The Zodiac Collector (12 page)

“Like I said, some old lady.”

“Did she tell you her name?” She eases into her seat, but the intensity of her doesn't lessen, not one drop. It's like she believes the dust is real.

But it couldn't be. So what if a candle disappeared? It was dark and I lost my bearings during the weird blackout… Maybe the candle rolled off the porch. I never went looking for it after all.

“Spit it out, girl.” Gamma waves her hand, urging me to spill the details.

“Mary and I were in the woods at the faire and this old lady came up to us. She brought us to her shoppe and gave us a bottle of stardust.” I draw the bottle out of my pocket and show Gamma. “Said her name was Zeena.”

“She new to the faire?”

“I think so. Never seen her before.”

She grabs the bottle from my hand and holds it up to the light. Bits of hard wax cling to the neck and cork. Gamma shakes it, jostling the glitter inside. “Hmmph.”

“What?”

“Tell me everything you know about this woman.”

I review all the details I can remember. The way she embodied her role as sorceress. The way she coveted her astrological trinkets. The way she sniffed around Mary and I about our Zodiac signs.

“She was really interested in the Zodiac, eh?” Gamma slams the bottle down in front of me. “What possessed you to use this?”

I stiffen. “I didn't think it'd actually do anything.”

“What was your chant?” An uncharacteristic hardness flows into her eyes, similar to Mom's when she's about ready to blow. Have I woken another dragon?

No, not Gamma. She's sweet and kind and gentle and always understands.

“Anne. Spill it.” There's nothing sugar and spice about her tone.

I dip my head and pick at a hangnail. “It isn't the kind of thing you want to tell your grandmother about.”

“Anne.”

I suck in a breath and confess. “William and I, well, we've been best friends forever and things are changing. I really like him and I chanted for Cast—”

Gamma snaps her fingers to stop me. “Don't say their names.”

“I chanted for a way for William and me to be…more than friends.”

Gamma closes her eyes and sighs. “Oh, honey, you don't have to do that. William is such a nice boy. And you're a wonderful girl. You don't need magick to bring you closer. That'll happen all on its own.”

The waves of embarrassment beating me finally decide to recede. A smile teases my mouth.

She pats the table in front of the chair Mary was sitting in, motioning for me to move there. “You should've waited to chant until I taught you.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” I trace a finger around the rim of my mug. “I've really blown it, huh?”

“Hopefully not. Anything you chant for will be shortlived. Seems you've invoked the twins, but if you leave it alone for a while, they should fade away.” Her words are strong and confident, but the way she tugs at the hem of her shirt makes me wonder.

“Are you sure?”

She drops her shirt and pats my hand. “Of course I'm sure. Your Gamma knows magick and she knows the book. Don't you worry.”

Who else do I have to trust but Gamma? She's the one who brought magick into my life. As far as I'm concerned, she's an expert. Relief tries to shine down on me like the sun on a winter day, but it doesn't warm me. We still haven't made sense of Zeena. “So you think that dust has some magickal properties?”

Gamma's cheek twitches. She stares at the bottle for a full minute. “Probably not. Best not to use it again though, just in case.”

“I thought Zodiac magick was rare. What are the odds of this lady practicing it?”

“Hard to say. You said she had pendants of the Zodiac signs?”

“Most of them. Some were missing.”

“Which ones?”

I close my eyes, constructing a snapshot of that day. “She didn't have Gemini or Libra. Another one was missing too.” I open my eyes and tap my chin. “Aries, that's the one.”

“She's collecting them.”

“It's not that hard to find pins. You'd think she'd have tons of them, considering she's a vendor.”

Gamma pours some water into the third mug and adds a tea bag. “Let's see how Mary's doing. Carry this for me.”

I follow her down the hallway, careful not to drop any tea. “What about the spellbook? When will you teach me?”

Gamma shakes her head. “I don't think it's a good idea to teach you about magick yet. Hopefully, the twins' power will fade quickly and this'll all be over.”

“But Gamma…”

“I told you not to mess around with it and what do you do? You chant without any instruction whatsoever, then you use stardust…”

“You said it probably wasn't real.”

