Spell For Sophia (11 page)

Mom strode up as though she were a bodyguard on a rescue mission. Her loosely tied trench coat flapped open, revealing a body-hugging knit tunic over wintry leggings ending in ankle-high boots. I'd never been happier to see her. She glanced at my hand and linked her arm through mine. "Hi. I'm Ainslie's mother. I hate to break up the party, but Ainslie, your father and I will miss the movie if we don't leave now."

"Bye," Aidan said.

"Bye," I managed.

Mom steered me toward the car. Maybe Yemaya said goodbye too. If she did, I didn't hear her. A tidal wave of anxiety surged through me, deafening me to everything but the howl of mounting panic. As soon as my back faced Yemaya and Aidan, I held my wrist away from me as though maggots, not blue ink, covered my palm. I just hoped Mom could get me into the car before the insanity hit.

Chapter Eleven

Two blocks from the elementary school, at the corner of Moraga Road and Moraga Drive, I lost it.

"Was that Evie? Were those kids hassling you?" Mom asked.

"No," I wailed between hysterical sobs. "They didn't know…"
Stop. Stop. Stop. Mom can't see me like this. She and Dad fight every time I have a panic attack.
My cries yielded to gasps. Anxiety and panic constricted my throat.
I can't breathe. I'm going to die.

At the next red light, Mom reached across the dashboard and opened the glove compartment. The registration and proof of insurance papers escaped and glided against the tote in my lap before swan-diving to the vacuumed floor mat. Mom snagged a plastic packet of baby wipes and placed it in my lap. With a pang I realized she had gone to the nail salon without me. She bore a slick new manicure — short, blunt, and dark gray. I wasn't sure what the nail color signaled about her frame of mind. Or our relationship.

The green light illuminated. Mom stepped on the accelerator. "Can you tell me what happened?"

I gulped air into my lungs and swiped at my tears with the back of my hand. "Evie and I met up with her friend Salem and Salem's boyfriend, Aidan."

"The couple in the parking lot?"

"No. Well, it was Aidan." My breath came in shallow gasps again as the anxiety cranked up. "The girl was Yemaya. She's a junior at Jefferson. They all go to Jefferson."

Mom braked the car as the traffic ahead of us slowed. I dug my fingernails into my arm, hoping the pain would short-circuit my anxiety. Mom noticed and frowned.

"Why did she write her phone number on your hand?"

Brown mascara tears splashed my camel shearling jacket. I yowled at the inevitable stain.

"Why didn't you just punch her number into your phone?" Mom sounded exasperated.

"I couldn't get to it! My glove caught in my handbag latch." I reached into my pocket and fished out my gloves. "I tried to hurry so you wouldn't miss your date with Dad."

"Oh, sweetie." Mom pulled into a bank parking lot, swung into a space away from the watchful guard, cut the engine, and unbuckled her seatbelt. With her thumb she popped open the baby wipe packet.

"Wait! I need her number."

"Okay." Mom's features hardened into a controlled mask. She extracted a pen from her designer handbag and copied Yemaya's phone number onto the back of the nail salon credit card receipt. "There. Saved. You can add it to your phone later." She proceeded to scrub the offending ink from my palm.

Air inflated my lungs. My anxiety ebbed as the cool wipe cleansed my hand.

"Do you have a paper bag in your purse?"

I sniffed, then nodded.
Get control of yourself or she'll cancel their date.

"Do you need it?" Mom balled up the ink-stained wipe and deposited it into the cup holder.

I forced air into my lungs.
Stop hyperventilating.
"No. I'm okay." I searched my handbag for a tissue to dab my eyes. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"Nothing to be sorry about." She paused, then added, "I'm sorry you…"

"Went crazy again?"

"It breaks my heart to see you suffer."

"Thanks."
You too.
I glanced out the window. "The guard is watching us. I think he's going to come over here." The grimoire snarled. I clutched my stomach as though my stomach had just rumbled.

Mom switched on the ignition. "Guess we'll have to find another bank to rob."

"And better disguises."

"Definitely. At least we have a decent getaway car." Mom started the Mercedes and steered it through the parking lot, and then made a right onto Happy Valley Road. "Your new friends look interesting."

