Family Magic (5 page)

Needless to say, due to one mistake or
another, I was forced countless times to start at a new school,
suss out the cool kids, try to make new friends and just generally
fit in.

I’m not very good at it.
And high school is a singular kind of hell. Don’t get me wrong. I
used to try really hard, seeing each move as an opportunity, a
chance to finally belong. But trying too hard can come across as
pathetic and desperate, which I
am
good at. Being pegged as the new freak over and
over can take a toll on a girl. I finally reached the point where
if I couldn’t join them, I could at least blend in with the
scenery.

And part of me now worried about fitting in.
What if I found the perfect town, the perfect friends and
suddenly—gasp!— had some level of popularity, then someone in the
coven screwed up and we had to move away from my dream life?

Not to say I’m suicidal, but I’d have to slit
my wrists.

I made it to the school steps without
incident and considered it a victory. I kept my head down as I
moved past the cool girls who waited for the football team to grace
them with their presence. It was only because I had my eyes
suitably glued to the concrete that I managed to catch myself from
tripping over the foot ‘accidentally’ in my path.

“Oops,” Alison Morgan, a perfect blonde,
blue-eyed cheerleader in designer everything, smirked at her
friends when I made the mistake of eye contact. “Sorry.”

I ducked my head again to hide the flush of
embarrassment, rushing inside to avoid any further humiliation.
Alison was notorious for starting mild and ending up with her
target of choice in helpless tears, so I didn’t want to give her
the chance to work her own particular brand of magic.

I was in such a hurry to escape I ended up
plowing full-tilt into a dark blue football jacket. The victim
turned and I found myself staring in horror at Brad Peters, Senior,
football hero and all around perfect yummy chunk of teenage girl’s
dream.

I tried to apologize but Brad, dreamy Brad,
smiled at me like he really meant it. I knew what it felt like to
melt. He had the most amazing green eyes, clear and light, almost
transparent. The skin around them crinkled a little. His wavy
blonde hair perfectly framed his tanned, square-jawed face. I tried
not to stare at the adorable cleft in his chin for too long, right
at my eye level, but gazing into his eyes was much too dangerous
and I had to choose my battles.

Speaking of which, while I stammered and
stuttered and tried not to totally fall to pieces, Alison and her
cronies appeared around us. I mentally screamed at myself for being
such a stupid idiot while Alison put a possessive hand on Brad’s
arm and gave me her sweetest smile, a sure sign she decided to
attack with all barrels blazing. Why did she have to be dating him?
Why?

I braced myself for the onslaught.

“You need to be more careful, Syd,” Alison
said, voice absolutely dripping sugar. “We’re starting to worry
about you.”

The other cheerleaders laughed. The
temperature in the hall rose rapidly.

No wait, that was just me.

“Sorry,” I said, making an attempt to escape.
Alison’s friends blocked my exit route.

“Are you okay, Brad?” Alison stroked his
white leather sleeve, pouting so hard her lip-gloss buckled.

“I’m fine, really. Are you okay, Syd?” Brad
seemed seriously concerned.

At any other moment I would have given an arm
and most of both legs to have Brad Peters care one iota about me,
but his timing was terrible.

I prayed for a pit to open up and swallow
me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Sorry again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brad said. “I was in
your way.”

I stared at him.

“A bunch of us are getting together after
school,” he went on. “At the diner. Want to come?”

Was my hearing defective? Was I delusional?
Dreaming? Head injury from the impact? Surely, he hadn’t meant to
invite me to hang out with him and the pops.

I think Alison was more shocked than me. She
recovered quicker, though.

“Yes, Syd,” she said, anger flashing in her
eyes. “Why don’t you join us?”

Um, let’s see. Complete and utter social
suicide or loneliness? I totally took the hint.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I can’t.”

“Mommy won’t let you?” Alison asked in a baby
voice. Her friends giggled. Brad frowned at her.

“Maybe next time,” he said to me. “We go
pretty much every day.”

I sought out an escape route that failed to
appear. Why did he have to do this to me there, then? My face
burned.