“That's beside the point. Chanting
is
real and you disobeyed me, after giving your word that you wouldn't.” Her gaze pierces me with disappointment.

“I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”

“That's right, you won't. I want you to bring the book back to me tomorrow. No more magick.” She takes off again.

The bottle of stardust sits on the table. I should leave it, forget about it, fake or not. But I can't. Especially since I have to return the book and give up practicing magick on my own.

Birthday gift: Revoked. Disappointment level: Achieved.

I need a consolation prize. With a shaky hand, I reach out, pluck the bottle off the table, and stuff it into my pocket before heading off to find Mary and Gamma.

Mary's sitting on the couch in the living room, her legs drawn up to her chest. She's not crying, but she looks how I feel—gutted.

Chapter Ten

I
promise to bring the spellbook to Gamma after class tomorrow, so naturally I prepare to pull an all-nighter studying it.

After Mary falls asleep, I sneak downstairs, brew a ridiculous amount of coffee, grab a bag of chips and chocolate candies, and pack my book bag. The spellbook is already tucked inside, along with candles, matches, and the stardust. I'm not going to use any of it, but the items are a sort of security blanket, considering I'll have to give up my most bestest birthday gift
ever
in less than twenty-four hours.

The door to Mom's study is closed and it's quiet. Maybe she's sleeping. Could last a couple hours, could last fifteen minutes. I need to make my getaway ASAP or risk incurring the dragon's wrath.

With my stuffed book bag on my back and my arms full with a blanket, Thermos, and flashlight, I creep outside and make my way to the faire grounds. I can't think of a better way to study the book than on the hallowed land of my childhood adventures and dreams. The air is different there, as if permeated with the souls of 18
^th
-century merchants, knights, princes and princesses, and fairies.

The night is cool and the moon is bright. I almost don't need my flashlight, but use it anyway to cross the street. Headlights appear at the bend in the road. The whoosh of speeding tires and a purring engine passing interrupts the squeaky chirp of crickets and burping croaks of frogs.

I slip under the chain that blocks the entrance and cut between two tents that'll be used for face painting and henna tattooing. At the jousting arena, I lay out the blanket and unpack. A candle goes in each corner and I sit in the center with the book and a notebook on my lap. I prop the flashlight on top of my bag, angling it to illuminate the book, and settle in to read.

First, I jot down notes on each Zodiac symbol, then I focus in on air sign chants and Gemini chants. After that, I search for Libra spells, which mostly call for balance and peace. Would be nice to try them on Mom. Might keep arguments to a minimum. Since Gemini and Libra are both air signs, maybe William and I can practice chanting together, since Mary doesn't want anything to do with it.

It's three o'clock before I stop to stretch and finish off the last of my coffee. The chocolate is gone and half the chips are left. My back pops and I groan, rubbing stiffness out of my neck. Time to call it a night.

A layer of dew molds itself to the grass and my shoes squeak as I walk. I hop over to the path and focus on the crunch of stones under my soles.

Snap!
Something cracks in the woods. It's followed by a quick rustle of leaves.

I halt and peer into the trees. Two golden orbs blink at me and I yelp, swinging the flashlight. A web of tree branches is all I see. No eyes.

I swallow the lump in my throat and scurry on, telling myself it's only an animal.

The rustle matches me.

I halt.

It stops.

I walk a few steps.

The noise picks up again.

I whip the flashlight back and forth.

“
Anne
.” It's a whisper, nothing more. So soft, I have to wonder if it's my imagination.

“Who's there?” I call. My voice is shaky and weak.

“Annnnne.”

My heart drums a frenzied beat, launching adrenaline throughout my system. “W-what do you want?”

A malicious hiss responds.

Sparks of fear jolt my nerves, leaving an electric fire in their wake. It fuels my body. I thrust forward at full speed, digging my heels in the ground with each strike. The stretch of muscle over bone and burn of air rushing in and out of my lungs drags me down. I'm breathless by the time I reach the road, but I don't let that stop me. I take a hit from my puffer and keep on running.

