Something Witchy This Way Comes (5 page)

I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and inhaled slowly. “Red. A Porsche.”

She held out a picture of her standing in front of a red Porsche.

A thrill ran through me. But... “Maybe I didn’t really see any of that for myself. Maybe I only saw the images from
you
.”

Fawn chuckled. “In which case, you’re still mind reading. Either way proves you have abilities. You’re a witch, Tessa.”

A witch. My breath hitched.

“Is that enough?” Mr. Linton asked me. “Or do you need more?”

“I guess we should move on.” I released a nervous giggle. “And if a TV crew springs up and I find out it’s a joke, I’ll deal. What’s next?”

“Let’s get any questions out of the way.” He leaned back in his chair. “Then we’ll see if we can draw out your special talent. What would you like to know?”

My mind flooded with a million questions at once. “Why are some people witches and some aren’t? Is it hereditary?”

“No one knows for sure.” She casually lifted her shoulder. “Science hasn’t been very helpful. Some believe that the mind and spirit are separate from the body. That the body comes into existence at conception but the spirit is already around. We bring our native abilities as spiritual beings to our earthly existence.”

I grinned. “I like that.”

Fawn returned my smile. “Me, too.”

“You said the only error a Detector can make is to miss something that’s actually there. How is that possible? If it’s there, why wouldn’t you sense it?”

Mr. Linton folded his arms over his chest. “We lead different lives. We all feel joy and we all suffer. Scientists know extreme stress affects memory, physical health, etc.
It muddies the waters. We see these gifts more often in children that don’t come from broken homes, who haven’t been abused. Our searches usually come up empty at orphanages.”

“I don’t get it. You mean the more screwed up they are, the harder it is to detect anything in them?”

“Exactly,” he said. “Usually orphans have been through some kind of ordeal — abuse, death of their parents. The energy is different. They’re too mucked up by their demons or whatever you want to call them. Now and then we find someone later in their life who has escaped their past, re-invented themselves, risen above the things that haunted them. It happens.”

“Not often though.” Fawn studied me. “As decades pass, the percentage of sorcerers in the population decreases. We’ve theorized that the more dependent people become on technology, the less they rely on themselves.”

I inhaled and exhaled deeply. “So I’m a sorceress. A witch.”

Fawn nodded. “Of course.”

“Those surveillance photos…” I’d been about to ask if they knew who took them, because I figured they had to know. Since Hayden wasn’t present, they’d probably be more open about it. But a vision invaded my head of my home in the dark, our driveway and the curb. A little farther down the street, a red Porsche. Fawn. I tried to pick more images from her and Mr. Linton, but it was as if I’d been blocked. Alarm bells dinged in my head. “Why did you take the pictures and pass them off as someone else’s work? Is there
really
someone watching me?”

“Yes.” Mr. Linton said. “But we couldn’t convince you of that without proof. We didn’t have any, so we manufactured it. Sorry but it was the only way. We couldn’t take a chance on anything happening to you.”

Another lie. If they meant harm though, wouldn’t they just get on with it instead of recruiting Hayden to watch over me? And their explanations seemed plausible. Plus, Mr. Linton looked so sincere. The ice in my veins thawed. “One more question. You’re shielding your thoughts from me now. Can I do that?”

Fawn blinked. “You… uhm…”

“She’s startled because you’re learning everything quicker than we expected.” He tapped his fingers on the table and glanced away as though not sure what to do next.

“Okay.” I scanned their faces, wondering if they planned to cough it up. “If I’m in danger, like you say, don’t you want me to be able to defend myself against them? If they’re like us, they’ll see into my thoughts and know about you two as well.”

“You’re absolutely right. Don’t mind me. I’m not used to losing control of my pupils so soon.” She stared at me. “You shield your thoughts simply by willing it.”

I squinted, trying to decipher her words, see the hidden meaning. “I don’t get it.”

“Like with everything else, you just do it,” Mr. Linton said. “Don’t give yourself a chance to remember that it’s not possible. Don’t think about it.”

“It’s not as difficult as it may seem. The moment you decide we can’t see, we can’t.” She looked away, appearing thoughtful. “Without words, show me the inside of your bedroom.”

I sent her everything, from the velvety purple blanket on my bed to the jelly hearts I’d stuck to the full-length mirror and the white faux-fur rug at the foot of my bed.

“Good. Fuzzy blanket and pink hearts. I got that. Now, hold on. I have to think of something I don’t already know about you.” She held up a finger for a moment then dropped it. “Okay, go ahead and shield yourself. Build an imaginary wall around your mind and know that no one else can see inside. Then think of the contents of your locker.”

I imagined a barrier around me where my thoughts were private. Taking an extra moment, I made sure the mental wall around me stayed solid. I telepathically looked into my locker, saw my backpack, books, paper scraps and a picture of
Ian Somerhalder
taped to the door. Maybe Linton and Fawn were good actors, but I doubted it. I was pretty confident they had no clue what secrets my locker held.

“Very nice,” Fawn said. “It’ll become second nature before you know it and no one will ever pick up your thoughts without your consent.”

Mr. Linton’s lip curled up. “You’ll be an asset.”