“Yeah,” I stammered and stuttered over my
words, “s-s-ure. Maybe.”

“Aw, too bad,” Alison offered me a tight
grin. “Next time, then.”

“I guess,” I whispered, staring at the floor
so hard I was sure a pit would open any second.

“Leave it, Alison,” Brad said. I almost
dropped from the shock. The girls gasped.

Alison stared at him in utter disbelief
before barely composing herself. She turned her attention back to
me and gave me a smile that didn’t reach anywhere above her
lips.

“Whatever you want, Brad.” She turned to her
girls and started to walk away. I felt the tension drain from my
shoulders. Alison paused, turned back and shot me a glare that
would have melted glass. “I’ll see you later, Syd.”

She and her cronies flounced off. I watched
the cheerleaders leave, their faces clearly showing their
disappointment, knowing they hoped to see a show. I clenched my
teeth and for the first time didn’t care about being popular or
fitting in. The demon in me would have happily given them the show
they looked for, but not to their benefit, oh no.

I shook my head, realizing how little I cared
anymore. This wasn’t working, so time for a new game plan. To my
disbelief, Brad Peters still stood there watching me.

“Show’s over,” I snapped. “Or hadn’t you
noticed?”

Brad’s eyes widened. He looked genuinely
hurt. “Syd, I’m sorry, I—“

The expression on my face shut him up.

“Your girlfriend is waiting,” I snapped.

I stomped off, leaving him gaping after me. I
felt like I was in control at last. I was done being a target, for
my mother, for the Alison Morgan’s of the world. They wanted a
battle? They’d get one, Sydlynn Hayle style.

Damn. I was late for class.

***

I guess I must have made it obvious I wasn’t
in the mood for bullying. Despite Alison’s parting remark, a
typical fair warning of nastiness to come, I made it through the
day in peace and quiet. In fact, unlike most days when I normally
had to force my way through the crowd in the cafeteria to get a
milk or the push of kids to reach my locker, the way seemed to part
before me in a rippling wave of retreating humanity. I’m not sure
if they didn’t want to have any contact with me in case I turned
contagious and would bring Alison’s wrath down on them too, or if I
radiated ‘don’t mess with me.’

Probably a little bit of both.

I finally toned back my new badass aura when
two freshmen ran away from me with tears in their eyes. Talk about
going from one extreme to another. I had to be oozing magic to
raise a response like that. Time to pull the reins back and get
myself under control. But if the past couple of days taught me
anything, I knew I wasn’t getting anywhere doing the same thing
over and over again. Time for a new plan, even if it meant flushing
any chance I ever had to belong.

I headed home that afternoon feeling better
about myself than I had in a long time, even looking kind of
forward to talking to Mom, much to my own amazement. I couldn’t
believe I was even considering having a frank discussion with my
mother. She wasn’t going to get it anyway. We would devolve into
another huge fight where she would cry and I would end up
disappearing behind my slamming bedroom door.

Still, with new optimism blooming and hoping
to survive the next ten minutes, I walked into the kitchen to the
smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Allow me to explain. My mother, Miriam Hayle,
powerful witch and coven leader, could not bake. In fact, as a rule
and a whole, we tried to stop her at the first sign of blossoming
domesticity. Her brief and often disastrous forays into all things
homey were notorious for ending in tragedy, shed blood and a bucket
of tears.

Not always hers.

So these perfect lumps of divine smelling
sugary sweetness could not possibly have come from the hands of my
mother.

I checked around for a telltale paper bag or
plastic container explaining the appearance of fresh baked anything
in my house. I stood over the cooling rack when Mom came in the
kitchen and caught me drooling. She looked adorable in her clean,
crisp black apron with ‘Witch in the Kitch’ written across it in
florescent green.

We watched each other, silent, uncomfortable.
It was pretty clear she was hiding something from me and didn’t
know to share. Decision made, she smiled.

“Sydlynn, honey, I’m glad you’re home.” Mom
took a step forward into the kitchen, still smiling.

