Spell Struck (7 page)

"Chrysocolla." I hefted the polished blue-green stone. Dense energy weighed it down, as if it embodied Salem's deepest secrets. I dropped it in her outstretched hand.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"It's beautiful."

"But will it work?"

I frowned at the fragile-looking statue. "Did you reinforce the arms with anything?"

"Just heavy gage wire."

"Then no way. Sorry." I could tell she didn't like my answer. Her shoulders heaved with a soundless sigh.

"You'll think of something." I pulled a pencil from my pack. Papo was at the house, but I could feel his presence like a hornets' nest, ready to rupture and wound.
You're not here to make friends or solve other people's problems, Nico. You're here to produce little magical boxes and portable altars to sell. Period. If I didn
't, Papo would make sure I never saw the inside of another classroom.

I gathered up my pine plank. A quick glance at the wall clock warned I had twenty minutes left to cut and piece together the box. Clamps and assorted hand tools littered a high, scuffed table in the corner. I hung tools I didn't need on the magnetic strip along the wall. Then, using a ruler and pencil, I drew a dovetail template on the wood. No nails. Iron weakens magic.

I clamped the board to the table and pulled on the safety goggles. The handsaw wasn't as sharp as I'd have liked. I leaned into it. Muscles burning, my world telescoped down to the plank and the ragged screech of the blade. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sawdust itched my forearms. Salem, the tick of the wall clock, and the students' carefree chatter faded away.

The plank yielded six pieces. I switched the handsaw for a lightweight coping saw and thumbed the narrow blade.
Sharp. Good. A quick glance at the clock warned me five minutes remained.
Maybe Mr. Castellano will let me stay late.

I attacked the first piece, cutting away small rectangles, creating jutting teeth until the edge resembled a crenellated castle wall. The bell blared. My body jerked, startled.

"Nice work." Mr. Castellano eyed my craftsmanship. "You've done this before."

"A few times." I lowered my gaze.

"It shows. Too bad budget cuts killed Wood Shop. You'd be a natural."

"Thanks."

Students zipped up their backpacks and headed out the door. Salem moved in slow motion, her delicate features scrunched with worry. Mr. Castellano scanned the dirty paintbrushes piled in the sink.
"Amigos! Clean your brushes!
"

"Gotta catch the bus!" a boy yelled. The rest of the students ignored Mr. Castellano and hurried outside.

"Mind if I work for a few more minutes?" I asked.

The teacher sighed. "Sweep up the sawdust when you're through, and I'll give you ten more minutes."

"Deal."

Salem's head jerked up at the word "deal." She locked me in her sights, and my stomach did an anxious roll as her expression morphed from alert to hurt. Stiff-shouldered, she pivoted away from me and stashed her statue in her cubby. Then she strode to the door, chin raised, her expression closed as if we hadn't exchanged secrets and clasped hands. Maybe she thought I made deals with everyone. She probably thought they meant nothing to me. Until now, she might have been right.

A familiar ache slid into place over my heart. I wanted to chase after her and explain, but my feet remained rooted as if Papo had shackled me to the floor. Hating him, hating my life, I ignored the crushing weight in my chest, loosened the clamps, and readied the next cut board. The clock ticked. Time was running out.

****

Heat from the school furnaces had yet to reach the boys' bathroom when I snuck in before school the next morning. The janitor had placed a new cake of room deodorizer in the urinals and my eyes watered from the sharp, chemical smell. After five minutes, I almost gave up on getting any hot water from the faucet. Finally, lukewarm water trickled out and I splashed it on my chest and under my arms. The soap dispenser discharged cloud-like mounds of sage-colored foam. I slicked it on with my hands, starting with my face and neck, rinsed, then soaped my arms, pits, and chest. Water trickled onto the waistband of my jeans, meaning I'd be damp and cold all day. I clenched my teeth.
Can't I catch a break? I patted myself down with several sheets of thin brown paper, then crumpled them. Three hook shots landed them all in the waste can.

"Good shot."

My body jerked.
Caught. I swept up my shirt and stuffed my arms through the sleeves. "
Hey."

