Moon White: Color Me Enchanted with Bonus Content (20 page)

“Some people think that if you focus on good magic, it will keep them at bay. Unfortunately, I can’t say that’s always true.”

“What
is
true?”

“That once you open the door, once they come in, well, sometimes they like to stick around.”

“Have you had this problem personally?” I ask.

She doesn’t say anything but just keeps digging through a small cupboard as if she’s trying to avoid my question. And suddenly I get really scared. I imagine that she, like Caroline, might be possessed by one of those things. I get this picture of her turning around with wriggling black snakes coming out of her eyes, or green puke spewing from her twisted mouth, or maybe her head will spin around a couple of times and she’ll come at me with knives. I’m ready to run. But when she turns around she looks perfectly normal. “Herbal or black?”

“Huh?”

“What kind of tea?” She holds two boxes up.

“Herbal is fine.”

She putters around and finally hands me a cup of tea and we go back to sit in the living room area. “Yes,” she says as she blows steam from her black tea. “I’ve had my own struggles with evil spirits too. Unfortunately, I think that’s one of the untold stories of the craft.”

“Why is that?” I ask. “I mean, can’t you use your good power against the bad spirits?”

“Sometimes you can. But sometimes their power is stronger. It’s very complicated, Heather. If I knew all the answers, I suppose I’d be running the universe. As it is, I’m still a student myself.”

“But Willow hired you to teach this weekend.”

She nods. “Yes, a mutual friend — one who wasn’t that sure about Willow — told her about me. You see, in some circles I’m fairly well known and even respected.”

“But not by Willow?”

“Willow and I don’t agree on everything. And I suppose it didn’t help matters when I met her this morning before my workshop and questioned why she was peddling all her wares at the seminar. To profit like that, well, it seems wrong to me.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, I offended her.”

“I thought it was just a power struggle.”

She nods. “Oh, there’s that too. I think that Willow and I are simply not well aligned in the constellations. You meet some people like that. It’s best to avoid them.” She looks directly at me now. “Like your friend Liz. Or should I say ex-friend? Do you want to tell me what happened between you and her? Last time we talked, it wasn’t so good. But seeing you girls at ballet, it seems to have gotten even worse. It’s as if an invisible wall of ice has been erected between you two.”

So I confess to Sienna about my spell.

“You got something like that from Willow?” she practically explodes. “That’s inexcusable and I’ll — ”

“No, no . . . I got it from a girl I met at Willow’s shop. Her name is Jane. She put it together for me and told me what to do. I paid her for it.”

“Oh, Heather.” Sienna shakes her head with dismay. “You should know better.”

“I know.”

“The Rule of Three.”

I look up at her and nod. “Yes, and I’m sure I’ve had more than three times come back on me.” Then I tell her all about Augustine and Jonathon and how I surprised them by coming home early today.

Sienna almost laughs. “You actually walked in on them?”

“Well, not actually. They were in my dad’s bedroom with the door closed, but that didn’t hide the obvious.”

“Too bad.”

“I’ll say.” I set my cup down. “I feel so sorry for Dad. I mean, he never dated after Mom died. I really didn’t think he’d ever remarry. In some ways I feel like it’s my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“I’m the one who originally got my dad to try the online matchmaking service. I only suggested it because it seemed like he was in a slump. I figured it couldn’t hurt. I never dreamed they’d get married.”

“Was your dad in love?”

“I think so. Actually, I thought he was more enchanted at first. I mean, Augustine is, well, she’s one of those people who can captivate almost anyone. You should know, you’ve met her. She’s so unique and talented, and she can talk about anything. I actually wondered
if she was into witchcraft at first,” I admit. “I thought maybe she’d charmed him or something.”

“But she’s not?”

“Not really. She’s into eclecticism or something like that.”

“Meaning she picks and chooses. A spirituality smorgasbord.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“About what?” I ask.

“About Augustine and your dad.”

I think about this. “What should I do? I mean, at first I was ready to call Dad and tell him the whole thing. But then I realized how much it would hurt him. And he’s right in the middle of this case. What should I do?”

She just shakes her head. “I don’t know, but — ”

“But the answer is in me,” I finish for her.

She smiles. “You’re learning.”

“But what if the answer’s
not
in me? What if I’m just going to go around in circles getting more and more lost?” I almost tell her about the impression I’ve had to just give up . . .
completely
. But I think I’m ashamed. It sounds so weak, so flaky. I hate being flaky.

“I think you’ll find the answer, Heather. Eventually.”

My tea is gone now, and so, it seems, is Sienna’s advice. Not that she really had much. But at least she listened. That was something. “I guess I should go,” I say.

She nods. “Yes. I actually have a dinner thing tonight.”

For some reason this surprises me. I guess I assumed that she had no social life, no friends. Apparently I got her confused with me.

“Take care, Heather.” Then before I go out the door, she holds up both hands. “Maybe that was it!” she says suddenly. “Maybe
that’s what your mother’s warning was about. Remember the family member who was going to hurt you?”

“You think it’s Augustine?”

“What do you think?”

I consider this as I go out. It has to be Augustine. Of course, how could anyone hurt me more than she has by doing this? As I drive home, it occurs to me that the things with Liz, which seemed enormous a week ago, have suddenly diminished compared to what is now happening between Augustine and my dad. Poor Dad. I have no idea how he’s going to take this. But I know I’ll be there for him. He’s going to need me more than ever now.

Augustine and I both avoid each other for the rest of the evening and into the next day. I think we’re both laying low until Dad gets home. Although I have no idea what her plan is or how this will play out, I am determined to be honest for Dad’s sake. And I’ll be there for him. Maybe we will throw Augustine out together. Send the tramp packing. She deserves it.

