Broken Spell (16 page)

Priscilla stops making pancakes and looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Ooh, intrigue and deception.”

“I don’t like to lie to him, but if he sees this,” I say, pointing to my face, “he’ll freak out.”

“It would be a warranted freak out, just so you know. Okay, we need a good excuse. Figure it out and blame me. Everybody does,” she says, while depositing one more flapjack into my plate.

“I could tell him we’re going away on a girl’s road trip. What do you think?”

Pri bites her lip. “Sorry. I’ve been to the hospital almost every day since the accident. If I went away and something happened…” Her voice trails off.

“We don’t need to actually go anywhere.”

“Ooh, Skye, you wicked girl. But what if I bump into Drake at the hospital?”

“Let’s just figure it out as it goes.”

She throws me her cell and sits down to gorge on the pancakes. It’s weird seeing this paper-thin girl stuff herself with
carbs.

“Hey, my man,” I tell Drake when he picks up.

“Miss Lexington-Ellis, how are you this morning? Too cool for school today?”

“Yeah, I decided to take a day off.” Oops, I need to call the school.

“I wish you had told me. We could hang out together. Wait, are you calling from Priscilla’s phone?”

“Yeah, I lost mine.”

“You can say that again,” Priscilla mumbles with her mouth full.

“Seriously, again?” Drake asks. “You need to wear them on a necklace.” Then his voice gets serious. “Listen, can you meet me—”

“No, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Pri and I are going on a road trip this weekend.”

“But it’s Thursday,” he points out.

“Yes, it’s just that we need some girl time.”

“Okay…” He sounds disappointed. Sorry, Drake.

“What did you want to tell me?”

“No, nothing. We’ll talk when you get back. What about school? Where are you going?”

Priscilla takes the phone away from me. “Don’t know yet. Probably Mount Si. Snowboarding, maybe. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to go shopping for the trip. Take care.” She hangs up.

“Pri!”

“What? That would’ve taken hours.” She sits down again and takes another bite of her pancake. “He would have asked too many questions.”

“What now?”

“Let’s just stay in and watch a ton of movies.”

Skye said she would return soon. It’s been five days now. I don’t know what to expect. She’s missing school and doesn’t care. Is she going on secret missions now? Is she a witch spy?

It occurs to me that a globe-trotting secret agent was the wish-fulfillment illusion I once created to justify my mother’s absence. How ironic if my girlfriend ended up being exactly that and abandoning me—even if it’s just for a few days.

It’s just five p.m., but nightfall has arrived. I hate this part of the year. So dark and gloomy.

I’m alone. With Dad still at work and Mona spending the night at Pain’s, the house is all mine. Again. Sean is at the hospital with Boulder, but later he’ll go home to work on his writing. No other names to call pop into my head. A reminder that I don’t have many friends.

Huh. Is that what being lonely means? I didn’t feel like that before meeting Skye.

I have no idea why her sudden trip makes me so uneasy. The thought of her not coming back has crossed my mind. But I respect her. I trust her. I never will be the obsessive, controlling boyfriend. She will tell me when she does.

Someone is knocking at the front door. We should put up a sign. I have no patience for solicitors. Because I always,
always
cave in.

I open the door and pull back out of instinct.

Jane is here.

But she’s not the Jane I remember. In front of me, I see a pale, tame version of her, with half her face covered in thin scars, the other half deformed in a gruesome burn, and blood soaking the side of her jacket.

“Help me,” she croaks. “Please.”

I want to punch her. I have all the reasons in the world to slam the door in her face. I should call 911.

But what dumb me does, of course, is catch her when her legs give out.

Damn it, damn it, damn it!

My eyes still scan her hands for signs of weapons or potions. She is still Jane, after all.

“Lean on me,” I say.

She lets part of her weight rest on my arms. With my support, she stumbles into my living room. I lead her to the sofa and deposit her there carefully.

Jane grunts and sits sideways, looking at me with a blank stare. Her forehead is covered in sweat; her lips are almost white.

I rush to the linen closet in search of towels. While I get them from the shelves, I can almost hear part of my brain screaming to get away from her, to tie her up, to throw her out. However, the other side of my brain—the boy scout side—is unflappable.

When I get back, Jane is still in the same position. I motion for her to lift her hand from the wound. I remove her jacket with care. She raises her shirt slowly, and I see a gash with blood seeping out.

“Put this over it and keep pressure on it,” I say, handing her a towel. “Were you shot?”

Her answer is almost inaudible. “Stabbed.”