"Hey." The kid was maybe a year younger than me with curly brown hair streaked with gold, and a slim build. He held a scarred skateboard against his hip. Tension eased out of my body as I noted his laidback energy and the welcoming cast to his eyes. He thrust out his hand. "Jordan Kent. You must be new here. Any hot water yet?"

"Aidan Cooper." I shook his hand, then pulled my rugby shirt over my head. "No to the hot water. Warm though."

"I'll take it." He peeled off his gym jersey and draped it over his backpack. "I came early to run laps. You?"

"Hot water heater broke last night. Flooded the garage."

"Wretched." He stuck his forearm under the running water.

"Yeah." I hoisted my messenger bag over one shoulder.

"Cool about the half-day today."

"Seriously?"

Jordan glanced at me in the heavily scratched mirror. "Teacher in-service day. Each class is, like, super short. We get out at noon."

And Papo won't expect me until three. My brain sprinted through the possibilities and settled on scoping out the New Age store and studying at the city library. My stomach rumbled, anticipating a lost opportunity to mooch lunch off someone. "
Thanks for the intel. Guess I forgot to check the calendar. I'm still trying to get settled." I pulled a one-eighty and headed for the door.

"Wait a sec." Jordan dried his arms and armpits, then knelt and unzipped his backpack. The muted flannel shirt he extracted had been left half buttoned, and he pulled it over his head before fishing two protein bars from his pack. "Here." He tossed me a bar then tore open the wrapper encasing the other.

My mood brightened. "Thanks."

"No problem." He downed his bar in two bites, then slid into his jacket. "Some of us are going to the theater near the skate park after school. Hang with us if you'd like. It's the new Shay Stewart movie."

"The pirate sequel?"

"Yeah. My girlfriend Evie is nuts about him."

"I met an Evie at lunch yesterday. Salem's friend?"

"So you're the one she talked about."

My ears burned. "Nothing bad, I hope."

Jordan shouldered his backpack and picked up his skateboard. "No. More like they think you're mysterious." Jordan's gaze flicked over me. "Most of the kids are afraid Salem will hex them or something."

"I'm not like most kids. Though, I admit she has a wicked Drop Dead stare."
Come on! Can't you see she's throwing a Scary Goth Girl glamour? "
I can handle her."

"Tread carefully. Salem is going through a rough time. Hurt her, and you'll have her friends to answer to."

"Understood."

Jordan knuckle-bumped my shoulder as he squeezed past. "You can catch a ride with me if you'd like. We're meeting by the cyclone gate across from the field. Be there by twelve-fifteen."

"Maybe. Thanks."
If only I had some money. I raked my fingers through my hair. I tried to remember the last time I had stayed anywhere long enough to have male friends. Girls were easy, but guys? It must have been before Mom died.
Like everything else good in my life.

Chapter Nine

Good thing the teachers had low expectations on early dismissal days, because I couldn't concentrate. This morning's nightmare kept replaying in my head. Over and over I replayed the dreamscape, a vast institutional building run by faceless shadows.

Each door I flung open led to another empty, hospital-like corridor.
"Amy? Where are you?"
I ran across the white tile to the next
steel-and-glass door, then the next one.
"Amy!"
I sensed her nearby, curled up, unable to call out. I needed to find her before she faded into the void. My heartbeat drummed in my ears. I opened one last door. Before I could peer into the dim room, my alarm
shrilled, waking me.

"Earth to Salem."

"Huh?" My heart pitched into the next block. I shook my head as if my mind was an Etch n' Draw and I could clear the picture. The girl sitting next to me on the stage nudged my arm. Below us, Mr. Peters cleared his throat.

"Where is my technical crew?"

I, Queen of the Light Board, raised my hand. A scuffle sounded behind me. Sean, Grand Master of Sound, a carrot-top with Asperger's Syndrome, popped up like a prairie dog.

"I prefer you two not pair up for this assignment. But each of your teams will receive bonus points if you work the booth for the other teams' scenes."

I nodded my head, though I had no idea what he was talking about.

"That's all, people." Mr. Peters waved a fistful of assignment sheets. "Turn in your summaries. Get your assignments, find a partner, and get to work."

