Copyright © Stephanie Van Orman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of written quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-9992498-9-2
Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters and places are products of the author’s imagination.
Front cover image by Unholy Vault Designs
Cover design by Stephanie Van Orman
Author photograph by Alison Quist
First print edition 2020
stephanievanorman.blogspot.com
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Other books by Stephanie Van Orman
Behind His Mask: The First Spell Book
His 16th Face
Whenever You Want
Kiss of Tragedy
A Little like Scarlett: A Partial Autobiography
Upcoming novels by Stephanie Van Orman
If Diamonds Could Talk (Sequel to His 16th Face )
Rose Red
If I Tie U Down
Hidden Library
The Second Spell Book
By Stephanie Van Orman
Dedicated to my friend, Kristy, and the kids and cousins from my hometown.
Chapter One - Hidden Library - Veda
Chapter Two - The Eligible Mage - Veda
Chapter Three - June Crystals - Veda
Chapter Four - Mute and Dumb - Veda
Chapter Five - Romance: Pale and Dark - Veda
Chapter Six - Between White Trees - Veda
Chapter Seven - Word Games Bring House Guests - Veda
Chapter Eight - The Night that Ended Veda’s Childhood - Salinger
Chapter Nine - Pages Written to Romance - Veda
Chapter Ten - Early Morning Misfit - Veda
Chapter Eleven - The Book Left in the Cupboard - Salinger
Chapter Twelve - Making Sense of the Matter - Salinger
Chapter Thirteen - Each Notch has a Knife - Salinger
Chapter Fourteen - Frowning Down - Veda
Chapter Fifteen - Raspberry Night - Veda
Chapter Sixteen - Counting Cousins - Salinger
Chapter Seventeen - The Thing You Should Never Do - Veda
Chapter Eighteen - Secret Cupboard - Veda
Chapter Nineteen - Loving in Color - Veda
Chapter Twenty - Pearl Before Swine - Salinger
Chapter Twenty One - She Sensed It - Veda
Chapter Twenty Two - The Secret was on the Last Page - Salinger
Chapter Twenty Three - The Capulet Girls - Veda
Chapter Twenty Four - When the End Hurts Beautifully - Veda
Chapter Twenty Five - The Road to Veda - Salinger
Chapter Twenty Six - Rewrites - Veda
Chapter Twenty Seven - Turtle Hill - Veda
Chapter Twenty Eight - That Precious Moment - Veda
Chapter Twenty Nine - When You Finish the Book - Salinger
“You look beautiful when you dance.”
My back straightened when I heard those words from the other side of the practice room. I hadn’t heard Antony enter. If I had, I would have stopped practicing. I glanced at the stereo system in the corner. My music had not been loud, yet the gentle melody had covered the sound of his arrival.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” I said, lowering my heels so they touched the mat under my feet.
“Your pirouette is really coming along. Four turns now?”
My skin burned. I had secretly mastered doing four turns, but I hadn’t done it that day. How long had he been watching me, and for how many days?
“You might announce yourself before coming in,” I said coldly.
“You would stop dancing if I did that,” Antony said, standing behind me, so we could see ourselves together in the practice mirror.
The sight was very nostalgic for me. Once, we had been children in the same dance class. He had stopped dancing in his late boyhood, declaring it hurt his masculinity to prance. As he stood behind me in the present, he regretted the decision because it meant he could not dance with me.
I, on the other hand, rejoiced. When he quit, Antony had not known how, one day, he would fumble and grasp for opportunities to interact with me. His regrets about quitting ballet were unfounded. No contact, no closeness would ever draw me to accept a romance with him.
His reflection in the mirror showed his features and his mood. The light in his eyes showed boiling lust, bubbling, and overflowing. For that moment, he could not conceal his feelings. That indescribable feeling of wanting what he could not have might have meant something wonderful to me on another’s man’s face. On Antony’s features, half of which mirrored mine, it was horrifying. He could have been my brother instead of my cousin.
His blue eyes settled on my brown ones in the mirror as he placed his forefinger on his temple and cradled his elbow in his other hand.
The sight of his hands on himself and not loose or poised to touch me helped me relax ever so slightly. “What are you doing here, Antony? I thought you only came to the school to play chess and that’s over until the fall.”
“You know the school feels like home to me,” he said.
I didn’t know that. The school was like an extension of home for me , but that had never been true for him. The truth was that he knew I would be practicing my ballet and he came deliberately to see me.
His hands remained where I could see them, but I could have sworn I felt something brush up against my thigh. He was standing apart from me. He couldn’t have brushed up against me accidentally. Nor could he have touched me with his hands where I could see them, but the contact continued like two fingers moving up the side of my thigh to my hip.
“Don’t touch me,” I hissed with a glare.
“I’m not touching you,” he insisted, holding his hands out where I could see them.
The feeling did not stop, and I felt a whole hand grasp my waist.
“I have to go,” I said, sweeping the air around me to brush off the invisible fingers. The feeling dispersed as I moved away from the mirror. I grabbed my bag, which was sitting just inside the door.
He rushed after me. “Wait. Why are you angry?”
“You know what you did. Trying your magic on me.”
He stopped and gazed innocently at me. “I didn’t do any magic.”
“You’re better at magic than you are at lying,” I said, moving past him.
He called after me, but the blood pounding in my ears prevented me from hearing him.
The doors fell shut between us and I stopped in the atrium of the school and contemplated wearing my ballet slippers outdoors just so I wouldn’t have to pause to remove them. I hated the idea of ruining them on the concrete outside. I commanded myself to calm down and sit on the stairs. Slowly I worked my way out of my slippers. I had other shoes in my bag.
Alone, with the air echoing around me, I told myself a story like I was casting a spell. I reminded myself that Antony was my cousin. I had played with him as a child. I had to be misinterpreting his signals. He couldn’t be dangerous. He had never hurt me, not even in a game, and I had known him all my life. I told myself a story about him letting me win at chess, even though he was so good at chess that he rarely lost. He never beat me. Not because he couldn’t, but because he wouldn’t. When I was around, he was like a tiger with no roar, no bite, and no empty stomach to fill.
That was, until recently.
The story, like a spell, almost worked, but the calmness was interrupted by the contrast of his more recent attitude. Something had broken inside him. It was almost as if he had realized he no longer needed my consent. He looked at me, felt something catch fire inside him, and proceeded without asking for permission. Our interaction in the practice room was a sample of the way he had begun making my skin crawl. I rubbed my thigh. My skin wouldn’t stop crawling.
In our world, there was a grand minority of men who could work magic. Antony was desirable based on scarcity. He never had to be on his best behavior, because he was handsome and his magic was rare as a blue moon. He thought all witches suffered, waiting for the moment they could pair up with a mage because that was the only way any of them could partake in a romantic adventure that wasn’t doomed to end. After all, how much fun could it be to date an ordinary young man when there was a boy who could build a fairy tale around you, make you a princess, and give you your happily-ever-after?
My family made magic spell books, where if a reader opened the cover, they would be drawn into a world of magic and starlight. Inside the book, you could be a knight single-handedly fighting an army and as long as you didn’t drop your sword, you would win. It could be a romance that left the reader breathless, and slightly insane because the love was levels above what could happen in real life. The story could let you play a game or solve a puzzle or have an adventure. Anything.
I wanted to write the spell books treasured by the Fastille and Borage families. They were kept in the hidden library in our family’s school. The Borage School for Deportment was not a school where classes in magic were held. It was a finishing school for the children of the rich who were not as elegant as their parents had hoped. A small number of houses in the neighborhood belonged to my family. Most of my aunts taught at the school and there were handfuls of extended family members everywhere. They taught classes in table manners, coaching students to eat navel oranges with a knife and fork. There were lessons in wine, lessons in dancing, music, and elocution. Anything was available for someone who wanted to smooth the edges of a rough child. I taught there too, as a tutor. On its face, it was a school, but under the skin of it, it was our church, and it had its holy places.
For me, the holiest place was the hidden library.
It was in plain view. When visitors toured the school, June would smile and introduce the room by explaining that she was about to show them something spectacular. Then, she would open the door and beckon the curious visitors in.
The room was nothing short of breathtaking. Perched within the high, mirrored walls were three giant trees. Made of white stone and studded with shining, golden leaves, the three trees appeared to dance in a circle on their twisted, exposed roots. A half-moon skylight in the circular room let in the sunshine and set the gold and milky stone aglow. This heavenly sight seduced many patrons, practically guaranteeing enrollment in the school.
If you were to duck under the blue velvet rope that encircled the magnificent trees and stand between the tree trunks, you would discover the truth. Each tree was actually a cabinet. Inside were five shelves and each shelf could hold seven to eight books. The library did not hold books that had been published by the world for money. They were spell books.
These lustrous trees and several of the magical books within them were created by none other than my shunned witch cousin, Emi.
Emi was my second cousin, and as a little girl, there was no one I looked up to more than her. Sometimes, she had lived at my house with June and me, because we lived across the street from her studio space at the school. She had worn black and since she was working with white stone, she would come home dusted in it. She was my guide for what kind of witch I wanted to be, growing my hair long, and eventually also choosing to wear all black, exactly like her.
Emi made everything, but her best creations were her spell books. She was the one who taught me about them.
She showed me how some of them recorded what you did when you were inside them, and could be experienced only once. With that one experience, whatever the author originally wrote would be replaced with the thoughts, actions, and words of the person who read it. When the book was complete, it almost became a journal, except more private, because the reader didn’t control what was written about them. The magic wrote the story, so the reader couldn’t filter or edit what was recorded. Most of them have been burned.
Other spell books could be read over and over.
She let the children read one of the spell books she made. It was about a tea kettle who was trying to steal your teacup in a giant world of a never-ending tea party. It was more real than real life, but pure magic. You had to steal the tea cozy and the kettle would promise to leave you alone if you gave it back. Then you drank your tea in peace before you got booted out of the book. It was completely charming, like Emi.
Because I loved Emi more than the others, losing her crushed my heart like nothing else. I had already lost so much, losing her felt like the end of the world.
I was eleven when she was banished from our coven. She did not sneak away in the night. She packed her belongings, sat on her suitcase in the yard, and waited for her fiance to retrieve her. Her parents circled her, threatening her, crying, throwing spells, and moaning. Emi’s face was so clear of distress, I wondered if she could hear them. It was like she had blocked her ears and put blinders on her eyes so she could only see the life she would have with him. His name was Vincent Chaney. He pulled up in his car and when he stepped from the vehicle, I was astounded. I didn’t know men were made that attractive. He was like a modern fairy-tale. Yes, he was handsome, but that was not the thing that I remembered most about him. It was the love all over him, more obvious than a glamor spell. It was love that had nothing to do with magic. I had never seen such a thing before. I remembered all of it. How he looked as he rushed from the driver’s side of the car, the eagerness in his arms as he reached for her, the relief when he felt her forehead on his cheek, and at last, the disappointment as he regarded her parents. Emi placed a finger on her lips and shook her head. There was nothing he could say or do that would change their feelings about her marrying a man with no magical talent. He put her luggage in the back of his car and guided her to the passenger seat.
Emi waved goodbye to her family like it wasn’t forever, but rather like she was going on holiday, and they would all be together soon. I never forgot the look on her face, because to us, she was forever dead and could never return. She looked calm, easy, happy even.
The banishment was permanent and no one’s anger cooled in the years that followed. It didn’t even cool when her mother died, and then her father. The remainder of her close relatives slowly moved away. She never bid them farewell, and they refused to tell her when they moved away. Once they were gone, it was hard to tell who was keeping the grudge going. Were we such a strong witch coven that we could afford to forgo the talents of a brilliant witch, no matter who she chose to marry?
Later, when June showed visitors the hidden library, she would tell them that one of the school's alumni had made it. Her name was Emi Borage before she was married, and now she worked at the art gallery downtown.
With Emi gone, her books sat with the others in the hidden library. Most of the books were forbidden to children under eighteen. They were not books you could drop if they offended you and many of them were not safe. I wanted to read all the books, no matter what horrors lurked between their covers. I had to wait, as I still had a month until the birthday that would turn me into an adult. The only spell book I had ever been allowed to read was the one Emi made about the tea kettle. New books were extremely rare. Emi had been the last one to contribute a book to the library and that was ten years ago.
This is where Salinger Meriwa enters the story.
In my coven, there weren’t many men. In all our houses that surrounded the school, there were only four. One was my cousin, Antony. The second was his father. The third was my cousin Pearl’s father. The fourth was my great uncle Lester who lost his mind years ago, but he still had good legs, so he wandered the neighborhood in a loop. Finding men for me and my four female cousins was going to be tricky.
The only other magical family we had a decent relationship with was the Meriwa family that lived in Whitehorse. Since they were so far away from Edmonton, I had never met any of them, but my girl cousins wrote emails and texted the three boys of the family constantly. They wrote, hoping to catch the eye of the oldest brother, Salinger.
I wouldn't write to Salinger or his brothers. I didn’t need him to live the life I had laid out for myself.
I was a princess in black lace with black curls and black smudges on my fingertips from where I used charcoal that morning. In my free time, instead of fighting with a pack of beautiful (but evil) cousins, I tried to write a spell book. Like Emi, I was going to write books and fill that library. Let Salinger be hanged along with Antony.
Except, of course, he wouldn't be hanged. Instead, he was the first person in ten years to complete a spell book that was magical enough to add to our library. He was coming to show us his work and see if we were worthy of housing his creation.
The cousins were a flurry of excitement and in truth… so was I.
From my rain-spattered living room window, I watched Salinger’s arrival at the school. He was dropped off in a van from the airport. He didn’t have an umbrella and his near-black hair was dampened as he gathered his luggage and started up the steps.
Though I would not have liked to admit it, I was rather impressed with his clothing. He wore a chunky black turtleneck sweater under his black coat. My sense of textiles said the coat was cashmere and the laced boots on his feet were leather. I liked natural fibers. I also liked the way his hair curled slightly away from his ears.
I would have liked to postpone meeting Salinger for a day or two. The delay would give my catty cousins their chance to impress him, romance him, and perhaps even seduce him, but I had a tutoring session at the school and I couldn't be late. It was Saturday and I had a full day ahead of me. I hoped he would miss seeing me.
I gave him ten minutes to get to the inner offices where he would meet up with June. She was the school’s librarian and arranged everything for the open library on the first floor and the hidden library on the second.
I had hoped he would be out of sight when I came in, but he had been accosted by all four of my crazy girl cousins before he even made it to the office. He was looking from one face to another, obviously enjoying the attention.
There was my cousin, Clementine. She was a year older than me, nineteen, and evil. Her hair was dyed as light a blonde as you could get in a salon. She was fair with light blue eyes and extremely white skin. She was also bigger than the other cousins, tall and athletic with muscles like a cheetah. She wore all white (and transparent) clothing. Her blue and purple tattoos rippled through the sheer of her shirt sleeves. I always thought she looked like she had been brutally beaten the night before and the bruises showed through.
Then there was my cousin, Intarsia. She was a redhead only because she dyed her hair tomato red, but she grew it long and curled it impeccably. She was the prettiest of the four, except for one thing. She wore green. Green should have complimented the red of her hair and the green of her eyes, but one thing ruined it. The green hue of her lips made her look like a science experiment gone wrong. I suspected she was evil too, though I had never seen much evidence of it.
My cousin, Fair Isle, had black hair like me that she kept cut short in a long-banged pixie. She was close to my weight and height and she had also chosen black as her color. She and I should have resembled each other more than any of the other cousins, except she had a thing for piercings. Her tongue was pierced in three different places. She had pierced both her dimples, her eyebrow, her nose and if it hadn’t been my business, I would have lost count of how many times she'd pierced her ears. Most of the time she covered one ear with an ear cuff. The fact that she looked more evil than the others didn't mean she was.
The runt of the cousin litter was Pearl. Not that she was much of a runt, she was the same size as the rest of us. It was just that she was the youngest in our cluster of cousins. She was one of those girls who can't seem to get her straggly hair out of her face. She had not yet chosen a color and, instead, wore stripes. The baby card was always played in her defense whenever she did something evil which I believed was more often than we knew.
The thing about these evil cousins of mine was that their evilness was never directed toward me. They had plenty of drama amongst themselves, but no fight ever broke out that involved me. Firstly, if there was a quarrel over a boy, I would back down. I didn’t need a boyfriend. Secondly, I was an only child and my mother was rarely in the city. This made me the 'pitiable cousin' and the other four felt it was their duty not just to be my cousins, but to be my keepers. This was especially the case with Clementine.
I crossed the threshold into the school and expected to see bloodshed among them. Instead, each of them had on their best clothes and their best behavior.
I meant to walk by without saying a word, but Salinger called out to me. “Hi!”
I paused. He couldn't possibly mean me, but I turned at the risk of looking like a fool to see if he really was calling me. It would be ruder to walk on and I couldn't do that in a school for decorum.
He was calling to me and I got that close-up look at his face I never could have got through my living room windows. His hair was nearly black, curled slightly, and cut perfectly. The black of his hair and eyelashes made the amber of his eyes all the more startling. He was much paler than I had expected, looking both Asian and Native at the same time. In truth, he had no Asian blood. He was half Inuit and half Caucasian, which lightened his eyes to light brown with black rings. It was the shape of his cheekbones and the upward curve of his lips that reminded me how splendid his bloodlines were. The shapes of his muscles and bones that protruded from under his clothes, spoke of strength and firmness. From head to foot, he was very impressive, the right height and build for a magazine cover. For the first time, I thought that perhaps my cousins had not wasted their time pursuing him.
Knowing he was not just perfect but also exotic, he came toward me with confidence. “You must be June. I'm Salinger.”
Pearl cackled while the others exerted more control.
My expression was innocent. “I'm sorry. You have mistaken me for June Borage. Please excuse me,” I said coolly, but not too coolly. I remained poised, even though he had mistaken me for a woman forty years older than me who wore her hair in a silver bob. I turned on the heel of my exquisite knee-high boot and continued on my way.
“That's Veda,” Clementine explained. “She's younger than me. What made you think she could be June?”
“Where's she going?” Salinger asked.
“Probably to meet her student. She usually has a full day of tutoring on Saturday.”
I pumped up the stairs and passed out of earshot.
My student was an eleven-year-old boy who was getting elocution lessons from me. It amounted to a reading lesson. I read a line, pronouncing it properly, and got him to read it back, except his reading was appalling.
That was why I got annoyed when I heard the cousins' shrieking giggles from the classroom below. The school was like that. You couldn't hear what was going on in the classroom next to yours if it had been on fire, but you could hear what was happening in the room above or beneath you. Where was June? Hadn’t she met Salinger and separated him from the cousins? I went over to the heating vent to yell some hypocritical words about silence when I overheard what they were saying.
“Does Veda have a boyfriend?” Salinger's unfamiliar voice asked.
“Only Antony!” Intarsia answered with a hoot.
I ground my teeth together. I hated it when they twitted me about Antony. He was their cousin too. Being brought up with the understanding that if we didn't get mage husbands, we wouldn't get husbands at all, none of them even worried about inbreeding. Even so, they hadn’t considered Antony as a potential match until his growth spurt. Before that, Antony had been a bony boy with no appeal, until he suddenly put on weight in the form of muscle. He'd grown sideburns that suited him remarkably and turned into a man overnight. I agreed he was very handsome, but for me, it didn't matter, because as he grew better looking, he only looked more like me.
Through the vent, I heard Salinger explain, “I know him, he's my cousin. My mother and his mother are cousins.”
“Which means we're not related at all because we’re related to him on his father’s side?” Intarsia asked.
“Right. But there's someone else I want to meet. My mother's cousin, Emi. Do you know where I could find her?”
“She's married!” Fair Isle practically screamed.
“I'm not trying to date her. She's probably ten years older than me. She's the one who made your library and she's the last author of a book in your coven, isn't she?”
“Yeah, but we don't see her,” Clementine explained. “I suppose you can meet her at the art gallery, but you shouldn't. Neither the Borage nor Fastille family talks to her now.”
“Because she married a nobody?” he queried.
“Because she married a nobody.”
“I suppose Antony won't let that happen to Veda,” Salinger drawled.
“Why do you keep asking about her?” Fair Isle burst. “You might as well know, she doesn't care about Antony or any other guy. I have taken at least four of my boyfriends from her and she has smiled and given them to me.”
“Why would she do that?”
Fair Isle smirked, “Because she's smart. She knew they were perverts, druggies, domineering jerks, so she gave them to me with a smile, because she knew she wasn’t quitting a good thing.”
“So what? Even if they had turned out to be princes, what were you going to do with them? They haven't got the blood.”
“True,” she gushed.
I felt like vomiting, so I turned around and got back to the lesson. My student sounded worse than ever. I shouldn't have zoned out.
⚘⚘⚘
After my class, Antony was leaning against the wall waiting for me. He had a three-level Japanese bento box in his arms. I had seen it before. It was beautifully made of black lacquer and inlaid with mother of pearl flowers. We found it at a Goodwill. It was with the jewelry and underneath the glass because the owner of the shop thought it was a jewelry box instead of a fancy lunch box. Antony bought it and now whenever he needed to bring food, he brought it in the bento box. The girls always went wild and I kept where he got it a secret.
“I brought you lunch,” he said cheerfully.
“Aw. You shouldn't have,” I said, meaning every word. “What is it?”
I walked together with Antony down to the cafeteria. It was an important room in the school, and during the winter, it was used all day long for teaching table manners. The walls were papered blue, elegant like paper boats, with enlarged crown molding at the windows and in the corners. It made every diner feel they were experiencing the big time of what wealth and society had to offer.
Sitting down in the empty room, I gave myself a little neck rub.
“You're stressed,” he commented as he tucked my chair in.
“I'm not stressed,” I said as I pulled a cloth napkin from the center of the table and placed it in my lap. “I'm annoyed.”
Antony narrowed his eyes. “It's Salinger, isn't it?”
“No,” I said quickly. “He's probably annoying, but I haven't had time to form that opinion. It's the cousins. They have big mouths.” Antony didn't realize I was including him in the fact that I was annoyed with 'the cousins.' He was more annoying than the girls were. They weren't trying to put the moves on me. “Although I am interested in his visit and whether or not he'll choose one of the cousins to be his bride,” I drawled sardonically.
“Why?” It was Antony’s turn to be annoyed.
“Have you heard their cackling? In the halls of the school no less,” I said firmly, diverting him from my true intention. “I thought we were keeping our witchcraft a secret.”
Antony frowned. He opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again. He was going to warn me against getting to know Salinger better, but he thought that if he did, it would make Salinger more interesting. He didn't want to spark my curiosity, so he refrained.
He opened the bento box. The top layer was mini slices of French bread and artichoke dip. The second layer was red grapes and strawberries. The third layer was tiny beef and horseradish sandwiches. It was all stuff from the deli down the street.
“Lovely,” I said. “Anything to drink?”
He produced pomegranate and apple sparkling juice. I nearly smiled! It was my favorite drink. “Wow,” I gasped, almost sarcastically.
The cafeteria was amply equipped with champagne flutes, so he snatched a few and poured.
I had just accepted my first glass when Salinger strode in. “Am I interrupting?” He came up and shook Antony's hand. He was shorter by at least three inches, but there was nothing shameful in that. Antony was like a tree.
“Would you like to join us?” Antony said as discouragingly as possible, which was completely inviting. He had been trained for years at a school for deportment.