I snorted.
You mean less than affluent.
"Yemaya is a shaman. I think Aidan is a gypsy."

"Your Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun would totally approve."

"Seriously, right?"
Considering they are both dragon shamans and own a metaphysical store and mystery school.
"Aidan and Yemaya are going to help me search for Sophia."

Mom stiffened. "Help you how?"

I wasn't sure if Aunt Terra had told Mom about the spell book, so I said, "You know, go on a shamanic journey or something."

Mom pressed her lips together. Her gaze shifted from the road to me and then back to the road. "You don't know these kids or what kind of magic they are into. So be careful, okay? If anything doesn't feel right, don't do it. Call Terra and Esmun."

"Promise."

A few minutes later, the Mercedes swung onto our private drive and approached the wrought-iron gate at a crawl. Mom depressed a button on one of the remote controls clipped to her sun visor. The gate whirred to life with a series of clicks and glided open. Mom drove forward onto the interlocking gray and white pavers and the gate closed behind us. The mansion came into view, still decked out like a scene from a Christmas card. Designer wreaths graced the double front doors. Golden reindeer and red-leafed poinsettias flanked the five garages. In a few hours when night descended, white fairy lights would illuminate the three-story façade.

Mom depressed a button on a second remote control and Bay One, the garage door closest to the house, rumbled upward. Mom twisted in her seat, straining against her seatbelt.

I clutched the tote strap and steeled myself for a lecture. "What?"

"Remember what Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun taught you. Magic always has a price."

I squirmed in my seat. "I know."

"And never summon anything you can't control or banish."

"I got it, Mom. I'll be careful."
Sheesh.

"Good."

I willed her to pull forward and park so I could escape. But she kept her foot on the brake and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. I could almost hear the gears churning in her head.

"Three years is a long time."

Anger did a slow burn across my cheeks. I jutted my chin. "And your point is?"

Mom sighed over the idling engine. "Sophia's disappearance changed you. Drastically."

Memories of the locked mental ward flashed in my mind.

"So imagine," Mom continued, "the impact Sophia's ordeal has had on her. She won't be the girl you knew in seventh grade. You aren't the same, and she won't be either."

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared ahead.
Of course neither of us are the girls we were back then. But if we can find each other again, even if I'm a mental case and she's a…
I hated to think what Sophia might be after three years with her bio-parents. A drug addict? A victim of human trafficking?

It doesn't matter, because we were like sisters. If we can find each other again, then maybe we'll find the missing pieces of ourselves. Maybe we'll become whole again.

Chapter Twelve

"You're kidding me." My gaze wandered from the rain-splattered bird poop on Bugsy's roof to the broken driver's door fastened to the car with dull silver wire. "Is this thing highway safe?"

"We'll be taking back roads," Yemaya said, not answering my question.

"How do you get in to drive?" Aidan asked.

"Dude, I crawl in from the passenger's side. Duh."

I stooped and peered through the streaked windows. "What's with the wire wrapped around the ashtray knob?"

"It's my throttle. I did it myself."

"Sounds like something Sophia would concoct. You should both join the Athenian Academy’s robotics team."

"Hey, give me a full scholarship to your fancy school and Bugsy and I will be there." Yemaya opened the passenger door and gestured to the back seat. "Your chariot awaits you."

Aidan and I exchanged a quick look. I could either squeeze into the back next to a toolbox, or sit in the front where I could watch the road whiz by through the sizeable hole in the floorboard.

"Your legs are longer. I'll take the back," I said.

"Thanks." Aidan held the door open.

Before crawling into the back, I handed Yemaya the recycled shopping bag I had brought. "Present. And yes, I still owe you a pair of leather boots."

Yemaya spread open the sack and peered inside.

"You said it might be muddy so I brought an extra pair of rain boots," I explained. "Hope you can wear a size six."

Yemaya's defensive expression morphed into one of surprised delight. "Purple with black skulls and crossbones!"

"I thought you'd approve." Anxiety thrummed my nerves. Nightmares of Sophia caught in a deep whirlpool had plagued my sleep. When I had escaped the bad dream by waking up, my chest had been slick with sweat and I had to breathe into a paper bag to calm myself. The ordeal reminded me of the nightmares I'd had two-and-a-half years ago of Sophia and a fiery explosion.