But Sunday stretches into the evening and I realize that not only has Dad not come home, but Augustine’s car is gone. Still, this may be good news. Maybe he’s just delayed and she got nervous and decided to make a fast break. Maybe she left him a note. But I snoop around, even going into the master bedroom, where I see that her clothes and things are still here. And no note.

Dad and Augustine finally arrive around nine, pulling into the driveway almost simultaneously. I go into the kitchen to wait for them, ready for the big confrontation. But before I have a chance to say a word, Dad begins to speak.

“Augustine has told me the whole story,” he says calmly when he sees me. “She’s very sorry that you’ve misunderstood things, Heather. But I’m disappointed to hear how you made such snap
judgments against her. That doesn’t sound like you.”

“But did she tell you about Jonathon?” I demand.

He nods. “Yes, she told me everything.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I understand how it might appear, Heather. And I know why you’re having such a hard time with it. It’s not easy having a step-mom, and these things are apt to happen. But sometimes you have to forgive and forget. Let bygones be bygones. Are you able to do that?”

I stare at my dad as if he’s an alien. Maybe he is. How is it that he’s okay with this? It’s too weird.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. Then I turn and glare at Augustine. “But I’m not okay with this. I think Augustine is a horrible person and I wish she’d just leave.”

“Heather!” says Dad, his eyes angry.

“I can’t believe you’d take her side!” I yell. “She’s nothing but a — ”

“That’s enough!” He points his finger toward the stairs. “If you can’t treat Augustine with more respect than that, you are excused.”

“You can’t just
excuse
me, Dad!” I scream. “I’m not eight years old, you know. I live here too. This is my house. And if you’re going to allow Augustine to turn it into — ”

“HEATHER!” my dad yells, getting my attention. This is a man who
never
raises his voice. “Get out of here!”

I can’t believe it. My dad is losing his mind. Maybe Augustine really does practice witchcraft. Maybe she’s on the evil side and plans to destroy both of us. I just stand there staring at both of them, too angry to speak, too shocked to move.

“You are excused,” says my dad in a calmer tone. “Until you can
come down and apologize to your stepmother. Thank you.”

I turn and head for the garage, thinking I’ll jump in my car and run away from here. Who needs them? Who needs this? But Dad steps in front of me. “You aren’t going anywhere in the car tonight, Heather. You can go to your room. Think about what you’ve said to Augustine and to me. If you want to come down and act like a civilized — ”

“Why should I act civilized?” I yell, turning and heading toward the stairs. “You people are total barbarians!”

I hear my dad saying something that sounds apologetic to Augustine, like he’s worried about
her
feelings. Then, as I stomp up the stairs, I hear her answer him in a soothing tone, saying he shouldn’t blame himself for my actions. Like this is all my fault, like she’s the victim here. Give me a break!

I’ve never wanted to run away from home before, never saw the sense in trying to escape your problems. But I do now. I am like so outta here! And so I begin to plot out how I will do this thing — the great escape. At first I think I’ll leave tonight, maybe wait until they go to bed. But then I realize that’s too risky. If I’m noticed, I know that Dad would probably call the police. I’d probably get picked up and end up in more trouble than ever.

So I decide I will wait until tomorrow. I’ll pretend to go to school in the morning, but I’ll just keep driving. I don’t know where I’ll go, but anywhere would be better than here. Anything would be better than this. I hate them both! I hate this whole town. I hate my life!

A
T FIRST
I
ASSUME THAT IT
’
S MY ANGER KEEPING ME AWAKE
. A
ND WHY
should that surprise me, since I’m still feeling enraged and it’s past midnight? But finally I tell myself to just chill, that I need a good night’s rest if I’m going to make a break for it in the morning. But then I realize it’s something more that’s bothering me. It’s like I can feel a presence in my room. A very real and
unearthly
presence. At first I hope that it’s my mom’s spirit, coming to comfort me, to help me. And I actually address this spirit. I whisper into the darkness, “I know you’re here. I can feel you, but I don’t know who you are. Please, reveal yourself to me.” But that doesn’t work. Then I think maybe Oliver has sneaked in here; he can be a real prowler at night. So I turn on the light and look around, but he’s not here. I turn off the light and take in several soothing deep breaths. I’m probably just having a case of nerves.

And then, just when I start to relax, I get this very cold and menacing feeling, almost as if someone, rather a spirit, has just blown his icy breath over me. This is definitely not my mother. There’s no way she would make me feel this scared. It’s obvious that this is a dark spirit. Perhaps the same one that had been troubling Caroline, the one who wrote in my Book of Shadows. Part of me is tempted to speak to this apparition again, to muster bravery and
try to see what’s troubling him. Perhaps I can help. But it’s like I’m frozen and unable to do anything but lie here like a stiff board.

I don’t know what to do with this kind of paralyzing fear. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. And I don’t know how to get rid of it. So I just close my eyes tightly, pretending I’m asleep, and focus my will to wish it away. I think words like “depart” and “you are vanquished.” But I’m unable to say the words aloud. It feels like I may never be able to speak again. It’s even getting hard to breathe.

My energy feels useless against this thing. It’s obvious that my power is nothing compared to its force. Whatever it is lingers here, growing like an ominous black cloud that invades and fills every cubic inch of my room. I think perhaps this presence is toxic, too. Even the air feels lethal. Maybe this horrible being plans to kill me before morning. And maybe that would be a relief. Or perhaps I will simply succumb to terror in the night and quit breathing altogether. Isn’t it possible to be literally scared to death? I can feel my heart rate accelerating, my breathing getting labored. It feels as if someone has placed a heavy bag of stones upon my chest, crushing the air and the life out of me. And I am giving in to it.