“Just for the drink,” Salinger said as he sat down. Antony poured for him. He brought the sparkling beverage to his lips and after one sip asked, “That tastes like what?”
Antony made a show of checking the label. “It's pomegranate and apple.”
“That's strange. I don't normally like fruit, but it tastes like magic,” he said the last word while looking straight at me. “Sorry for mistaking you this morning.”
“Think nothing of it. I know I am not like the other cousins.”
“How so?” Salinger pressed.
“Well for starters, I have no tattoos or rebel piercings. I wash my hair regularly and wear a normal shade of lipstick.”
“Everyone has tattoos,” Salinger said, latching onto the first thing I said. “They symbolize power and identity. Don't they, Antony? How many do you have?”
“Four,” Antony admitted.
I glanced at him. As far as I knew, he only had one. It was a star on his shoulder blade, but beyond, I had no idea. He must have had them done recently since he had only been eighteen for a few months.
“What have you got against a little tattoo? You're a witch, you should love them.”
I smiled. “I don't want to have my identity cemented. I may never get one done.”
“Not to insult you,” Salinger said. “But you look very secure in who you are. Look at you.”
I picked up my fork, skewered a piece of bread, and dipped it in artichoke dip.
I was gorgeous and I knew it. I wore a black and gray plaid skirt that was perfectly proper by Scottish standards. It was one hundred percent wool. I wore a black linen shirt with a pointed collar and adorable gathers around the wrists. It was covered by a vest that was shiny black in the back and a black woolen weave in the front. My tights had a tiny rectangular pattern on them and my boots came up to my knees. They were beautiful boots. The toes were pointed and the heel spiked. My hair was perfect and hung in excellent thick ringlets down my back because my hair was the first thing I learned to enchant. The makeup I had to do myself, but it wasn't a complex look at all. Brown eyes, black eye makeup, white skin, red lips. I looked stunning, which was why Salinger hadn't been able to let me walk by that morning without commenting and why he couldn't stay away from me now. He had not thought for one second that I was June.
“I just don't like being pressured to do what everyone does. I'll do what I want.”
He looked intrigued. “Tell me more.”
“Have you been up to the library yet?” I asked, changing the topic.
“No,” he said briskly.
“Why not? I'm sure any of the cousins would have been willing to take you,” Antony put in.
“Everyone has offered to show it to me, but I don't want to go. Not until I decide if I want to…”
“We all know why you're here,” Antony said roughly. “We all know that you wrote your stupid book so you could have your pick of any of the girls, not just here, but in the other covens and you're here to interview them to see which one you'd rather... Why not just be straight about it? Mother of--”
“Pearl,” I finished for him. I saw that he still had a lot to learn about profanity and concealing his temper.
He inclined his head to show that he was willing to accept my amendment.
I didn't comment further. Even though I was the very picture of politeness most days, I had another student coming in under forty minutes. From experience, I knew that Antony would leave me to wash the dishes we dirtied and if I didn't hurry, I would get to my next session underfed. It wouldn't do. The next student was a boy I was teaching to ballroom dance. I continued eating at a pace I hoped would not attract attention.
“Who said it was a secret? I just don't know what to call it. You know as well as I do that men don't practice witchcraft with the same zeal as women because of all the social stigmas. They don't want to mix potions because it's too much like cooking. They don't want to make books because then they'd have to write about their feelings. They don't use glamor because it's too much like wearing makeup. But I'm not like them. I like being magical, and I don’t feel like it stops me from being a man. It is no secret that I want to be with a woman who is actually a witch. What would you call my search?”
“I don't know,” Antony said, deflating slightly. “I just don't like the way you're talking to Veda. Why don't you just tell her you want to interview her and ask your questions?”
I was surprised to hear Antony say that. It was a trifle too mature for him. Why would he be willing to share his time with me with Salinger?
“I will.” He paused. “Just not with you watching.”
That was it. Antony wanted to watch the interview. He wanted to see what Salinger did when he spoke to a prospective date. Antony knew his attempts to win me over were unsuccessful. Perhaps I had made him feel desperate when I walked out on him the day before.
Antony knocked a steak sandwich closer to his cousin. “Well, then eat something, idiot. You're hogging all the juice because you're hungry.”
Salinger took one and I used the moment to scrutinize his face. Was he using glamor? After about a minute, I concluded that he was. He had really bad acne scars, but he covered them with immaculate skill. As soon as I realized what he was doing, I could see what he looked like without the magic. His cheeks were a mess, but they did nothing to spoil his looks. He just had that kind of face. Scarred from cheekbone to jaw line, he was still perfectly handsome.
I said nothing and continued eating.
My mother had not been home in ages.
Our house was across the street from the school. I lived there with June. Originally, the house had a separate suite on the top floor which June rented from my mother. When my mother went away, went away, and went away, June had a staircase put in so that she and I could meet without having to go outside. Eventually, my mother came home and saw it. She patted the banister fondly, like she knew it would be there.
That evening, after lunch with Antony and Salinger, June sat me down. In the front room, we had a bay window. That was where the crystal ball was kept. During the day, the ball was covered with a tea-cozy to hide its true purpose.
“I'd rather have a tarot reading,” I said dully. “Cards seem more dependable than a crystal ball.”
“Tarot cards don't have the same flexibility to show your future as a crystal. The cards are set and they can't be reset until the following day. Trust me,” June said, “I've seen this go better.”
I thought she preferred the crystal ball because she could have a nosy conversation with me and advise me. I liked getting her thoughts whether they came from the ball, the spirits in the air around us, or out of her own head. Her guidance was invaluable in the place of my mother.
She lit up the crystal orb and started by asking me a question. “Have you got a date for graduation?”
“No.”
“Would you like me to get you a name for who you should ask?”
I crossed my ankles under the table. “I'm not sure I want a date.”
June's face creased in irritation.
I relented. “Okay. Ask.”
She gazed into the ball deeply and for the first time in my life, I thought I saw clouds gathering inside the clear crystal. I had to be imagining it. Then I saw a purple spark cross the sphere.
“Is the light underneath shorting out?” I pulled up the table cloth to look underneath. Even though I had lived there all my life, I had never once looked under the table. The light used to illuminate the crystal ball was a yellow and black plastic flashlight taped to the table with duct tape. I chuckled.
Could there be a less sophisticated operation?
Over the table, June was spacing out. She didn't usually space out. “I'm seeing letters from two different names. One is familiar. The other is not.”
I propped my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my palms. She was spreading it a little thick.
“The familiar letters are bouncing up and down. They are so excited, they can hardly keep still long enough for me to read them. It's Antony. The appearance of Salinger has made him desperate. Before his arrival, he felt sure you would accept his confession. There's no need to ask him to be your date for the ceremony. He will ask you, before the end of the week.” She peered into the glass deeper. Her eyes grew enormous and reflective. “The letters of the other name are uncurling. Salinger. Wait, now they’re curling back into themselves and breaking apart. If you had wanted to ask him, your opportunity is gone. Extending an invitation to him will have an unfortunate ripple effect. You must not ask him.” She blinked and straightened herself.
Since she was finished, I gave her a shrug. “That was an impressive show,” I said. “By the way, those are the only guys who the coven would find remotely acceptable. Feels sluggish. Why couldn't you come up with a name I never heard of before and send me on a wild goose chase to find him?”
She wasn't listening to me. She looked away from the light and blinked. “I feel awful,” she said sadly. “I gave Emi a reading that felt like that once. She packed her bags and left us for good. Why should asking about your graduation date be so ominous?”
I got up. I didn't know if I believed in crystal balls. “Why don't you let me do a reading for you ?”
“Do you know how to look into a crystal ball?”
“I'm still a teenager. No one knows how to let their conscious mind go like a teenager. We're all slightly brain-dead.”
She got out of the chair with a mild shrug. “I've never thought of it that way before.”
When we were done changing places, I centered the chair in front of the orb and frowned. Looking into it felt like looking into the sun. “Can I turn off the light?”
“Do you want me to get you a bowl of water instead?”
I did not laugh, even though it was supposed to be a joke. Instead, I retorted. “Why would I try scrying when this crystal has been lying in the light of the full moon for the past three nights?”
She grumbled. We both thought we were full of it. Fortune telling wasn’t the kind of magic we were good at.
I turned off the flashlight, looked into the ball, and let my mind wander. Finally, something started to come clear. “There's something. It's a solitary mark. Not like a letter, but like a… person, a figure wandering alone.” I didn't look at June. I had to try to make sense of what I was seeing without letting her expression influence me. I had never once thought of June as a lonely person. She was the most sociable witch in our coven. I felt less concerned when I saw that the person was not her. “It's not you, but she's sort of like you. She's lonely and sad.”
“Do you see anything else?”
“More marks have appeared. They’re not people. They’re letters. They’re swaying and bending like grass in the wind around her. I can't read them. Ok. I see an I, an H, a T, an E, the letter A, and another T, but that doesn't spell anything.” I looked into the orb longer to see if there was any more to the vision. When nothing came, I broke the trance by shaking my head and rubbing my eyes. “I wonder what that could mean.”
June scratched the letters on a notepad. “They might not mean anything.”
“All the same,” I said as I picked up the lined paper. “Don't throw this out for a bit.”
Just then, the house phone rang and June picked it up. “Hello. Yes, she is, but you can talk to me. What can I do for you?” Pause. “She returns from school at four-thirty. You may collect her after that… No car? You don't need one. The bus to downtown takes under ten minutes. It would take longer than that to find a parking space… It will probably still be wet on Tuesday.” She chuckled. “I don't control the weather. I'll advise her to wear her boots. Good-bye.” She hung up.
I waited for her to explain since she was clearly talking about me.
“That was Salinger asking you out on a date,” she informed me.
I groaned. “Why wouldn't you let me speak to him?”
“I worried you might turn him down just to be contrary. You have a few days before Antony asks you to grad.”
“I plan to refuse him.”
“Is he getting on your nerves?”
“Yes.”
“Are you planning to refuse Salinger as well?”
I sighed. “If things work out the way I want them to, I won’t have to reject him. He said he wanted to speak to me privately, obviously because he’s speed dating all of us. His invitation is not special. He’s inviting everyone, so I’ll allow it. I hope he doesn’t choose me. It would make everything so much easier for all of us.”
June paused before giving her final thought on the subject. “I accepted the date with Salinger for you as a gift, because I worried you would be too stubborn to even talk to him. I’m relieved you would have gone anyway. I read his book this afternoon. It was adorable. I’ll tell you one thing, if I was picturing the perfect man for you, he would have written something like that.”
I put my hand to my heart like I was swearing an oath. “I won't feel anything when I read his book. I never feel anything.”
⚘⚘⚘
On Tuesday, I got home from my ordinary high school, where they worshipped the lacrosse team instead of magic, and changed my clothes. I didn't like the high school kids to see me in my witch apparel. I still wore black, but I had to dress down by several notches or I was teased by the students who wore normal clothes. That day I wore black jeans, army boots, and a loose baggy sweater. In my room, I struggled with what I should wear for my date with Salinger. June was right and the weather was bad. My jeans were the warmest thing. If I had been going out with Antony, I wouldn’t have taken them off.
I put on my leather dress. It was only for special occasions, but something whispered that this was special. The dress was fitted until above the knee where it had a spectacular ruffle. I put on a wool coat with a fur collar and knee-high black boots. It was May, but it was still chilly outside in Edmonton.
I got to the front door just as Salinger rang the bell.
“Hi,” he said, flashing a white smile at me. He had very pointed canines, which made his smile more fatal than the average man’s. I tried not to be affected.
“Hi,” I said. “Where are we going?”
“Downtown. I'm taking you to dinner. Didn't June tell you?”
I shook my head and started walking toward the bus stop.
Salinger stopped me by twisting one of my ringlets between his fingers. “I rented a car.”
His touch was unnerving. I didn't like being touched in general, but I particularly did not like him touching my hair in that casual way. It was almost like he was taunting me about my exaggerated femininity, which was fine when other people did it. When he did it, it was almost like he had whispered in my ear, “All this beauty is for me, isn’t it?” Of course, he had not said that, but my cheeks burned anyway.
“Why didn't you listen to June?” I asked to mask my true discomfort. “There's no place to park.”
“I've got all that worked out,” he said as he opened the door for me.
Salinger had it all ‘worked out’ because he took me to a restaurant inside a hotel that had valet service. I didn’t want to be impressed, but I couldn’t help it. Antony, and the other boys, did not understand that I wanted to be romanced in an adult way. On dates with them, I ended up at mechanic shops, skate parks, or drive-throughs. Their lack of insight made it much easier for me to dump them.
Salinger and I sat down at an immaculate table and inspected the menus. I was surprised when he didn't let me order for myself. He ordered escargot to start, salad, seared salmon, and cheesecake. I couldn't think of a less appealing lineup, but I decided to give him the thrill of orchestrating the date his way.
When the waiter was gone, he got down to business.
“I hear you're graduating from high school next month.”
“Yes. Intarsia and Fair Isle are too. Antony as well, if that's of any interest to you.”
“Do you have plans for the fall, then?”
“I'm supposed to pick a university and take education and art, so I can work full time at the school.”
“Is that what you're going to do?”
I smiled waspishly. “I haven't told a soul what I plan to do. What makes you think I'd tell you?”
“Nothing, I suppose,” he conceded, falling back to sip his water.
“Well, continue. Aren't you supposed to fire questions at me so you can decide if I turn your water into wine? Please, continue.”
“This is friendly chit-chat,” he said. “Not even I want to come on that strong. Even if we could someday be madly in love, invading your space like that could never be the first step.”
I frowned. “Then I'll invade your space.”
His head swung around, intrigued.
“What's your book about?” I demanded.
Salinger cleared his throat. “It's called Across the Chessboard. You might think that's a cheesy title, but I have been working on it since I was eleven.”
“How did you suddenly get it to work after so many years?”
He cupped his hand around his mouth as if he was about to tell me a secret. “I got it to work when I was fifteen, but I didn't tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“It's not very impressive. Even when I was fifteen, I realized it was childish. I wanted to do something better before I started showing off. It was my secret. Unfortunately, my father found it a few months ago and his long-dormant pride was revitalized. My coven has the opposite problem as yours—a lot of men and no women. He wants me to get married and bring a wife home immediately. He's even built me a house. If I had been able to keep my book a secret, I wouldn't be here now.”
I latched onto the idea of a house. “Are you saying you would take your wife home to Whitehorse to live?” I gaped.
“Of course. Not to be rude to Edmonton or anything, but Whitehorse is infinitely more beautiful.”
“Is it really beautiful to see all that pitch-black during the zero hours of winter daylight?”
He nodded understandingly. “Spring is hotter, faster. I can't believe your wretched weather down here. I was sweating in my shorts before I flew down.”
“So, have you written any other spell books that work?”
“No. I’ve been trying, but so far, nothing has felt right.”
“June told me she read your book.”
“She loved it,” he bragged.
I refrained from snorting. “Of course, she loved it. She loved it because there were no human sacrifices, no endless nights of torture, and no plagues when you’re the only doctor.”
He stroked his chin. “Have you read the books in your library or is that only what you’ve heard about them?”
“I’m seventeen. They’re forbidden. The matriarchs go out of their way to make sure children don’t read them.”
“They’re less strict back home. I’ve read a few. They were pretty old and awful. My father writes spell books too, but I haven’t read them. They’re intended for a female audience. He can’t even give me pointers. That might be why I haven’t got my second book right. I’m here to read some of your coven’s books and interview a few other writers. When I write a spell book, it must be different from the others. Better. After dinner, I'm going to interview a spell book author.”
I inclined my head to indicate I wouldn't mind coming along.
The appetizers came. I had never had escargot before. It was everything I wanted, but didn't know how to ask for. It was garlic, cheese, herbs, and the softest French bread I'd ever had. The snails were in there too. I couldn't explain how they completed the dish, but they did.
“Good?” he asked knowingly across the table.
“So delicious I can't explain,” I said between bites.
The salmon came right after. I had never had grilled salmon before. My experience with salmon was mostly in tea sandwiches and though I enjoyed them, the grilled variety was completely different. It was mouthwatering. It was served with a salad that had dressing I had never tasted before. There were garlic mashed potatoes that finally gave me the garlic I was craving after the escargot.
“You know, I didn't think much of you not letting me order for myself, but I have to hand it to you, you did it well. Did you do some divination before you came?”
He avoided my eyes—embarrassed. “Yeah.”
I was impressed he was able to do a reading that led to a successful end, and even more impressed that he didn’t mind admitting it.
The dessert was impeccable. I didn't know raspberries were my favorite fruit, but the cheesecake convinced me. I felt very satisfied as we left the restaurant. Even though a dinner date is the bread and butter of dating, I felt close to feeling romanced.
He left the car with the valet and took me out of the back of the hotel. The weather had cleared up. The rain left oily rainbow puddles at every turn.
“Where are we going?”
“To the art gallery.”
I stopped and he took a few steps ahead without me.
Rooted in my place, I admitted, “I can't go there. It's forbidden.”
He paused and turned. “No, it isn't. I know your whole clan avoids the art gallery as though it were a plague house because Emi is there. I asked around and the only thing you have to do to keep your respectability is to refuse to speak to her. You can manage that, can't you?”
I nodded, feeling strange. I thought I would never see Emi again. I thought that after I saw her wave her final goodbye, she was dead. I scanned my memory and tried to recall exactly what banishment meant. What Salinger said rang true. All I had to do was refuse to speak to her. I caught up to him. “Besides, it's not like we'll see her. She probably won't be around.”
“She's expecting us. That's why we're going now. Tuesday night is one of her nights to be at the gallery. Didn't you think it was weird that I wasn't taking you out on a weekend?”
Salinger offered me his arm and I took it for the stabilizing force because I felt dizzy.
What would she look like? How much had she changed in seven years? The idea was disconcerting. What if she had given up everything I had admired about her? What if it was like she had never been a part of our family?
I didn’t normally let Antony or anyone lead me around by hooking my arm with theirs, but in my current state of mind, I found Salinger’s arm comforting.
Inside the art gallery, Salinger and I were met by a greeter who thought for sure we were there to book the art gallery for our wedding. Surprisingly, a lot of people got married there. As we continued through, I saw our reflections in about a hundred window panes. Something about our warped images reminded me of the way things look in a crystal ball. We did look like we were a couple.
We turned and saw a woman dressed all in black waiting for us. It had to be Emi! Her hair was longer than I remembered. She had no bangs in those days, but now she had a fringe that melted into the length of her hair. Her curls were a mess compared to mine, but her dress was fifty times prettier. She wasn’t different! She was still one of us even though we had banished her and told her never to come home! It couldn’t have ruined her life if she was smiling. With all that black, I knew immediately she was still a witch!
“You must be Salinger,” she said, extending her hand and giving him a welcome handshake.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet us. You know Veda,” he said, indicating me.
My knees shook slightly as I waited to see if she would put out her hand to shake mine too. She did not and placed one of her hands on her hip while the other hung loosely at her side. “Of course, I know Veda. She has grown up since I last saw her. Please come in.”
The room Emi drew us into was a studio. As we entered, she pulled a stained apron over her clothing, obviously to catch the mess. There were tiny white sparkles everywhere. It wasn't a painting she was working on, but a sculpture that she was affixing thousands of tiny crystals to. It was a sculpture of an archway and a person praying in the middle. I nearly cried when I saw it. Emi was so good at what she did. No one could convince me she was bad no matter whose funeral she’d skipped.
“Salinger, be a good boy, and don't let Veda speak to me. I don't want her to get in trouble, so you and I will talk as though she is not here.” Then she looked at me. It was the only time in the whole meeting that she looked right at me. She wanted to make sure I understood.
I didn't nod. I clamped my jaw shut tight and held in a sniffle.
“She knows. Is this your new piece?” Salinger asked, controlling the direction of the conversation.
“Yes. It's called 'The Embrace of Heaven.' Do you understand it?”
“I think so. You're praying and you look like you are alone, but actually, you are surrounded by love and light,” he finished.
Emi smiled. “You are a clever boy.”
“Do you have any older work lying around?”
Emi looked flustered. “I suppose you can look at those,” she said, pointing directly behind the sculpture.
Leaning against the wall were a series of paintings that looked like nothing but enormous dots painted over top of each other. They looked like wallpaper. My mouth hung open. They were terrible.
“How long ago did you paint those?”
“Last winter. They're not much, are they? What can I say, artistic inspiration comes and goes.”
“Not like that,” Salinger said. “They don't go from a child's finger paintings to the 'Embrace of Heaven.' No. You're drained because you've been working magic. You’ve written a new spell book?”
She smiled guiltily. “You know, outside the realms of the pride of a coven, there aren’t a lot of reasons to write a spell book. I mean, you could write one, but it would be risky. Something happens, it gets lost, falls into the wrong hands, someone gets hurt, maybe someone dies, and then how do you explain it? Something specific happened that made me want to give it a try.”
“What?” Salinger asked. He was a gifted listener, persuading her to continue with his interest.
“My nephew, Evander, wrote a book!” she said triumphantly.
“Your nephew? I thought you wrote the book?”
“That’s the best part. I had never made someone else’s book into a spell book before. He wrote this detestable book about how women had terrible selfish priorities and how he would never find the happiness he so desperately craved. He needed to be corrected.”
“What did you do?” Salinger asked, helping me onto a workbench and taking the other side for himself.
“I worked magic into it. I had to do it by typing it out myself, on paper made of hemlock that I made myself. Then I had to bind it myself stitch by stitch. First the single pages into pamphlets and then the pamphlets into a book. Then I had to press the leather with the indentations for the title on the cover and the spine. All that was left was to glue it.”
“You had to make the book yourself?” Salinger gaped. “I thought you could make a spell book out of anything.”
“You absolutely can, but you have to be the one who writes the book. I didn’t write it. I didn’t imagine it. I had to do every one of those extra tasks to ensure that it would work. It had to be made only with Evander’s thoughts. I had to empty my brain in order to deliver those thoughts perfectly. It was an insane amount of work. It took me six months to recover. Typewriters are beasts, but that was part of what made the whole project such a victory.”
“Who did you give the book to?”
“I gave it to a teenager who was babysitting for me, Sarah.”
Salinger was aglow with interest, as was I. Witches and mages in our coven didn’t give spell books to normal people.
“Did all chaos ensue?”
“Absolutely. She had to go to the hospital twice. Evander likes to illustrate his point with violent exclamation points. You have to understand, his book was insufferable. He believed that a woman would always choose to do something that was not only self-serving but wholly disgusting rather than choose to be with him. He felt he had nothing to offer. I struggled with how to show him he was wrong until I noticed that Sarah was attracted to him. She didn’t think he was unlovable.”
“Were they close?”
“No. She was steaming like a teapot and she didn’t even know him. He thought he had nothing and she thought he had everything. That’s another reason the whole thing was so triumphant. I gave him to her, bones and all. He protected himself so carefully with his apathy and his blank gaze. I put her inside his walls and let her see what the man she admired was like behind the gates. It was amazing. By the time she finished the book, they were completely in love.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Last fall. They’re still in love.”
I pulled out my phone and sent Salinger a text, asking him to ask Emi how old Sarah was. He obliged and asked Emi for me.
“She’s seventeen. She was sixteen at the time.”
