change in pressure. Daya and Cameron go silent and stare at me with questioning expressions.
“Did you feel that?” Cameron whispers.
I nod, my eyes wide. I hold a finger to my mouth to tell them to be quiet and shine my flashlight down the path on the right. There is nothing but cornstalks to where it bends out of view. The other two paths are empty as well…unless there’s something lurking in the dark where the light doesn’t reach.
The map hangs at Daya’s side, the quest to find the correct path forgotten. Cameron tries to use his height to peer over the stalks, but even he’s not tall enough to see above them.
Unconsciously, we’ve crept closer to each other, Cameron’s side pressing against my cape on one side and the chill of the night creeping up on the other. I shiver. A warmth brushes my hand, startling me, but it’s only Cameron reaching for me. His other hand is already entwined with Daya’s. This fear is more real than anything I’ve felt all day.
I peer down the path to the right again, shining the flashlight as far as the light will reach. The pressure builds in my ears once more and I swallow to relieve it. The sound of rustling stalks is louder in that direction.
I’m drawn to this particular path in a way I can’t explain. There’s a strange energy, a presence that’s waiting to make itself known. I have the urge to ditch my friends, so it can show itself to me alone.
I take a step toward it, but Cameron’s grasp anchors me, keeps me from straying too far.
“Did you hear that?” He pulls me back close to him. Then he releases my hand and gently pushes me and Daya next to each other before taking a couple of steps down the path on the right. Does he feel the tug of it too?
“What are you doing?” Daya asks in a frantic whisper.
I’m about to follow Cameron when a sharp cry of warning rises from where the darkness swallows up the path. All around us, crows fly out of the maze, their wings cracking the night air like a whip.
Cameron backs into me. I fall, my butt hitting the hard dirt with a spine-rattling thump.
From my vantage point on the ground, the huge moon is front and center in the sky between the tall rows of cornstalks. Crows in numbers I’ve never seen before pour from the paths, their silhouettes black stains against the moon. Their sharp caws come from all directions, echoing in the night.
Daya and Cameron duck against the onslaught, though none of the birds get close enough to touch us.
I stand, face to the sky, and watch them fly. After circling us several times, the crows and their calls fade away. Mesmerized, I watch them disappear into the trees that border the maze.
None of us move in the silence that follows. We simply stare at the treetops where the crows went.
Before we can decide what to do next, three dark figures appear in the path on the left, growing larger as they draw near. They radiate a negative energy that sends goose bumps down my neck and arms.
Chapter 39
Shadowy Figures
“Look who it is,” says a sneering voice at the center of the three shadows. I recognize Abby’s figure a second before she, Mia, and Gabrielle step out into the moonlight.
As soon as they are visible, it’s like a veil has been lifted. Where our trio of witches had largely been traveling in isolation—like we were in our very own bubble—suddenly the maze comes alive. The usual shouts and laughter ring throughout the cornstalks. A light bobs up and down from a group on the other side of one of the maze’s walls.
Abby is the last person I want to see, but her presence has brought us back to reality after the strange encounter with the crows. It might be that Daya’s expert strategy put us ahead of everyone else, despite our late start, and all the others are finally catching up. That would explain the sense of isolation but not the other feeling. The prickle of my skin says not everything in this maze can be solved with strategy.
The strangeness of the moment fades away as Abby speaks again. “A group of elephants is called a herd and a group of sheep is called a flock. But what do you call a group of witches?”
When we all stare at her with dumbfounded expressions, Abby rolls her eyes and answers her own question, “A loser.”
Mia and Gabrielle snort with laughter. Daya focuses on the map again, completely ignoring my ex-friends. I don’t know how Daya manages to keep her cool when all I want to do is slap that smirk off Abby’s face.
“Do you hear something?” Cameron asks as he holds up his nails to inspect his manicure.
Abby narrows her eyes slightly, but her lips curl up in a smile. “Seriously though, great costume, Cameron. It really captures your true essence?”
Mia laughs obnoxiously, but I notice Gabrielle takes a second to muster up a feeble giggle. I wonder who Gabrielle is thinking of that might be insulted by the joke. That’s the thing about Abby’s sense of humor, the cruelty of it doesn’t stop at the person she’s insulting. She manages to target entire types of people with one nasty comment.
