Charmed, page 9
Well, that was fun. But I make a note to myself not to lose my temper like that again. Being loose with my magic could get me in some serious trouble.
The rest of the morning passes by like sludge. When the lunch bell rings, I practically sprint to the library.
The library at Fairfield High is enough to cause clinical depression. The outdated shag carpet, cheap plywood bookcases, and Commodore 64 computers make the place look like it has been royally screwed over in the budget department since 1970.
Mrs. Sutton glances up from her computer at the reference desk when I enter but quickly goes back to doing whatever it is librarians do. I cross over to one of the computer stations and drop my bag on the floor.
My fingers shake as I bring up Google, then type “Samantha Hornby” into the search bar. The police report comes up as the first option. I click on it and skim the paragraphs looking for details not already mentioned at the assembly.
She went missing yesterday. She left for school with a friend, but never showed up to class. I read the rest of the report but learn nothing new. I click out of the page and open up her Instagram, zooming in on her most recent pic. It’s the same picture from the assembly, but up close, Samantha looks even more like the girl I saw in Los Demonios.
My heart beats hard. I click on another picture, then another and another—star soccer athlete, devoted friend, smiling and happy in every photo. I keep looking, hoping to crush my theory, but the longer I search, the clearer it becomes that I’m right: Samantha and the girl in the van are the same person.
My mind speeds in a dozen different directions. What was this seemingly well-bred human doing in a place like that? I don’t know what it all means.
A thought strikes: maybe Samantha is a witch. Hell, maybe she’s a sorcerer. Why not? It’s unlikely that I’m the only teen witch in Los Angeles County, even if the thought makes me feel a tad less special.
But then Goth Woman’s words on the roof stream through my head again. “Did they tell you why they kidnapped you? Give you any idea what they’re using you for? Why all the humans?”
Okay, so Samantha’s probably a human, I decide.
I turn over the rest of the woman’s words again, trying to pick some meaning out of them. So someone is kidnapping humans….Could it be that someone is collecting them from the outside and dumping them into Los Demonios?
My breath hitches, a sense of foreboding falling heavy on my shoulders.
It can’t be.
I click out of Instagram and return to Google. My fingers hesitate over the keyboard. I don’t even know what to type. Finally, I punch in sorcerer spells + humans.
Twenty-six thousand results pop up. My throat feels hot and dry as I click on the first link. It opens to a web page that looks like a homemade LiveJournal. I skim the passage, barely breathing.
“Interesting reading material.”
I yelp and spin around to find Jessie standing right behind me, her books pressed against her chest. I click out of the web page, but it’s too late. My cheeks flame.
“It’s research,” I spit out. “For school. For an English paper.”
“It’s okay,” she says.
I open my mouth to say something, but she shakes her head. “You don’t have to be embarrassed around me. Paige told me all about your mom’s occult shop. I think it’s cool.”
I swallow, my heart continuing its frantic beating despite her words. “You, you do?”
“It’s interesting.”
She slides out a chair at a nearby table and drops her bag onto her lap, then pulls out a sandwich. She carefully unwraps the cellophane and takes a big bite.
“Want to sit?” she asks, through a mouth full of food. “I could use the company.”
“I–I’m sorry. I have to go.” I grab my bag and dash out of the library before I can see the hurt on her face.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that it’s not just Paige’s life in danger anymore. I need to get back to Los Demonios. I don’t need to make new friends. Besides, not much good has come from letting anyone get close to me so far.
I knew exactly where to look for the Ancient Spells book. Mom kept an autographed copy on display in the diningroom china cabinet ever since the author came to the shop to do a signing a few years back (she didn’t seem to think it was funny that a “warlock” was doing book signings). I almost cried with relief to find the book still there. Thank God, or I’d have to jack a copy from the Black Cat and risk Aunt Penny finding out. Or worse: take out a witchcraft book from the library.
I flip onto my stomach and flatten the cover on my bed, scanning passages for something that might help me inside Los Demonios.
Now that I have a good idea where Paige is being held, it’s incredibly tempting to speed down to the boardwalk and return to LD as soon as possible, but if my experience in that place has taught me anything it’s that I’m way out of my league. I may have survived, but only just. I can’t take credit for it and I definitely can’t expect to have the same luck if I go back with the same sad skill set as before. I need to be able to defend myself. I need a few more tricks in my magic bag besides flying and moving objects.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door. I find Bishop smirking at me from the doorframe. He’s got his hair tied back in a ponytail, with a few strands pulled loose around the colorful tattoos on his neck. His leather jacket is draped over his arm, and he gives me a smile that crinkles his eyes, like nothing at all happened between us today.
“Can I come in?”
I return his smile. “Of course.”
“Where’s your car?” he asks, ambling inside. “It’s not in the driveway.”
I drop my eyes to the book. “Oh, uh, in the shop. Oil change.”
“You know I could have done that for you.”
Note to self: get back down to the boardwalk and buy back my car ASAP.
“I’ll remember that for next time.”