I gasped. She was the same age as Pearl. The spell book sounded dangerous and that girl, Sarah, had made it through even though it sent her to the hospital twice. I wondered if Salinger would interview her and Evander later and if he would invite me along.
“I was wondering,” Salinger said, pulling a book out of the inside pocket of his coat. “If you wouldn’t mind taking a look at this.”
I was surprised when I saw his spell book. It was a forest green book with gold lettering that read 'journal.' He couldn't find a better book than that? The edges were frayed.
Emi opened it. She turned each one of the pages immediately without so much as glancing at the content. Then abruptly she closed it and handed it back to him. Her smile glowed. “That was extremely enjoyable. I wish you were my son.”
He took the book and scoffed, “Not unless you want to marry my father.”
Emi sagged playfully. “Vincent would hardly go for that.”
“Did my book pull you in? You didn’t look like you were asleep like the other people who read it.”
“Only inexperienced readers look like they're asleep, but yes, it dragged me in quite nicely. I had a lot of fun.”
“Any pointers?”
“Keep on writing what’s fun. Everyone likes fun,” she advised, a dimple appearing in her cheek.
Salinger got up and put out his hand to help me to my feet. “May I come again if I have any more questions?”
Emi nodded.
They said goodbye and a few minutes later, Salinger and I were back on the pavement outside. He turned his black ringed eyes on me. “You can talk again. How was that for you?”
“Did you do some scrying to figure out that you should take me to see her?” I asked, trying not to give my feelings away.
“Not for that. Just dinner. The cards said you had not been classically romanced and something overt would be welcome. It’s a common trick. No fancy magic on my end… yet.”
He walked calmly in the direction of the hotel with his hands in his pockets, seemingly to give me a bit of space and I thought about whether or not I ought to tell him about how he had accidentally given me something I thought I would never have again. It was lovely to sit there and imagine that Emi was one of us. She was still my cousin and that feeling of common blood stirred in me.
I caught up with him and linked my arm with his. It was my way of adding a personal touch to what I was about to say. “Your cards were right. Thank you for taking me out.”
“Don't tell me this date has made you like me?” he smirked.
“Wouldn't dream of it. It's just that if I hang onto you like this, it's much easier to walk in my heels. Take me home. I have school tomorrow.”
I had been thinking about Antony. He was going to ask me to be his date for grad, and I was prepared with an appropriate rebuttal for a chess tournament champ. No matter what he said, I knew how to move my pieces until the king was dead.
I was out of time. The moment had arrived.
June let him in and he was staring into a shallow bowl of rainwater when I entered the living room.
“What are you using this for?” he asked instead of saying hello.
“I think it’s a joke June is playing on me. I said I wanted to try scrying, so she left a bowl out to catch the rain the other day. It’s nothing.”
He looked at the bowl like he hated it. “It looks dirty,” he commented. “If it’s only for a joke, can I throw it out?”
“No,” I said, thinking of the many uses for rainwater.
He glared at it one final time before he made his way over to the enormous wooden bench that served as our couch. He sat exactly in the middle as the bench had a spinning wheel at each end. Every woman in our coven carded and spun wool. Not even one of us liked sitting on a mushy seat to do it.
Antony did not attempt to warm me up with chit-chat before he got to the point. “Do you have a date for grad yet?”
I shook my head. “I can't think of anything more boring than the ceremony. I can't ask a date to attend anything that tiresome and all the boys at our high school are even more boring than the speakers will be.”
Antony did not realize I was including him in ‘all the boys’ and continued, “You weren't thinking of asking Salinger, were you?”
“Will he even be in the country? I thought he still had a few witch covens to tour.”
Antony enjoyed hearing that. “You didn’t like him?”
In reply, I gave Antony a playful look that could have meant anything.
Feeling comfortable, he continued. “I heard he canceled his trip. He's renting the attic in Fair Isle's house for the entire summer.”
“All the same, I don't think I'll ask him to grad. I don't think I'll ask anyone.”
“Why are you so grouchy about this?” Antony questioned, leaning forward. “It’s a normal right of passage. Everyone has to do it.”
Here was where my planned attack came into play. If I delivered it properly, he might not confess to anything I would find distasteful. “Don't you think it's sad we can't have Pearl come with us?”
Antony gawked at me. He had not thought about Pearl.
I continued, “She's our cousin and she's going to be left out. Sure, she could join us later on for the parties afterward, but she'll only look like an odd wheel and not part of our group at all. Don't you think that's sad?”
“Uh. No. That's how it's always been. She's always been the baby we didn't want following us around.”
I huffed and stamped my foot. “That's why it has to be different this time, before we’re all grown up. Do you know what I should do? I should ask her to be my date.”
Antony ground his teeth in frustration. Our conversation was not going the way he planned. “You'd ask a girl?”
“Why not? It's not as though we’re in the stone age and she would understand what the gesture meant. That, for once in our childhood, we all accepted her and saw her as our equal. In a few years, we'll all be adults and it won't matter that she is a few years younger. We'll all be adults together. Let's be friends now.”
“I never thought you gave a rip about Pearl,” he grunted.
He was right and he was wrong. My speech was stretching the truth. He was right that I did not consider it mandatory for her to accompany us for our first night of adult partying. He was wrong if he thought I didn't care about her. For the moment, neither feeling was the source of my words. I was trying to put him down a path that made more sense.
I had goals. I had goals for each of my cousins and separate goals for myself. I had finally decided on my goal for Antony. I need to find him someone else within our coven to attach himself to. My goal for Pearl was that she should choose a color and stop being a baby. Stripes? Please! Antony’s attention would mean more to her than to any of the other cousins. To her, he was fantastic: an older boy, with a car of his own, who worked magic, and he was part of the collective group of cousins she had always wanted to be a part of.
“Hey,” I said, acting like I just got the idea. “Do you have an idea of who you want to take to grad? If you don't, why don't you take Pearl?”
Antony almost choked even though there was nothing in his mouth. “Veda,” he said sternly, once he recovered. “I came over to ask if you wanted to go to grad with me.”
“I'll be there,” I said dismissively. “Why do we have to make such a formal declaration since we'll be there together anyway?”
“I don’t want to take her. Veda, I want to take you,” he said, determination in his voice.
The sound of my name spoken in such a way made the crawling sensation on my skin return. He was looking at me like he saw something about me that I didn’t want him to see. What did Antony know about me?
I lowered my lids and said with a catch in my voice. “I’ll be there anyway. Pearl won’t be.”
“You’re not getting it,” he said, amused by my density. “I want you to be my date. I want to date you. That’s what this is all about.”
I had to speak deliberately, so there was no misunderstanding. “I don’t feel the way you do. That trick you pulled in the practice room, touching my leg... it upset me. If there had been a part of me that could like you, I would probably have loved that trick. I didn’t. I don’t think I can ever feel that hot buzz you’re supposed to feel when you’re attracted to someone. You’re my cousin and it’s fun to hang out, but it stops there.”
The look on his face was horrified. “What do you imagine it feels like?” he asked, his voice half-strangled.
“What?”
“That hot buzz? Tell me more about it.”
Telling him more was not an option. If he heard exactly what I fantasized about, he might be able to find a spell to give me what I wanted. “I don’t know. I only know I should not feel like I am at a family reunion.”
He bent over. It had been a slam and it hurt him, but he was a chess champ and rebutted quickly. “Nobody cares about that around here. You know that. People in our family marry their first cousins all the time.”
“That’s how they feel. It isn’t how I feel,” I said. “Pearl is our cousin and I’m recommending her. Do you have any idea how excited she would be if you asked her? I’m like a stone, but she would be like a garden springing up to meet you. She could give you so much more than I could.” I took a breath and continued, “Besides, I don’t think I’ll ever flourish in a romance. I’m too hard. I’m too broken.”
His eyes snapped toward mine.
I went on. “I’m very uncomfortable with the idea of physical affection. I’m sure you’ve noticed it about me. I hate physical contact that has no purpose. I touch people for social reasons and practical reasons. I would double kiss anyone at a party if it was socially expected and I would let a doctor set my broken leg. Other than that, I have no desire to be touched for...” In distaste, I nearly spat the last word of the sentence, “pleasure.”
He set his jaw.
I went on, “If you want me to go to grad as your friend, I think there is no purpose in taking me formally. I will be there as your cousin.”
“What about Salinger?” Antony countered. “I heard you went on a date with him.”
“I did,” I sighed. “June accepted on my behalf. I wanted to give him the chance to ‘interview’ me so he could figure out how non-fun I am and move on.”
Antony got to his feet. He was furious. “You know, Veda, you’re right about one thing. You are so hard! Nothing ever pleases you. Nothing is ever right. No one is ever good enough, and now you tell me that not only will I never be good enough, but no one will?” He was almost pleading with me by the end.
His speech didn't move me. I was harder than he realized. Also, I knew something he didn't. If there was any way to fix me, if there was a person out there who could make me wish for romance and love—no matter what—it wasn't him. I had to make him understand. To stop him from taking any more damage at my hand, I had to be even harder, until he left.
I looked at him indifferently.
He pleaded with me again. “Why do you have to be alone?”
I opened my red lips. “You and I are already as much in love as I can stand. There is no more love in me.”
He nodded like the up and down movement of his chin would slice something open. With his left hand, he knocked the bowl of rainwater on the hardwood, and the ceramic shattered, splattering heaven’s blessing everywhere. He didn’t apologize or look at me again as he left the house. On the way out, he slammed the door like thunder. I found that I liked him more at that moment than ever before. Hopefully, the bowl was the only price I would have to pay for rejecting him.
I had cleared one hurdle. Hopefully, I had planted the correct seed in Antony’s mind when I suggested he date Pearl.
As I picked up the shards of broken glass on the floor, I wondered what had happened that made Salinger want to stay. Hopefully, he was staying for Fair Isle. Maybe there was meaning to his staying in her attic.
⚘⚘⚘
Salinger met me for lunch the following Saturday exactly the way Antony had waited for me the week before. Naturally, he did not have Antony's Japanese lunch box, but he dressed his food up like a country picnic in a basket. I was a little stunned. He couldn't have brought the basket with him with his luggage. It had to be a new purchase, and it looked expensive.
“Will you join me for lunch?” he offered, sounding nonchalant. I glanced over him. He was wearing black. What did it mean? Fair Isle wore black. If he had chosen Fair Isle, then why did he want to have lunch with me?
“Just the two of us?” I asked skeptically.
He nodded.
My lips turned down in a pout. Whatever he wanted to talk to me about, it would not be good news, but the food had an appetizing aroma. I nodded and asked, “What are you feeding me?”
He opened the lid. “Chicken salad sandwiches, watermelon slices, potato chips, and this.” He pulled out a bottle of something carbonated, but not my favorite sparkling pomegranate apple juice. This was orange and raspberry.
“Did you make the sandwiches yourself?”
“No.” He sighed. “Antony didn't, so I didn't think it was a prerequisite.”
“I like guys with wallets as well as guys who cook,” I joked. “Have you spoken to him lately?”
“I phoned him last night and asked him if he was planning on seeing you today.”
“What time did you talk?”
“I don't know. A little after six. Is it important?”
I bit my lip. Antony had known about my little lunch date before I did. It may have spurred him to visit my house and have that essential, though humiliating, conversation with me. “Not overly,” I said, trying to downplay the importance.
At the table in the cafeteria, Salinger set the table and I asked him, “Have most of the witches in our coven read your book now?”
“Everyone except you.”
“I suppose that's what this is about then,” I said, waving my hand over the table. “I'm supposed to read it? My opinion is not important. Weren’t you supposed to visit other covens and show them your marvelous book?”
“I'm not leaving,” he said definitively. “I plan to stay for the whole summer. I’ve decided not to visit the other covens.”
“Why?”
“What I want is here. Besides, the witches at those other covens are not strangers to me. I’ve written to them for years. But, you, you never wrote to me,” he said reflectively.
“Why would I?”
“Maybe that's why you are so interesting. You’re the one I don’t understand yet.” He poured the carbonated liquid into a goblet and handed it to me.
I took a sip. I liked it. “Been doing more divining?”
He shook his head. “It's not necessary after the first time.”
“You’re that good at divining? You only need to do it once? Tell me your secret.”
“No,” he chuckled, enjoying my accidental flirtation. “You're not interested anyway. You are only interested in my book. None of the other magic matters to you. You have been trying to figure out how you can read it without betraying your interest and I've got to hand it to you, your indifference is convincing, but I know that isn't how you really feel.”
It was annoying that he knew, but his insight wasn’t magical, everyone wants a private view into the creative work of their adversary. Since he was dangling it, I might as well get what I wanted. “Are you going to let me read it or not?”
He gave me a smile that revealed one pointed canine. “Yes, you get to read it when I formally add it to the hidden library on Sunday. There won't be a ceremony or anything, but you and I will be there. You'll represent your coven. I'll give you the book, you'll read it, and put it in the cabinet.”
I blinked a few times. “It's a pretty big deal for you to give your prize book to a witch coven you have no ties with.”
“I'm declaring my intention to have ties with your coven,” he said smoothly.
“You've chosen someone?” It was obvious what he was about to say.
“You,” he said smoothly.
“Me? Have I done something to encourage you?”
“Not particularly.”
I sputtered, “Then why? I'm not interested in you. All my cousins want you madly and you've got to have me because I'm the one who doesn't?”
“I hope that's not all I have on my mind,” he said with a beautiful flick of his tongue.
“Hasn’t Antony told you my declaration?”
“Your what?”
“I plan on never getting married, or having a boyfriend, or a lover, or any of that.”
Salinger took the news gracefully, as in he didn't laugh or scowl. Instead, he looked at me soberly and questioned, “Who's responsible for that?”
“I am.”
“Hm. What is it that you’re trying to avoid? Have you had your heart broken?”
I glared at him. “It was never romantic, but yes, I have had my heart broken. That’s not the only issue. You see, I don’t enjoy physical affection. It’s weird. I dislike skin-to-skin contact.”
“But you linked arms with me on our date the other night.”
“Our skin wasn’t touching,” I reminded him. “Besides, plenty of touching is considered normal in our society. I’m prepared for that, but that is where the boundary lies. You can shake my hand, help me with my coat, help me from a car, and even link arms with me when you’re showing me where to go. Beyond is too much.”
“Have I popped your bubble? Uh, I mean, crossed your boundaries and offended you already?” If there had been the slightest hint of mockery in his tone, I would have walked out, but there wasn't.
“No,” I lied. The way he had touched my ringlet the other night had definitely crossed a boundary, but I planned to let that slide because I didn’t want to confess to how much that unsettled me. “Thus far, you've been fine.”
“That’s a relief. As I remember our date the other night, my hands were all over you. I must have touched your hair fifty times, let my hand rest on the curve of your back, and held your hand too long every chance I got. You didn’t notice?”
I rolled my eyes. None of that had happened, or at least, not much of it. “Whatever. I don't know how we could proceed when I've already decided that the answer is no, no matter who asks.”
“All that seems strange to me.”
“Why?”
“Because out of all the witches I've considered as possible partners, you are the one who knows what attracts a man more than any of the others.”
I set down my fork since I ate sandwiches with a fork rather than dirty my fingers. “Explain.”
“You are wearing a skirt. I've never seen you without one. The cousins say you wear trousers to your high school, but I haven't witnessed it. Skirts or dresses, heighten your femininity and make the men around you aware that yes, you are a woman, not a genderless entity.”
“Because you, as a man, would not be caught dead wearing a skirt?”
“It’s because nothing that you are wearing could ever be worn by me. The way you look screams that you are a woman and why would you want to scream that unless you are trying to get the attention of a man?”
I picked up my fork again. “You're right. I never want anyone to forget that I'm a lady and I deserve to be treated as such. It doesn't mean I'm soliciting for a date.”
He inclined his head, acknowledging that my reasoning was not flawed. “No, I suppose not. What a disappointment. Out of curiosity, what do you plan on wearing to your graduation? A woman, as well dressed as you, is expected to put on a show.”
I glanced at him. No one had asked me about my dress and I was very excited about it. “I engaged a dressmaker months ago.” I couldn't close my mouth, even though every sign in my head warned me to stop talking. “It's going to be beautiful. It has over a thousand glass beads sewn in. Naturally, I could never afford the fabric with them sewn in, nor could I afford to pay my dressmaker to sew them. I ended up doing most of them myself. I’ve been working on it since before Christmas. The concept is 'stars in the daytime'--” I trailed off. Salinger was smiling with genuine interest and I instantly heeded the warning signs I had ignored before.
“I look forward to seeing it,” he said.
“I'm not inviting you,” I snapped.
“Of course, you're not. I'm going with Intarsia.”
That struck me. “Really? When you are so hung up on me?”
“She asked me on my first day here. I put her off at first, thinking I wouldn't be around, but after I changed my mind about leaving, it seemed like the best thing to accept. She was my best pen pal all those years. It seems only right to go with her.”
I pounced on the news. “See if you can get her to leave the green lipstick off for the night.”
Salinger looked perplexed. “Why would I do that? I don't care what she looks like if she’s comfortable.”
“You know,” I said, “I have little goals for each one of my cousins. With her, it's to get her to stop wearing that lipstick. Three years ago, I was at a sleepover party at her house. In the middle of the night, I got up and did her lips over with my red lipstick. She looked gorgeous. The green lips ruin her look. With red lips, she looks like Rose Red in a fairy tale. Somehow she switched it before morning and none of the other cousins saw her. It was such a shame.”
“So you can’t convince her to try a different color?”
“I mention it to her every twentieth time I see her, but so far no success.”
He chuckled. “Only every twentieth time?”
“Well,” I replied timidly, “I don’t want to be annoying.”
He laughed and for a moment, it seemed to me that he was enjoying our conversation more than any conversation he’d ever had. He looked at me like he never wanted to stop looking at me, like he’d play devil’s advocate or agree with anything I said, as long as I kept talking.
“But she's got such pure feelings for her chosen color. Don't you find that admirable?” he asked roguishly.
“No. I don't think our ancestors meant to make us look ugly in our color of choice. They did it so our thought processes would not be hindered by stupid costumes. We always wear the same color, so all our clothes match. It saves money. It saves time. We always wear the same color, so our focus won’t falter because of differences in our attire. It's brilliant. Besides, if she were really so pure, she would color her hair green instead of red.”
“We should point that out to her,” he chuckled.
“Green hair hardly looks good on anybody. If you put that thought in her head, I will use your entrails for divination.”
“Is it such a big deal?”
“Well, it wouldn't be, but let me ask you, do you want to kiss her on her green lips at the end of the night?”
“No,” he admitted. “But that's just because I'm not the right guy for her.”
“She doesn't see it that way,” I said forcefully. “She likes you and she doesn't realize that her green lips stop you from being able to see her true beauty. In case you didn't notice, Intarsia is a much nicer person than I am. I'm horrid. Your enthusiasm for me is fueled by my exterior because you can't love someone's interior on such short notice. Bend your mind a bit and ask her to wear red lipstick for grad. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.”
He looked at the floor and put his palms together. He was deflating.
I felt almost triumphant. I was going to convince him to forget me.
“Okay,” he said, lifting his chin. “Let's say I do what you're suggesting. What kind of bet should we make?”
“A bet?”
“Yeah. I’m not going to make her wear red. If I get Intarsia to wear a normal lipstick color and I still prefer you at the end of the night, what will I get?”
“What will I get if I win?” I countered.
“You'll get me off your back. I'll be married to Intarsia before the winter solstice.”
I gasped. “You thought you would be able to marry me by the winter solstice?” I was abruptly angry. “What kind of a sick--”
He rose from his chair. “Stop. I didn't say that thinking of you. I mean that Intarsia likes me already, if I liked her too, there would be no reason to wait. I don't think I'll be able to marry you by the winter solstice. Okay? I never thought that. I don't think you're that easy or I'm that smooth. I just want to date you and get to know you better. That’s all.”
His voice and sincerity calmed me down, but it still took me five deep breaths to be able to hear what he was saying. “Fine,” I agreed. “If I win, my prize will be you leaving me alone.”
“And if I win? I want something romantic.”
I sneered. “How romantic?”
“A kiss?”
I raised my hand in objection. “You're asking for too much. I would not whore myself off to pay a debt. I will give you a hand-knit scarf. I'll knit it for you myself.”
“Not just any old scarf you once knit, but a new one, made specifically for me?”
“Yes.”
“Isn't that a bit much? Knitting takes time.”
“Yes, it does, but for you to help me with one of my life's ambitions, I think I can swing it.”
“Then it's a deal. Should we shake on it?” He reached for me.
“No,” I said coldly. “If I say I'll do something, I will. I don't seal agreements with anything other than my word.”
“Fine.” He put his hand back on his side of the table. “I came here today to tell you my plan to win you over. I'm going to write a book, especially for you. I'll stay here until I finish it. Will you promise to read it?”
I took my goblet in hand, relaxed enough to let my back touch my chair, and looked at him. Salinger was good looking. I found his dark looks more compelling than Antony's fair ones. I frowned. It was one of those moments when you've already made a decision, but you dislike the decision you made. I wished I wasn't so interested in those wretched books!
“As long as it's a real spell book. No ordinary book will do.”
“Of course not.”
He tried to shake my hand again, but I just glared at him.
I was a little girl again. I was wearing khaki overalls and a red t-shirt. My shoes were red sneakers with white toes.
My surroundings were like the table where I played the game with Emi’s tea kettle, but it was much bigger. The ceiling was not the wallpapered ceiling of a tea room, but dark clouds that swirled in the atmosphere overhead. A checkerboard floor spread out in front of me. Half of the checks were gray concrete and the other half were carpeted in dark green moss. Topiary trees lined the edges of the checkerboard world. In the distance, there was a fountain spraying water. A network of colorful tubes filled out the horizon but seemed very far away through the haze.
I took one step forward onto the moss check and my foot pressed the whole thing down. I caught myself after I’d soaked my foot. The green checks were floating in a square pool of water. I put my foot back on the cement square. That was when the green plant I had stepped on flipped over and showed me two black, gleaming eyes.
I jumped. What was it?
It had no mouth, no nose, no other features except for two black eyes. They were very expressive. It looked at me pleadingly, but I had no idea what it wanted.
“What is it?” I asked.
It didn't speak. It had no mouth. It hummed and pointed its eyes toward the fountain. I put my hand down and pet it. It felt like cold, wet fur, and it jiggled when I touched it. It looked at the fountain and hummed again.
Since I knew Salinger had written this book for children, I didn't think the thing would suddenly open a giant mouth with razors for teeth, so I bent to pick it up. It mushed itself into a ball and hopped in my hands. It was cold but more shocking than that was how heavy it was as it snuggled into my cupped hands.
I took a few steps toward the fountain. The moss creature was carrying so much water, it spilled from between my fingers. As the water seeped out, the droplets hit other green patches. More black eyes appeared. The one I held, didn't seem very happy about losing his water. He looked anxiously toward the fountain and squealed urgently.
I hurried there as fast as I could, but it wasn't easy. The cement squares had sharp edges and the square pools of water were deceptively deep. If I slipped, I would get hurt, and I was dripping water everywhere.
Finally, I dropped the moss ball into the fountain. Once in the water, he immediately went back to being a square and tucked one corner down. This gave him the shape of a stingray. He flipped his corners like fins and swam down into the underbelly of the fountain. A second later he was a middle cylinder. Turning himself back into a ball, his eyes looked excited.
