Spellbound (22 page)

Brendan gave me a sideways look. “Last summer, I was in the Hamptons with some friends, and they wanted to go to a party at Kristin's house. So I went, too. Kendall wouldn't leave me alone all night. I wasn't into her but she didn't exactly play hard-to-get.”

“Oh.” I gritted my teeth, annoyed that this bothered me just as much as everything else she'd said in the bathroom.

“Please tell me you don't care,” Brendan asked, letting go of my hand to slide his arm along my shoulders, pulling me closer. “This happened before I even met you, you know. Please, tell me this isn't bothering you.”

“Well, a little,” I admitted.

“Emma, I have zero interest in Kendall. I promise you,” he swore. “I never gave her a second thought. To be completely honest, I never even gave her a
first
thought. She was just there at the time.”

“It probably bugs me because I heard this after I got a nice little note in my locker.”

Brendan's head snapped up and he stopped walking. “Someone left something in your locker?”

“Yep.”

“What did it say?” Brendan demanded angrily.

“I really don't want to—” I started, embarrassed, but Brendan cut me off.

“Emma, what did it say?”

“It called me a slut.”

Brendan stopped walking, and when he faced me his eyes were ice-cold. “I'm going to have a little chat with Kristin,” he said, his voice low.

“Brendan, no. Look, we're both in enough trouble right now so there's no sense in confronting her.” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “Kristin's who she is, there's really not much we can do about it. Besides, Anthony could have left it before leaving school yesterday.”

“Still, she has no right to talk about you,” he said protectively. “Your name should never even cross her lips.”

“Brendan, please. Let it go,” I pleaded. “It just made for a hard morning. I'll be fine.”

“It's really pissing me off that I'm getting away scot-free in this whole thing, and you're on the hook.”

“That's because girls are evil,” I muttered. “High school girls are demons, seriously.”

“Emma, I don't want things to be harder for you than they already are.” His face softened, and he grabbed both of my hands in his.

“They won't be as long as I have you,” I promised.

“It's not like we don't have enough to worry about,” Brendan whispered, resting his palm on my medallion. “If I could let you go, I would. If I thought it would make things easier.”

“It would make everything harder,” I said, feeling an ache in my heart when I thought about facing another day like this without him.

“Look, please just don't do anything. Please, let it blow over,” I begged.

Brendan eyed me for a moment and bit his lower lip. Then he laughed a low, rumbling laugh and pulled me into his arms.

“Only if you will indulge me with something.” I could practically hear the wheels spinning in his head.

“What is it?” I asked cautiously. “I'm not going to break into a pool to go skateboarding with you if that's what you want.”

“You might prefer that. But instead, I want you to—” Brendan paused for effect “—go to the stupid winter dance with me.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Brendan said, tracing my jawline with his finger. “I want you to go to the winter dance with me.”

“You don't want to go at all, I thought,” I countered.

“You're right, I don't,” he agreed. “But I was thinking about it this morning. I've never really gone to any of these things with a girl I was…involved with.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Involved with?”

“Don't make me spell it out, Emma. Look, I want to make a statement with you. I want people to see that I care about you. You're important to me.” His tone softened over that last statement.

“Brendan, the last thing I want to do is be trapped in a roomful of those people.”

“Then do it for me so I'm not alone with them,” he bargained. “And so maybe you can get some peace from the rumors. If people see that we're really together…”

“You have a point,” I muttered.

“Look, if they were just talking about me, I wouldn't care,” Brendan said. “But I don't want anyone talking about you and if you won't let me tell them off, then let me do this.”

“Okay, fine,” I conceded begrudgingly. “As long as I'm
allowed to go.”
And can somehow get a dress to wear. No helpful woodland creatures or fairy godmothers here. Maybe Ashley will lend me something.

“I can't believe it, but I'm actually looking forward to it now,” Brendan admitted, leaning against a building and pulling me with him.

“Well, I know that I don't get enough of Kristin Thorn's bitch-face during the school day, so an extra dose next Friday night will keep me going through the weekend,” I said sarcastically, and Brendan laughed.

“You won't even see her,” he promised. “You'll be in the deejay booth with me like a girl in a Jay-Z video.”

“I'm not wearing a bikini and a fur coat to this dance, Brendan,” I warned.

“Damn.” Brendan pouted. “Not even some booty shorts?”

