Witch Ways (19 page)

I avoided the cafeteria, and spent my lunch break in the library. Deciding to work on my newspaper article, I began to wonder about Hugh Thornhill. Sitting down at a computer, I typed his name into a people search program. I found lots of Hugh Thornhills, but none of them were in Alaska.

Of course, that meant nothing. He could have moved a hundred times in the past twenty years. What about his parents, or his family? Could they still live in town? I found lots of Thornhills mentioned in the archives of the
Woodinville Observer
, but sadly, Hugh was the last of the family. He had been an only child of an only child, and unless he’d created his own family, the Thornhills of Woodinville no longer existed. For a reason I couldn’t pinpoint, this made me sad and more than a little depressed.

Remembering how Dylan had told me that some of the Thornhills’ things were still in the theater, I decided to drop by the theater after school and snoop around the attic and spare rooms.

I climbed onto the bus, trying to avoid Dylan. I knew it was stupid, and that I couldn’t avoid him for the rest of my life, but maybe if I played hard to find he’d take the hint. Taking a seat next to Ryan, I slunk low, even though I knew Dylan wouldn’t follow me onto the bus.

Ryan and I compared notes for our upcoming history test until we came to the stop in the center of town.

The Thornhill Theater sat on a couple of acres a few blocks from the town green. Memories of Dylan’s kiss flashed in my mind, but I dismissed them. I absolutely couldn’t be with someone who believed in witches. What would Uncle Mitch say?

As I climbed the wide steps leading to the double doors, I tried to imagine a conversation between my uncle and Dylan—which was pretty hard. Although, I had a really good idea of what Uncle Mitch would say after such a conversation. He’d use the M word and all of its synonyms, like hooey, bunkum, and twaddle.

To my surprise, the doors were unlocked. I stepped into the foyer, my footsteps echoing. I tried to imagine the theater as the Thornhill family home with its cavernous rooms, sweeping double staircase and three story ceilings. My heart ached for the little boy that Hugh must have been, growing up all alone in the ginormous house.

Which made me wonder. Was I really sad about Hugh and his family, or did my sadness come from something closer to my own situation? In the past few weeks, I had been accused of burning down the science room, been expelled from the only school I’d ever attended, started a new school, met a secret grandmother who claimed to be a witch, lost my best friend, blown off a hot guy who wanted to be my boyfriend, fought off an attacker . . . And what if Uncle Mitch married Janette? Did I want to live with two honeymooners? No. It was bad enough just watching them kiss.

It was all too much too soon.

What was it Janette said we need to do as actors—center ourselves? In my head I heard Uncle Mitch muttering his M word and its synonyms. But then I also heard Janette,
“You need a reference point, a place to come back to when life and emotions and stress push you off balance.”

Was I off balance? Remembering Janette’s relaxation exercises, I inhaled through my nose and counted to eight before I exhaled.

“Evelynn?”

I jumped, swallowed the rest of my breath, and turned to find Andrea staring at me.

“What are you doing here?”

Frowning at me, she looked different without her Glinda costume, still tall and beautiful, but less polished. Dirty smudges stained her hands, shirt and jeans.

“I’m writing an article on the history of the Thornhill Theater. Dylan Fox—his dad’s investment firm owns the theater—told me that some of the Thornhills’ things are still around.” I shrugged. “I thought I’d see if there was anything I could use in my article.”

She balled her hands into fists and placed them on her hips. “Seriously? You thought you could barge in here and snoop?”

“Well . . . it’s not like they live here anymore or anything.” I blinked at her, trying to read her anger. “Hey, did you know Hugh? Maybe you could tell me about him.”

When she narrowed her eyes at me, my confidence wavered.

“Or his family,” I added, quietly.

“What makes you think I knew him?”

I pointed a shaky finger at a picture on the wall. “Didn’t you say that you were a part of the Thornhill Thespians back in the eighties?”

“No, I did not.” Andrea laughed, but it sounded more like a gurgle than a giggle. “Why would you think that?”

“I’m not sure.” Some memory I couldn’t place niggled at the back of my mind. I shrugged it away. “Do you mind if I look around?”

Andrea folded her arms across her chest. “Well, the thing is, I’m not even supposed to be here.”