“Ha ha, very original,” Cameron says in a bored voice. “As if I’ve never had my identity mocked before.” His voice cracks, despite his effort to show he doesn’t care what Abby says.
It brings Daya out of her inspection of the map. “What’s your problem, Abby?” She steps right up to my ex-best friend. “No matter how Cameron dresses, he’s twice the person you are.”
Abby’s face is so red, it looks like she’s about to burst into flames. She takes a step back and turns to me. “I can’t believe you chose to be with these freaks tonight instead of me.”
“Losers,” Mia casually tosses out in support of Abby.
My former friends’ faces are all twisted up in nasty ways. They suddenly look very pathetic in their unoriginal costumes and cheap make-up, nothing like the work of art my trio of witches is.
For the last two months, I’ve been so afraid of what Abby was going to say about me that I’ve failed to understand she can’t hurt me if I don’t let her. I’ve been holding on to this idea of what our friendship once was—the kind of friendship it hasn’t been in a long time—and I let that determine how I felt.
So many of her insults are about her insecurities and unhappiness, not mine. Our friendship is long dead. So long as I remember those things, what she says or thinks doesn’t matter.
What does matter are these two people standing on either side of me. Cameron’s arms are folded across his chest in a way that says “you mess with my friend, you mess with me.” The map is crumpled in Daya’s fist like she’s ready to throw a punch.
Tonight, I’m happy to have their support, but I don’t need them to fight this battle for me. It’s time I stood up for myself.
I lean in toward Abby so she’s forced to take a step back. “I’m sorry that making fun of others is the only way you can feel better about yourself. I know that feeling of power it gives you, but I also know the crash of guilt that comes later. I stayed friends with you for so long because I thought the rush of power was worth it.”
I direct my next comment to Mia and Gabrielle. “It’s not worth it, by the way. If you ever realize that and want to talk, I’m here.”
I raise my hand and Abby flinches away, but all I do is pat her shoulder. She shrinks away like my newfound freakishness is contagious. Though really what I’ve found is confidence.
My voice is quiet but intense when I say, “I miss you, Abby—the old you. I thought we had a friendship for the ages. BFFs forever. But you can be so mean, even to the people you call friends. You didn’t used to be like that. Maybe you’ll find that old part of yourself one day, but I honestly don’t think we can ever be friends again. There are some things you can’t get back once they’re lost.”
Throughout my speech, Mia and Gabrielle have been inching backward down the path. At first I think it’s because they don’t want to be too close to the girl who is breaking off her friendship with Abby for good. But when Abby yells “now,” I realize something else is going on.
The next seconds seem to take place in slow motion. Mia and Gabrielle duck down into the cornstalks and emerge with buckets in hand. As they come at me, I seem to be stuck in slow motion because all I do is raise my arms in front of my face.
My friends are quicker to react. Cameron yanks on my arm, pulling off some of the feathers Felicity so carefully sewed on my cape. They go floating into the air at the same time Mia and Gabrielle toss the liquid out of the bucket. Meanwhile, in the scuffle, Abby ends up in the path of the liquid.
Cameron and I fall to the side, cornstalks buffering our fall. When I look up, Abby is covered in blood, feathers stuck in her hair. Daya stands nearby, her hands on her hips in a triumphant pose. As the liquid drips from Abby’s face, it looks too thin to be real blood, but the effect is gory all the same.
With horror-struck expressions, Mia and Gabrielle rush to Abby.
“We’re so sorry!” Mia shrieks.
“Don’t touch me!” Abby rubs the liquid from her murderous eyes.
I hold my breath, waiting for her to kill us all. She charges at me, shouting, “You witch!”
She reaches down to where I’m tangled in the cornstalks with Cameron, grabs my left wing near the shoulder, and tugs hard. The cape splits at the seam, exposing my black shirt underneath.
Abby screams, an unearthly sound filling up the maze. “Show them, Liza. Show them, so once and for all they know what you are.”
Cameron reaches for my arm to comfort me. “Show us what, Abby?”
Abby’s eyes bulge unnaturally. “Her witch mark.”