What was I supposed to do?
That was when I got a better look at the colorful tubes all topped with funnels. It looked like the greatest, smallest, water slide park. The fountain had a set of controls for me to use, and I suddenly understood. All the little green moss monsters wanted to go for a ride on the slides. If I used the levers, I should be able to shoot them into the funnels. The moss ball was already in the cannon. I took the lever in my hand, aimed it, and pressed the button.
The moss ball shot through the barrel, but I had no idea how to aim it and he missed the funnel. For a moment I was horrified as to what would happen to my little friend, but he turned himself into a four-cornered parachute and landed in a pool.
It was a game, so I reached down by my feet and picked up the nearest clump of moss I could grab. I threw him into the fountain. He was obviously pleased about his selection and gave me a delighted little eye-squeeze before he dropped his corner and swam up the barrel.
I aimed better with him and got him into a yellow funnel. He traveled through the twists and turns of the yellow transparent pipe until he shot out the other end. He flew through the air doing little cartwheels before he landed in the pool.
I bent my knees to get another moss ball, when I saw that the space I had pulled the last ball from was full again. What was going on? I picked one from that same square and watched. It was filled because the moss square from the spot behind it jumped into it as soon as it was empty. Then another moss ball jumped into the one he vacated. It started a ripple effect that went all the way to the place where I started.
I started throwing the moss balls in the fountain at full speed. After I had shot about ten directly into funnels, I realized that if I won, then I might not be able to read the book again. I wasn ' t sure that was what I wanted, so instead, I shot them directly into the pool where the first moss ball landed. I didn't finish all of the waiting moss balls before I got kicked out of the book and found myself sitting next to Salinger in the hidden library.
“What did you think?” he asked eagerly when he saw I had returned.
“I liked it,” I said, betraying only a tenth of the enthusiasm I felt.
His face dropped.
“I didn't beat it.”
He did a double-take. “What do you mean, you didn't beat it? Everyone beats it.”
“I didn't. Maybe then, I can read it again sometime.”
He smiled. “Anytime you like.”
“Thanks.” I got up and put the book into an empty spot beside one of Emi's books. “There. Thank you for giving us the pleasure of housing your work.”
“You sound like a publishing company letter. You know, the ones where they try to sound nice when they're rejecting you.”
“I always sound nice.” I carefully stepped out of the circle of trees and stood beside Salinger.
“Do you want to go for a walk?”
“Sure.”
That was the only correct answer because even though he told me that the ceremony where we added his book to our library was to be private, with only him and me, it was nothing of the kind. Outside the room, staring in, was my entire family. All the cousins my age were there, all their parents, June, and all the teachers at the school who were relatives. The only notable people who were not there were my mother and every single member of Salinger's family. It would have been beyond rude if I had turned him down when all he was suggesting was a loop around the school's property.
As Salinger guided me out of the library, I glanced over the group to see for myself how everyone was affected.
I noticed Pearl first. She had stars in her eyes and a brightness to her face I’d never seen before. She was like a light bulb that had never been turned on before. I knew what that illumination was powered by. Antony had asked Pearl to go to grad with him. She was delighted beyond comprehension. She thought I was her saving angel for refusing him and had been visiting my house regularly to do favors for me. She replanted my herb garden, brought me a shocking number of sapphire rose sprouts she had started from seeds, carded a fleece I particularly hated and made four trays of apple tarts, which mostly had to be put in the freezer. I was mostly surprised because I hadn’t thought she was useful before. She was also friendly, which she had never been before. She had taken me online and shown me a ball gown with black and white horizontal stripes. I cringed at the sight and then melted. I did want her to outgrow her stripes, but the dress was very pretty. If only she could look good in it! I remade my vow from getting her to grow out of stripes to getting her to dye her hair before the graduation ceremony. The color of nothing did not look good with black and white together.
Next to Pearl, a challenging stare came from the pointed white and black face of Fair Isle. She looked straight in my eyes and her expression read, “It is on!” She thought she needed to compete with me for Salinger? What a joke! She could have him. Her having him would have worked perfectly. Probably for him too, if he had any sense.
Intarsia looked delicately out of sorts. It made me wonder what kinds of hopes she had strung together for grad night. I needed to remind her that she had every right to try to win Salinger, and I wouldn’t stand in her way.
A little further behind, Clementine tugged on Salinger's elbow and made a 'call me' sign with her hand and Salinger nodded.
Antony stood near the exit. He didn't look at either one of us. I didn't blame him. I planned to talk to him later about what a star I thought he was for taking my advice and asking Pearl to be his date.
Outside, no one followed us.
I thought about the general murmuring amongst the family that would take place as soon as Salinger and I were out of earshot. It was already well known that Salinger had decided on me. I knew there was a lot of headbanging about it. Not head-scratching. It wasn’t confusing. It was infuriating. I did not spring from a distinguished branch of the family tree because of my mother and her non-presence. Before he arrived, the general opinion seemed to rule that Salinger ought to have chosen Intarsia or Fair Isle. Funny how a young man should do exactly what he wanted. Unheard of!
“Was that everything you hoped for?” I asked him as soon as I was certain no one was listening.
“Yes and no,” he said slowly. “Your family is everything I wanted. Everyone was impressed, but you don't seem impressed at all.”
I was merely annoyed that he managed to write a spell book and have it be included in our library before I did. I would have been more annoyed if he put it out when he was fifteen and said that he had no trouble writing it. Since I found him so annoying, it was a relief that he said his next spell book would only be for me. That meant he couldn’t receive any honors for it, because I would be the only person to read it. Even though I didn’t want to admit it, I did find the idea of that sacrifice almost worth being honored by.
“I’m not as bored as I seem,” I slowly confessed.
“Then you're fascinated?”
“No. I'm still bored,” I lied. “Are you sure you still want to pursue me? There are lots of other options if you've changed your mind.”
“I haven't.”
“If that’s what you want, then I've decided to give you a courting schedule. I will give you two dates a week for a month. One in the afternoon and one in the evening. If you should need to cancel for some reason, a text will suffice, but will not be replaced with another date.”
He was laughing.
“What's so funny?”
“Courting? Who does that any more? I'm--”
“On the verge of not being able to see me at all,” I finished sternly and he quieted down. “You're lucky I'm giving you this much. I already said that I have no plans for love or marriage in the future. I have my own plans. I'm doing this as a favor, so that after we part ways you will not be confused about who I am. Once you spend a significant amount of time with me, you’ll understand our deep incompatibility. You'll think well of me and I will think well of you because you will use our dates to convince me what a wonderful person you are.”
“What a wonderful person I am?” he repeated with a dangerous edge to his voice. “Veda, I'm not wonderful. I'm selfish. I want you because you are clearly the best, even if you have a serious snobbery problem, but I'm not convinced that isn't part of your charm. No. During those dates, I will make you change all your plans, so that not even one of them doesn't include me.”
My cheeks colored as I glared at him and then turned my attention to my phone. “I guess we'll see.”
We made a schedule with our faces turned toward our phones and our heads dangerously close to each other. I didn’t realize how close until I looked up and saw tiny flecks of light in his irises. It was like snow falling on sand.
I was sitting at my spinning wheel, pedaling away. Spinning was one of the few things I did without shoes on. I nearly always wore shoes, but not when I was spinning. Instead, I wore tiny little black footlets, or whatever pantyhose I had on that day. If I was barefooted, I felt like life had spun ridiculously out of control and I had to get control again, by putting on a pair of boots.
As I was spinning, I happened to look up. Nestled between the interlacing ribbons of our household notice board, were the letters I had seen in the crystal ball. I read them over and over.
When June came in, I questioned her. “June, were any of your sisters named July or August?”
She took off her wrap and hung it on a hook by the door. “I have seven sisters.”
“And I can’t remember any of their names at the moment.”
“Must we speak of this? It's a rather painful subject. My sisters insisted on having a proper coven, but since our mother had eight daughters instead of nine, some of us were no longer welcome. I was one of them. I have brown eyes instead of green, so they decided to discriminate against me for that.”
I was a brown-eyed girl and my temper flared. “Only for that?”
“The rest of them had green eyes. My sister, Hattie, who was also unworthy of the coven, has green eyes too, but in her case, it was more like she left them. She got married.”
Hattie? I looked at the letters on the note. “Look, June. The letters spell Hattie, don't they?”
She took the note from me and read it over, perplexed. “Yes, they do, but Hattie doesn't need anything. She posts everything she eats on Instagram. Trust me, she's eating well.”
I slipped into my boots, did up the side zippers, so I could get a good stomp, and stomped my foot indignantly. “You've got to call her and see if anything is wrong. Does she live nearby?”
“I think she lives in Idaho, or Ohio, or Iowa. I'm not sure which.”
I downgraded my indignation to tapping my toe. “Are you going to call her?”
“How about if I Facebook her?”
“What's the problem here? You came to me for a crystal ball reading and I gave you one. You must call her. I promise, she's miserable.”
“All right. Far be it for me to dissuade your talents. Do you want to listen on speakerphone?”
I joined her at the table in the bay window as her phone started dialing. I wanted to see if there was any wisdom in my scrying.
“Hello, Hattie. It's June. How are you?”
On the speaker, Hattie sounded choked up. “June? I don't know anyone named June.”
“I'm your sister,” she said patiently.
“We haven't spoken in thirty years,” Hattie said coldly. “Why are you calling me now?”
“Well, it's a funny story.” June told her about the crystal ball reading. “I thought I'd ring you to see if you were all right. I follow you on Instagram. You always seem fine, but--”
By this time, Hattie was sobbing gently into the phone. “I'm not fine. Freddie died.”
“Husband?” I mouthed to June.
June shrugged like she had no idea who Freddie could be.
“It was so sudden and I still haven't recovered.”
“But you're still posting food.”
“My therapist follows me, and whenever I stop posting, she comments about it in our sessions. My posts are all photos I ripped off the internet to keep her off my back.”
“Why do you see a therapist?”
“Because our family abandoned me, then my first husband abandoned me, then my second husband abandoned me, then my next three boyfriends abandoned me. One of them left town in the middle of the night, and now my cat, Freddie, is dead. Satisfied?”
June scoffed. “What about me? Our family abandoned me too and I've never even been on a date where I wasn't the one who did the asking. At least, someone wanted you once.”
“That's just like you!” the wounded sister shrieked.
I groaned.
“What was that?” Hattie blurted.
“It was me,” I said into the receiver. “Excuse me. I'm Veda. June and I are roommates. Would you like to come here for a visit? We have plenty of spare bedrooms.”
June glared at me.
I glared back.
“You're asking me to come to Edmonton?” Hattie asked through barely clear airways.
“Yes.”
“You're asking me to come to the heart of a witch-crafting community and just… visit? You know, I quit being a witch?”
I shook my head impudently. “I didn't know, but none of that matters. You're June's sister and you obviously need a break if even your therapist is driving you nuts.”
Both sisters sighed and then said in unison, “Let me talk to her about this privately.”
June shut off the speaker and put the phone to her ear for a more private conversation. I waited in the kitchen.
June did not join me for over an hour. When she finally did, she looked ragged and sorry. “Veda, I don't know why you have to stick your nose into other people's problems. You do it with your cousins and you do it with students at the school. It's not your place to tell people how to dress and who to invite for a visit, but you do it anyway.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Well, in this case, 'sorry' is not the right word. Hattie's troubles are harder than I thought. She's been living off alimony from husband number two and he just got diagnosed with cancer. As soon as he found out he stopped making payments, and she's not heartless enough to go after him for the money. Unless she gets an income to match what he was paying her, she's going to be out on the street. She's not trained to do anything. She's a professional wife. She had to put her house up for sale today.”
I didn't know what to say, so I waited.
“The point is you asked her to stay with us before you knew she was in trouble. That was key for her. If she had told me her problem and I offered for her to come, she wouldn't have accepted the invitation because she doesn't want to be a charity case. In this case, 'thank-you' are the right words.”
June didn't hug me. She knew I didn't like being touched. She nodded to me before clearing her throat and telling me the finishing touches. “I'm going to see her this weekend. I need to assess the damage. I can't do that from here.”
“Okay.”
“You'll be fine on your own?”
“I'll be perfect,” I reassured her. “I've got things to do.”
⚘⚘⚘
On Friday night, I put a bag together and went over to Pearl's house. If she was still planning on buying that white and black striped gown then I needed to help her choose a hair color to go with it.
The bag I put together had a black wig and a white wig since those were the only two colors I could think of for her to choose from. I also packed permanent hair coloring equipment. If she wanted the black then that would be simple, since it was only one set. For the white, I had a plan to bleach it and then dye it white. I helped Clementine with hers often, so it was I was not in new territory.
At Pearl’s, I was greeted with a most unusual sight. Intarsia and Fair Isle were already there. Why? They never hung out with Pearl.
Aunt Myra let me in. She looked happy, which was weird. She was never happy.
I came around the corner and saw the commotion. Pearl was standing on a stool in the living room. She was wearing her grad dress and Fair Isle was pinning the hem.
It wasn't striped.
She had chosen her color.
I dropped my bag. I was outraged. She had chosen her color without speaking to me and she had chosen badly. It was so bad, I didn't know how her mother had the spirit to smile and look that pleased.
She had chosen peach, flesh, nude, blush, light pink!
Her gown made her look like a muffin, but it had lovely tucks of fabric that looked like flowers and faux jewels sewn in sequence. The dress wasn't awful. The dress was lovely, with one strap exactly where it should have been, exactly as thick as it should have been. It fit properly. She looked good in it. Her hair was dyed that color too. Obviously, the work of Intarsia who was better at dying hair than all of us put together.
The problem was that we were witches. Choosing a color wasn't about one night. It was about the rest of our lives. Skin colored trousers for the rest of her life? Skin colored hair? Baby pink until the day she died? Was she stupid?
I sat down and got my breath.
Fair Isle glared at me. “Don't you like it?”
“You look beautiful.” I directed my words to the girl on the stool. “Like a freshwater pearl.”
She beamed.
Fair Isle's narrowed eyes didn't move at all. She was sensitive about the color choice she had made. Or rather, there was some bad blood between her and me on the subject. It wasn't my fault. I chose my color when I was thirteen, which is the youngest they will let anyone choose their color. I chose black and never regretted that choice. She felt threatened because she had turned thirteen seven months before me and still had not chosen a color. Some people (I still didn't know who those people were) thought it was a sign I was more mature than her. She yelled at me for choosing the color she wanted. I said she could also have it. More often than not, witches in our coven chose black. So she did it too, but she was angry with me for being the one to do it first.
She picked up my bag and looked inside before I could snatch it back. “What's this?” she scoffed, as she pulled out the black dye.
Everyone stared at her.
I was calm as I explained. “I thought she was going to wear a striped dress she showed me. I thought I'd help her pick a color to match it. That's all. I didn't know she was going to do all this today.”
“A likely story,” Fair Isle said, dangling it between her fingers. “I think you just wanted her to pick black, so everybody can be just like you.”
“Not really,” I said, turning over my bag and showing the bleach and the white wig. “I just didn't want her to have hair that didn’t look good with her dress. I was just trying to help out, but you look lovely, Pearl. I'm just a little sad you didn't need my help.”
“Thank you, Veda,” Pearl said. “But we're all going to have to get used to you not helping us with every little thing since you'll be moving to Whitehorse.”
“I never said I'd go with him,” I retorted.
“But you promised to date him at least twice a week,” Intarsia interjected.
“Yes, but I did that for Antony last month and I’m not running away with him. Neither of them will understand how wrong I am for them if they never see me.”
Fair Isle got up and dropped the box of black hair dye on my bag. “You really believe that? I never thought you were stupid, but clearly, I was wrong. If they date you, they think they have a chance with you.” She strode out of the room with angry footfalls in her heavy boots.
I looked at the crowd: Pearl, Myra, Intarsia. “Do you all think I'm stupid?”
They nodded, though reluctantly.
“But he's going to grad with Intarsia!” I reminded them.
“He's not going with me because he likes me. He's going with me because he's cool enough that he would go with a girl he's not in love with. He probably liked you before he got here.”
“I never wrote to him!”
“Doesn't matter,” the red-head refuted. “He's always known about you. I think he'd decided on you years ago.”
I scowled. “I hate this. I don't want him .”
Intarsia put an understanding hand on my shoulder. I wanted to shrug her off, but she was being so nice. Her voice was sweet as sugar as she said, “I know you don't. You always give your boyfriends away. Fair Isle thinks this is different because Salinger's from a coven, but I don't. Well, I did, but Antony changed my mind.”
“Really? What did Antony say?” I asked, wondering if she would ever take her hand off my shoulder.
“He said that you told him to date Pearl before Salinger confessed to you. Why would you have done that if you didn't want our happiness above your own?”
I didn't have the words for how uncomfortable she was making me. In that instant, I feared she knew my secret and my breath became shallow as I waited for her next words.
“Look how happy you've made her,” Intarsia said, pointing at Pearl.
I released a breath of relief. I wasn't caught and what she said was completely true. Pearl had always looked like a straggly little kid and now she looked like a more enchanting piece of womanhood than… well… me. I never looked that lovely. She was sure to knock Antony’s socks off.
I took Intarsia's hand off my shoulder and patted it. “Dye her eyebrows.”
⚘⚘⚘
On Sunday, I had Salinger over for blueberry pancakes and bacon. June was getting Hattie so we had the place to ourselves.
He was delighted.
After he had eaten four pancakes and almost all the bacon I cooked, he started talking. “Have you seen Pearl?”
Taking my teacup in hand, I nodded.
“She looks great, huh?”
“Yup. If you want to change your target to her, I wouldn't mind,” I said dully.
“Why would I do that? All I said was that she looks great. Did it make you jealous?”
“No.”
“Then what's going on?”
“My goal for Pearl was to get her to stop wearing stripes. I was going to help her pick a color that was right for her. I think I was thinking navy all this time, to offset her eyes. She went and chose it without me.”
“And you're bummed?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “That was my lifelong goal for her. Now it's done and I wasn't any use to her at all.”
“So, come up with a new goal for her,” Salinger suggested.
“No. I haven't got the energy. She has been so hard to help with the one goal, I thought she wouldn't stop wearing stripes before she turned thirty.” I shook my head and came out of my reverie. “How is your book coming?”
“I have made pretty good progress for one week, provided I don't need to go back and undo my work.”
I chuckled. “You don't knit, do you?”
“No. Why?”
“I knit. You almost always need to go back and redo some of your work. There are a lot of things that can go wrong. I would be surprised if it was different when writing a spell book.”
“Well,” he started saying when he was interrupted.
Someone was coming through the back doors. June was back, but she wasn't the first person to enter.
To understand the magnitude of the moment, a person must understand who June was. She was a tall, athletic woman who had spent many years studying ballet. Regardless of her age (which was in the neighborhood of fifty), she had silver hair and enormous brown eyes. Her hair was cut in a bob which was often done in a bun. She wore pantsuits, skirt suits, and very sensible, but stylish, gray loafers. She spoke in clear, rhythmic tones. You never saw a classier lady.
When Hattie came in. I knew it was her because it couldn't be anybody else, but I nearly froze in horror. She said she had given up witchcraft, but no declaration could have prepared me for the woman who came through the back door.
She was wearing every color. All of them. Not just the primary colors or the secondary colors. She was wearing all of them. She was wearing orange, vermilion, blood red, scarlet, rose red, crimson, cranberry, raspberry, pink, magenta, mauve, wine, and all through the color spectrum until you got to orange again. The dress had a black collar and brown cuffs. Her hair was a mass of frizzy, unnatural red curls, and her roots were showing. Jewelry banged about her wrists. She wore bracelets. Not just bangles, but chain links too. She wore beads from her neck, pearl ropes, and at least three dangling pendants. She seemed enormous and glittering like a circus tent. I didn't know how we would find room for her in the house.
I was wearing a gothic tea dress, with a minimum of ruffles and lace. I felt the black lace shawl over my shoulders slip to my elbows. June came in behind her. She was wearing a dove gray overcoat that billowed gorgeously when she moved. Salinger was wearing a black v necked sweater with intricate cables down both breasts. He looked fabulous (especially to a knitter).
Hattie span around the room as though she were looking for someone. She didn't seem to notice how out-of-place she was.
“Is Veda around?” she asked me breathlessly.
I stood up and put out my hand. “I'm Veda. This is Salinger, my gentleman caller.” I called him that to annoy him, but he did not seem the least bit nettled. He smiled like he was having a great time. He got to his feet and greeted Hattie properly.
“Nice to meet you.”
Hattie's expression read, “Are you for real?” She looked alternately between Salinger and me before settling on me and admitting, “From your voice, I thought you'd be older. Are you a teenager?”
“Of course, I am. This is my mother's house, but she's not in town. June and I share the living space. Plus, I get extra tutoring on decorum and propriety.”
Hattie humphed.
I got Salinger to take her bags to the spare room on the top floor. There were six suitcases and they were fatter than coffins. How had the plane managed to find room for them? And how was Salinger going to take them upstairs? I followed him. He was using strength spells.
I muffled a laugh. He sounded adorable telling off an inanimate object.
Afterward, all of us sat in the dining room.
June and Hattie recounted their triumph. The short version began with June's arrival. She found Hattie in a mess. They spoke frankly between them before June took command. She called a second-hand store and had them come with a truck to take away all of Hattie's furniture. Hattie cried. June bought the six enormous suitcases and put them in the living room. Everything that wasn't furniture had to be given away, thrown away, or put in the bags. Hattie felt like June was cutting her arm off. She had quite a lot of clutter.
With the beds gone, June took them to a hotel to stay. Hattie had not been to a hotel since her honeymoon with her last husband. The place was positively a palace compared to her house, which helped June convince her to throw out most of her belongings without regret. They ordered room service and watched a home decorating channel . Hattie had not had that much fun in a long time.
The next day, June had them on a schedule that said they had to be finished sorting everything by four o'clock. She had hired a crew of professional cleaners to come. They helped move, sort, and clean every last thing. June didn't even help them. She worked in the yard until it was tidy.
At four o'clock, everything was packed into the six cases and a home inspector was there. He said her house was worth twenty thousand dollars more than the last home inspector. They called the realtor and re-listed the house for more money.
They went back to the hotel, had a huge celebration, went to bed early, even though they were still squealing like schoolgirls, slept for a few hours, and then hot-footed it to the airport to make it back to Edmonton.
It was a superb victory.
I was also very excited. This was exactly the sort of opportunity I had been waiting for. Salinger seemed to notice both the bubbles brewing in my head and the hiccups my nerves kept having whenever Hattie spoke or moved. I was entertaining him, merely by being myself, which I didn't enjoy.
When it came time for supper, he got up to leave. I walked him out.
He paused just inside the storm door. For a moment, I was petrified he was going to try to touch me. Instead, he leaned against the door and asked, “Are you a good witch?”
“What do you mean? I'm not the Wicked Witch of the West. The title was already taken.”
“No. I mean, are you good at what magic you try to do?”
I cocked my head. “No one gets it right every single time.”
“Of course not. I mean, do you fail often?”
My voice became hard. “What an awful thing to ask! Of course, I'm a failure more often than I'm a success. I'm seventeen years old. Just because I fail more than half the time doesn't mean I'm nothing, and it doesn't mean I haven't been extremely successful in important ways. You look for my magic and you’ll see how successful I've been.” I opened the door for him and shooed him from the house.
