Tris & Izzie

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue—Two Years Later

Author's Note

M
ark caught me in a big hug from behind as I closed my locker. “Guess who?” he said.

“Um, my fabulous captain-of-the-Tintagel-High-basket-ball-team boyfriend with the darkest, deepest eyes ever?” I said.

He turned me around so I could look into those very eyes. “Got it in one,” he said. He kissed me lightly on the nose and let me go.

“Hey, there's a reason I get straight A's,” I teased. Mark had trouble keeping his GPA high enough to stay on the team, but I tutored him when I could. Too bad we didn't have any classes together this year.

“You are smart and pretty,” said Mark. “What a lucky guy I am.”

I'm just over five feet tall, dark-haired, and dark-eyed. My dad picked out my name, Isolde, which means “fair lady,” before I was born. He used to tease me that it was just like me to be contrary, even then.

I miss my dad a lot these days. You'd think it would get easier, after ten years, but it doesn't. Sometimes when I am with Mark, it hurts the most, because I think of how much Dad would have wanted to tease me about him.

“You're practically perfect, in fact,” Mark went on. “Seems a little unfair, don't you think, Branna?”

I hadn't seen Branna until then. She is almost six feet tall and has huge shoulders from swimming butterfly, but Mark is even taller and broader across the shoulders than she is. He can block her out completely, or anyone else, really, which is why he is such a great basketball player. He just holds his hands up and no one can get around him to the basket.

“Yeah, totally unfair. If Izzie weren't so nice, everyone would hate her,” said Branna. She gave a twisted smile, and I could tell that something was wrong, because she's my best friend. She moved off with her arms wrapped around her middle, and she barely looked at me.

Usually, we were the Three Musketeers. Mark and I had been dating for over a year, but Branna always hung out with us. Branna and I had been superglue close since kindergarten, when I moved to Tintagel in midyear and started getting picked on because I was so small. Branna had protected me then, and I wished I could return the favor now. If only she would tell me what was bothering her.

I saw that Branna was headed toward her locker, which was up on the second floor.

“Uh, Mark, love you.” I blew him a quick kiss. “Gotta go.” I started running up the stairs behind Branna.

I turned once to see Mark watching me appreciatively. “Love it when you run, Izzie!” he said.

I blushed, but really, what is wrong with your boyfriend noticing that you look good? I don't know why it made me uncomfortable. It wasn't as if Mark was one of those guys who thought of his girlfriend as just a body.

I caught up with Branna by the second-floor bathrooms.

“What's up?” I asked, reaching for her arm.

She pulled away from me, and there was a moment when I remembered how much bigger than me Branna is.

“Branna, please tell me. I can help, I swear!” There had been something wrong for months, and the most I could get out of Branna was that it wasn't my fault. She said it had to do with someone else, but she wouldn't tell me who. In ten years of us being best friends, there had never been some-thing between us that we couldn't talk about.

She turned around and loomed over me. “What makes you think you can do anything for me, Izzie? What are you, the queen of the world?”

“Maybe,” I said, looking up at her. “I'm the queen of the high school, at least, since I'm dating Mark, and he's the king.” I'm not afraid of her. No matter how big she is, I know she won't hurt a fly. That's just the way Branna is.

“Fine.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, it was like she'd put on a mask so she wouldn't hurt anymore. “There is something.”

“Really?” I clapped my hands like a little kid. I wanted so badly to do something for Branna in return for all the times she had been there for me. “Anything. Tell me.”

Branna looked up and down the hallway, then nodded for me to follow her. We ended up tucked into the alcove by the janitor's closet.

“So?” I said.

“It's Mel Melot,” Branna said, making a face.

Mel is short and has spiky blond hair and a goatee. He joined Mark's posse this year, but I'm not sure why Mark let him. Mel annoyed me with his stupid, sly jokes. Mark told me that if I really disliked him, he would “exile” him, which meant that no one would speak a word to him without Mark's permission. I was still thinking about it.

“What about him?” I asked.