“Isn't this a semiformal?”

“So?”

“And it's November?”

“Oh, I'll keep you warm,” he teased, tucking his fingers underneath my chin and raising my lips to meet his. And the minute our lips touched, all my concerns about school faded into nothingness.

I had to hand it to Brendan; his kisses were a better mind eraser than that magic wand thing from
Men in Black
. We both lost track of time, and had to grab hot dogs from a vendor before running back to school. Still, I nearly floated through my afternoon classes, in a decidedly better mood than I was that morning. I didn't even let it get to me—much—when I sat alone in chemistry and heard Kristin's scathing remarks about my hairdo.
Her Oompa Loompa skin is a color not seen in nature and
she's
making fun of
my
appearance?
I briefly considered attempting a spell, but figured with my luck, I'd end up turning myself into a chicken burrito. Besides, my last—and
only—spell was probably only a success because Angelique, a more experienced witch, was with me. So I bit my tongue and toyed with my necklace, reminding myself that I had bigger things to worry about than Kristin.

After the last bell rang, Brendan was waiting for me when I finally made it down to my dungeon locker room after class.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, happily surprised.

“Just stealing a minute with you before basketball practice.” Here I was, worried about myself, when Brendan had more or less gotten one of the best basketball players kicked out of school and had to face his teammates.

“Is that going to be rough?” I asked, embarrassed that I hadn't even thought to ask before.

“Nah, no one liked Anthony,” Brendan said with a smile. “They'll probably vote me MVP—you know, when I'm actually allowed to play again.”

I grinned, relieved.

“So give me a kiss—I have to get to practice,” Brendan playfully demanded, bending down to press his lips against mine. It was hard to remember that we were in school—and to restrain myself from winding myself around him in a very un-scholastic way.

“I'll call you tonight,” he whispered, kissing my neck. “Try to stay awake past sunset.”

The way I was feeling at that moment, I had no doubt I could stay awake past sunset on Thursday.

Ashley met me in front of the school, impatiently fussing with her blue headband.

“So Emma, did you ask about the cousins?” she asked excitedly.

“I'm sorry, I forgot,” I admitted, but vowed to ask Brendan about his cousins next time we were together.

“Good. Holy crap, he's gorgeous up close,” she breathed
excitedly. “I can't believe you get to kiss him.” I blushed again when she said that.

“I heard he's deejaying the dance, too.”

“Word travels fast,” I mused.

“It does when it's about Brendan Salinger,” Ashley said, adding, “and my friend Vanessa is on the dance committee. She told me.”

“Kristin let a freshman on the dance committee?” I was incredulous.

“Well, Vanessa's mom is donating all the refreshments, so that explains it,” Ashley said, throwing her hands up in frustration.

“That explains it.” Vanessa's mom was a fairly well-known chef at one of the top restaurants in the city.

“Well, I'm going with the deejay if that's what you're wondering,” I replied, reminded that I needed to borrow a dress. But before I could ask, Ashley was jumping up and down, excitedly clapping her hands.

“I'm going, too! A bunch of us are going with Vanessa!” She squealed. “Oh, Emma, I don't know why you worry about fitting in! You went on a date with Cisco, now you're dating Brendan Salinger! We have to go shopping for a dress.”

“Or I can borrow one?” I wheedled, thinking of Ashley's massive walk-in closet. Even though she was several inches smaller (in every way), I could usually squeeze into her clothing.

“No way, dude, you need something fabulous,” she squealed. “We'll go shopping, it'll be great. Besides, I don't think I like the dress I bought. I want another.”

“Well, let me make sure Aunt Christine is okay with it,” I warned. But it was too late. The minute I turned the key in Aunt Christine's door, Ashley pushed past me, giggling.

“We have to go shopping! Brendan asked Emma to the
winter dance next week!” Ashley called out in her singsong voice to Aunt Christine, who was sitting at the kitchen table reading. Christine removed her glasses and her eyes darted back and forth from me to Ashley, then back to me.

“I mean, if that's okay with you.” I rushed to amend Ashley's gleeful proclamation.

“Yes, dear, it's okay,” she said with a nod of her head.

“Well, his mother is making him deejay the dance so I'm really just going to keep him company,” I explained hastily. “So I don't need to go shopping or anything—I can borrow something of Ash's.”