I reach for my cell.

“Don’t,” her wisp of a voice tells me.

“I need to call an ambulance. I know the cops are after you, but you may die.”

Jane shakes her head slowly. The vulnerability in her gesture is so evident, I don’t dial.

“I need Skye,” she says. “I…” She takes a deep breath, and then she lets out a rush of words, “I won’t bleed to death, but the wound is poisoned. I need a potion. Only a potion.”

The effort of saying so much takes a toll on her, and Jane gasps for air, her eyes desperate and vulnerable.
Jane
.

“Skye is away, Jane.”

She stares at me with a guilty look at her face. Then she casts her eyes down.

“Mona?” she whispers without looking at me.

Something inside me snaps. “That’s it, isn’t it? A trap? You know Skye is not here, so you show up wounded to get some pity out of me and make me hand you Mona on a plate? Is that blood even real? I hope you didn’t mutilate yourself just to get to my sister. That’s low even for you, Jane.”

I motion to get my cell from my pocket. She slowly raises her hand to stop me, but she misses me completely. I expect her to turn and hit me, but she just stays there, one hand compressing the wound, the other waiving aimlessly, completely defeated.

Not even her helplessness will stop me from calling the cops now.

But then she opens her damn mouth again and pleads, “Don’t. They will kill him.”

“Him?”

It’s like time is standing still. Jane is bleeding on my sofa, and I’m torn between calling 911 and handing her over to the police and hearing more of her B.S.

“Who’s ‘him’, Jane? What game are you playing now?”

She grunts. “I don’t need Mona or Skye. Just find any witch who can make me a potion. Do you know any others?”

Is that a gambit? Anyway, I do know the Weird Sisters.

My mind races faster than I can follow it. If I bring Greta or Yara here, they’ll know about Jane. And Jane knows about Mona’s secret. I can’t risk that. But I must help Jane.

“Hold on. What kind of potion?”

“Do you know a witch? Let me talk to her.”

“No, I have potions upstairs. Skye left some.”

Yes, she did. To protect Mona and me from, of all the people on the planet, Jane. How’s that for ironic?

“What do you have?” she croaks.

I know it’s a risk telling Jane all the defenses we have against her, but we’re past that point now.

“A few Shield, one Energy, one Blinding, four Sleep, a Dispel—”

“You have a Dispel?” For the first time, Jane is alert.

“Yeah. Let me finish: a Night Sight, a Clean Plate—”

“Do you mean a Clean Slate?”

“I guess.”

Jane’s free hand points at me weakly. “That’s the one.”

“Are you sure? Skye said it was for magical diseases.”

“It’ll work on this poison.”

I rush upstairs, fetch the vial, and climb down the steps two-by-two. I’m relieved that Mona is not coming home tonight. It’d be hard to explain what Jane is doing in our living room before my sister exploded or something.

When I get back, Jane is still in the same place.

“Do you drink or pour it over the wound?” I ask.

Jane looks at me. “Maybe pour?” That’s what she does.

The liquid coming in contact with the wound produces a white foam and a crackling noise.

She grits her teeth.

I hand her a clean towel. “We still need an antiseptic.”

“No, the potion will take care of infections. I just need to stop the bleeding.”

The gash is not too deep. I clean her wound and bandage it. “Keep an eye on it. It might not hold.”

“I need water.” Her voice is still weak, but clearly better than before.

I bring a pitcher and two glasses. We look at each other while drinking.

“Thanks,” she says, adding to the surrealism of the night.

“Why didn’t you call Connor? You were lovers and all.”

“Connor is not like you. He wouldn’t trust me. He’d hand me over, or leave me to die.”

“You don’t know me at all. Now that you’re not going to die, I’ll call the police.”

Jane shakes her head again, but now she is the one looking at me with pity. “No, you won’t,” she says softly. “If you wanted to do it, you would already have done it. And I know why you don’t want to do it. You think I’ll expose Mona. Or break the Veil.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I’m here precisely to prevent that. Mona’s secret is what’s keeping my brother alive.”

“What?”

“Just give me a minute.”

***

We’ve changed Jane’s bandage once already, hoping the new one will hold better. Jane finished eating a few crackers and took the Stamina and Restore potions I found. Now she’s drinking juice from a bottle. We’re still in my living room, like normal people. Like she’s visiting.

Please, please don’t let me regret this.

“Jane, I’ll hear your story, but you must know this: I’ll never let you hurt Mona or Skye again. I might not be a witch, but I can get rid of you.”

