Spellcaster (8 page)

“Let’s find you a first-aid kit,” Cisco said as we climbed the steps to the Cloisters, but I protested.

“Really, I’m fine. Let me just go to the bathroom and clean this up.” I gestured to my knee, which was still bleeding.

“I’ll tell McNelly you fell and need a minute,” Cisco offered, before he headed off in search of our art history professor.

I found the bathroom, frowning when I surveyed the damage. No wonder Cisco kept asking me if I was all right. I looked like I had been through a war. My hair was wild, with sweaty strands plastered to my face—my Wite-Out–pale face. And my leg looked like a zombie had tried to eat my kneecap. I wet a paper towel and cleaned off the dried blood, dirt and bits of branch as best I could, my face twisting at the sting. At least it didn’t seem like it would scar. I had a bottle of vitamin E at home—the car accident with Henry and the battle with Anthony had left me with plenty of battle scars. Literal battle scars, much worse than this. But the tree branch bits proved to be pretty stubborn, and finally, I just resolved to have a piece of Fort Tryon Park stuck in my knee until I made it home.
If you need to knock on wood, you’ll have some handy.

I brushed my hair and wet my face, but the bottom of my shirt was a lost cause, smeared with bloody fingerprints along the front. I thought about trying to dab at them with a damp paper towel, but my life at Vince A was frustrating enough without my classmates thinking I had peed on myself. I stuffed the shirttails underneath the sweatshirt instead.

My classmates.
I steadied my hands on the sink, grateful that no one else was in the bathroom. The adrenaline rush had worn off, and surprisingly, anger—not fear—was starting to set in. Was my attacker someone from Vince A? It was plausible…Angelique was a witch. I was a reincarnated witch. Brendan’s wealth, strength—hell, even his looks—were a part of Archer’s millennium old bargain. Who knew what other kinds of supernaturals strolled the halls of Vince A? From the looks of that knife—and that getup—I didn’t need yesterday’s spell to clue me in that this was definitely magical in nature. Besides, who else would know where I was today?

I reached in my pocket, relieved to find that my cell phone and camera hadn’t fallen out during my sprint from the psychopath. The last thing I wanted to do was go wandering around the area where I was just attacked looking for them. The first thing I wanted, however, was to hear Brendan’s voice, but I knew if I actually spoke to him, there was a good chance I’d break down and tell him
everything,
and he’d go crazy being trapped at the school waiting for me to show up.

If he was still at school.

If he was still allowed at school.

How did everything go from perfect to utter disaster in twenty-four hours?

I pulled out my phone, and was consoled to see a small check mark in the win column. Some time in the past half hour, Brendan had sent me a text.

Don’t know what u heard, but u know it’s not true. I’m ok, just really pissed. Sorry I couldn’t text earlier. I’ll wait for u @ school. Want to come over?

I couldn’t type my reply fast enough.

Absolutely. Skipping work. See u soon. I really need to see u.

I sniffled as I typed that last part then hit the delete key. It would clue Brendan in that something was wrong, and he’d find out soon enough. I sighed as I scrutinized myself in the mirror, running my fingers through my now-smoothed hair. I looked fairly composed, in spite of eyes too bright from unshed tears, and my face a ghastly pale from being completely overwhelmed. Good. If my attacker was a classmate, he was not going to know that he’d ruffled a single feather.
Even though your feathers have totally been sliced, diced and put through a blender.

I stepped outside, walking briskly through the exhibits until I found my classmates in a darkened room. I immediately started sneaking glances at their bags, trying to see who could be hiding a change of clothes—until I realized most of us had big backpacks on. Vince A piled on homework to the point where it was borderline abusive. Finally I looked up and realized I was in the room that housed the Unicorn Tapestries, recognizing the first one we had studied.

I surveyed the most famous of the collected works in the museum. I had been looking forward to seeing these, but now, all I could focus on was my heart, thudding in synchronization with the throbbing pain in my knee. I tried to maintain some semblance of composure as I looked at the tapestries in between sneak peeks at my classmates. In one, the unicorn reared up, resplendent and bright on the intricate tapestry.