“An asset?” What did that mean? And now I couldn’t help but wonder what they expected from me. “As in… I work with you, not them?” I chewed the inside of my mouth.

Fawn rose from her chair and tugged the bottom of her suit jacket. “Not necessarily. You’re free to do whatever you wish. But we hope you’ll be an ally. Any friend is of great value to us regardless of the extent of their contribution.”

“When will I learn my specialty?”

“Hard to know when.” Mr. Linton stood and grabbed the deck of cards, then placed them in his pocket. “We’ll have to fig
ure it out together.”

I had a feeling they were holding back. That was fine. I could grill them another time. Or maybe they’d let their guard down and I could see into their minds. One way or the other, I’d get the rest.

 “We’ll walk
you to class and Hayden will take over until you leave here. You’re tutoring him today in the library after school, right?”

He must have seen into Hayden’s head earlier. “Yes, but who takes over when we’re done? I assume you have people staking out my house?”

“Absolutely.” Mr. Linton put a gentle hand on my arm and guided me out of the auditorium.

* * * *

We’d gone over the math problem again and again, but Hayden wasn’t getting it. Every time I tried to explain it, his eyes glazed over.

“Your hair smells good. Fruity.” He reached out to rub a lock of my hair between his fingers. “Soft.”

I moved my shoulder to shrug him off. “I think we need to start over. Were you
ever
doing well in calc?”

“Yeah, the first few weeks went okay.” His gaze strayed to my mouth.

A very real image of his lips exploring mine intruded on my thoughts. I could almost feel the warm softness of his mouth against mine. Heat rushed to my belly and I squirmed and blinked. After what I’d done in the auditorium and the things I’d learned, my head swam with possibilities. Could I do more than read his mental pictures? Could I bend his thoughts and make him feel what I wanted? And, if so, could I mak
e him faithful, like a real boyfriend?

Oh, no. Not only would it be wrong to mess with someone’s mind, but Hayden wasn’t worth the effort. I renewed my vow to stay focused. Purging those images and thoughts, I concentrated on Hayden’s homework. If I could keep my mind on
his
studies, so could he. Snapping my fingers under his nose, I poked my index finger at a page of the open book. “I need you to concentrate. Okay?”  

“Or we could make out.” He g
rinned. “There’s no one around.”

Crazy enough, making out with him sounded… exciting. Especially since a preview had just played in my head. My heart sped up, but reason stepped in and I steeled myself when I remembered his latest conquest. “It’s over with Taylor already? Boy, you sure go through them, don’t you?”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” He shrugged. “Or you could say they’re using me.”

“
You
are the user. And the thought of becoming a joke to your friends is enough to keep me miles away.”

He held up his hands. “Whoa. Relax. I withdraw the offer. Man, you’re uptight.”

“I’m going home. When you’re ready to take this seriously, let me know.” I rose and reached for my purse, knocking over my chair.

Hayden captured my wrist. “Okay. I get it. We’ll stick to business from now on. I’m sorry.” He looked a little startled, like he’d never had a girl reject him before, especially one he was depending on for help. “Can we start over? I’ll be good.” He released me.

I had so many things I’d rather be doing than catering to a cocky rich-boy. Maybe we needed to lay down some rules so Hayden knew the lines not to cross. “No more hitting on me.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

My eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“Flirting comes so naturally; I do it without thinking. I’ll try though.”

He looked sincere — at least I got that much. “Fine.”  I was reluctant, but righted my chair, sat and opened the book. “It seems to me that somewhere along the way you missed something or you wouldn’t be having trouble now. We’ll start at the beginning and see if we can figure out whatever you didn’t get.

* * * *

“Hey, Mom.” I stood in the doorway to the immaculate kitchen. Our house wasn’t a castle, but it was nice — wide windows and high ceilings throughout with all the most modern conveniences.

“How was school?” She continued cutting vegetables without looking up or smiling.

My parents never abused me, verbally or physically. They just ignored me. I learned long ago that they didn’t want to know about my day. They expected a socially acceptable answer.

“Fine.”

“Dinner’s almost ready. Your father will be home late and I’m going out shortly.”

Typical. I left the kitchen without replying, knowing she wouldn’t notice or care.

When I was little, my mom sang me to sleep and lovingly nursed me when I got sick. We explored every inch of Arizona from the Grand Canyon to the rivers and my dad would carry me on his shoulders or push me in the stroller. When we returned to our comfortable home in the suburbs of Phoenix, we’d plan our next trip.

Things changed around my seventh birthday, but I was too young to understand why. Mom started crying a lot and Dad stopped planning trips. Maybe I could make sense of it now if I knew what actually happened. But the details had faded like an old pair of jeans.

Now, we hid behind a façade of superficial words and fake smiles. To the casual observer we had the perfect life, complete with the pretty but modest house and late model cars. At home, Mom’s stellar performance as the loyal wife almost made me believe she didn’t sleep with any man who came near her outside the house. Dad seemed to work all the time but the only things he worked at that late were his girlfriends. My parents were so busy living in the moment that they weren’t even doing financial planning for their future — or mine.