“So why are you?”

“As an actor, it helps tremendously to soak in my surroundings before a performance.”

I opened my mouth to say we were still weeks away from a performance, but an opening door interrupted me.

“Evie?” Dylan. Had he followed me?

“Dylan?”

Relief flooded his face. “I’m glad I found you.”

“Why were you looking for me?”

He bit his lip, as if he didn’t know what to say, as if he wasn’t used to girls questioning him. After an awkward moment, he said, “I wasn’t really looking for you. Finding you was just a lucky break. My dad asked me to stop by and check on the contractors.”

“No contractors,” Andrea said.

“No?” Dylan asked. “I guess that makes my job easier.” He flipped his keys in his hand. “Want a ride home?” he asked me.

I balked. “I really wanted to see if I could find out something about the Thornhills.”

“It’s not a good idea for you to be here alone,” Andrea said.

“She wouldn’t be alone, she’d be with me,” Dylan said.

“She can’t just poke around—” Andrea began.

Dylan turned to me and flashed his devastating smile. “I’ll get permission from my dad. I’m pretty sure he won’t mind.”

“Now?” I asked.

Dylan’s smile wavered. “At the moment, he’s on an airplane—that’s why he sent me. We can’t call him for a few hours. But how about tomorrow? We could come after school.”

I inhaled and exhaled, wondering about how to find my center. I didn’t really want to spend any more time with Dylan. Looking at Andrea and her scowl, I asked, “Can you just take me home?”

As soon as I got in the car, Dylan started. “Why are you avoiding me?”

I sighed and looked out the window. He reached over and trailed his finger down my arm.

“Look, maybe the whole witch thing is overwhelming if you haven’t grown up with it. I should have been sensitive.”

When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Is it witchcraft, or is it me?”

“Both,” I said, staring straight ahead.

He chuckled, and for some reason, that just made me angrier.

“I’m not interested in witches, and if you are, then I can’t be interested in you, either.”

He put the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. “So, you’re a bigot?” The laughter in his voice softened his words.

“What?”

“Kind of ironic, isn’t it? Given your heritage.”

“My heritage? My family came to the United States from England back in the seventeen hundreds.”

Dylan shrugged. “So?”

“So, as far as I know no one was burned at the stake. No one flew over on batwings from Transylvania. No one ever ran with a pack of wolves. We’re not even particularly hairy. Everyone can eat garlic.” I was aware that I was babbling, sounding crazy, although maybe not as crazy as him. “Take me home! Start this car!”

“Just a minute, Evie,” Dylan said, holding up his finger and using a calm, patient voice.

“No! Take me home!”

“Calm down. I want to make sure Andrea Markham leaves.”

I sniffed. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Why is she here? I wonder if my dad knows.” He glanced at me. “Do you think I should call my mom and tell her?”

“What would she do?”

Dylan’s looked back at the theater. “I’m not sure—probably not much. She’s in court today.”

“Then don’t bug her. Andrea was just trying to get her star-power on.”

He smiled. “Star-power, what’s that?”

“It’s something Janette says before a rehearsal. Get your star power on. I guess it’s like getting your groove or mojo.”

Dylan put the car in drive, smiled at me, and pulled out of the parking lot. We didn’t speak until he pulled into my drive.

“You might not see it now, but you will,” he said. “You belong with me.”

“No, I do not.” My simmering anger flared. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Not true,” Dylan said. “As humans, we all belong to each other. We fit. We’re connected just because we’re alive.”

“It’s a big planet. And I’m just one person. I can get lost pretty easily.”

“You can, but you won’t.”

I slammed out the door.

All through the next rehearsal, I felt Bree’s hostility. Dylan sat beside her in the dark auditorium, his gaze as steady, although a lot harder to read. Sometimes I thought I saw Bree’s lips moving along with my lines. I wondered why she didn’t try to talk to Dylan. Bree looked about as happy as Scratch after a day at the groomer, and Dylan looked love-sick.

Mrs. Olson sat behind the piano, her hands resting on the keys. She plucked out the opening bars—my cue.

The music stopped—Mrs. Olson’s way of telling me I’d missed the entrance.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Apologies aren’t going to get you over the rainbow,” Mrs. Olson informed me with a scowl.