He went and blew me a kiss on his way. It was a motion that made my breath catch. He knew how to cast a spell with a flick of his wrist. I thought he was adorable, and I should not have. I had just told him off. but he was not bothered by my resistance. He looked pleased.
That was not a feeling I wanted a man leaving my house to feel.
I turned my back on him.
Various people wonder why I chose Veda, after what she did on graduation night. They said I should have given up on her because she was incurably selfish. The problem was, I researched Veda before I chose her. I interviewed everyone who knew her: her cousins, her pupils, her teachers, and her relatives. Everyone had something unique to say about her. To me, graduation night seemed normal, so I had no interest in condemning her.
To contrast her foul reputation, I learned quite a few interesting things from her cousins before I announced my intentions toward her.
Fair Isle reported, “I know she seems snotty, but she's not. When I told her I wanted to get these piercings, she wouldn't let me go to a salon to get them done. She took me back to her house and did all of them herself. Not all on the same day, but every time I wanted a new one, she took care of it for me. Saved me a fortune and I've never once got an infection. I've also never gone shopping for new rings. I tell her what I want and she finds it or makes it for me. She doesn't even like piercings and she doesn't think they look good on me, but she always gets me exactly what I want.”
Clementine explained, “More than any of the other girls, Veda is completely aware that I am the queen of the pack. When I start talking, she always quiets down and listens. She even tells the other cousins to stuff it so she can hear what I have to say. She knows how to listen and follow directions when I give them. That's what I like about her. Plus, I've never had to beat her.”
When I first got to Edmonton, Pearl said a few things before she and Antony became a couple. “Honestly, I've never liked her. She is always hounding me to be different. She's worse than my mother and all my aunts combined. I'm supposed to choose a color and not wear stripes. I can't pick anything that pleases her. She doesn't understand how I feel. She has boys falling at her feet, especially Antony, and I don't think a guy has ever looked at me. I don't think choosing a color would make anyone notice me. She's seventeen, but she’s like an old hag who has already had her life so she doesn't understand what it's like to be at the beginning and to be uncertain.”
What Pearl said about her after Veda rejected Antony was different. “Honestly, I've always liked her. She has always encouraged me to be the best I could be. She's a much brighter influence than my mother and aunts. She told me I should choose a color and now that I have, so many wonderful things have fallen into place. It all started when Antony asked me to be his date for graduation, and it feels like we are falling in love, and we were always meant to be together. Veda's like a fairy godmother who was just waiting for the right moment to grant my wish. Now I get to go to the ball too!”
I did not point out the contradiction.
Intarsia’s account was different. “Veda and I are not close, but I think I’m her best friend. She does not make friends easily. She knows how to talk to people because she is so proper, but it isn't real. Like a dead person, she’s numb, because she doesn't feel anything for anybody. She’s relentless in her desire to remain aloof and distanced from everyone. It’s like she’s afraid to take part in real life. I wish I knew how to wake her up to how great real life is. I had hoped Antony would make better strides with her, but I think he was doomed to failure from the start because he looks so much like her. As much as I would like to help, I can't. She has to grow up herself.”
When I looked over the interviews, Fair Isle’s was the most intriguing. I didn't notice it until she mentioned Veda's involvement and then it was too obvious. None of Fair Isle's piercings were real. Veda had tricked her, and everyone who saw her, into believing they were real. I wasn’t sure why she cared. It probably had something to do with the goals she had for Fair Isle. One of them was to save her cousin from turning herself into a pincushion.
What Clementine said about her was interesting too. It meant that Veda wasn't a fool, which the other girls obviously were. She saw Clementine for who she truly was.
Veda would only meet with me twice a week, which I learned was exceedingly generous of her. She was a busy person. She had a million little projects on the go for a million different people. No wonder she was pleased with lunches and candlelit dinners because she was always doing things for other people and it was a rare occasion that someone did something for her.
On the night of the graduation ceremony, I rode in a limo with Intarsia to the school for the opening banquet. She had a table with her mother, Fair Isle, her mother, Clementine, Pearl, Antony, and his parents. We filled the table.
“Where's Veda?” I asked my red-lipped date. Veda was dead right about the red lipstick. If I hadn't been so enchanted with Veda, I would have chosen Intarsia solely for those red lips. She looked stunning. Her red hair fell in fragile curls down to her waist. Her green gown was a lighter color of green than what she normally wore and the lightness did her a favor. On top of all of that, she had the sweetest heart out of all the other girls. If there was an opening for 'The Good Witch of the South', I was certain she would have been an excellent candidate. One thing was certain, I would have to be sure not to burn that bridge if things didn't work out with Veda.
“Veda said she didn't want to come to the banquet,” Fair Isle snorted.
When we moved to the gym for the speeches and diplomas, I sat in the audience with the parents, Clementine, and Pearl. In the sea of black graduation gowns, I couldn't spot Veda. Where was she? When they called her name and she got up to accept her diploma, there was nothing to see. I couldn't even swear it was her who accepted the rolled-up paper. It was the same during the graduation march, where all the graduates got dressed up in their finery and paraded around the gym. She should have been there, but I didn't see her. Was this her magic or had she skipped?
After the babble that passed for speeches was over, there were photographs, snapshots, and selfies. I went to find the area where I was meant to congratulate her. She was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, Antony! Have you seen Veda?”
His expression read, 'Who's Veda?' He was so caught up in Little Miss Pearl that he hardly remembered his other cousin existed.
After the pictures, there was a dance in a different gym down the hall. I told Intarsia I would be back for her. She was very busy getting pictures taken. I marched off to the dance. Lots of the other guys who were tired of being photographed were going. Would Veda have missed her own graduation just to get rid of me? I agreed with her that Intarsia was enticing, but that wasn't enough to change my mind and I was anxious to tell Veda nothing had changed how I felt.
I knocked open the door with my shoulder and entered the gym. It was already half full of graduates and their dates. I felt stupid going in alone. I should have waited for Intarsia. I turned to get her when something caught my eye. Surrounded by a tight knot of teenage boys in tuxedos was a girl in a white dress. I wouldn't normally have looked, but something triggered my memory at the sight of this girl's dress. Veda said her dress was like the stars shining during the day. That was what this girl looked like. I took two steps to get a closer look. Certainly, Veda would have worn black to her graduation. She wore black every other day.
The guys were packed too closely around her for me to see her. I wouldn’t have gotten a view if a few angry girls hadn't hauled their dates away bodily. With the space cleared, it was easy to see Veda standing in the midst of them.
She looked like a bride who had forgotten her veil. Sensational. Beauty everywhere. But why? Why didn't she throw on a black dress like she did every other day and let Pearl and Intarsia outshine her? Later, that was why everyone said she was cruel and selfish because her beauty left everything else behind her. I stared and tried to discern if she was using some form of glamor. I knew she used some in her hair every single day, and grad was no exception. It was there, but was there more? I couldn't tell, which bothered me. I could always tell.
Tearing my eyes from her, I met Intarsia and the rest of them at the door as they came in.
It took two minutes for the cousins to notice her and as soon as one of them did, they quickly formed a knot.
“How could she do this?” Fair Isle hissed.
“I don't know. Veda always took her color vow very seriously. I've never known her to break it,” Intarsia muttered.
“She did it to make the rest of us look bad,” Fair Isle persisted.
Antony was staring at her the way he had been staring at Pearl no less than a minute ago. Pearl stuck her chin in the air, hooked her arm around Antony, and led him firmly from the gym. Mystified, he didn't resist. Hopefully, Pearl knew a charm to undo the damage that had been done. Poor Pearl. The boy she liked was so shallow he could only think about appearances.
I felt shallow myself. As beautiful as Intarsia had seemed moments ago, the effect of her red lips had completely worn off.
What was Veda thinking? Even girls were swarming her. I could hear their shrieks of, “Where have you been hiding all these years?”
“I didn't even know you were pretty!”
“What's your secret? Did you have a last-minute makeover?”
Meanwhile, in the coven of witches, Clementine had started talking. “You boneheads! It's because she's never going to get married. She's wearing a white dress because it's her only chance to wear a white ball gown.”
“As if!” Fair Isle balked like she didn't believe what she was hearing.
Clementine bonked her on the head with the heel of her hand. “Think about it! How many occasions arise in a woman's life when she gets to wear a dress like that? Only her high school graduation and her wedding. Veda swears she is not getting married, ever, so this is her last chance.”
Fair Isle's face flattened with dismay before her eyebrows lifted and her skepticism returned. “That sounds like the biggest load of crap I have ever heard.”
“I'm not saying I believe it either. I'm saying that's what she said when I saw her in the bathroom after the march. She did this for Salinger's benefit, so he wouldn't forget during all this that he's hers.”
Then all three girls stopped speaking and turned to me.
“Well, are you enchanted?” Fair Isle demanded.
I delayed answering by glancing at Veda across the floor.
“She's not dressed like that for me,” I answered, turning directly to Fair Isle. “This is her last hurrah before she joins the convent she's making for herself. She just wants to show the students that she's not as boring as she's always seemed. That's all.”
“And you are unaffected?” Fair Isle had the nerve to ask.
“She doesn't want me to be affected, which is why she's been careful to avoid me all night.”
“But are you?”
“She should have tried harder to avoid me,” I admitted, tasting a drop of the poison they felt. I swallowed and my mouth filled with saliva. I had never wanted anything more.
Clementine laughed. She clearly thought I was an idiot, while Intarsia was disappointed, and Fair Isle was angry.
The black-haired pixie put her hands angrily on her hips. “She gets everything. I think it's time we informed her of our decision.”
Intarsia grabbed her cousin’s bare shoulder. “Stop it. There are five of us. We might get another member to make a coven of six. We shouldn't be too hasty. Remember what happened to June?”
“No. Now is the perfect time.” Fair Isle shook off Intarsia’s hand. “Have you had any brainy ideas as to where we could get that sixth member? All the people we interview want a third person. They're twins and searching for one more member so they can have three. It's time she knew.”
Clementine rolled her eyes and mouthed, “This is so stupid.”
Fair Isle plowed her way across the dance floor.
Arriving at Veda’s side, she delivered her devastating news with her serpent’s tongue. Veda nodded and went straight back to flirting with her admirers like what Fair Isle said meant nothing to her.
It was obvious. She was never planning on joining their coven in the first place.
Needless to say, her bored response made Fair Isle crazy. She came back and deliberately led Clementine and Intarsia away from me, so I wouldn’t see her toxic meltdown. I wished it wasn't so obvious that I was the piece of meat they were fighting over.
Isolated, I stood in the middle of the dance floor feeling like an idiot. I approached the only person I knew, Veda.
I came up behind her. “Outdone yourself with the glamour tonight, didn't you?”
She glared at me, and I felt lucky, lucky to have her notice me enough to glare at me. “Actually, I always look like this. I dumb down my beauty constantly. I just let it out for once. It doesn't mean I like you.”
“Of course, it doesn't.” I shooed away her admirers with grouchy looks too foul for them to ignore.
“Are you planning to dress like that all the time then?”
“No. Did you see Emi? She's still so witch-like even though she abandoned the coven. No matter what happens, I'm not giving up basic witch behavior. This dress is only because--”
“You're never getting married, so if you didn't wear a white dress tonight, you'd lose your only chance,” I supplied.
“Exactly. Would you get me something to drink?”
“No. Like you would ever drink something I gave you. You'd be too paranoid I’d slip something into your drink.”
Veda smiled. It was world-stopping. Then she whispered in my ear, “Too true. I’d be suspicious because I slip things into people's drinks all the time.”
“Do you really? Like what?”
“Like a sleeping drought into a girl's pop at a sleepover party when I think she's annoying. Sometimes I mix in medicine if she's got a problem she won't get help for.”
“Have you ever slipped me anything?”
“Of course not. You need your eyes wide open so you can see why I am a terrible choice for you.”
“Your little outfit tonight isn't helping. Antony had to be escorted from the room.”
“Don't worry about that,” Veda said confidently. “I told Pearl how to deal with problems like this efficiently. If she listened, she’ll correct the problem swiftly.”
“What did you tell her to do?”
“Antony wants to be a successful lover. He’s going to like her for her easiness. I'm not easy. I don't make things easy. He'll do something nice for her and it actually will sweep her off her feet. He’ll feel like Adonis. She just needs to capitalize on that feeling and make it last.”
I gave her a look.
“What?” she asked. “I don’t get swept off my feet.”
I gave it to her again. “I don't believe it. All that means is that no guy has ever gone about it in the right way. Has anyone ever written a spell book just for you before?”
“I said I would read it and consider you,” she said slowly like she was extremely interested but did not wish to appear so at all costs.
“Don’t use your beautiful mouth to lie to me. You are planning to read my book and discard me.”
She smiled—all sparks and sparkles. “Doesn’t that make you want to forget about me? I mean, you shouldn’t like a girl who would use you so obviously.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Go ahead and use me.”
In the scattered light of the dance, her cheeks went flush with heat. “I wish you would get back to Intarsia and forget all about me. What do you think of her lipstick?”
“You're right. It is a great improvement. Though, I think you shot yourself in the foot.”
“How so?”
“You look so charming tonight. How am I supposed to give Intarsia all my attention when you deliberately outdid her. That's why they're all so angry.”
She looked at me like she was dealing with an unpleasant customer at a service desk. “Just because I look better doesn't mean I am better. Remember how I said Pearl was easy-going? That's her power—flexibility. Well, Intarsia is nice. She is a kind witch. If I were choosing your wife for you, I'd choose her, and you would never be sorry.”
“I know.”
She stamped a white-slippered foot. “Then what are you waiting for?”
“At the moment, Fair Isle is hosting a pow-wow over what a brat you are. I'm fanning the flames standing next to you, but I don’t know anyone else here. I'll stay here if you don't mind.”
“I’m telling you to leave me, not just here on the dancefloor, but in every other way. I’m telling you to fall in love with her instead of me.”
I changed the subject. “Do you want a drink?”
“No. I'll spill on my dress.”
“Didn't you just ask for one? What makes you so sure you'll spill?”
“I always spill. I'm clumsy.”
I gawked. “I don't think I've ever met any person less clumsy than you. Don't you teach dancing?”
“A very hard-won ability, I assure you, and if another instructor is in the room while I'm teaching they practically have a fit. I have poor posture, lousy footwork, and my motions are too large. I am not a very good dancer, but the people I tutor don't care. They're boys. They just need someone there to help them who doesn't make them feel like a loser. I'm very good at that. They request me.”
I looked at the curve of her silhouette from behind. “I bet they do.”
She rolled her eyes.
“What if I wanted to take dancing lessons from you?”
“I don't give lessons. I supplement courses already being taken. Get it? I help the boys learn specific dances.”
“I get it,” I said. “What about now? Will you dance with me now?”
“Do you know how to dance, or are we just going to stand in one spot with both my hands on your shoulders and both your hands on my hips?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Not tonight. Your date needs attention.”
Antony and Pearl had joined the group and Intarsia looked embarrassed. I would have gone to her immediately, but that meant leaving Veda alone. I had scared off her crowd of admirers. I didn't know if I could leave her.
“Get going,” she said calmly. “I won't be alone.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” I asked, wondering if she'd fall in love with someone else if I left her alone. A woman was vulnerable to that sort of thing when she put too much effort into being beautiful.
She flicked me between the eyebrows. “No. Get going.”
Reluctantly, I turned away from her. Then I remembered Fair Isle was having a party at her house after the dance. Was Veda still going to go after Fair Isle was so unfriendly toward her? I turned around to ask her, but in the three seconds, since I'd turned my back, another guy had taken my place and asked her to dance. Apparently, he’d had better dance lessons, because she had taken his hand and was swirling across the floor.
⚘⚘⚘
I was living in the attic of Fair Isle's house, which was a house enchanted from six directions. It wasn’t Fair Isle’s magic that made my attic alluring. It was her mother, Willow, who worked the magic. The attic was designed like a tiny house, meaning there was a loft in the room with one bed above and another one below. I understood it was common for students to stay as boarders from time to time and the space needed to satisfy their notions of decent living accommodations.
I chose to sleep in the loft as there was a beautiful triangular window that looked out over the school grounds. If I looked far out that window, I could see Veda’s house.
One of the walls of my room was covered in a wallpaper designed to look like the forest, while the adjacent wall was covered in wood panels to make the wall look like a wood cabin, which, of course, the house wasn’t. A different window pointed toward Edmonton’s skyscrapers. My bed had a black metal frame that extended high over the bed. Each of the metal poles was wrapped in fake foliage and fairy lights. The inside was a cozy wilderness and the outside was a cold metal city.
The other end of the room was divided in half. One side was an extremely limited kitchen with a tiny rose gold fridge. The other side was the bathroom. A miniature room with half a bathtub. The mirror over the sink was very grand and I wondered if I spoke to it if it would spring to life and tell me how attractive I was. Not that I needed much flattery. I already thought very well of myself.
When the dance was over, we went back to Fair Isle's for her backyard party, I went upstairs to change. Who wanted to stay in a tux all night?
In my loft, I could see Veda's house across the green. Someone hadn’t closed the drapes as carefully as they normally did. Across the way, I saw Veda's starlight dress shimmer in the kitchen.
When I saw her, I got this brainy idea to go over and escort her over to Fair Isle's. It seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do, so I didn't change but slipped out the front door unnoticed. With my hands in my pockets, I walked directly toward the window that showed that enticing view of Veda.
I could see her clearly. June was beside her. The older witch gave Veda an envelope. Veda looked delighted, but June didn't. June's concern was evident across the grass. Veda opened the envelope, took out the paper within, and read it. She shook her head like she couldn't believe what she was reading. It was not good news. She read it again and asked June for clarification. June explained. Veda dropped the paper on the table like it was poison and backed away from it.
I quickened my pace.
The last sight I had of her before she passed from view was the bustle of her skirt bobbing as she ran down the hall. June blocked my view as she took off after her with a lady-like stride.
I bounded up the back steps and knocked on the door twice. No one answered. I tried the knob and let myself in. The paper was left in plain sight on the kitchen table. I glanced over it. The exact meaning of the document took a minute to unravel. My first thought was that it was good news, so why was Veda upset?
There were no sounds from her bedroom down the hall. I expected Veda to come out, dressed in something more comfortable, because even if the cousins were mad at her, she was expected at the bonfire. Minutes passed and no one emerged from the room. The house was silent, not even a clock ticked and I suddenly felt very out of place. I let myself out the way I came.
Walking back across the grass in the late spring evening I thought about what the paper said. Veda was to be the sole owner of the house she was living in. Her mother was turning the title over to her on her eighteenth birthday, which was only three days away. The document explained how much money was left on the mortgage and advised Veda to sell the house, take the earnings, and live the way she wanted to. Her mother expressed some wish for her to attend university.
I froze in my place when I realized what the news meant. Veda’s mother was not coming back and she was on her own.
“Are you not excited by the prospect of a ball?” Aunt Hazel asked, a pincer-like gaze closing in on her niece.
The niece realized the aunt expected an answer. “Uh,” she stuttered, struggling to find one. She looked above her as if the answer would be hanging in the air over her head. Everything around her was like the set of a period film, but she didn’t watch films like that. She only recognized a few things from movies her cousin liked to watch. The diction used by the aunt and the other young women perusing the dress shop were unfamiliar and she didn’t want to speak until she was certain she would not sound foolish.
She would have preferred to stay silent, but the aunt’s focus was still boring down on her.
“I take as much pleasure in a ball as any of us,” she said, repeating something one of the other girls said across the room.
The aunt appeared satisfied and presented the young woman with a roll of yellow silk. “Does this fabric please you, Veda?” she asked. “I’m supposed to get you out of those mourning rags.”
The young woman stared down at her black dress. “Veda?” she repeated before she’d had time to realize that she should not have repeated the name like it was unfamiliar. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was not her name.
“My apologies. I’ll address you properly. Miss Fastille, I always forget how properly my brother raised his daughters,” Aunt Hazel said before turning to another roll of fabric.
Browsing among the samples, the young lady muttered to herself. “I think I’m getting this. It’s a Jane Austin novel, but not exactly. Salinger planned to let Veda go dress shopping, and then she’s supposed to meet him at a ball. Pretty pedestrian date if you ask me. I mean, I know Veda watches these movies and reads these books. He’s probably noticed too. If he’s been to her house once, he’s seen Northanger Abbey on the shelf. I guess his book is a pretty good attempt.”
Thief that the young lady was, she chose a dark red fabric, which Aunt Hazel immediately dismissed and replaced with a turquoise fabric. Red was not a color for a young unmarried lady who wanted to move in sophisticated circles.
The young lady would not have chosen the color for herself, but when she saw the effect of it next to her skin and hair in the mirror, she relented.
After the dress had been chosen and instructions given to the seamstress, she was taken with a flurry of faceless young women to a jewelry store to choose accessories.
Maybe everything the young woman was seeing was less like a period novel and more like those ridiculous YouTube videos where a man sends a woman out for a day of shopping in a limousine, lunch with her friends, and showering her with a different present every hour until she’s finally brought to him at sunset when he presents her with an engagement ring.
Feeling nauseous, the young lady began to rethink her desire to read the book intended for Veda. She wasn’t sure what she had wanted from Salinger, but this level of spoiling, even though it was only within the pages of a spell book was unappealing. Bored, she refused to choose a necklace for herself. She told the aunt she would wear whatever was chosen for her.
When the aunt turned her back on her, the young lady left the shop and looked for a way to leave the book. She had made a mistake. She didn’t want fake dresses or fake jewels. She bet Salinger’s love for Veda was just as fake as the book she was reading.
She walked down the street only three buildings further than the jewelry shop and found that the world Salinger made simply ceased to exist. She took a deep breath in and realized there was nowhere to go, nothing to do, except to finish the story Salinger had prepared.
“Yuck,” she said aloud as she turned on her heel and returned to the shop.
The aunt took her and the faceless cousins for high tea. She had never had high tea before and Salinger had done more research on that subject. The teashop was charming, the food was delightful, and the prattle the aunt presented was not terrible to listen to. It was like listening to June present a lesson.
Then Aunt Hazel took them all to a narrow house with many rising floors in what appeared to be the heart of London. The young lady was hurried into a bath, then presented with a ladies’ maid who did her makeup and hair while they waited for her dress to arrive.
Dresses weren’t made in a day in the 1800s, but the young lady thanked Salinger in her heart for not insisting on historical accuracy. The sooner the ball came, the sooner she could get out of the boring book made to impress a girl who didn’t think about anything but dresses and sparkly rocks, that were no longer impressive because they could be made artificially inside microwaves! The young lady almost spat. Surely, not even Veda was that empty inside.
Soon, the young lady was dressed and inspecting her appearance in front of a mirror. If she was honest with herself, she had not looked that normal since her childhood. She ran her fingers down her smooth ears and unspotted nose. She felt a little sick. She could never look like that in real life.
The aunt called to her, and she carefully navigated the staircase down.
She was loaded into a carriage with the other girls.
Everything was quite grand as they pulled up to a stately manor house with torches burning along the drive to light the way. A footman helped her down from the carriage and her aunt led the way into the house greeting faceless people at every turn.
She had to find Salinger. That was the only way to end the story.
Racing through the ballroom, through the dining room, and any other part of the house that was available for guests, she searched for him.
He was nowhere.
