Witch (14 page)

I dipped the quill in the ink – and promptly tipped the bottle over, the thick black ink splashing over the paper and the rug.
Great
.

It was too much. I would just can the spell – I would tell everyone that on deeper reflection I had decided that wanting to be cool was just dumb.

‘Vania, breakfast is ready,' my mother called from down the hall.

I looked at the inky mess and shook my head. I was just going to leave it there. The stain was blending into the pattern on the rug anyway.

After my favourite breakfast of scrambled eggs with Vegemite on toast, I grabbed a roll of paper towel and headed back to my bedroom to deal with the stain.

But the ink on the paper was no longer a black trail of splashes and blots – it was an intricate pattern of roses and branches and birds, woven together in a web of inky threads like black starlight, illuminating everything by shadows.

Was this a message from Bryce's dead great-grandmother, Bessie? If so, what did it mean?

My mother stuck her head into my room. ‘Vania, what are you doing?'

‘Look at this, Mum.' I thrust the paper towards her. ‘Think I can make it as an artist?'

My mother glanced at the paper and laughed. ‘That's just a mess – you'd better not have got any of that ink on the carpet!' she said.

I was surprised at her lack of appreciation and looked back to the paper, and to my shock it did just look like a mess! But then as I gazed at it longer, the roses, birds and spider tendrils again formed from the blackness.

‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,' I muttered, and suddenly I realised what I needed to write for the cool spell.

‘What did you say, Vania?' My mother was looking at me questioningly, and I smiled.

‘Well, everyone said Jackson Pollock's Blue Poles was a just mess, too.'

‘Good, well when you make two million dollars for selling a mess, you can take care of your father and me,' she joked.

‘Deal,' I said, and she smiled before starting to walk out of the room. ‘Can I shut the door?' I asked quietly.

‘Well, how about you leave it open just a crack?' Her voice was gentle.

I nodded, and she pulled the door to as she left. I sat listening to her footsteps retreating down the wooden hall.

The waning moon floated over the horizon, its diminishing light set in a pearly pink sky. The coven was standing on top of a cliff within a circle of seven white candles. I'd found out that the number seven was aligned with personal empowerment and that a circle of seven white candles would create a space to contain the power we raised so we could direct it to the goal of our spell. On the insides of our left wrists were our star arrows, dark-purple stains that we had painstakingly painted on each other with the black walnut dye Dean had made. We'd used the traditional Chumash technique, dipping a thin stick with a flattened tip, rather than a brush, into the bowl of sticky dye. Bryce had offered to paint mine on, and when his strong hand had taken my wrist my feelings of attraction for him had as usual, overflowed. Dilated pupils, palpitating heart, wobbly knees . . . but thankfully it had been twilight and I was sitting down. And for once he hadn't looked me straight in the eye – he'd just stared at the symbol as he made it appear on my wrist. I realised we were becoming increasingly platonic. If he
had
ever had feelings for me, they were certainly squashed after the whole Matt mess. But this was no time for regrets, only for magic. And the land we stood on resonated with an ancient timeless pull, grounding our feet and anchoring our intention as we raised our arms to the sky.

‘All space is here, all time is now!' I called out loud, before the waves crashing below at the foot of the cliffs swallowed my voice.

The twins spoke next.

‘We live in the shadows behind the light. When we close our eyes, we can See.'

Next we dropped to our knees and pressed our hands to the ground, closing our eyes as the twins' meditation washed over us. It was a meditation their mother had showed them. She did it before she performed her tea-leaf readings, to help her see things. The twins had spent a good twenty minutes explaining how to do it, but all we had to really do was close our eyes and focus. I watched the starry dance of light across the back of my eyelids. Science called this phenomenon ‘phosphene', made by random firings of the nerves in our visual system, but right now, to us meditating coven members, it was a celestial ballet of light starring sparks born of Fonteyn and Baryshnikov, each twirling magically alone and together – affirming that we were all our own energy, yet in the centre of all things, and that anything was possible.

Eventually that weird buzzing sound of our energies started up, like it had the first night we were at the Purple Raven, and the energy behind our eyes seeped out and started whisking around outside us like folds of fairy floss, wrapping us up together in a sticky cocoon. We all opened our eyes in unison.

‘It's time,' Dean said. We all had stalks of lavender at our feet that were bound with strands of our hair. Dean had discovered that lavender was a powerful magical herb for purification, healing and protection. He'd said that the smoke from it would stop any negative energy from getting mixed up in our magic. The hair was because it was important to contribute something personal, to tie our intention to the spell. Now we picked them up and threw them on the fire.

Against the dark sky the fire was transformed from prickly, plucky red flames to soft, snowy plumes of sweetly scented smoke. I inhaled deeply. And coughed.

Oops, not magical enough. I focused and consciously tapped into a strong, passionate energy that I realised was churning inside me. It was a little bit like how I'd felt when I'd done the love spell on Matt, but this felt better, less chaotic – just strong and clean. I channelled the energy into our cool spell and, standing, thrust my hands towards the fire, capturing the sensuous smoke, shaping and weaving it around my coven members as I slowly paced the circle, calling out the charm that I had written from my heart.

‘In the dark we reveal our glory
Hidden in the shadows we gather strength
Rise up
Rise glorious
Strong and magnificent
Always and forever
We know who we are
No longer hidden
We reveal our true selves'

There was a loud collective intake of breath and the buzzing sound went from the humming of a gigantic swarm of bees to the euphoric chorus of a choir of angels. Our cool spell had been cast.