I rub the exposed part of my shirt; underneath is my scar from the car accident. It’s two slashes that come to a point, like a beak. I’ve never been self-conscious about it…not until Mr. Juno talked about the witch mark in English class.
Abby’s seen the scar so many times and has never commented on it. But I see now how fear has taken over. It’s clouded over any feelings of friendship she had for me.
Daya steps between Abby and me. “Go away. We don’t care about any of that stuff. Liza is our friend, and you’re losing it.”
Cameron pushes himself out of the stalks. “Besides, our coven is full and ready to curse anyone who messes with us.”
A crow flies out of the trees and lands on Abby’s shoulder. It caws loudly right in her face. She freaks out, arms flailing, and runs away. Mia and Gabrielle follow, their footsteps pounding the dirt as they disappear into the darkness.
My friends untangle me from the cornstalks, and I assess the damage to my wing.
“Have no fear, every dress worth its fabric has roomy pockets.” Cameron’s hand disappears into a large pocket and comes up with gum, several tubes of lipstick, and a tin full of safety pins. In no time, he has me patched up.
“There’s one more thing I need to know,” he says. “Daya, did you push her?”
“Who?” Daya asks innocently.
“Who do you think? Abby…into the path of the blood, or whatever that stuff was.” Daya only smiles as Cameron fake punches her arm. “Oh my god. You did! Way to go.”
Daya covers her mouth like she can’t believe she did it. Then she doubles over, cracking up. Cameron bursts into laughter, too, and it’s contagious enough that I join in. Pretty soon tears run down my cheeks.
My costume makes it so I can’t hug them properly, so I grab their hands and pull them close that way. “Thank you…both of you.”
“I have more good news,” Daya declares. “I’ve found the way.”
I almost forgot about the strange behavior of the crows before my ex-friends showed up, but I’m instantly reminded of it when Daya points down the path where all the crows suddenly appeared.
An uneasiness creeps up on me as we start moving, but a feeling of contentment washes it away as I listen to Daya and Cameron relive Abby’s humiliation. The constant bundle of nerves that I’ve held in my stomach for the last few months has disappeared. I’m fully there in the maze, enjoying my time with friends.
Then a rustle of wind brushes my neck.
The cornstalks are motionless. I stop and look behind me, waving my flashlight from side to side, expecting to see Abby back for revenge. There’s nothing there but the hard-packed dirt of the path and the cornstalk roots that look like broomsticks.
When I turn back around, my friends are gone. They must not have noticed I stopped, and now I’m left without a map or any idea where to go. My flashlight flickers and goes out. Despite the full moon, there are deep shadows along the path in front of me.
The wind tickles my neck again, sending a chill down my spine.
From the shadows, steps a crow.
Chapter 40
Ritual
The crow cocks its head as if trying to figure me out. It raises its wings to show off the distinct markings of my crow and stands like that in front of me.
An instinct pulls at me and I raise my arms to show off my wings. Tonight I’m a crow as well.
The crow lowers its wings, lets out a sharp caw, and turns its back to me. It hops down the path back into the shadows. Instead of fear, I’m filled with a morbid curiosity, so I follow.
The crow takes me down several paths, making turns like it knows exactly where to go. We don’t encounter another living soul. A bubble, not of my own making, has wrapped its way around us.
As our journey winds through the cornstalks, more crows appear from the shadows. Each one appraises me with beady eyes before joining the silent march.
My heart races but not with fear. It beats with excitement.
The moon above is a motherly eye watching over me. The crows are my aunts, leading me to a deeper understanding of…something.
My crow—easily recognizable to me now—leads me and the murder of crows to a place where the cornstalks open up into a circle. Four paths lead off in different directions. The top part of a boulder rises out of the center of the circle. The surface sparkles in the moonlight. On it sits a tea candle, a book of matches, and a stick.
The silhouette of the forest is not too far off to the west, which is how I’m able to figure out what direction I’m facing. Each of the four paths radiating out from the circle is in one of the cardinal directions: north, south, east, west.
My crow hops onto the boulder. It pokes its beak at the stick and looks at me as if it wants me to do something. I join the crow, while the others form a circle around us. There are too many now to count.
The objects on the boulder remind me of the ritual my mom and Aunt Candy did all those Halloweens ago when they summoned my ancestor.