Finally, she stood at the entryway, waiting, hoping that he would be the next man to alight from a carriage.
Then unexpectedly from behind her, she heard his voice in her ear. He said, “You have a loose thread.”
She turned to him, surprised. “Holy shit!” she blurted.
She hadn’t meant to say something like that. That was how she usually talked, but she had planned to be extra careful with her language when she was in the book. She didn’t know if bad language would disrupt the way the story was supposed to go.
Except, she couldn’t help it. She was so surprised because even though she knew what Salinger looked like, and she should not have been surprised by his appearance in the story. He was the whole reason she was there. It was just that she’d never seen a man look that mouth-watering in her life. He was half Inuit, so his features were so intensely masculine that the knot of lace at his throat only accentuated his attractiveness and brought it all home that there wasn’t another man like him anywhere. She realized he had chosen the era for himself because he knew his looks made him better than any woman’s fantasy of Heathcliff.
His expression didn’t change with her exclamation.
Looking into his eyes, she saw immediately that he didn’t know she wasn’t Veda. He was a version of himself that had been programmed to expect Veda.
She felt weak, her gloved hand took hold of the banister next to her. No, she didn’t read Jane Austin, but she did read Emily Brontë.
“You have a loose thread,” he repeated, showing her that the stitching holding her lace to her sleeve was tearing loose. Part of the lace had already detached.
She looked at it. She guessed he hadn’t overlooked that there was no such thing as nineteenth-century fast fashion. “What can I do?”
“I’ll help you,” he offered with a grin.
“How are you going to help me?”
“I’ll stitch it for you,” he said, showing her a needle and a spool of matching thread.
She gasped. “Where did you get those? You weren’t carrying them around with you?”
“No. I borrowed them from a maid,” he said, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue, “I didn’t have them with me. We’ll find an empty room.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be introduced?” she stuttered.
“I’m Salinger,” he said like he didn’t need a last name like Heathcliff. “Come with me.”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his offered elbow and followed him into a darkened hall. He didn’t even try a door until they were quite far from the ball. It was a library.
Even in the midst of how magnetic she found her host, she still had room in her consciousness to recognize that the other doors probably had nothing behind them. He was a rotten writer, even if he was beautiful enough to utter Heathcliff’s lines: “Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you.”
The young lady stepped into the empty room with him.
The book titles flashed in the candlelight. He was very near to her as he stretched out a length of thread, broke it with his teeth, and threaded the needle.
“Are you good with needles?” she asked playfully.
“I’m good with sharp things.”
Slowly, he stitched the lace back into place. She used the time to think about what boys usually did when they were so close to her. She thought of the boys who tried to dance with her at the school dances. It wasn’t much of a dance, it was more like holding a boy up so the school chaperones wouldn’t notice how drunk he was. She realized now that she had settled for that kind of attention because no other kind seemed available.
Salinger concentrated on his work, except when he pulled the long thread taut. At that moment, he admired the curls around her ear and let his eyes travel down the curve of her neck until they arrived back at the place he was mending.
“What are you looking at?” the young lady asked, feeling shy.
“You,” he replied.
“Well, you can stop it. I’m not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be fixing my dress. You’re supposed to be fixing Veda’s.”
He didn’t hear her. It wasn’t in his script that the wrong girl had slipped into the place of the right one.
“Do you want me to help you with the hem?” he asked.
“Is that coming apart too?”
“Indeed, it is.”
She looked down and saw that half the lace on her hem had fallen off. “Are you going to fix that?”
“If you want me to,” he said, tying a knot in his thread. Then he flipped her sleeve inside out and cut the thread with his teeth, inadvertently kissing the side of her arm.
She jumped.
“What of it? Do you want me to continue?” he asked, maintaining his gaze and smiling.
She swallowed and nodded.
He dropped to his knees and started talking as he began mending her hem. “I’ve always wanted to meet you,” he drawled.
“Have you?” the young woman asked, knowing full well that he was not talking about her.
“Always. I thought you were puzzling because you were less eager to meet me than your cousins, but I did not expect to find you so interesting. Whenever I see you, I wonder where you’re going, what you’re going to do there, if there’s someone you’re meeting that you look at differently. What would you look like if you were attracted to someone? What would it feel like if you looked at me that way? You look through me. Do you know that?”
“I don’t mean to,” the lady answered.
“You do. Like there’s more on your mind than what man might like you. Like you’ve taught yourself to look disinterested. I want to see the expression on your face when you feel the way I do.”
“You want to see what?” she asked, getting angry.
“What you look like when all your layers of reserve are gone.” He chuckled. “Not for free. I’ll show you what I’m like too. What I'm like when I have nothing left to hide. If you came with me, up into the north, I could show you a life you never saw before.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
He laughed. The glint of his very white teeth was adorable. “No. I’m asking you to meet me in the place where I feel most alive.”
She turned to him scornfully. “Because you love me?”
She felt his hand on her calf. “No. Because I adore you.”
Her eyes went wide and her heart nearly stopped. The real boys in her life didn’t speak like that, not to anyone, not ever. Did Salinger need to come to a place like this in order to say something like that to Veda? Red-faced, she asked him.
“Not at all,” he said. “I say whatever I want whenever. This is the only way to make you stand still. You love dancing. You love the dresses that accompany that kind of occasion and I’m showing you that for the most mundane part of the whole thing, I will be here for you, sewing the lace back on your dress, sewing you into your dress, or cutting you out of it... I’ll be here.” He paused, his eyes full of feeling.
The young lady was having a hard time listening to his confession. It wasn’t for her! Why wasn’t it for her?
Then he commented casually, “Having the lace fall off must make you crazy. You’re dealing with it remarkably well.”
He knew Veda well enough to know what would make her crazy?
Angry, she deliberately stepped on his foot. With her next step, she stepped on his hand that held the needle. He grunted slightly as the unseen needle punctured his finger.
“I think you’ve read me wrong. I don’t want to dance. I don’t want fine gowns. I don’t care about any of those stupid things.”
“What do you want?” he asked, wrenching his hand free from under her foot.
“I want a man who is wild.”
Without blinking an eye, he rubbed a sample of his own blood between his fingers and painted it in a straight line across his cheek. “If that’s what you want.” He grabbed her roughly, and...
⚘⚘⚘
I put down the book and found myself greeted by Salinger's expectant eyes. We were seated in the hidden library. The white trees stretched their limbs over us as cover from the sunlight peeping through the skylight.
“What did you think?” he blurted.
I didn't know how to answer him. The truth seemed too horrible to explain. “This book was written to be read only once, wasn't it?” I feigned.
“Yes.”
I frowned at him, unable to feign more than once. “I'm sorry, but someone has already read this book. It didn't pull me in. It's already been written like any other novel, describing a different girl's reaction to your story.”
“What?” he gasped, snatching the book from my fingers. He opened to the first page and started reading out loud. Scanning furiously, he read her thoughts and her speech. Then he snapped the book shut. “Who did this?”
I averted my eyes.
“You know!” he accused.
“You can figure it out yourself if you read further into the story. She might even tell you her real name, but if it's okay with you, I'd rather not read anymore. It's insulting and grotesque from her perspective.”
“Well, it was going to be monumental,” he sputtered angrily.
“I'm sure it was,” I said, thinking of how his imagination had not filled in the blanks of the story. According to the reader, there were too many gaps. I did not think about what he said about me and how deeply it struck. It had been a narrow escape. If I had read that book, I might have been romanced—lost.
“Who do you think it was?” he asked, getting more impatient.
“I think it was Fair Isle.”
“Why?”
“She talks about her piercings and the color red. Pearl and Intarsia don’t talk that way and Clementine is out. She has no reason to steal a spell book.”
“You sound so sure.”
“I am so sure.”
He crossed his arms across his chest. “How?”
I got up and led him to the other side of the room. Few people knew about the secret room inside the hidden library, but there had to be a room designated for the purpose of reading and it needed to be clandestine. It was little more than a closet hidden behind a painting, but inside was a reading nook that ensured complete privacy while reading. I pulled a picture frame from the wall and showed him the space behind it. I liked being the keeper of secrets. I didn't even look inside. I merely opened it and leaned against the wall. Without looking, I knew Clementine was there, lying on her back with a book in her hands. She was completely oblivious to the world.
Salinger looked in and returned it to its place before he commented. “Is she old enough to be reading that?”
“According to the family, Clementine's nineteen.”
“That can't possibly be right.”
“It's not.”
Salinger shook his head. “How old do you think she is?”
I rolled my eyes. “I've been studying her for a long time. I don't think she's ancient, and I don't think the witch who Clementine claims to be her mother is related to her. Clementine wasn't raised with the rest of us from infancy. She came when I was eleven. I think she belongs to someone else, a witch who had an obsession with youth. Maybe a witch who couldn't stand being grown up enough to have a child.”
“Still, do you have a guess as to how old she might be?”
“I think she's in her late twenties, but she looked so off eight years ago that she couldn't pass for an adult, so they shoved her in one grade ahead of us. I'm not trying to be rude, but I think it's not just her body that looks so young. She's young in her head too. The magic that keeps her young is potent. She's going to look like a goddess her entire life.”
“What? You want to change places with her?”
My mouth fell into a disgruntled frown. “Do I wish my mother was obsessed with youth and beauty to the extent that I would age half the rate of everybody else? The price is too high. Clementine makes horrible decisions regularly and she doesn't even have the decency to be sorry about it. She's almost thirty and she's content to hang out with a bunch of high schoolers. No. I don't want to switch places with her. But part of the reason I feel so close to Clementine is that she and I have something in common—errant mothers. Maybe it's that my mother has me feeling down lately.”
“You never talk about her,” Salinger remarked, sounding particularly kindhearted.
I almost wanted to tell him what was going on and why I was so wretched, but I didn't. Instead, I turned the conversation back to Fair Isle. “I think Fair Isle stole your book, and if there was any kind of love spell woven into the pages of this book, she might be quite unhappy for the next little while. Lock your door at night,” I advised.
He shook his head. “There was no love spell. I’m not trying to control you.”
“I appreciate that. All the same,” I said. “You should read every last bit of what happened inside the book and see what damage has been done. These books are dangerous.”
He clenched his teeth and nodded.
I sat at my kitchen table. July had begun. It was a little early in the morning to be up, but I needed to focus and figure out exactly what I needed to do. My journal lay in front of me. It had my schemes. Other people called them ‘to do’ lists. I didn’t know much about those. I schemed.
The highlight of the day was going to be my date with Salinger that evening. I needed to concoct a scheme where it became clear to him that he and I were wrong for each other. The perfect idea alluded my grasp. Magically, we were very similar. We were both interested in spell books and we both used glamor on ourselves daily. We both knew a thing or two about predicting the future and making snarky comments whenever we thought we could get away with it.
I couldn’t even complain about him trying to sneak extra time with me. Unlike Antony, he didn’t try. The last time I had seen him, he had departed like a white rabbit who had somewhere mysterious to be.
There was a part of me, like a dollop of chocolate fudge in the lemon meringue pie, which shouldn’t have been there. I wondered if something about the spell book had worked its magic, not just for Fair Isle, but for Salinger also. He usually texted me to tell me what we would be doing for our date. No friendly reminder of our date popped up on my phone. They were staying in the same house. Were they having midnight meetings? If they were, was I jealous?
I considered the book before me. Inside, existed a list of things I wanted for myself before I died. It was not a bucket list, because I abhorred the expression 'kick the bucket'. The book in front of me showed my plans for graduation. Deserting my cousins and not 'including' them in my preparations was one of the things my cousins were mad about. I could have made each of them look as jaw-dropping as me, but selfishly kept my talents to myself.
Since the fateful night, cousins were talking, aunts were talking, discussing my behavior. It wasn’t the first time. Years ago, I had changed the stickers on seven skeins of wool in Intarisia's mother's shop, thereby drastically reducing prices. Of course, I was caught. It was alpaca and it was deeply frowned upon to arrange your own discount at the family yarn shop. Another time, I accidentally gave poor instructions about a potion to a customer at Pearl's mom's shop, causing the woman to return her purchase and give a firm promise to never come back. Listening to the retelling of that story always jarred my nerves. It was all because I didn't know the difference between my right and my left and I got the directions wrong. There were sore feelings all around afterward.
I didn't even have my mother to dress my aunts down. As a matter of fact, my mother's advice was to sell the house and leave all my people behind. June and I had talked about it at length. The only conclusion she came to was that we needed to speak to my mother. Getting in touch with her was hard lately. In truth, if she didn’t want to be found, which was what her letter said, then I wouldn’t find her.
It was quarter to seven in the morning when Fair Isle scratched at my door—the back door.
She burst in without a word and plunged into my bedroom, where she crashed around like a drug addict. I stayed at the table. I had one half of a grapefruit that needed my attention more than my stupid cousin.
Finally, she came back and raked her hands through her cropped hair. She hissed furiously, “Where is it?”
“Where is what?”
“The book.”
“What book?”
“The one Salinger wrote. I heard he gave it to you. Where is it?”
I blotted my lips with a napkin. “I don't have it.”
“Why not?”
“Because someone read it before me. It wasn't meant to be read over and over again. One time use only and someone read it before me.”
“What do you mean, 'one time use only?'” Her lips turned pale.
“I mean that some of the books in the hidden library are meant to be read over and over again. What happens in the book stays in the book and anyone can have an adventure in it, but not the one Salinger wrote for me. It was meant to record the actions and dialogue of the reader as they experienced the book because he wanted to read my response. When he gave it to me, I read what the thief did while they were in the story.”
Fair Isle was aghast. “Did you read the whole thing?”
“Ugh, no. I gave it back to Salinger. He left in a huff and I haven't seen him since.”
She tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, tried to sound like she didn't care, and shrugged, “It sounds like you have no idea who read it.”
“You did.”
Giving up, she dropped into a chair and flopped half her body on the table like she was sleeping on a desk at school. “You don't sound surprised or mad or anything,” her strangled voice muttered.
I started scooping grapefruit wedges. “I keep telling everyone that my goal in life is not to rob you of Salinger. He's doing what he wants.”
“I don’t understand why he wants you.” Her head perked up. “I mean, you are the most dead person ever. Do you ever feel anything, Invader?”
That was my nickname—Invader. Like Veda, but Invader. The cousins had called me that since I was nine. I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Come on. You're not bothered by the fact that we don't want you in our coven. You don't want hotter-than-hot Salinger even though he's serving himself on a silver platter for you. You didn't want Antony either even though he has favored you our whole lives. What is it you really want?”
I glared at her. She was not allowed to ask me questions so perfectly on point. “Why are you turning this around on me? The real question is why did you take something that was mine?”
“You never get mad at anyone. Why would you get mad at me for that?” she rolled her eyes.
For me, that was the epitome of rudeness. “Just because I never lose my temper doesn't make me any less right. You are the thief. Are you going to apologize?”
She batted her eyelashes at me. “I never apologize.”
“What were you hoping to gain coming over here? Were you hoping to get the book and read it again?”
She opened her mouth to protest but closed it again.
“You won't be able to experience the book again. The only thing you can do is read your thoughts and reactions—like a journal—where you didn't filter what was recorded.”
“It recorded... everything?”
“Everything. It's quite embarrassing. Salinger was embarrassed when he read it.” I paused. “Has he been avoiding you?”
She nodded, even though it was clear she didn't want to.
I got up, rinsed my plate, and walked across the kitchen to the hall. Fair Isle's hand shot out and she grabbed my wrist. “I've got to know. Why don't you like him? He's perfect.”
“Don't touch me,” I snapped, unsuccessfully pulling my arm back.
“I wanna talk to you!”
“Fine, but let go,” I said coldly.
She took her hand off me and blundered on, her words like marbles rolling on the floor, annoying and messy. “Forget I mentioned Antony earlier,” she said. “I didn't understand why you didn't like him until Salinger came along. I thought, 'this is why Veda didn't go for Antony. She knew there was a guy out there who was better, so she held her cards to her chest until he showed up.' I thought you were just acting like you didn't want Salinger either to stop us from lynching you or because you wanted to see how much he liked you by making him jump through hoops. But what I did, using the book he made for you, if you secretly wanted him—you should be ready to kill me—but you seem the same as you always are. Really? Why don't you want him?”
“You still aren't apologizing?”
She hit the table with the bottom of her fist. “I didn't know the book only had one use. I really didn't.”
“Still no apology?”
“I wanna hear why you don't want him! There aren't better men out there, Veda. He's it.” She put out her fingers and started counting on them. “He's handsome. He's twenty. He can work magic. He's fresh, clean, blood. He's rich. He has a huge house with log pillars built on the edge of a mountain range. His family has old power. He's a gentleman and an animal. If it had been you who read his book, you would know that he can romance a dead woman to life. Why isn't he good enough?”
“Because I am not capable of love.”
“Fine. But he should still get your blood pumping.”
I groaned but in a ladylike way. “I keep telling you. I was not made for that sort of thing. My body doesn't feel the same stuff yours does. I don't get all hot and bothered. I know exactly where my future lies and it doesn’t lie with him. I am a nun in a church I made for myself and no one else can come in.”
Her eyebrows were knitted like I spoke a language she didn't understand.
“I can explain about the coven thing easier,” I said, trying to dumb it down for her. “I don't want to be part of your coven of three, because frankly, none of you are as gifted as I am. You would all hold me back.”
She sneered. “You think that highly of yourself?”
“It's not arrogance. It's the truth. But let me give you a piece of advice. You should try not to lose Intarsia. I think you know she's the next most gifted. There's a chance she might want to do something else. I've looked into my crystal ball and you and Pearl are the only certain members. If things get ugly, you may have to use Antony and you and I both know that's not very good. Men do very well at their own things, but when you start mixing masculine and feminine magics, things can get muddied.”
She blinked. “Why not Clementine?”
I avoided her. “I need to get changed. I have a lot to do today.”
At first, I didn't know what was going on. I was standing in the middle of a long corridor and there were finely dressed people walking ahead of me and nicking me with their elbows.
One person said, “The show starts soon.”
The next one said, “We'll have to see if she went in already. Maybe she's already in her seat.”
I felt hopelessly out of place until I saw I was wearing a suit. No problem there. I checked my pocket. I had a ticket. It was an opera ticket. They were showing Tosca . I had never seen it. I rubbed the ticket between my fingers to see if there were two tickets and I was supposed to meet someone. The paper was solitary. I was alone.
I glanced over my shoulder to see where I had come from. There were doors, but they were thronged with ticket holders moving forward. I recognized that I was one of them and I had to move forward also. I walked with steadiness until the hallway broke open to an atrium. Outside the theater doors, was the coat check, the ticket counters, and a candy stand. I did a double-take. One side sold candy like we were about to enter a carnival and the other sold tall goblets with sparkling liquids.
Checking my pocket again, I found that I had no wallet and no money.
I put myself in que to turn in my ticket and see the show. Despite all the people coming in behind me, I somehow managed to be the last in line. The lobby was emptying.
Then, I saw her.
At first, I didn't think the woman before me could be the girl I knew in real life. How could she be the same? This girl wore a dress the color of raspberry wine. The skirt was made up of hundreds of ruffles and the bodice was a mass of wondrous stitchery. It was her. The hair was the same. That same hair that was always enchanted in real life was still enchanted while a story unfurled around her. I wondered again who the author was and how did they know Veda to write about her with such detail?
She wasn't in line. She was coming out of a door marked, 'Staff Only.' I wondered for a moment if she was going to be performing that night. After all, in a book, she might very well have the part of Tosca herself. Instead of going back through the door, she weaved through the line of ticket holders next to me and then behind me, moving out of my grasp but leaving her scent behind her. It made my head swim.
I ditched my place in line and followed her.
She disappeared behind another door, and when I finally caught up to her, she was already at the end of the hallway. The area looked like the offices of the people who ran the theater. She tried three doorways before one of them gave way to her and she disappeared inside.
I went for it, too, but by the time I got there, the room behind the door was empty. There were doors everywhere. When I tried them, all of them were locked. No amount of banging on them did anything.
In the end, I returned to the lobby.
The lines were gone and when I went to speak to the ticket master, I saw that he was not a real person at all, but a robot made of aluminum. He had black camera lenses for eyes and only one leg that made him the right height for the people he collected tickets from.
“So sorry, sir,” the robot said, opening his shining jaw once to show speech but not moving it up and down to match his words. His accent was cultured, like a search engine. “The opera is closed for the evening. The performance is over and all the guests have gone.”
I stared at the machine. There had to be a malfunction. “How is that possible? I'm only two minutes late.” I looked at my watch. It said ten o'clock. I looked at my ticket. It said seven.
“So sorry, sir. The opera is closed for the evening.” The machine's camera lenses closed and his head slumped to the side. He looked like a zero instead of a one.
I knocked him on the side of the head with my knuckles, but nothing happened. Glancing around, the place was as deserted as a horror movie. I stood there stupidly for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do. Finally, I decided to check the robot in front of me for a power switch. I got in the booth with him and lifted the back of his coat to find the button. That was when Veda returned to the lobby.
She swept up to the concession and bought herself an enormous ball of cotton candy on a stick. I abandoned the mechanical ticketmaster and joined her. Unlike me, she had money in a little black sequined purse.
I had been about to say, 'Hi Veda,' when I checked myself. Whatever book I was reading, I bet my character would not have much success addressing her like that. I opted for a classy, “Good evening,” and brushed her bare elbow with my fingertips. Unobtrusive, but still physical contact. Smooth.
Her eyes were enormous with curiosity when she turned to face me. “Good evening to you, Mr.?” She paused to let me fill in the blank. She didn't know me in this world.
There was a moment where I struggled to know what I ought to say to her. It was a fake world so technically, I could answer, 'Bond,' and her character would call me Mr. Bond for the rest of the book, but my mind revolted against the idea. Her beautiful red lips were parted, waiting for my response. Why on earth would I want her to say a name that wasn't mine?
“I'm Salinger Meriwa. Don't you remember me?”
She blushed mildly and looked at the floor. “You're confused if you think you've met me before. This isn't exactly my normal hangout.”
“Why are you here tonight instead of where you usually play?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Big plans. Have you seen a girl wearing a green dress?”
I scoffed. “I haven't seen anyone, but you.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Stop it. I'm talking about a real girl. She has green eyes and a green dress. I came with her tonight. Have you seen her? Her name is Vanya. I’m trying to set her up with the owner. His name is Darnell Wickmore.”
I stared at her. For some reason, that did not strike me as a hobby of the Veda I knew. She was not the kind of girl who would indulge in a figurative tug-of-war, but for her to take on the role of matchmaker struck me as one hundred percent weird. “Why?” I asked her, my voice surprisingly loud.
“What do you mean?” she giggled.
Veda was giggling. It was so uncharacteristic of her that it seemed like something undeniably bad was about to happen. Then she touched my elbow. I almost jumped.
“My friend Vanya is a very good person. She has wonderful taste in books and I have never seen her watch a stupid movie. She is careful with her money and her grades in university make grown women weep. She deserves a good man, but she doesn't exactly have the confidence to date on her own.”
“Why?”
“I'm not sure,” she said absently, tearing the cotton candy. “I never really thought about it.”
“And why do you think this man, Darnell, is the best match for her?”
She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. “There aren't that many men to choose from who have reasonable credentials. For instance, did you know this theater is not a public place? This is his own house. We're in the north wing. His house is supposed to have all kinds of amusements for the winter months, so he has a house with a theater for opera or ballet. He also has a ballroom and--”
I cut her off. “I get it. He's rich.”