* * *

“You should've left your hair curly, Anne. It'd fit the costume better.” Mom fusses at the lace of my sleeve and sets her disapproving gaze on my flat-ironed hair. “At least pull it back into a bun or something. And wear a headband of flowers, both of you.”

“I will.” And maybe I'll add some wings too. I have white gauzy ones with green dots and glitter that'll go nicely with this gown.

“Make sure to attach some ribbons to it and let them stream down your back.”

“Okay.” After last night's marathon study and freakout session, I have no energy to argue. I've just about convinced myself it was my sleep-deprived imagination that had dreamed up the slithery voice in the woods. And those yellow eyes? Probably an owl. The fluttering? Wings. Yep. All explained by rational logic. Mary would be proud.

“Help your sister with her boring hair.” Mom dismisses us with a flick of her wrist and turns to her latest piece—the Queen's coronation gown. It's white and lacy and full of frills. A huge collar of folded lace looks like a dinner plate. The dress itself is shaped like a giant bell jar.

Ug to the ly.

“Okay, Mom.” Mary smoothes the bodice of her lime-green dress and twirls the skirt. Her curls are fluffy and perfectly classic. Exactly what Mom wants.

Once my hair is sufficiently periodized and I've slipped into my fairy wings, we head to the faire. We flash our vendor IDs at the gate and begin the long afternoon of showing off Mom's work to the crowds. Anyone who comments on our dresses gets a business card and a pitch. Heck, anyone who looks in our direction gets a business card and a pitch. Mom expects us to hand out at least a hundred cards a day. The one time we dumped a bunch in the trash, Mom caught us and made sure we distributed double the next day.

Food shoppes are clustered along the central street. The scent of roasting meat, sweet-potato fries, and barbecue mingles nicely with the scent of spicy incense. I double-check my coin purse—about the size of a wristlet—to make sure my ever-ready inhaler is tucked inside. As long as I don't suck in the smoke directly, I'll probably be okay.

The distant rumbling of drums down the street clashes with the subtle vibration of a harp. The harpist sits in the shade of a maple on a circular Oriental rug. Coming in the opposite direction, a flautist plays a light tune as he wanders. He wears an anklet of bells around each boot and they chime with every step.

A vendor at the Kings Nuts stand waves his arm. “Good morrow!”

His greeting earns a nod and bow from the flautist.

The vendor plucks a peanut from a bag and tosses it at the flautist, who lowers his flute, ducks under the arcing nut, and catches it in his mouth. The vendor yells, “Huzzah!”

Nearby actors and vendors reply with a chorus of “huzzah.” A couple dressed as pirates clank their flagons of ale. Faire patrons laugh and applaud.

The flautist resumes his playing and keeps wandering down the path.

“Here's a good spot.” Mary directs us to a grassy patch at the corner of a crossroads. She twirls her skirts and fluffs her hair.

I smooth mine down, tucking a stray bit behind my ear. “'Tis a fine eve, is it not?” I use my diaphragm to project my voice. It makes me sound ten years older.

“Yea, dear sister.”

“Hast thou seen the Queen?”

“Nay, I hear our Queen 'tis preparing for her feast.”

A middle-aged woman with three little kids heads our way. She's got a grin on her face. The kids hop around her like the dogs do to us at dinnertime. The boy—he's gotta be around four—tugs on her shorts.

“Good even, Madame.” I curtsy.

“Such beautiful gowns,” she says, picking up her toddler. The little girl's blonde curls end in fine wisps. Her bright blue eyes stare at me with wonder.

“Our mother is a fine seamstress. The best in the land.”

“Such a boastful maiden.” A rich, masculine voice sounds behind us.

I whirl to see William sauntering our way. An easy smile brings out his dimples. He's dressed as a squire. A golden lion emblem covers the front of his blue and black tunic, showing that he's in service to the Knight of Camelot. Knee-high boots and a sword affixed to a scabbard on his belt finish the costume. He won't wear armor or chainmail until the joust.

“Thou'rt a fool, sir. Dost thou think me a liar?”

“Nay, my lady. 'Tis only a poor attempt to humor thee.” He bows. As he rises, he reaches behind his back and, with a quick twist of his arm, offers me a pink rose.