And then I looked at the other tapestries—
The Unicorn Is Found. The Unicorn Is Attacked.
Each one an intricate scene where the mythical animal is hunted, cornered. It was reared up, surrounded. Dr. McNelly’s lecture about the unicorn being an allegory and the complicated weaving process fell on deaf ears as my eyes found the gruesome tapestry that seemed to celebrate the death of the unicorn. It hung there, lifeless, its eyes shut, its mouth open but unbreathing. It looked almost relaxed—there were no more battles ahead.

I took a sharp breath.
I feel your pain, sister.

It seemed fitting, in a twisted way, that there had been a unicorn on my medallion. No matter how much I fought, it seemed like I was supposed to be doomed, too.

I gritted my teeth as I stared at the tapestry.
Not this time.

After the last exhibit, I finally made my way to the front of the museum, where I rejoined my classmates as we milled about the parking lot. I spoke to Dr. McNelly, showing her my knee and explaining that I was fine, didn’t need to see a nurse and just wanted to go home. She clucked over my raw, shredded knee, and promised to explain my accident to Mr. Emerson, the English teacher who also oversaw the library operations. As much as I could use the money, there was no way I could suffer through stacking books today.

Jenn and Cisco waited for me before we all piled onto the bus—we were almost the last people on, but there was no risk of anyone taking our uncomfortable, noxious-smelling seats in the back. I tapped my foot impatiently. It felt like people were deliberately moving slowly. I tried to focus on the fact that in just thirty minutes, I would be home. But I should have known this day from hell would get one last lick in.

As I approached Kristin’s seat, Amanda—Kristin’s unfortunate-looking sycophant who occupied the seat behind Kristin—stood in the aisle, deliberately taking her sweet time sticking her jacket on the overhead shelf. Which left me standing right next to Kristin, the Creamsicle-colored harpy. I felt like that chained-up goat from
Jurassic Park,
just waiting for the T-Rex to come and bite my head off.

Kristin flipped her ultrawhite streaked blond hair. I groaned internally. Whenever Kristin flipped her hair, it was a sign that something incredibly bitchy was about to go down. She would be the world’s worst poker player—the hair flip was a big tell.

“Aw, why the sad face? Is Emma having a bad day, too?” She sneered in that same sickening baby voice. For a brief second I wondered if she was my attacker—but her left eye was (unfortunately) free of any bruising. I considered remedying that, but decided to just ignore her.

She looked me up and down critically, dissecting me for something to pick at. Then Kristin saw the bloody smears on the front of my shirttails, which were peeking out from the sweatshirt, and my red-stained sock, and grinned, baring a Pepto-Bismol–pink-painted mouth full of straight white teeth. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she had fangs. Or a baby bunny in her mouth.

“Nice shirt, Emma,” she scoffed, cackling. “So, like, what? Did you just get your period or something? Can’t your rich aunt buy you tampons?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying anything back to her. It was never worth it: the more I fought back, the more venomous Kristin got.

“Knock if off, Kristin,” Cisco said from behind me, annoyance permeating every syllable.

“Oh, shut up, Cisco,” Kristin snapped in reply. “Who asked you?”

“Can you please hurry up, Amanda?” I said calmly, lifting my chin. I didn’t want my friends getting caught in my drama—and this high school drama was definitely less significant to me than my real-life drama. “You’re holding everyone up.”

“Don’t worry about what she does, Emma,” Kristin snapped, flipping her streaked hair. “She’s the one who belongs here. You don’t. And Brendan will see that soon enough.”

She flicked a thick, shimmery-painted nail toward the bloody splotches and her pink lips curled up in disgust.

“At least we know you’re not knocked up.
For now.
” She sneered. “You’re just the type to try to trap someone like Brendan. He probably got an STD from your low-class ass. Or your little slut of a cousin.”