“It's not just that he's rich,” she retorted quickly. “I don't know that many men, but I know even fewer who are long time friends of the family.”
It started to make sense to me. This was exactly who Veda was and I just hadn't seen it before. At that moment, I realized that Pearl and Antony was not something that just happened. It happened because Veda made it happen. I started to wonder if Darnell was Antony.
She suddenly dropped her cotton candy in a garbage can like it hadn't interested her in the first place. A squat door spontaneously opened and an enormous automated stuffed animal rolled through it. Veda stepped aside and held the door open for its long body to emerge. It was brown and rough like a sack of potatoes. It took a second for me to figure out what it was supposed to be. It was a sea cow. It was on its stomach. As it came out of the room, I saw its fan-like tail sweeping up behind it.
Veda did not seem alarmed or surprised, even though the thing came up to her waist. When there was enough room for her to pass by, she bent and slipped in the door behind it. It was a kitchen and the little candy counter was a small extension of it. I saw deep frying vats and rows of waffle irons. There were clusters of burners so twenty chefs could all work at the same time. And, of course, there were many other doors.
Veda didn't seem to know which one to choose and she stood examining them with her fingers on her chin.
I went to open one when she pulled me back.
“Salinger, wait. I'm pretty sure one of these doors opens the door to the main dining room and the other opens the door to the indoor pool. We can't choose the pool. There is no reason for us to be in the pool area, though we would be able to explain the dining room.”
“Why can't we just open them both up and then pick the right one?”
“I'm not sure. I just know that if we choose wrong, we'll get hopelessly lost. The next thing you know, we'll be on an island owned by scientists with tubes in our arms.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Why would that happen? I thought you said this guy, Darnell, was a good guy.”
“I did not say he was a good guy. If anything, I said he was better than the other men I know. That does not make him a good person. Besides, why are you thinking about that now? I'm busy. I have to figure out which of these two doors has more wear and tear on it. Which one do you think? The left?”
I glanced at her. “You don't have a very high opinion of men in general, do you?”
She looked at me like I was incredibly stupid. “Why are you making me reconsider setting my friend up with him? I was planning on introducing him to Vanya tonight, but since I don't know him very well, I guess it's better to meet him myself before I make up my mind.” She tapped her foot impatiently. She was waiting for me to answer her first question.
“I also think it's the left.”
We pushed through and ended up in the dining room. “See? Perfect! I knew there would be more traffic through the main dining room than the pool. Why don't these doors have windows in them?”
“I suppose they want visitors to get lost.” I slipped my hand around her waist and rested my chin on her shoulder. “If we get lost, I'll find a blanket and make us a tent.”
She let out a throaty chuckle and slipped out of my grip. “You thought I was joking about the test tube thing? We can’t be caught. Come on, let's check the table. There might be a clue as to where my friend and Darnell are hiding.”
“I thought they didn't know each other?” I reminded her.
“They don't. I don't expect them to be together now, but they supped here this evening... with about thirty other people. I was here too. She sat there.”
I bent down and looked under the chair since Veda wasn't exactly dressed for exploration. I found a crumpled up piece of paper. I handed it to her.
Unfolding it, she almost spat in disgust. “This is Vanya's handwriting. It's her phone number. She was giving it to the man next to her. He crumpled it up and threw it on the floor.”
“It wasn't Darnell who was sitting next to her, was it?”
“No. He sits at the head of the table. Let’s look there.”
At the head of the table, I found five cloth napkins sitting on his chair in a crumple. I didn't think there was anything important about them, but Veda thought they were very important and spread each one out on the table. The first one was a phone number written in lipstick.
“Very flirtatious. It's on a napkin so that it doesn't seem like she was planning to give him her number and it's in lipstick to ensure it's feminine. Tricky.”
The second one was also lipstick on a napkin. The third was eyeliner on a napkin. The fourth looked like the one he had used for dinner, but the fifth was another phone number, in lipstick again.
“The competition for this guy is fierce,” I said, bending over the table to be closer to Veda.
She sighed, stood up straight, and almost knocked me over, but didn't seem to notice as she went back to the doors, trying to figure out which one to use.
I ambled up behind her a second time. “Trying to figure out which door is used the most often?”
“No. I'm trying to figure out which one has the most expensive lock. What do you want to bet, he has a special quick route from the kitchen to his bedroom? If I had a house this expensive and luxurious, the kitchen and the bedroom would be beside each other. I love food.”
“Wouldn't it be directly into the kitchen then?” I asked, pointing behind me.
“Maybe.” Then her whole body sagged. “I suppose we've blown our chance to go back into the kitchen. All the doors lock after you've been through them.”
I looked around. “It's still kind of messy in here. Do you think the sea cow will come in here to sweep up the crumbs?”
“I hope so.” She brushed me aside again and found a place at the table to sit.
I sat down beside her and reached down under her dress to pull her foot up on my lap. If there was one thing I had learned since I got to Edmonton, it was that teenage girls wore ridiculous shoes and a good trick that was cheaper than prince charming presenting a shoe was removing a shoe. A tiny foot rub made girls eat out of my hand. Veda’s shoe was not like the others. It was a tiny black slipper. No heel. Her feet were not tired and she was completely unmoved by my gesture. She politely declined and crossed her ankles under her dress.
Leaning on her palm she looked at the table mournfully. “I hope my friend is okay. Do you think she found her way out of the theater with everyone else when the opera was over, or do you think she stayed like a good girl to find me?”
“Were you supposed to meet her here?”
“No, but we came together so it would be sort of bad manners for her to leave without me.”
A strange thought occurred to me and after the crumpled scrap of paper we found, it made perfect sense. “Your friend doesn't know you are trying to set her up with someone, does she?”
“Of course not. I have to work with utmost secrecy.” She put her finger elegantly on her lips.
In the next moment, a cat jumped up on her lap. He was a mass of gray fur with vivid green eyes and white markings around his eyes.
Veda smiled pleasantly. “I have been wishing that we would meet this fellow. You know, there is more information on the internet about this cat than there is about Darnell.”
“Is he a cat lover?”
“Not that I know of. This cat owns a portion of the estate. I think he owns two cottages and a pond. His name is Roc. He's the richest kitty in the western world. I have been looking for a cat like this all my life.”
“What for?”
“To be my familiar, of course. I'd smuggle him away in my pashmina if I thought he would do it, but he won't. He thinks I'm only a little better than a cushion. Isn't he beautiful?”
To me, the cat looked handsomer than an ordinary tabby, but I didn't know anything about cats. I was a dog person because dogs were functional and in desolate places, their bark was essential to safety. A cat was a luxury to me and I couldn't even remember holding one.
Just as suddenly as he arrived, Roc leapt over to one of the doors and started pawing at it.
“That's the door!” Veda exclaimed.
“Why? Because the cat is scratching it?”
She twisted the knob. “Wherever this cat wants to go is where we want to go.”
We entered a hallway with many doors. She opened the door the cat sniffed and even though the cat slipped inside, Veda stayed at the threshold—frozen—staring into the room.
I looked in. It was the rich man's bedroom. He was alone in the bed, and even though his eyes were wide open, it was obvious that he was asleep. He couldn't be dead, his chest rose and fell with his breath, but there were half a dozen machines hooked up to him.
“Do you know what they're for?” I whispered.
“They mean he's sick. He's so sick that he's not much better off than the mechanical man in the lobby who was taking the tickets or even the stuffed cow that cleans the floors. There's not much left to him that's human. I wonder if those other women know that he could never give them a proper life. If they do, they must want the money badly.”
She let the door fall closed, leaving Roc inside with his master. In a daze, she stumbled away. “I can't set Vanya up with him.”
“I guess not.”
“I don't know where to find her, or if we can even contact her to make sure she got home safely. I'm always bungling up things like this.” She began wringing her hands and twisting her fingers.
I reached out and took hold of her hands to still them. “How about if we try one of these doors? One might be the way out.”
She nodded and allowed me to lead her to another door. I opened it. It was a sitting room. Following her advice on using the doors that had the most wear and tear on them, I chose another door, but Veda stopped me from going any further. There was a fireplace in the room and some logs were burning.
“I'm cold,” she whispered. “Couldn't we stop here for a minute? You said you would find me a blanket. Could you?”
My forehead involuntarily creased. “Aren't you worried about being caught?”
She shook her head. “Why would that matter when I'm so cold?”
I saw an afghan on the couch, but I couldn't let go of her. She had been so brave and daring before her hopes had been dashed and now she was like a little girl who had become separated from her mother at an amusement park.
I wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Then, I realized she was letting me touch her. The real Veda did not allow much physical contact. Aside from the date I took her on where we went to visit Emi at the art gallery, she never let me touch her unless it was unforgivable rudeness for her to forbid the contact. She evaded here too, but now that she was cold, she was tolerant of my holding her hand and tolerant of my arm over her shoulder.
“You're not running away?” I asked.
She rubbed my hand. “I'm cold. I don't like being cold.”
“Who likes being cold?”
“Agreed. I just seem to take it more personally than other people,” she said, shivering. “Being hot is just as bad, it's just different. When it's cold, I feel myself shutting down. I suppose it's like dying slowly.”
I nodded, thinking privately that she couldn't know much about cold if Edmonton was the threshold of her experience, but I let her go on.
“Being hot is just as bad,” she repeated. “It's just different. It makes me crazy, short-tempered, and panicky. Do you know what's the worst? When someone tries to touch me when it's hot. The heat of their skin makes me feel like I need to crawl out of mine. I don’t want to live alongside people.” Uncharacteristically, she settled into my arms on the couch and put her hand on my chest, like she was about to slide her fingers between the buttons of my shirt, if only to warm her fingers.
“They're always doing bad stuff?” I asked, enjoying myself.
“Yeah, they're always sneaking up on me. I don't like it when people sneak up on me. Something is funny about my ears and a lot of the time I can't tell which direction someone is coming from. If they are quiet, I might not notice at all until they lay a hand on my shoulder. Then I'll jump and scream. Then they think I'm doing something bad, and they've caught me. It's not normal for someone to be so shocked, but I really didn't hear them.” Suddenly, she took her hand off my chest.
“Why'd you do that?” I reached for her hand again.
“I don't want to make you cold.”
“I'm not cold. Give me your hand. I'm happy to warm you up.”
Her eyes were enormous as she turned to face me. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.” I snatched her hand back.
She leaned into me and I rested my face on her hair. There was that scent again. I thought I would be swept away. Why couldn't we connect like this when I saw the real Veda in person? As it was, I was reading a book, and who could have written it?
“Is there anything else that bothers you?”
“Like what?”
“I don't know. You don't like being surprised by sudden visitors. What else?”
“Loud noises. Sometimes even just music is too much for me.”
“What else?”
“Horror movies. They upset me because I can never forget what I've seen, so I don't like to look at things that upset me. The images flash in my mind for years and years. People disagree that I can have a photographic memory. They seem to think having something like that would be wonderful talent akin to the genius only an incredibly conceited person would confess to. Then they make fun of me when I can't remember my keys.” She sighed. “It's not the same thing. Where you have placed your keys is different. You may not look at your keys when you set them in the dish when you take your coat off. A movie is a completely different experience. There are flashing lights and a soundtrack. Even if you only see a movie once, you will identify the uniqueness of the music played for the next hundred years.”
I smiled. This was a great book. I found it in the cupboard Veda showed me in the hidden library. Clementine hadn’t been there, only this book. It was typed, so it didn't look like the books I had written, but it dragged me into the story and I got to hear Veda tell me all these things about herself that she would never tell me in real life.
Had someone left it there for me intentionally?
“Are you any warmer?” I asked, rubbing her shoulder.
“I'm melting like an ice cube, and very happy.” She turned to face me. “Who are you really?”
“Salinger.”
“No. I mean, why are you here, following me around and helping me out? Don't you have somewhere else to be? Isn't there someone waiting for you? You can't be single.”
“I'm single,” I assured her.
“Still, why are you here?”
I took a breath in. “I suppose I'm here to help you with your problem, like a guardian angel.”
Doubtful, she bit her lip. “That sounds like a lie.” Her voice gained energy and she put more space between us. “That sounds like a really big lie.”
“Why?”
“I already have one and it's not you. What do you want?”
“I'm getting what I want, right now.”
“What?”
“I'm holding you. Trust me. At this moment, I am very satisfied.”
“So,” she said, relaxing to her former position. “You are looking for romance? That's why you're here?”
I nodded.
She closed her eyes for a moment like she might go to sleep when suddenly, a knock came at the door. The voice of a girl came through the wood. “Help me! I'm lost!”
Her distress made me get to my feet and rush to the door. I opened it and a girl in a green dress rushed in.
“Thank you!” she exclaimed, hurrying to the fire. “Veda! You're here. How lucky! This is an awful place! Why couldn't I find you after the opera? I looked everywhere.”
Veda stood and hugged her friend. “I'm so glad you're safe. I have someone I want you to meet.” She led Vanya toward me. “I met this new friend. His name is Salinger. He's looking for romance and I think you two would make the perfect couple.”
I paused in horror. What had she said? I looked at the girl in the green dress. I hadn't seen her face when she rushed in and now the fire made her into a perfect silhouette. She was familiar, but unidentifiable.
Veda took my hand in one of hers and Vanya’s hand in the other. She put our hands together and said, “I know you two will make the best couple.”
As her hands released ours, the other girl's fingers curled around mine in a death grip. I tried to shake her hand off, but before I knew it, Vanya was in my arms and her free hand curled around my neck.
“Wait, Veda!” I cried, trying to pull the second girl off me, but Veda was nowhere to be seen.
I had one whole horrible minute in which I stood in confusion and misery before the book booted me out and I found myself back in the hidden library.
I set the leaflet down, exactly where I had found it, and backed out.
If I had flipped over the book and read even the first line again, it might have pulled me back into the book and I would have to go through it all over again. I didn't dare to. If it was written for only one person then it had recorded my failure completely. Whoever left the book would find it and read what had happened. Whoever they were, they may as well know how I felt about Veda so they could give up whatever romantic designs they had on me. Finally, I decided it had been left by someone who wasn't upset about my interest in Veda. I settled on the weird lady who was staying with June. Her name was Hattie, and behind her conflicting colored clothing, she had loads of unused magical energy lying around. She could have written it with her toes.
I stopped walking.
There was no way that book was intended to discourage me from pursuing Veda. If anything, it was an instruction book to show me what mistakes I was making. I decided at that moment that I didn't have to leave the leaflet back in the library. It was meant for me. I went back to retrieve it, but it was gone.
That night, I sat at the dinner table with Fair Isle and her family. Intarsia was there too, and the two gabbing girls kept their heads close together as they shared their secrets. Using that moment as an opportunity, I used my magic to show me what Fair Isle looked like without her piercings. She looked like she was about twelve years old. I wondered if she was Vanya. Something about the two girls was similar. No, more than that. Vanya was Fair Isle.
Sensing my gaze, the two girls turned to face me. When Intarsia's face came into view, I saw I had made a mistake. Vanya couldn't be Fair Isle. She had to be Intarsia. My eyes shifted between them. No. Vanya was both of them.
“Salinger, what's going on?” Fair Isle drawled. She stretched her gum and gobbed it on the edge of her plate. “Why are you staring at us?”
“Where's Clementine tonight?”
“She's home. Hair washing night.”
“Do girls still do that?”
“She does.”
I got up and grabbed my coat. “Where’s Pearl?”
“She's out with Antony. Who knows where they go?”
“I'll try his house,” I volunteered as I left.
I had to look Clementine and Pearl in the face while my memory of Vanya was still fresh.
I banged on Clementine's door. She answered.
“What's going on?” she asked with a poised Cheeto in her orange dusted fingers.
Studying her face, I said, “Everything is fine. I just had to check something.”
“Check what?”
“Your face.”
“Don't be an ass,” she yawned, completely nonplussed and posing to allow me to examine her features.
“I'm finished.” I darted from the door and yelled over my shoulder, “Thank you.”
I was right, Clementine looked like her too.
I slowed down. Did I even need to see Pearl? It would probably look like her too, and why? Because Veda would throw anyone under the bus for her cousins. That was the purpose of the book and the reason behind everything Veda did. She was doing the same thing to me in real life. Specifically, she was allowing me two dates a week so I would stay in Edmonton and be available to fall in love with one of her cousins who gave me more attention than she did.
Why? Were Veda's cousins so messed up that they couldn't find lives of their own? Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard any of their plans for after graduation. Pearl, of course, wasn't graduating, but the other girls and Antony should have plans. Clementine had a job of some kind, but just now I found her doing nothing.
Veda was afraid none of them would do anything for themselves... Ever! She had to help them establish good life patterns that would propel them in a positive direction for the rest of their lives. Until that was done, she couldn't have a life of her own.
I realized abruptly that the time I spent dating Veda was being wasted. She wasn't giving me a chance. She was not going to be touched by the romance I presented her no matter how well orchestrated it was. She was going to keep her heart as cold as ice and never let me get one step nearer to her.
I needed to change my strategy.
I trudged up the steps to Antony's house. He answered the door when I knocked. Incredibly, he looked a little like Vanya too.
⚘⚘⚘
One of the things about sleeping at Fair Isle’s house was that I didn’t sleep as well as I did back home. Maybe it was the city lights that shone through the gauzy curtain beside my head that made me feel that it was never quite dark enough to sleep. Maybe it was the unfamiliar smell or the feeling that if I let my guard down, something irreversible might happen.
And that night, it did.
I heard my door creak open and the footsteps that followed.
Ever since Veda’s warning, I had been afraid something like this would happen. She was counting on my being asleep as she quietly mounted the steps to the loft bed where I slept. It wasn’t dark enough to hide her form, but apparently, she was too busy making sure she was quiet to realize that I was watching her.
Careful not to bump me, she crossed her legs and put her hands together. She took in a deep breath, breathing in both her mouth and her nose at the same time. It was the sort of breath you took right before you started chanting.
“What are you doing?” I asked, not whispering.
“I’m here to tuck you in,” she said with a winning smile. It was very effective in the dim light. Even though her hair was short and there was a ring protruding from the corner of her lip, she looked more like Veda than should have been possible. Was she using a glamor?
“I don’t think I need to be tucked in,” I replied.
She put her hand on my foot and started running her fingers down the length of it, like a gentle massage. “Aren’t you frustrated? Isn’t Veda hard? Dating her must be terrible for you. You’re so full of life, which makes you her complete opposite. I know you feel like you have to win her because you told everyone that was what you were going to do, but what if you took a tiny break from chasing her?”
“What kind of a break?” I asked, the sound of my voice jarring to my ears.
Fair Isle was on her hands and knees now, slowly making her way to the head of the bed. “The kind where you forget about her for one night and try a different cousin on for size. You did say you wanted to try all of us.”
She bent her head to kiss me, but before our lips touched, I knew what that felt like. It had taken some time for the knowledge my character had learned in the book to get back to me, but the light in her eyes brought it all home. Like I had really been the character in the book, I knew what she tasted like, how she moved, and how she wanted to be touched.
I put my hand up to stop her from coming any closer. “It was very daring of you to come up here.”
“I’m not asking you to give up on Veda,” she said. “You can try again with her in the morning. This is a no-strings-attached kind of rendezvous. You know how good we are together.”
I did know, but I also knew that if I raised one hand to satisfy what I was thinking, I would no longer be able to be Veda’s gentleman caller. Her referring to me that way had been ridiculous. The first time I heard it, it had sounded so absurd, I almost laughed.
I had to refuse Fair Isle, but every sentence I tried to formulate to reject her sounded stupid. She was coming closer, her fingers were under the collar of my shirt as she grabbed my collar. She was going to jerk me into a sitting position and kiss me.
Putting my hand on hers, I said, “Stop. You’d better go.”
“What if I come back tomorrow night?” she whispered breathily.
Again, everything that came to mind as a comeback sounded terrible, cheesy, or cowardly. I pushed her completely off the bed.
With a dull thud, she landed on her feet. Then she turned and blew me a kiss. “Another night then. I’m sure you’ll eventually get bored of Invader and her lack of charm.”
With her gone, I fell back on my pillows and thought of what a different feeling that had been. How I had felt holding Veda in front of the fireplace in her book and how I had felt with Fair Isle sitting on the edge of my bed?
I had stopped her from casting a spell on me when I stopped her from chanting. There wasn’t a spell that could make someone fall in love when they didn’t want to, but there were plenty of spells that could have confused me enough to make me think she was Veda and a willing participant.
I’d never get to sleep again.
The first step to getting each of the cousin's lives straightened out was to talk to them about their futures. I interviewed each of them.
“Pearl, what do you plan to do after graduation?”
She looked at me like I was a freak. “Well, if there turns out to be a place open in our generation's coven, I'd like to join it. I don't think that's very likely. It will be Intarsia, Clementine, and Fair Isle. I'll be left out because I'm the youngest.”
I nodded. “What about a career?”
“I'm going to work in my mother's shop.”
I had heard about it. It was a mystic boutique called Cold as Stone that sold semi-precious stones, tarot cards, and tiki masks.
“Is that what you want to do?”
She scoffed. “No one is pressuring me. Until I chose my color, they thought I was too childish to help there. My mother lets me work there two nights a week now.”
“Is the money good?”
“She doesn't pay me.”
“Will you get paid after graduation?”
“Probably not.”
I looked around the room because looking at her was a trifle painful. “Are you okay with that?”
“Why wouldn't I be? It's a family tradition. Except that it would be cool if I could figure out a way to get more people to come in. It's practically a graveyard right now. That’s why I wouldn’t be paid.”
I said goodbye to her and scribbled a note in my book about touring the shop to see where I could help.
I didn't ask her about Antony. It was obvious she wanted to be with him forever and ever and ever. I didn't need to make her say it.
⚘⚘⚘
Intarsia was next. She was a sight to behold since she had continued to wear red lipstick.
“What are you going to do in the fall?” I asked, taking her hand and spinning her like a dancer. “Do you have plans?”
She steadied herself against me and rolled her eyes. “Why do you have to look like Colin Ferrell and talk like my mother?” She pushed me away.
I chuckled. I did not look like Colin Ferrell. Instead of correcting her, I said, “Your mother sounds awesome. What does she think you should do?”
“She thinks I should go to work in her yarn shop.”
I rubbed my chin doubtfully. “Would you get paid?”
“Of course, I'd get paid. I get paid now. I have done their books since I first started taking accounting. They're taking mild advantage of me, and that's fine... since I don't have any other plans.”
“Well, we need to get you some other plans. I'm going to that college,” I struggled for the name, “Grant MacEwan tomorrow to look at what's available.”
She groaned. “It's too late. If you wanted to apply there, you should have done so months ago, or didn't you know?”
“Don't be such a defeatist. Just because we can't start something in September doesn't mean we can't make arrangements for later. We have to make plans.”
“And you're planning to go to Grant MacEwan in January?”
“I'll go if you'll go.”
She looked at me like the idea was unheard of. “You'd go to college with me?”
“Yes.”
“You'll be my little bus buddy and go take classes every day there?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you do that when you have already made up your mind to have Veda and spirit her away to the north?”