Ten

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror when I woke up the next morning. I looked exactly the same. Obviously the cool spell hadn't worked.

It had felt like it had the previous night. After we'd finished the spell we'd been so excited that we'd sat and talked for over an hour about how amazing the energy had felt. And for the first time since I'd met him, I'd felt relaxed and comfortable around Bryce. I actually spoke to him without covering my mouth with my hand for a full five minutes. And as we talked, with my guard down, I realised we had more in common than what we didn't.

When I'd got home I hadn't been able to wait to fall asleep and wake up reborn. So to call this morning anticlimactic was an understatement.

I attempted to do something with my hair, pushing it this way and that, and then I noticed that I was smiling, not frowning like I usually did as I got ready for school. With my eyes squinted, I analysed the expression on my face. It was definitely a happy look – a grin, even. It looked like it was painted on my face.

My parents were standing in the kitchen, hugging and kissing. They sometimes did this, and it always grossed me out. I went to roll my eyes and frown like I normally did, but I couldn't. I just kept smiling. My parents were smiling, too.

‘Have a good day, Vania,' my father said, his tone surprisingly warm.

‘Love you, honey,' my mother called out.

A feeling of comfort and happiness washed over me. Everything just felt so right. The smile didn't feel painted on anymore.

I headed out the door.

I got on the bus and there was Matt up the back as usual, not looking at me. Oh well, that reversal spell had definitely worked even if the cool one hadn't. I took my seat towards the front of the bus and twirled my finger around a loose thread on my jumper, idly pulling and watching it unravel. Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder and jumped.

‘Hey, Vania!'

I turned around and there were the blazing blue eyes of Matt Rock inches from my own!

I couldn't speak, but I caught sight of my reflection in the window and I was still smiling – my face not betraying the utter shock I was feeling inside.

‘Want to come and sit up the back with me? The view's much better.'

He laughed and pulled on my arm as he stood. I managed to grab my bag and follow him up the aisle. Kids gaped at me open-mouthed as I passed. Some of them smiled at me – I guess because I was still smiling, too.

I slid into the seat next to Matt, my heart hammering in my chest. My days of crushing on him were over; now I was more curious. What was going on? Had the cool spell started to work?

Matt was talking to me about his skateboarding and his surfing. A couple of weeks ago I would have hung on every word, but today it was just a ‘blah blah' noise as I tried to work out what was happening. I needed a mirror. I spotted the bus driver's rear-view mirror, and by leaning forward a little I brought my reflection into view. I could hardly believe what I saw. Even from a distance I could tell my hair was thicker, shinier and more blonde than mousey. I touched my hand to my hair tentatively. It felt soft. After a slow start, this spell was now coming on fast!

I settled into the seat and Matt continued to drone on. All I could think about was seeing Bryce when I got to school.

As soon as the bus stopped outside the school I leapt off, leaving Matt behind in mid-sentence.

The twins were standing at the bottom of the school steps, and they looked amazing! Amelia's hair was dead straight and nearly reached her waist, and Alyssa's was a tumble of perfectly arranged ringlets, like something you'd see on a medieval princess. It was glossy and auburn red, and there wasn't a stray frizzy hair in sight on either of them.

And then Bryce walked up to them. Instead of his usual preppy clothes he was wearing a cool Skrillex T-shirt and black jeans. His hair, normally perfectly groomed, was tousled. He looked like a rock star – an incredibly hot rock star. And as I approached he smiled at me with obvious appreciation and my heart leapt.

I tossed my new thick blonde hair over my shoulder. ‘How do I look?' I asked.

‘Exactly the same . . .'

I stopped twirling and looked at him incredulously. ‘The same?'

‘Yeah . . . like the Vania I've always known.'

‘How can I look the same? The spell is working, Bryce!'

He looked self-conscious. ‘Well, you look fantastic – but you always look fantastic to me.'

What?
I felt anger boiling inside me, because now I knew he was lying – and making a fool out of me . . . again.

‘You know, if you weren't in my coven I would
never
speak to you again!' I hissed.

I pushed past the twins and stormed up the stairs into school, bumping straight into Dean.

‘Whoa!' he exclaimed. ‘Why are you so eager to get to class?'

‘I'm not!' I spluttered. ‘I'm just furious!'

Dean put his arm around my shoulder. ‘Well, at least your hair looks awesome,' he said.

I pushed his arm off me and looked at him properly. I realised all his acne was gone. For a moment I was distracted from my fury. ‘And your skin looks really good!' I said.

‘Cool, thanks,' he said. ‘I think we have another successful spell on our hands.'

‘Well, Bryce didn't seem to notice that it's worked for all of us – he said I look exactly the same.' I spat the words out with frustration.

‘Have you considered that might be a compliment, Vania?'

I looked at Dean blankly.

‘Have you considered that maybe he genuinely thinks you always look good?' he said.

My voice rose again. ‘You know he's lying – I do not always look good.'

‘If someone really likes you, they don't care what your hair is doing,' Dean said and gave a small snort of laughter.

He was laughing at me! My anger boiled over. ‘Don't be so patronising! Bryce has never liked me like that – we're just friends for magic – his words – I don't know why we're even talking about this!' I said, turning to storm away, but Dean grabbed me and stopped me in my tracks.

‘I'm not letting you get away with that,' he said angrily. ‘You're the one who keeps going on that Bryce doesn't like you that way. The twins and I have always thought he cares for you as more than just a friend. You're letting your insecurities cloud everything. We're all your friends – we just want to help you, and yet when we try to talk to you, you fly off the handle.'