Dazed, I remained rooted to the stage while everyone else got to their feet and clomped down the stage steps.
What was the assignment?
How long had Mr. Peters been talking? I should have listened. Now I was at a bigger disadvantage than usual. Alone on stage, I rose to my feet.

Aidan hustled up the stage stairs. He must have been among the first to grab an assignment sheet. Pilar followed, taking each step slowly as she teetered on super high heels. They made her legs look amazing, but must have been torture on her feet.

Aidan thrust a paper in my hand. "We're still teaming up, right?"

"Yeah. Sure." I glanced down at the assignment, wondering what I had missed.

Aidan splayed his hand across his heart and said to Pilar, "Alas, bright star, I am already spoken for." He glanced down at Nazario, who watched us from the front of the auditorium. "But I believe yon knight could be persuaded to cast his lot with you."

Pilar's doe eyes would have entranced a lesser soul. She nodded to Aidan and fluttered her hand as if she held an invisible scarf. "Therefore, I bid thee farewell."

Aidan bowed. "Farewell."

They would have made the perfect couple, with their matching dark hair and exotic good looks. I shoved my razor-cut hair behind my ear and wished for once I hadn't dyed it black and purple. "You can pair up with her if you want," I said as Pilar tiptoed down the stage stairs. Though I couldn't imagine whom I'd team up with if he did.

Aidan frowned. "We had a deal. I keep my word." He glanced at Nazario and Pilar. "Unless you'd prefer to work with the hulk down there. I'm not sure how great of a playwright he'd make."

"Playwright? What are you talking about?" Panic rampaged through my nervous system. "I suck at spelling. I can't write a whole play."

"Wow, you
are out of it today. We
're supposed to rewrite one of the plays we summarized. You know, like
West Side Story is a retelling of
Romeo and Juliet and
Ten Things I Hate About You is a remake of
The Taming of the Shrew…"

"Are you serious? We have to write an entire play?"

Aidan pointed to a paragraph on the assignment sheet. "We have to write a synopsis for whatever idea we come up with, and then write and perform a single scene of our proposed play."

"In Shakespearean English?"

"If we want. The play can be set in the modern day, or the future, or whatever. Any ideas?"

I laughed, a feral sound on the precipice of hysteria. Aidan studied my face as if he thought my next move might be to cry. Which was entirely possible. "Let's find a seat. I need to sit down." I handed in my play summaries to Mr. Peters on the way to my hideout toward the back of the auditorium. Aidan shadowed me.

We settled into adjoining seats. Aidan thunked his messenger bag on the floor between his feet and leaned down to unbuckle the straps and flip back the flap. His legs kind of spread out, and his knee rested against mine. My awareness jumped from the funnel cloud whirling in my head to the side of my knee. Aidan's warmth seeped through his faded jeans, through my leggings, and sent a warm tingle careening up my leg. He extracted the library's copy of
A Midsummer Night's Dream and held it aloft. "
Know why we are going to ace this?'

I shifted sideways in the seat and drew my feet up under me. "No. Please, inform me."

He placed the book in my hand. "What is this play about?"

"I don't know. Trust? Relationships? Magic?"

"Right. And who knows more about magic than anyone in this auditorium?"

I sat a little straighter. "We do."

"We? I was thinking you."

"I have high expectations."
And I secretly asked the love spell to bring me someone magical, and it brought you.

"Wow. No pressure." Aidan rolled his shoulders. "Okay. To Team Magic."

Goose bumps sprouted on my arms. "To Team Magic. But let's not get overconfident.
A Midsummer Night's Dream is pretty complex. Maybe we should pick something easier.
"

"Romeo and Juliet or
The
Taming of the Shrew?"

"I'm not sure." I searched the sheet. "The paper is due by the twenty-sixth, the day before Thanksgiving."

"And we have to present our scenes by then, too. So we have three weeks." Aidan's eyes rolled upward, as if he were calculating. "We should decide on something by this weekend." His pale gray eyes brightened like storm clouds backlit by the sun. "We could do a goth version of
Romeo and Juliet
."

"Or make them gypsies and have them first glimpse each other in a fairy forest."

"Maybe we should rethink
A Midsummer Night's Dream
, but keep the part where they wake up together in a bower."