Christine eyed my chest—then Ashley's—and chuckled to herself. “No, dear, I think we can get you something. We'll go to Bendel's this weekend.”

“Are you sure?” I asked apprehensively.

“Of course, dear,” she said, picking her book back up and turning the page with a rose-painted fingernail.

“Thanks, Aunt Christine,” I murmured, a little embarrassed. “I don't deserve all this.”

Christine just sighed. “Sweetheart, you
do.
I just want you to realize that. Although, I would like to meet Brendan again under different circumstances.”

“He's pretty great,” I said dreamily.

“Well, at least I know you'll be safe with the young man. He seems like he'd step in front of a truck for you,” she snorted. “Still, I'd like to meet him again.”

I nodded, but inwardly cringed. Soul mate or no soul mate, we were still going to have to properly do the “meet the parents” dance, I realized with a silent groan. It wasn't so much that I didn't want Christine to get to know him—I was absolutely terrified of Laura Salinger. Possibly more than I was of an unseen, impending doom.

By the end of the week, I was amazed that the rumors had died down a teeny bit. Only Kristin was really stoking the fires anymore—but I figured she would be an evergreen thorn in my side, so to speak. I was pretty positive Kristin was my Lady Eleanor, except that she went for character assassination as opposed to actual assassination. The latest rumor? That I cheated on Brendan with a group of guys from Xavier High School. Never mind the fact that Brendan and I had only been public for a week and it would have been physically impossible to accomplish the level of whoring around in five days that I was accused of committing. But Kristin refused to let up. Still, it seemed like Brendan's method of dispelling the rumors—remaining an ever-present figure by my side—was working. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to navigate these shark-infested waters. You know, if the sharks carried Dior purses.

I didn't think it was possible to feel more out of my element than at Vince A—and then, that Saturday, I went dress shopping with Aunt Christine, Ashley and her mom, my aunt Jess. I self-consciously studied myself in the dressing room at Bendel's, while my family waited on the other side of the
dressing room door, where a thick stack of discarded dresses hung on the hook. They were all too…prom-y. And pastel. And poofy. One of them was covered in so many bows, it looked like it belonged at the gift-wrapping counter. And based on the price tag, each bow was a hundred bucks.

I scrutinized the one-shouldered, red-sequined cocktail dress I was wearing in the mirror. “You guys, just because it's November, doesn't mean I have to wear
red
,” I protested, opening the door with a frown. “I look like a hooker in this.”

“Yeah, but at least it's a high-priced ho.” Aunt Jess snickered, and Ashley giggled. Christine gave both of them disapproving looks.

“I know!” Ashley chirped. “Let me go pull a few more dresses. Trust me!” she begged when she saw my face. Visions of sugarplum-colored dresses danced through my head.
Please don't let it be covered in glitter.

“Here, try this on again,” Aunt Jess said, pulling a sparkling white strapless number with a full skirt out of the pile before leaving the room to let me slip into the fluffy frock.

“I look like a snowball,” I grumbled once it was on, holding open the door to the dressing room. I stared at my scar with a resigned sigh. They didn't have any long-sleeved dresses that were right for the occasion. I desperately wished I could wear jeans and a black shirt. Why, oh, why was this dance semiformal?

“We can get you gloves,” Christine said, noticing me giving my arm the evil eye. “It'll be acceptable.” I was relieved. Even though Brendan knew about the accident, he hadn't ever seen the ugly scar. I shut the door to slip out of the dress when there was a stilted banging at the door. I opened it to find Ashley standing there. Or should I say, Ashley's legs, sticking out from underneath a pile of dresses that she had piled in her
arms. The stack was taller than she was. All the dresses were black.

“Oh, Ashley, I love you!” I exclaimed.

“Black is something for old women and widows to wear,” Christine muttered disapprovingly. “You're young. You should wear something bright and festive.”

“Well, you're both, and look at what you're wearing today,” Aunt Jess cracked, dissolving into giggles. Christine looked down at her pink leopard-print twinset and frowned.

“I guess you're right,” she conceded. “Well, what's important is that Emma feels comfortable, so let's see what you've got here.”

We hung up the dresses and my eyes immediately went to a simple strapless dress with a tulle skirt that was artfully shredded. It looked edgy yet classic at the same time. As Ashley pulled up the zipper, I prayed that it looked as good on me as it did on the hanger. I whirled around, completely thrilled.