I smiled tentatively back. Maybe this would
be easier than I thought.

“Hi, Mom,” I said.

Mom glanced down at the tray of cooling
cookies and laughed.

“Surprised?” She said.

I nodded.

She went to the cupboard and took out a
plate. A spatula emerged from the drawer below it. She started
serving cookies onto the waiting dish.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” she said, “but they
seemed to turn out okay in the end.” She held up the plate to me, a
hopeful, wistful expression on her face. “Cookie?”

That cookie could have tasted like crap and
it wouldn’t have mattered. I loved my mother so much right then I
would have eaten it wriggling or still on fire if I had to. She
tried for me. I took a cookie and sniffed in its warm goodness
before taking a bite. I almost dropped it, eyes going wide.

Mom looked distressed. “Tell me I didn’t just
poison you!” She reached for the cookie.

I held it away and laughed, amazed. “Mom!” I
said. “It’s delicious!”

She laughed herself, a little shaky, and
tried one too. “So it is,” she said. “Well what do you know?”

We happily munched our cookies, smiling at
each other, as if the sugar we shared melted the rift between
us.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, swallowing the last
bite. “That was awesome.”

“You’re welcome,” she blushed and I knew how
hard she was trying. It made me want to try harder too. Maybe there
was hope for us after all.

“Another?” She offered the plate. I couldn’t
say no.

“Seriously, Mom, I’m proud of you,” I said as
I studied the cookie for the best place to take the first bite.

“Finally,” she said.

“Yeah, well, practice makes perfect, right?”
I filled my mouth and grinned at her.

“You have no idea,” she giggled. I don’t
think I ever heard my mother giggle.

“What do you mean?” I went for a glass and to
the fridge for milk as she helped herself to another.

“These cookies came with a pretty big price
tag,” she said.

I set the milk on the counter beside her to
share.

“Don’t tell me you bought them,” I crossed my
arms over my chest, still grinning.

“No, Syd, I made these cookies with my own
two hands,” she assured me.

“No magic?” I asked.

“No magic,” she said.

“So where’s the price tag?” I took a long
drink and handed her the glass. She polished off her cookie and the
rest of the milk, eyes twinkling over the rim as she finished it in
a couple of gulps. She licked off her mustache and winked at
me.

“The sweat of my brow,” she said.

I went to the closet where we kept the trash
with the empty milk carton. “Uh-huh. Erica helped this time?”

Her eyes widened as I opened the door. She
half reached for me before the sparkle returned.

“What?” I asked, turning to dump the
carton.

As soon as I did, I started to laugh.

The large silver can overflowed with horribly
disfigured and charred cookies, empty bags of sugar, flour and
cartons of eggs and milk. From the appearance of the trash, she
made cookies all day and went through hell and back to get it
right.

Now I
really
loved my mother. I turned
back to her and grabbed her in the biggest hug, wondering why I had
ever been mad at her. My mom, my amazing mom, tortured herself in
the kitchen for me so I could feel like a normal kid.

“Thanks, Mom,” I whispered into her hair.

I felt her tense before she hugged me back,
whole body softening, her power wrapping around me like a warm
blanket. “It was worth it for this,” she said.

For the first time since I could remember, I
felt a complete connection to my mother, her unconditional love and
acceptance without judgment or expectation.

It was amazing, but wasn’t meant to last. In
fact, it ended shortly after the doorbell rang.

Mom’s face fell. That was when I knew without
a doubt, despite the fact she tried, my mother couldn’t do anything
without an ulterior motive. I closed off and from the guarded look
in her eyes, she knew it.

“Can you get the door, please, dear?” She
tried to keep the cheer in her voice. “I’ll get a plate of cookies
for our guests.”

I was wrong. The cookies, the effort she
made, none of it was really for me at all. She kicked her own butt
in the kitchen to impress whoever stood behind door number one.
That warm and fuzzy feeling went the way of her discarded attempts,
along with my happiness.

I didn’t bother asking any questions. Whoever
waited at the door was going to make me unhappy one way or another
or she wouldn’t have been trying so hard.