Yemaya hugged the bag to her chest. "Why, thank you."

"You're welcome." With a twinge I realized gifts might be scarce in Yemaya's life, just like they had been in Sophia's. I settled into the stiff bench seat and reached for the lap belt. I wondered if Yemaya had installed it. I'd have to ask Mom and Dad if cars had come with seatbelts back in the sixties.

"I'll hold it for you." Aidan took the bag and stood aside while Yemaya crawled over his seat and the parking brake to reach the driver's side. Like Aidan and me, she had dressed for the occasion — worn-out jeans, turtleneck, hoodie, her cracked leather boots, a knit cap over her dreads, and the thin jacket she had worn yesterday.

Once Yemaya squirmed into the driver's seat, Aidan climbed in. "Pass me back the bag," I said. "There's more room back here."
Room being a relative term.

Aidan handed me the boot bag and I settled it atop the heavy-looking toolbox. The object made me nervous. What if we were in an accident? Would the toolbox become a lethal projectile and ricochet about, maiming us? Would the latch give way, shooting screwdrivers and hammers?

Face it. If we're in an accident, the toolbox will be the least of our worries.

Bugsy smelled of road dust and incense. The small car started on the third attempt, chugging with more grit and determination than I had expected. Yemaya patted the steering wheel the way some people pat a dog's head. Her glance swept from Aidan to me. "Looks can be deceiving." One corner of her mouth curved into a smirk.

"Just get us there safely," I implored.

"Don't worry," she said. "Bugsy is held together with chicken wire and protection spells."

I'd prefer air bags, harness belts, and antilock brakes.
Cold wind whistled through the gaps around the driver's door and the hole in the floorboard. When Yemaya drove over twenty-five miles per hour, the door rattled in the wind. I feared it would break the wire holding it and tear off if we ventured onto the freeway.

Maybe I should have consulted the daily almanac Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun had created. If doom lurked around the corner, the handcrafted book would have warned me. In fact, it contained so many dire predictions I had stopped reading it. Or I'd catch-up at week's end to see how many of their prophecies had come true. Many had. Some were too obscure to tell.

After about forty-five minutes of back roads, I was lost. Judging from the neighborhood blight — graffiti, empty buildings, and chain link fences around the front yards — we had reached the Wrong Side of the Tracks. I decided against asking what town we were in. The less I knew, the less I'd have to confess to Mom later. I just hoped we didn't end up as tomorrow's news headline.

We cruised the outskirts of town, eventually turning onto a wooded single-lane road. Yemaya pulled up next to a mud-splattered tow truck with
Jeb's Towing and Salvage
emblazoned on the side
.
Dirt obscured the phone number. Yemaya cut Bugsy's engine. For a moment we all leaned forward, examining the rust-colored, ramshackle house flanked on one side by a corrugated tin fence topped with coiled barbwire. For the millionth time I wished I hadn't ruined my smartphone. If I still had it, the police could use its GPS to find my body.

I'm doing this for Sophia,
I reminded myself.

An unseen dog barked as we opened the car door and trooped out. My Unease Meter jumped from six to nine on a ten-point scale. Every movie involving sharp-fanged, mad-eyed guard dogs looped through my mind.

The front door to the house swung open and a greasy-haired guy dressed in a plaid shirt over a white tee, oil-stained jeans, and dirty hiking boots crossed the threshold. Yemaya and I stepped closer to Aidan.

The guy eyed Bugsy. "One of you the girl who called about the VW door?"

Yemaya stepped forward. "Yes. You must be Jeb. Mind if we look around?"

The man narrowed his eyes. Yemaya held his gaze. I clutched my fingers, wishing her ski cap covered more of her long dreadlocks. Aidan's intense expression suggested he was casting soothing mojo on the situation.

"We won't take up much of your time," I promised.

Jeb regarded me with a bemused smile, as though he figured I wouldn't last five minutes. He spit tobacco juice into a nearby mud puddle. My skin crawled.

"Twenty bucks entry fee. But like I said over the phone, I don't think I have what you're looking for."

I faced Yemaya and whispered, "I thought you said—"