“Door stays open,” Aunt Penny says, walking past.
My cheeks flush, but Bishop doesn’t seem the least bit bothered. He plops down heavily on the bed and picks up the book, turning it over to look at the gold-embossed cover.
“Man, math has really changed since I finished high school,” he says.
I grin at him.
“Seriously, though—I thought you were studying for your retest. What’s all this about?”
I shrug as he flips through the pages, like I don’t know exactly what it is and exactly why I invited him here. “Just some old book I found in the china cabinet,” I say.
“ ‘Battle Tactics,’ ” he says, reading the chapter title. “Some nice light reading.” He tosses the book onto the floor and leans over suddenly to bite my neck.
“Bishop!” I complain, though I can’t help giggling at the flash of pleasure it sends through me.
“What?” he asks into my neck.
“Aunt Penny.”
“She went downstairs,” he says, grazing his lips along my jaw. “Kiss me. I missed you.”
I can’t resist the desperation in his voice, and climb into his lap. He takes my head in his hands and transfixes me with a look that sends a thrill through my body, the tiny space between us thrumming with electricity. His lips find mine, hot and urgent and full of apology. A trail of tingles follows Bishop’s hands as they roam down my sides. When his fingers dig into my hips, it’s like a match is struck inside me. I kiss him harder, slipping my hands under his thin T-shirt, up over the planes of his warm, hard chest. He lets out a little groan and pulls my hips harder against his. Some semblance of sense comes flooding back.
“Bishop.” I push at his chest, panting for air. “I was doing something, you know.”
“More interesting than this?” he says, his voice husky. He nips at my earlobe, which is so not fair because he knows what that does to me. I almost give in and magic the door shut. But instead I climb off his lap, fighting the dizziness his kiss brought on.
“Yes. No. I mean, I was practicing my magic.”
He seems to sense the change in me and sits up straighter. “Something wrong?”
“No.” I pace over to the computer desk, then spin around to face him. “Well, yeah, actually, there is.”
His brow creases with concern.
“It’s just…I hate not being able to protect myself.”
“Oh,” he says. “What brought this on?”
I shake my head. “Nothing, really. I’ve just been thinking.”
He crosses the room in two long strides, drawing his arm around my shoulders. I can’t help melting into his touch, resting my head against his warm shoulder.
“Indie, you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“Yeah? Well, The Witch Hunter’s Bible is still out there somewhere,” I say.
“Which isn’t a big deal because the Priory is decimated, remember?” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “No one’s going to come after you. Everything’s okay now.”
Anger flashes hot in my stomach, and I almost ruin my whole plan by yelling that everything is not okay—Paige is still missing.
“I know that,” I say instead. “But I just feel uncomfortable. Like, what if they come back. What if their numbers swell, or what if some lone sorcerer wants revenge on the witch who killed his people? I think…well, I think I’d just feel better if I knew how to defend myself.” I glance up at him. The way he looks at me is like I’m the most important thing in his world.
“This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” he says.
I bury my face in his chest. Guilt twists my stomach for manipulating him. This is Bishop—the guy who’s been there for me through thick and thin, through losing Mom and losing Paige, who held me all those nights while I cried myself to sleep. I must be seriously deranged to abuse his trust like this.
I consider ending the act right now—spilling everything about my trip to Los Demonios and the real reason that I want his help. Maybe hearing my theory will tip the balance in my favor? But terror that he’ll refuse to help me after he knows what I plan to do with my new skills, or worse, that he’ll tell Aunt Penny, who will ship me off to witch boarding school, keeps my lips firmly sealed.
“Okay,” he says. “We’ll practice.”
I let myself smile then, guilt giving way to excitement.
“We can even start right now. What do you want to learn first?”
“How about throwing fireballs?” I answer too quickly.
Bishop gapes at me, and blood rushes to my face. I let out a nervous laugh. “Or we can start with conjuring objects. You know, in case I don’t have a weapon handy during an attack.”
“Conjuring is a good idea,” he says, once the shock has worn off. “It’s next on the list anyway.”
I give him what I hope looks like an innocent smile.
“Okay,” he says. “What’s been the most important principle you’ve learned so far about magic?”
“I didn’t know there’d be a test,” I say.
He grins. “Come on, you know this.”
I sigh. “Um, something about energy? That it can’t be created, just manipulated?”
“Exactly! So when moving objects you manipulate energy that already exists, and when flying you manipulate the air currents that already exist. When you conjure an object, you aren’t creating energy, but borrowing existing energy and using it to take the shape of the item you want. It’s pretty hard, but once you learn an object it’s easier each time to make it appear again. I’m good at money.” He winks at me. “So what do you want to try?”
I blow out a breath, thinking of what could best fend off another Bat Boy attack in Los Demonios. “I don’t know. How about a gun?”
His nose scrunches up. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Why not? The purpose is to protect myself,” I reason.
“Because using a gun against a sorcerer more skilled than you is the surest way to get yourself killed. They’d just reverse the bullet direction and you’d shoot yourself. And anyway, that’s too complicated for your first attempt. A knife is smarter.”