“If I could wear this every day, I would,” I said, holding up the tulle and bowing to my reflection. I couldn't believe that was
me
in the mirror. The most dressed-up I had ever gotten was for my mom's wedding to Henry, and even that was just a pale yellow sundress since they got married at City Hall.

I saw Aunt Christine's reflection smiling in the mirror and dabbing at her eyes with a pink tissue.

“Aunt Christine, are you…crying?” I asked, crestfallen. “Is it really that big of a deal that I'm wearing black?”

“No, honey,” she said, a melancholic smile on her face. “You've just come such a long way from how I found you six months ago in June. I'm glad you're getting the chance to be happy.”

“Aw, Aunt Christine.” I sniffled, stepping over a mint-green lace dress to hug her.

“Okay, okay, no crying on the couture,” Ashley said,
alleviating the happy sadness in the tiny dressing room. “By the way, I have shoes that go perfectly with that dress.”

That night, I stared at the dress as it hung on the back of my door. I had shoes coming from Ashley (luckily when it came to shoes, we were the same size), a wrap from Aunt Jess, and gloves and earrings from Christine. I hated to admit it to myself, but I was actually excited about getting dressed up and entering a room on Brendan's arm, as his legitimate, bona fide girlfriend. I allowed that thought to remain untarnished, letting it lull me to sleep.

The next morning, I knew Angelique had removed the protection spell.

I only remembered details from this dream because Angelique had suggested I start keeping a dream diary—a way to remember key moments before they faded into the oblivion of my subconscious. I was sitting with Ethan in the kitchen of our old house, playing a board game that I didn't recognize or remember. He was explaining the rules of the game to me, very exasperatedly. It was clear that he'd thought he'd explained them before, and was annoyed that I hadn't gotten the hang of it yet.

“Ladybug, if you go down this path,” he said, pointing to dark-colored squares on the board, “it'll be harder to win.”

“But I
like
that way,” I insisted, sliding my pendant onto one of the black squares. The board kept changing shape—it was stone, then wood, but I still insisted on keeping my pendant on the dark square, holding it in place with my fingertips.

“I don't care if it's harder this way,” I told him.

“You could lose the game,” he warned. “You could lose everything.”

“I don't care.”

“It's not safe, Emma. Why can't you stay away from him?”

“I just can't.”

“Well, if you insist on going this route, you need a brave teammate,” Ethan said, his brown eyes, a mirror image of mine, burning into my face. “Is he strong enough? Do you have enough faith in yourself?”

“I think so.” I shrugged.

“Don't
think
so. You need to be stronger,” he demanded. “You both do. This isn't really a game.”

The board disappeared and we were no longer in the kitchen, but standing in the rose garden from my dreams.

“He has to be strong. You won't even see it coming. He has to be willing to risk it all. Is he strong enough?” Ethan said. He opened his mouth to speak again—only to sing an old Madonna song. The scene before me was slowly replaced by my eyelid-slitted view of my room, and I realized that my alarm clock had gone off, with “Borderline” blaring out of the clock radio. I slammed my hand down on snooze and squeezed my eyes shut, trying hard to return to my dream. But it was gone.

I didn't feel as panicked as I had after all of my other dreams. I felt, oddly enough, encouraged—empowered, almost—like this curse was something I could, most definitely beat. If I could figure out the cryptic warnings.

Brendan had left for his grandfather's house right after school on Friday—he was still checking out his massive library for anything he could find about the legend of Aglaeon—but he wanted to spend Sunday taking me on an official date. Most people have to balance school and dating. We had to balance normal dates with supernatural revelations.

“I want to take you out properly when I'm back on Sunday,” Brendan had said, his voice muffled with the static. “I feel like I'm a crappy boyfriend.”

No matter how much I argued with him that he was the furthest thing from a crappy boyfriend, Brendan insisted.

“Just let me be good to you,” he persisted. “No rumors, no curses, nothing. Just me and you, just us together.”

So Sunday, we indulged in a time-honored New York tradition—brunch. My eyes were as big as the fresh-baked bagels piled in the breadbasket when I saw the prices on the menu.

“This place has the best eggs Benedict in the city, Emma,”

Brendan boasted, slathering a thick layer of cream cheese on a sesame bagel.
For thirty-five bucks, it better come with a new car.