Janette stood. “I have an idea. Evie, try turning around.”

“Huh?”

Janette swirled her finger in the air. “Face the back wall.”

Did this help? I no longer faced Bree’s laser eyes, but I did feel them boring into my back.

“Take a few deep breaths,” Janette continued, “and pretend you’re at home in the shower.”

Mrs. Olson replayed the opening bars of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and this time I hit the right notes at the right time. My voice, warbly at first, gained strength and confidence and by the time I reached the chorus, my throat opened up and I forgot about Bree, Dylan, the Munchkins and all the other Oz creatures and nearly drowned out the piano.

Flushed, I turned around to applause. Bree looked slightly less mean, Dylan more obsessed, and Janette pleased. In the very back of the room, Josh leaned against the doorframe, his expression almost sad. For a moment, I wondered what bothered him, but Janette dragged my attention back to the rehearsal.

“Everyone else, hang loose while I help Evie with her song. Andrea, why don’t you help Lenny with his free fall? Munchkins and monkeys, do your noisy thing.” Bouncing up the stairs, Janette came on the stage and took me by the shoulders.

“I want you to sing just like that, but this time, keep your shoulders squared.” Pinching my chin in her fingers, she pulled my mouth down. “And drop your jaw. Imagine your mouth is a hollow auditorium, and you need to fill it with sound. Got it? Do you think you can face the audience now?”

I nodded, which was hard since she still had hold of my chin.

“Good.” After taking my shoulders and steering me to the center front of the stage, she nodded at Mrs. Olson. “Let’s try it again.”

Looking at the back of the auditorium, ignoring my former best friend, the guy who wanted to be my boyfriend, Josh, and all the Oz creatures surrounding me, I sang about happy little bluebirds without a warble.

Mrs. Olson left her piano, strode across the stage, and hit me in the stomach.

“Ow!” I complained, staring at the tiny woman with balled fists. She balanced on the balls of her feet, doing a fair impression of a prizefighter—if there were eighty-year-old prizefighters who wore floral cardigans and strings of pearls.

“I’m going to do it again!” She punched the air with her curled fists.

“What? Why?” I could easily take her on, but why would I?

“Because that tightness you feel in your diaphragm right now,” she placed her hand on my belly, “is how I want your muscles to feel when you sing. I want you to belt out that frou-frou rainbow song as if you’re expecting a blow to the gut any second.”

She raised her fists and her eyebrows. “Go ahead, sing.”

“Are you serious? I don’t even have my starting note.”

She shook her head. “You don’t need your starting note—just belt out the words.”

I took a deep breath.

“No, no, no.” Mrs. Olson dropped her fists. “Not like that.”

“Like what then?”

But no one answered my question. All the monkeys and Munchkins began to scream as the piano rolled straight at me. I pushed Mrs. Olson out of the way of the careening piano and stumbled after her. The piano whizzed by.

Janette screamed as the piano barreled into her. She flew—more airborne than any of the flying monkeys had ever been. Her head struck the edge of the piano. As she lay on the stage, still and lifeless, blood oozed onto the floor.

Dylan vaulted onto the stage, and Josh thundered down the aisle. Oz creatures gathered around.

Andrea clomped over in her black witch shoes, muttering, “Oh, dear. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She looked at me, before refocusing on Janette.

Mr. Oliver knelt beside her and picked up her wrist. “Her pulse is fine.”

“Someone call Emergency,” I said, noting the warble in my voice had returned.

“Done,” Bree called.

Seconds later, sirens wailed. We all stood in reverent silence, gathered around Janette, as if protecting her—too little, too late. The EMTs arrived, and I turned away. I didn’t want to see the blood dripping from Janette’s hair.

Dylan wrapped a comforting arm around me, making me forget I no longer liked him. His solid warmth helped ease my shivering.

“I should call Uncle Mitch,” I said, my teeth chattering. “He would want to know.”

“I’ll do it,” Josh said, pulling out his phone after giving Dylan a dark look.

“You have his number?” I asked.

Josh didn’t look up. “He called after our night in the woods.”

I briefly saw Bree’s curious and hostile face, before Dylan turned me so I faced his chest.

“Do you want to go home?” he whispered in my hair.