“Well, a knife isn’t going to help me much. I’d have to get too close to use it. And plus, I feel kind of weird using a knife. After, you know…”
I don’t say the words aloud—that Mom was killed with a knife. But I don’t have to.
“Sorry, I didn’t think of that,” he says. “But we have lots of time to work up to something bigger. Let’s start simple.”
A memory flashes into my head. “I know! What about a shield? The day Frederick took my mom, he trapped me in some sort of invisible box so that I couldn’t try to go after them. Isn’t there something I can learn that works the same way, except keeps anything from coming in?”
“Easy, Tiger. You’re talking about top-level skills here.”
I sigh, my shoulders slumping.
“Relax,” Bishop says, shaking me lightly. “You don’t pick up a guitar and right away play like Jimi Hendrix. You’ve got to start somewhere. Try a candle.”
I roll my eyes. What the hell can I do with a candle in Los Demonios? Cast some unflattering light on my enemies? But Bishop won’t take no for an answer, pulling my hands up in front of me. He turns me around so that his chest presses into my back, and speaks into my ear.
“Instead of pushing the energy down, away from you, like when you fly, feel around for it with your mind and bring it in front of you. The word for ‘candle’ is candela.”
I clear my head and stare at the middle distance. Since I’ve gotten better at flying, I’m more aware of the earth’s energy moving all around me. I can feel it in the warmth of the sun, hot and intense, and in the air, fast and thrumming. I can even feel it in inanimate objects—this dull, still presence. I focus on the energy in the room and try to pull it into me.
“Candela,” I whisper.
But instead of a candle appearing, my bedroom attacks me. The clothes strewn across my floor, the papers and bottles of nail polish scattered all over my desk, the duvet on my bed, and even the curtains around my window fling themselves at me all at once. I have to cover my face as I’m pelted with my own stuff. I release the energy, and they fall to the carpet.
Bishop’s laughing.
“It’s not funny!” I cry, slapping his chest.
“And back to the violence,” he says through his laughter.
I cross my arms.
“Oh, don’t be so mad,” he says, trying his best to sober up. “Try it again.”
But my heart isn’t in making a stupid candle. I want to learn something helpful. I tap my foot, thinking.
“I’ve got it,” I say suddenly. “What about wind? Like I used that day on Jezebel. Say someone tries to attack me with an arrow or a bullet or anything that flies—I can knock it back with force.”
“Deadly wind,” he says. “Awesome, if we could figure out how you did it. Controlling the natural elements—the sun, the wind, et cetera—that’s not something we’re supposed to be able to do. I’ve researched this in everything I can get my hands on, but I can’t find anything to explain what you did. Hey, are you sure you didn’t do something else? Maybe Jezebel flew backward and you thought you pushed her with the wind?”
I glare at him.
“Okay, okay,” he says, hands held up defensively. “I believe you. I just don’t know how to help you with that. Maybe just try to simulate the situation. What were you feeling when it happened?”
“Anger,” I say, remembering that night. “But fear mostly. That she was going to hurt me.”
“Okay, so let’s try that.”
Except I’ve already tried. If I couldn’t summon it when a massive bat was attacking me, I’m not sure anything Bishop could try on me now would help.
I dig my fingers into my scalp and pace around the room. I’m fully aware of how impatient and unreasonable I must appear to him, but Paige doesn’t have time for me to slowly improve. I need to get better, fast.
I can feel Bishop watching me. Finally, I turn to him again.
“Isn’t there some other way?” Desperation clings to my voice.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
I throw my hands up. “I don’t know. That I could learn faster?”
“You tried for like, two seconds,” he says. “You need to relax—”
“Don’t tell me to relax!” I yell. I feel guilty as soon as the words are out of my mouth, but seriously—who has ever actually relaxed when someone has said that?
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just that since the moment I found out I was a witch I’ve been hunted. And my mom…I just want to get good at this fast. I don’t want to practice for weeks or months or years.”
I take a shaky breath. When I look at him, I know he sees the naked desperation in my eyes, and it makes me feel so exposed. I pace to the window and look out at Paige’s room. The curtains are up, and I can see the yellow paint on her walls. I wonder how long her parents will keep her room this way. When they’ll realize she’s not coming back. Whether her room is going to become some shrine to the daughter they once had.
“This is really important to you?” Bishop asks.
I don’t answer. I can feel tears hot in my throat, and I don’t want to cry right now.
“There is something we can try,” Bishop finally says. His voice is dark, hinting at something dangerous.
I turn around.
He glances at the door as if to confirm Aunt Penny isn’t listening in, and then crosses over to me. “There’s this spell,” he whispers. “I heard my uncle talking about it once.”
I nod, urging him to continue.
“You know how scientists say that humans use only ten percent of their brain’s capacity at any given moment? Well, it’s the same thing for us. Even the most powerful witches and warlocks on the planet use only a small portion of the power that’s available to them. The rest is there, but you can’t access it all at the same time.”