I did have to admit it, though—they very well may have been the best eggs Benedict in the state. Or on the planet. But as much as I enjoyed them, I enjoyed Brendan more, in a mood I'd never seen him in before. He seemed to relish just being a normal boyfriend—no curses, no rumors, nothing to worry about. As he talked excited about possibly getting a regular deejay gig at a new club opening downtown—as long as he didn't drink, the club didn't care that he was underage—I decided not to tell him about my dream last night. No sense in killing his buzz.

Once we were outside, I impulsively threw my arms around his waist, still reeling that I could touch him whenever I wanted. I had that kind of access to him. It made me a little giddy, I had to admit.

“Thanks for brunch,” I said, my voice muffled by his jacket.

“My pleasure. I want to do more things like that with you.” Brendan tugged on my coat since I still had my arms wrapped around him. “By the way, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What's up?” I asked, resting my cheek against his chest
and squeezing him more tightly. I didn't feel like letting go just yet,
thankyouverymuch.

“My family wants to meet you,” he said, tilting my chin up to look at him. “As in, officially meet you. You know, not in the principal's office. Are you okay with that?”

I froze. Doomed soul mates? Yeah, I can handle that. Piece of cake. Battle rumors and evil cliques at school? I could get that done before lunch. Attempting to win over Laura Salinger, however, set off shrill alarm bells.

“Do they know about us?” I asked apprehensively.

“Emma, of course they know that we're together,” Brendan said plainly. “Why do you think they want to meet you?” He was avoiding what I
really
meant.

“That's not what I'm getting at.” I reluctantly unwound my arms from his waist and faced him. “For all your mom knows, I was just some girl at school that you were defending. What I mean is, do they know about the whole—” I lowered my voice “—curse thing?”

Brendan stopped at the corner and leaned against the frigid brick building behind him.

“Yes, they know what we think. My grandfather called them and told them last night. He thinks we're right, by the way.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Why did he do that?” I wailed. “I don't want them to think of me as…curse bait.” I looked up. “How did they treat your other girlfriends?”

Brendan snorted and gave me a dirty look. Clearly, I'd offended him. “Emma, be serious. Do you honestly think I've ever brought someone home to meet my parents?” I just shrugged. Even though he dismissed Kendall to me, I wasn't dumb. At some point, some crafty girl had to have finagled an invite to the Salinger home.

“Emma, I would never bring just anyone home to meet my
parents,” he said, his tone a little kinder now. “Anyone before you was merely that—just anyone.”

“Okay, I believe you,” I said, and resumed walking again, hoping he'd forget about the whole meeting-the-parents thing.

“Sweetheart, come on.” Still leaning against the building, Brendan managed to catch the hood on my jacket and gently tugged me back. I melted into him, resting my chin on his chest. He encircled me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.

“They're going to treat you like you're my girlfriend, and that's it. Even though—” he tightened his grip “—you know you're so much more.

“And by the way, Emma,” he continued, “I want to meet your family, so let's make that happen, okay? I'd like to do
some
things the right way.”

“Okay,” I agreed, remembering that Aunt Christine had actually requested to re-meet Brendan.

“So I'm going to pick you up Friday night for the dance, and I hope your aunt is there, ready to give me twenty questions.” Brendan smiled a toothy smile and I laughed as he reluctantly removed me from his embrace.

“We'd better get going, the movie starts in a half hour.” I started walking forward again. The theater was still about twenty blocks away. I stepped off the curb, reaching out for his hand automatically. It wasn't there, and I looked next to me, confused. It was always there.

My eyes danced around, and I finally saw Brendan behind me. He stood about thirty feet away, checking the internet on his phone.

“If we miss it, there's another showing in ninety minutes. That's not too bad,” he mused.

“Come on, slowpoke! We can make this one,” I called. I
turned my head to look at him as I began crossing the street, and Brendan's green eyes crinkled up with a little smile.

Then his eyes changed—they turned dark, panicked.

“Emma, watch out!”

He shouted my name again as he flung his bag down, running forward and lunging for me. Instinctively, I reached out to him, even though I wasn't quite sure why. I felt Brendan grab at my arm—it felt like it was being pulled out of its socket as he yanked me forward, toward him. My toe caught on the curb and I skidded forward, palms outstretched, onto the sidewalk.