She tries to smile, but the corners of her mouth point down. “You’ll never kill me, Drake. It’s not in you.”

“I can do other things. Put you in jail and run away with Mona. Ask her to brew a Forget potion so strong, you’ll have permanent amnesia.”

Jane’s eyebrows go up. “You’re right. She would have personal magic enough to pull that off. Is she brewing potions already?”

“Jane!”

She lifts a hand up. “Force of habit. It won’t happen again.”

“Just tell me what’s up with your brother.”

She drinks the last of the juice and stares at the empty bottle. “I know you might not believe it, but I’m sorry for what I did to your sister and your girlfriend.”

“Right…”

“I am sorry! Well, not sorry for them, to tell the truth. Sorry for my choices.”

“You’re unbelievable. That’s not an apology at all!”

“It’s the best I can offer. Hear me out. What I mean is, I didn’t want to kill anyone. I had to.”

I snort. “Nobody ‘has to’ kill, Jane.”

“Really? What if they got Mona and told you that you had to kill to keep her alive?”

I ponder that. “There would be other ways…”

“Not for some people, there wouldn’t! That’s what the Night covens did to my brother. I had to find the Singularity and steal her power, or they’d murder him.”

***

I can’t believe I’m entertaining Jane. Dad has just called saying he’ll work late again. I had forgotten about him. Those bloodstains on the sofa will be hard to explain. Since we have time, I’ll try to extract as much information from Jane as I can.

The effort of maintaining a calm conversation with her is physically taxing; my back stiffens, my muscles ache, my head feels heavy. I draw short breaths.

“If you want me to listen to you, you should tell me the whole story. I mean everything.”

We’re both surprised at my harsh tone. What can I say? I want to get to the bottom of this, and it’s time to stop playing around.

Jane’s bleeding has stopped, and the color is returning to her damaged cheeks. “Fair enough,” she says.

Somehow, “fair” and “Jane” don’t seem to belong in the same universe.

“When the Night covens found me—”

“Wait, Jane. The whole story. Come on, it’s your show. I want your full bio.”

“You wish.” Her face darkens. That’s the Jane I remember.

“No deal, then. Let’s go back to hoping our siblings will survive.”

“Fine. You want to know? We’re from Idaho. When my parents found out I was a Sister, they kicked me out. I was fifteen.”

“That’s harsh.”

“To be honest, it was a relief. Living with them wasn’t…safe. That’s why I took Jason with me.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes. I was fifteen, and he was ten. Ten! We ran away to Spokane. A Mormon family, the Neills, took us in. My original family never went looking for us; the Neills never questioned us after we told them the situation we had come from. I don’t even know if, legally, we could have stayed with them. They told family and friends that we were orphans, and that was the end of it. The Neills were great to us. Of course, they didn’t know about the Craft.”

It’s hard to imagine ruthless Jane with a loving family. Well, after her not-so-loving real family rejected her.

She leans over. “That’s when I met Cillian. He was a boy from Spokane, a male witch. I was working at a Burger King, and we sensed each other when he drove through one day. You know about witch sense, right?”

I nod.

“He drove past the drive-through window, parked, and came to talk to me. He told me I was wasting my talent, and that he could teach me magic.”

“And you went with him.”

“You don’t understand. Imagine if Mona—I’m not asking about her, by the way—imagine if she didn’t have Skye to guide her. How lost would she be? What if she didn’t have a family or a future and a charming guy with this kick-ass gift entered her life, saying she could do whatever she wanted, be whoever she wanted?
Of course
, I went with him.”

“And Jason?”

“He had the Neills. He was better off without me.” She checks the bandage. “I just hopped into Cillian’s car and rode to Seattle with him. He taught me the basics, took me to get the silver tat. I was seventeen then. Yes, we lived together. What’s this stare? You’re judging me, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Right,” she says, not convinced. “But I didn’t fall for him. I liked him, and I idolized him. He was my everything, but I didn’t love him. He had a Seduction Charm. That’s why I ran away with him; that’s why I stayed with him. And he taught me magic. Only, it was Night magic.”

“Didn’t it upset you?”

“It did. At the time, I didn’t know it was Night magic: for all I knew, it was the
only
magic in existence. I thought I was a witch, and that was magic, and that was that. I didn’t even meet his coven.” She shrugs. “Then things took a turn for the worse. He was drinking. Taking potions to get high. He beat me up. Forced me to do…things. That wasn’t any better than what I had left in Idaho.” She raises her eyes and mutters, “Crap.”