And with that, the thin thread that held my composure together snapped. I crouched down so my face was eye-level with Kristin’s.

“Since I’m so low class, what makes you think I won’t jump you after school today?” I challenged, staring at her with unblinking eyes. I was so angry, at that moment I was glad I didn’t know how to turn her into a toad, or I’d have done it. She put me in a dangerous situation with Anthony, countless awkward situations at school…but she was not going to slander the people I loved.

“You really don’t want to mess with me,” she said coldly, but she leaned back in her seat a little. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

“Shove your idle threats up your ass, Kristin. You don’t scare me,” I hissed, not bothering to craft a clever reply. Simple worked. I didn’t wait for her reply. I whirled around and strode to my seat in the back of the bus, flopping in the window seat this time. I stared out the window, not even noticing that Cisco and Jenn had taken their seats next to me until he nudged me.

“I don’t know what you said to Kristin, but she looks scared. And angry. And oddly constipated,” Cisco whispered approvingly.

“That’s just her face,” I retorted, adding ruefully, “I’ll pay for it later.”

“Still, it was worth it. I never thought someone so orange could actually turn red. It was like staring into the sun,” he said seriously, and I chuckled.

Jenn was immersed in some game on her cell phone, so Cisco brought his voice even lower and leaned into me.

“Are you okay? I mean, really okay? I’m pretty sure I heard you scream loudly back there. And you usually don’t let Kristin get to you.” His brown eyes searched my face, and I squirmed a little.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just in shock when I fell,” I lied.

“Are you and Brendan okay? I mean…the cops show up this morning, you look like you were just attacked or something. It just…I don’t know, Em.” Cisco fidgeted with the tail of his black tie, curling it around his finger and unraveling it. “You can talk to me, you know. I can keep a secret if something’s going on with you.”

“I know,” I said. “Honestly, I do.” And I did—he was the first person at school I’d told my real story to. Pretty much everyone else still thought I had moved here from Philly, a lie constructed to put more distance between me and my painful past. But that was when my reality seemed…real. I didn’t know how I could explain the very supernatural turn my life had taken.

My reality was highly
un
real.

“Okay. Just know if you guys are involved in something, I’m not going to judge.” Cisco innocently held his palms up, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his insinuation.

“There’s nothing drug-related going on, I promise. No gangs. No sinister, clandestine meetings in the park. I swear.”

“Or anything else? You guys had a traumatic time of it just a few months ago…” His voice trailed off, looking down at my right hand. “And your knuckles look swollen, too.”

“Tree branch,” I lied again automatically, pulling them into the sweatshirt sleeve. “And I promise you, me and Brendan are fine.” That much, at least, was true. “In fact,” I added, pulling out my cell phone, “I heard from Brendan. He’s okay. Just pissed off. So it was just some big prank, I’m sure. Maybe Jenn’s right, maybe it was a rival school.”

“Maybe.” Cisco shrugged, dragging his fingers through his chestnut curls as he still eyed me suspiciously. “Well, if you guys feel like stepping out in public and showing how very undrugged out he is, you should come by Battle of the Bands and help me cheer for Gabe.”

I just gave him an apologetic smile as I shook my head. As much as I wanted to support Gabe, Brendan and I avoided school functions like the plague.
Hell, the fact that you just got mugged, attacked, demonically assaulted, whatever that was, on a school trip proves that you and school functions go together like peanut butter and razor blades.

Jenn finished her game, and she and Cisco talked about making plans to meet up before the Battle of the Bands. My head was beginning to throb, so I leaned it against the chilly window, the cool pane of glass soothing my skin. I stared at the cityscape, relieved to see that we had made it across Manhattan and were just twenty or so blocks away from Vince A. The posh store windows on Lexington flashed by, their designer wares just a blur. A chunk of my resolve to maintain my composure broke away with each block we passed. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d last seen Brendan, and my world had completely transformed in that time.