“I think he's using magic,” said Branna.

“What? That's impossible.” Branna knew my mom was a witch, but she was the only one who did. I didn't even tell her until sixth grade, after we had known each other for years and years.

“Well, I hope so,” said Branna.

“I didn't think there was anyone else who even believed in it,” I said, “let alone had it.”

“Yeah, me either,” said Branna.

When I was five, Mom and I moved away from the magical place where she and Dad had gotten married and where I had lived my whole life. I don't really remember it much because I was so little. Mom said it was too painful to stay where all the memories were. Dad died just after I failed the test for magic that was supposed to help figure out what kind I had. I guess magic can skip a generation or even fade out completely. No one knows the reason, but it's why there's less magic in the world now than there used to be. It's hard to live without magic surrounded by magic people, Mom says.

I believe her, but it's also hard to live knowing magic is real surrounded by other people who don't know about it and have never seen it, except for the effects of Mom's secret potions. They all think it's just because the hospital here is so great, but we didn't win national awards until Mom started driving ambulances. The doctors don't even realize how much she has to do with their success.

Ever since I can remember, Mom has drilled into me the danger of talking about magic openly. If we did, she says, the cameras would descend, and we wouldn't have a private life anymore. Crackpots would want her to help them with their potions. I would be laughed at and, if people thought she was crazy enough, maybe even taken away from her.

“What kind of magic?” I asked Branna, trying to control my panic. “Did you see him use it?”

“No,” said Branna.

I could tell that Branna was still avoiding telling me the whole truth about what was bothering her, but this was important, and it had to be dealt with now. “Tell me what happened.”

A couple of people passed us, headed to class. Branna waited until they were gone. “I was talking to a girl from the swim team,” she said. “She said that Mel told her he had magic.”

“And she believed him?”

“He claimed he had a bottle of wine that you could drink from and it would never go empty,” said Branna. “Is that possible?”

Even though Mom was a witch, I didn't know about all the kinds of magic there were. I knew she could use potions that she made herself if the ingredients were natural things and she followed the right recipe, but she couldn't make objects come to life or wishes come true. She couldn't change the past or control the future. And she had no power over the elements—air, fire, water, and earth.

I knew that there were different kinds of magic only because of the fairy tales that Mom used to read me when I was little. She would shake her head about one story that had gotten it wrong and nod gently at another that clearly had it right. When I asked her directly, Mom tended to clam up and mutter something about my not needing to know that.

Since we moved here, I had never seen anyone use magic. A part of me was horrified at the thought of someone openly using magic here, but another part of me was just plain curious.

“She said she went over to his house and he got the bottle out,” Branna added before I could answer her. “They apparently drank from it all night, and it was still full in the morning when she stumbled out, hungover.”

“He could easily have tricked her,” I said. “He could have had a bunch of bottles that all looked the same and just switched them out.” It was easier to use tricks than real magic, which was why Hollywood was still making movies the way it did. There were witches in Hollywood, Mom said, but they were more into youth potions than special effects.

“He could have,” said Branna. But she didn't look convinced.

I wasn't convinced, either. If Mel didn't have magic and was just saying he did, that was one thing. But if he did have magic and he was going around telling everyone, that was something else.

“We need to be sure,” I said. This wasn't something I could tell Mark about. He didn't know about Mom being a witch. He didn't know anything about magic being real, and I wanted it to stay that way. It wasn't like I had magic myself, so I wasn't keeping any important truths from him, even if Branna thought I was.

“I saw him this morning, before you got here.” Branna drove her own car to school these days, instead of taking the bus.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Over in the deadhead halls. With another freshman.”

“You don't think he would bring a magic bottle of wine to school, do you?” That would be extremely stupid and supremely arrogant. Unfortunately, that was in keeping with what I knew of Mel so far.

The bell was about to ring, but I started running toward the other wing of the school. Branna followed me. We were both going to be late for class. But what else could I do? Mom would want me to do this. Keeping magic secret was important.