At first, I didn't know how to answer her. We stared at each other with open mouths. Finally, I said, “Who's getting married, Intarsia—? I'm two years older than you, but I still haven't got a career. Just like you, I've been spending my time doing whatever my father asks me to do at his shop. Let's just start by going there tomorrow and seeing how we like it.”
She nodded.
I felt like a creep because her eyes shone with a flame of hope that I’d changed my mind. I hadn’t, but she deserved to do something meaningful with her life. Like the jerkwad I was, I smiled at her and let her believe whatever she liked. Then I wrote the time we were going to meet in my book and went on my way.
⚘⚘⚘
Fair Isle was perched in the window seat when I came back from Intarsia's. I had been planning to take her to the college with us, but the truth was that I didn’t even want to talk to her.
I read the book she stole all the way to the end after she left my room the night before. I had been avoiding it the same way I’d been avoiding her. It was terrible. No small wonder Veda dropped it.
We had been all over each other. Her hands in my hair, her tongue between my teeth, the buttons on my shirt torn free, and with each heightened detail of intimacy between us I thought I’d scream. I did scream a bit, swearing and cursing as I did so. Not only did it show that I was an inexperienced writer, but it also showed that I was an inexperienced lover. Reading it was like listening to an ancient fortune teller give you a play-by-play of the first time you got anywhere with a date, which wasn’t exactly true. I wasn’t completely inexperienced. I just hadn’t liked any of the girls I’d dated enough to get swept away the way I was when I thought about being with Veda. I wanted her in my arms badly, but because of the girl swap, that was how I kissed Fair Isle.
The book only ended because I had put a timepiece within it. The ball had to end at midnight, so when the clock struck, Aunt Hazel interrupted us in the library. That was the end of the book.
When I’d had enough of what I’d read, I took it to the firepit in the backyard and disposed of it in the only I knew would ensure it would never be read by another person. With the licking flames, I felt better, like Fair Isle had never slipped her hands up my shirt and enjoyed what she’d felt.
After I burned it, I felt hoodwinked and a little like exacting revenge on Fair Isle for her thievery. Looking at her by the window, she didn’t look like the same girl who had snuck into my room. She was wearing a black shirt that had been worn so many times, it had turned gray. Her hair was spiked and she wore dark circles around her eyes, but they only made her look younger. She was the youngest warrior in a line of soldiers—afraid. Before she read it, she didn’t know what was in the book and once inside, she couldn’t leave when she’d tried. Now she had the aftermath to deal with just as much as I did.
What happened between the two of us when she read my book was irreparable because the version of me that existed in the book had responded to her very favorably. The resulting uproar was exactly what I wished would happen in the book, but with Veda. Except I was wrong. Veda never would have responded the way Fair Isle did.
I swallowed my discomfort and approached her. “What are you doing in the fall?” I asked.
She reached out and brushed her fingertips against the tail of my shirt. Meeting my eyes and my visible reproach, she dropped her hand. In the daylight, she couldn’t win no matter what she did. Clearing her mouth, she said, “I'm moving to British Columbia in September to study. I'm going to be a herbalist. Maybe I'll be back in May next year. Maybe not.”
I was surprised she had that much direction. “Really? Was that a recent decision?”
“Yeah,” she said, clicking her tongue. She opened her mouth to say one thing, closed it, and said something else, “I need to get away from Veda. The way I feel about her is ruining my life. Do you think you could marry her and haul her up to the Yukon before I come back next year?”
“Um, I don't think I could.”
Her eyes grew to the size of moons. “Does that mean you gave up on her?”
I averted my gaze. “Why are you in such a hurry to have all that settled? Right now, she's not really dating me. She fooled me into thinking she was and I do feel a little foolish. I've been going about this the wrong way. A lot of things have to happen before the end can come.”
Fair Isle stared at me. “Was that English you just used? It sounded like a different language to me. The one called B.S. A lot of things that have to happen? Like what?”
I couldn't tell Fair Isle my plan to help Veda settle her cousins. After all, Fair Isle going to college in B.C. might be enough to set her on the track Veda hoped for her.
I scratched my chin and didn't answer her directly. “I think your plan to be a herbalist is wonderful. You must message me, after you've gone, and tell me about what you're learning.”
She lowered her eyes painfully. “I'm not going to message you. I've already wasted enough of my time on you.” Her voice was scathing as she stood up and brushed past me.
I had to do something about her. I got out my book, jotting down only her name and a question mark.
⚘⚘⚘
The last girl I spoke to was Clementine. When I found her, she was on the couch with a can of pop in one hand and a tube of uncooked cookie dough in the other. Personally, I didn't see how the combination could have been that appealing, but she went on eating it after I came in.
“I want to ask you a question,” I asked.
“I've noticed you like to interview people. Ask away.”
“Does it bother you that I pump you for information?”
“Not at all. I like it when people ask my opinion.”
I moaned under my breath. “You may not like this.”
“Why?”
“It's about you.”
She smiled wickedly. “All the better.”
I launched right in. “Have you ever thought about what you might like to do as a career?”
She frowned. “No. I'm not like that.”
“How come?”
She put her cookie dough down on the coffee table and took a second to wash out her mouth.
“I'm delayed,” she finally said. “No one wants to talk about it or admit it, but I just don't have the impulses of other adults. I work a job now. It's not fancy and it doesn't pay well, but I have no ambition. I just don't care.” She took another sip from her pop can.
“Isn't there anything out there that interests you?”
She groaned. “I have a problem.” Like a mopey child, she fell off the couch and onto the floor.
“A problem?”
“Yeah,” she muttered from behind the veil of her white hair that had fallen across her face.
“Can I help you with it?”
She brushed her hair behind her ear at the wrong angle, but at least I could see her face. Licking her lips she started with a diplomatic, “Have you read many of our family's spell books?”
“I have read some, but probably not as many as you have.”
“Then you saw me in the cupboard?”
I nodded.
“And you don't hate me?”
“Why would I hate you?” I coughed.
“It's just that everyone seems to think the books in the hidden library are there as a status symbol. They're considered too dangerous to be read. It's obvious why the gift to make them has left our family when no one takes the time to read them.”
“But you like to read them?”
“Yes.”
I scoffed. “Why would I hate you for reading the books when I'm one of the writers? We want our books to be read.”
“Of course. That's why I thought I might be able to talk to you about my problem. I like reading the spell books too much.”
“How much?”
“Enough that I've been trying to schedule my work so I can work in the evenings instead of the days. June locks up the school at five for the summer months. That's why I'm here instead of there.”
I sat down on the floor next to her. “I still don't understand what the problem is. So you like to read? Big deal.”
“No. I like to read more than I like to be alive. It's not even reading. It's like the ultimate RPG and I can go questing and adventuring with people who are always completely in character. They never play without me.”
“I agree. It's really fun. That's why I want to make them.”
“For me, it's got out of hand.”
I stopped. “How out of hand?”
She hesitated before continuing. “Within the book's time, I have lived in that world for five years. I've been married for two years and in the story right now, I'm pregnant.”
I stared at her. “Do any of the books last that long?”
“The Gray Wolf's book has lasted that long.”
I made no expression to give away that I knew what she was talking about. I had never been allowed to read his book. The author had forbidden it and I was not about to go against his word.
“What do you like about it?”
“Moron,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I love it because I'm in love with Noatak, but he's the projection of a man who was young twenty years ago if not more.”
“And he married you in the book?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes filled with tears that looked like half self-pity and half self-hate.
My brain was firing. It had to mean something if he had married her within the pages of his book. Just like it had for Evander and his girlfriend. He had married her in his book and by Emi's account, they were the happiest couple in the world. If the Grey Wolf had married Clementine, then there had to be the possibility that he could love her. I had to learn more.
“What happens if you try to take a book out of the library?”
“You don't want to know. If it was anything reasonable, I would have done it ages ago.”
“I'll see if I can help you.”
“Help me? How?”
“I’ll think about it,” I declared, writing a few notes in my book.
⚘⚘⚘
The next person I had to see was Antony and finding him in a mood where he was willing to talk to me was tricky. I had a feeling that anything I said to him was going to make him feel like kicking my head in, but if Veda wanted him to be happy then I had to get on speaking terms with him.
It was afternoon and he sat on a bench beside the bus stop. He was smoking something that made him exhale orange smoke. I asked him about it since it seemed the only icebreaker there was.
“It's dragon's breath. Don't you use it yourself?”
“No. I've never seen it before.”
“Oh,” he said condescendingly, “then it's your first day.”
I ignored him. “What is it?”
“It's one of the perks of having a witch girlfriend. Pearl makes it for me. You're telling me Veda doesn't make it for you?”
He was making fun of me, but I had never seen anything like it. Even with its name, it wasn't a man thing. If it were, I would know about it. My family was all men. A woman had to be part of the equation. “No. What is it chemically?”
“Nothing illegal, though it is bad for you. It's never good for your lungs to breathe in burning air.”
“Does it give you a buzz at least?”
Antony glared at me. “Sort of.”
“What's it for?”
“It's a love potion.”
I chuckled. “It's not love unless it's magic, huh?”
“Don't get the wrong idea. It's not like Pearl is trying to bewitch me. I asked her to try making it for me. It's an old family recipe and I've always wanted to try it.”
I scratched behind my ear and examined Antony. He wasn't over Veda. That was why he was furrowing his brow so darkly. He liked Pearl just fine now that she had been brushed over with fairy dust, but that didn't mean he could just turn off his feelings for Veda like a switch. That was why he needed to smoke his love potion and stay close to Pearl.
It didn't matter what Antony's career goals were. He needed to get over Veda and I didn't know how to help him with that. She had never wanted him and she had been very clear about it. What was the problem?
It was me.
The fact that she was giving me attention was what was bothering him. So, I decided to try being honest with him.
I leaned my shoulder against the light post. “You're right. Veda doesn't make it for me. If I asked her to, she would refuse.”
“Aw, poor you.”
Then I clued into the rest of his problem with me. He thought I had ranked Pearl much lower than Veda. He wasn't wrong. I had. Pearl before the makeover was in a very low spot. My list went: Veda, Intarsia, big gap, Fair Isle, Clementine, and then Pearl. However, Pearl was not that much lower than Clementine. If I had to make the list over again, I would make it differently. I would list Veda, Intarsia, big gap, Pearl, another big gap, Fair Isle, and Clementine. Before my last conversation with Clementine, I would have placed her before Fair Isle, but after what she had told me, a romantic relationship between the two of us was completely out of the question.
“You know,” I said to Antony. “I didn't choose Veda because she was more beautiful than the other girls. All of them look alike to me.”
“Then why did you choose her?” he practically spat.
“Because, whether the rest of you can see it or not, she is the most like me. Our approach to witchcraft is similar. I find her hilarious. Did she ever make you laugh? She makes jokes the rest of you don't understand constantly. When I look at her, I can see we are both wolves. It makes me want to run with her. Did you feel that way about her when you were with her?”
Antony looked at me like I was a freak. His mouth hung open and it was like he didn't breathe while I spoke. Orange smoke hung around his mouth and nostrils and didn't move. “I can't believe any of that actually came out of your mouth,” he finally said. “Writers are freak'n weird.”
“It's not a story. Even though she's fighting me, our connection feels real.”
“Too bad. She doesn't think the two of you connect at all.”
“I know. Still, I want to know if you felt like the two of you were the same under your skins. Did she make you feel like that when you were with her?”
Antony shot me a deadly glare. “I can't wait for the bus with you around. I'm walking!” He strode angrily away from me.
I watched him until he was gone and then threw myself on the bus bench. Maybe that had done it. Right now, he was like a Chinese tiger who couldn't think. He had nothing but rage, but maybe I had set him on the right path to figuring out why he should forget Veda and move on. Just because a woman was beautiful did not make her right for you. The color of your souls together made her right. Antony only wanted Veda as a trophy and he was cross because Pearl wasn't as shiny.
I had a date with Salinger that night. I was spinning at my spinning wheel waiting for him. He was late.
Hattie sat down on the bench, picked up a pair of clips, and started working a nearby fleece.
“Thank you. I hate wool clips.”
“I know. When a girl spins as well as you do, it seems a crime to make her do the clips. I haven't done this since I was a teenager.”
“Does it bring back bad memories?”
“Everything brings back bad memories. Doesn't matter though. I'm here with you now instead of back there with them. This house is nicer than the house where June and I grew up. There are not eight witches inadvertently ripping the walls apart.”
Hattie had been living under my roof for two weeks, but she was less trouble than I imagined. She made no mess and though her clothes were a vibrant kaleidoscope when she arrived, she had been settling into a watercolor palette. Sometimes I came into a room and her clothes matched the wallpaper so well, I didn't notice her.
“Has June talked to you about selling the house lately?”
“No.”
“June can't afford to buy it from you by herself, but she and I are thinking of buying it together and letting you stay on. What do you think of that?”
I felt myself tearing up. “I would love it. Are you sure you don't want a different house, a better house?”
“Yours is across from the school, which pleases June and I’ll like it here if I can get a cat.”
I nodded, thinking how nice it was that we would be able to please everyone.
The doorbell rang.
“Is that Salinger?”
“I think so.” I answered the door.
It wasn't Salinger. It was a delivery man with a vase of white roses. I thanked him and brought the flowers in.
“Your boy sent flowers rather than coming? Probably not because he wanted to. He must have been held up,” Hattie commented before making another pass with her wool clips.
The note attached to the roses read, ‘This doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind.’
I felt my lips curling. Pretty evocative seven words.
Two days later, I was supposed to have another date with him. This time, a fruit basket was delivered. I liked it, but I wondered what could be keeping him from our date. Instead of worrying about it, I packed myself off to Cold as Stone. I could have gone to the yarn store instead, but Pearl's mother was less hostile toward me than the other aunts. I planned to show up and offer to work in the shop for free that evening so Pearl's parents could have the night off.
Cold as Stone was the last shop in a line of stores in an outdoor strip mall. I liked to go there, even if it meant working for free because there was so much to do there. The displays always needed refreshing and unlike Pearl, the items in the store didn’t resist my attempts to tidy them, improve them, and show them at their best.
Even before I got inside, it was obvious that something was different. The glass door was clean. That by itself was a huge tip-off that something strange was happening inside.
For starters, Pearl's parents were not around. Secondly, Pearl was manning the counter (I had never known her parents to leave the store in her hands before). Thirdly, Salinger was there. He was on a ladder doing the finishing touches on a paint job. He had painted the entire place, including the ceiling, black. It made it look instantly more credible and edgy at the same time.
A bell rang when I entered and the two of them noticed me immediately.
“Hi Veda,” Salinger called when he saw me.
Pearl made a similar sound.
I tapped my nails against the aluminum ladder. “This is what you're doing instead of our date?”
Antony was there too. He glared at me, then he pinched Pearl’s ribs so she giggled, and escaped to the back.
“He's painting the bathroom,” Salinger explained to me in low tones.
“So, you were working on this little project when you ditched me on Thursday?” I inquired.
“For some of the day. I also went to the college with Intarsia.”
“How did that go?” I asked curiously. I had been trying to get her to do exactly that for the past two years.
“She had a few ideas.”
“Such as?”
“Talking about them would jinx them, don't you think?” He crossed his fingers and continued painting above our heads.
I glanced at Pearl. She was humming and reading, completely absorbed. Her book was flat on the counter and unless I was mistaken, her toes were dancing as she leaned forward to read.
Salinger looked busy.
Nobody needed me.
I moved to leave the shop when I heard him say, “It's a real shame you're dressed so beautifully. If you weren't, you could help us paint.”
“I am only dressed up because I thought I had plans with you tonight. If you had wanted to see me, it would have made more sense for you to tell me to wear scrubs and come help,” I hissed under the ladder.
He balanced his brush on the edge of the paint bucket and came down to my level. Wiping his hands, he said, “I should have. That was insensitive. After all, you live to help people, don't you?”
I glared at him. What he said was true, but his tone while saying it infuriated me. It was practically as though he said, 'I figured you out. You're not that hard to understand after all.'
He was right, I was enchanted by the work that was happening in Cold as Stone. More than I ever could be by a mere dinner date. The place normally resembled a junk heap. By covering the ancient off-white paint job, he had sharpened everything up. Nothing made me happier than for ugly, unworkable things to be straightened out. Already, I wanted to give him a high five, and I never gave those out.
Instead, I said, “Was this your idea?”
“Of course. Everything that is about to happen is my idea.” He bent forward and whispered in my ear, “From now on, you're going to feel my magic everywhere.”
Pink cheeked, I scowled. “What for?”
He shrugged his shoulders and went back up his ladder. “Stick around. I'll take you out to eat once I’ve cleaned up and next time I do something like this during our scheduled date time, I will ask you to come along and give me a hand.”
“So you're going to be doing this sort of thing all the time?”
“I may as well make myself useful while I’m here in Edmonton. Back home, I'm a privileged brat.”
“Where did you learn how to paint if you're so privileged?”
“Sweetheart, this isn't rocket science. YouTube and the patience to do things slowly are my only tools here. I didn't say I was lazy.”
I leaned against the ladder. “And you're doing this so that I'll go bananas for you?”
“Well, you are.” He put a gob of black paint on my cheek. “Go find a book on love potions. Slipping something weird into my drink is probably your best bet if you want me to forget about you. I've made up my mind. You're mine.” He went back up the ladder. “I'll just finish this bit and then I'll come to get you.”
I rubbed my cheek and made an even bigger mess.
Pearl laughed. “So that's what you two are like when you're together! All scrappy. She's like, 'Oh! I'm gonna get away from you.' And he's all, 'No, you won't!'” Pearl chuckled until her forehead touched the pages of her book. Then she suddenly lifted her head and her pink hair bounced, which was something that never used to happen. “We should go on a double date!”
“No, we shouldn't!” Antony shouted from the back.
I was glad he objected before I could. I had only been on a handful of double dates. They were supposed to make things less awkward with more possibilities for conversation, but I had never had it turn out that way, and I didn't think there was a chance it could turn out well if the four people on the date were the four of us.
“Text me,” I told Salinger. Then I left the shop.
I had to admit that talking to him felt good. I supposed that must be what flirting was like and I had never had fun doing it with any other guy. I also experienced a surreal feeling that he had seen past my pretenses to the person I really was and he’d liked what he saw.
I'd have to give it more thought.
I went home. Fair Isle's mother, Willow, was there. I heard her talking to June and Hattie in the dining room. Keeping out of sight, I listened.
“When is she going to make up her mind?”
Neither Hattie nor June answered right away. When they did, they responded with the same words and in the same tone. “There's no need to rush.”
“I'm not trying to rush her. I haven't even spoken to her,” Willow said haughtily. “I'm asking when she will make up her mind. I've seen what will happen in my crystal ball. Probably, so have you. I'm only asking when it will happen. I'm thinking of Fair Isle. I'm not saying she's innocent. When has she ever been innocent? I'm saying she's suffering more than she needs to for what she did. Her reading Salinger's book poisoned her and I only want to help her recover. How long will it take Veda to make up her mind and get Salinger out of here?”
I expected June to speak up, but instead, it was Hattie. “I don't think my crystal ball has been showing the same thing yours has been. I haven't seen her make a decision.”
“It's plain as day,” Willow said crisply.
“Yes,” continued Hattie, “but it hasn't said the same thing two days in a row for me. She's up and down, left and right. Just because it looked that way today doesn't mean it will look the same tomorrow. You should go home and do another reading.”
“Ugh,” Willow gaped. “You sound exactly like that girl's mother.”
I had been thinking the same thing, and it opened the wound in my heart that was always fresh. Honestly, I hadn't heard my mother's voice much. The way I felt about her was pathetic. She was so rarely present in my life that when she was walking with me and talking with me, it was a rare treat. Then one day, long ago, I realized the truth. I was never going to be full. I was always going to starve, and the attention of others didn't fill the hole.
“I've been trying to channel her,” Hattie confided. “Her soul is all over the place. I wanted to ask, has she always been that way?”
“Yes,” Willow and June answered in unison.
“Because of her husband?”
“Yes.”
“Is he that horrible?”
June was the one to answer. “I met him on several occasions. In those days, he was perfectly charming. Veda gets her good looks from him. His charm wasn't evil or conniving. He was even good in a way, but he was not a superior type of man. He was like a wind chime, beauty of sight and sound, but he wasn't good for anything important. He just flipped around in the wind. I think that if Veda's mother had not been from such a solid family, she would have taken Veda with her. It's a relief she left her behind. You know, I like Salinger, because he's not the same sort of man. I have been afraid that she might fall for a man who was as flighty as her father was. Thank goodness there hasn’t been a man like him around. Salinger is like a tree with roots because of the family he comes from, but also branches because of the way he writes.”
“You want them to get together?” Willow accused.
“I have since the first time I saw him,” June said, completely without defense or offense. “I haven't been manipulating it, but I've been hoping for it. He's perfect for her. She just can't see it because she's afraid. Salinger came to me the other day and asked me to help him do some things at the school. I enjoyed the time we spent talking. He's logical, reasonable, and sweet—without being too sweet—if you know what I mean.” Then June stopped and her voice became a warning. “I am not saying that I am not sympathetic toward Fair Isle. I am. She was too young to know what she was doing when she read a book specifically designed to seduce another woman. It may take her years to undo what Salinger's book did to her in one night. It was not a fair punishment. Something needs to be done, but what? Rushing Veda into accepting Salinger is not an option. No matter what you and the rest of your coven think, it wouldn't help Fair Isle to have them out of sight. I think it might even make her recovery harder. She would just think of them as reliving the night she spent in the book and not realize that their real life is exactly that—real life.”
Willow’s anger had deflated as she replied, “I agree with you on that point, but what can we do? I can't stand to see my child suffer.”
Hattie cut in. “I will speak to Salinger. I think he may have to take some kind of responsibility for the incident. In normal life, what a dumped girl wants is closure from the boy who dumped her. Maybe there is some way for him to give her that.”
“Would he?”
I heard Hattie's smirk from the hallway.
Then my phone pinged. I wasn't sure if it was loud enough for the women in the dining room to hear. It was the text message I had been expecting from Salinger. I turned off my phone without replying and thought about what June had said. She thought he was perfect for me. The idea formed a lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow. I wasn't yet sure what that lump was made of. It might have been anger, maybe fear, but whatever it was, it couldn't be hope. I was destined to always be alone. There couldn't be a man who was made just for me, to be that mystical 'other half' that all those dopey fairy tales spoke of. That wasn't possible.
Salinger’s text explained that they had closed the store, ordered pizza, and were planning to eat at Pearl’s.
When I knocked on Pearl’s door, she let me in with a flourish. “You would not believe what Salinger says about you,” she hissed in my ear as I came in.
I wiped my ear out with the collar of my shirt and replied, “It’s probably boring.”
“Maybe you’ll be more interested in what he says about me,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “He says I should study tarot reading. That's his big idea for the store. We're going to make a two-person carnival tent in the corner of the shop and let people have a five-minute tarot reading with every purchase over fifty dollars. They can pay to extend the reading if they are interested and Salinger says I should be the reader. Isn't that exciting?”
That was a good idea. Everything he suggested was brilliant and I was annoyed at myself for not being bold enough to get the ball rolling myself. The place already looked less crummy with his painting, but if the right touches were put in the right places, it could be a real cash cow. People were often curious about what a tarot reader might say.
I tugged at her sleeve. “I’ll help with your outfit.”
She giggled. “Salinger knew you would feel that way. He says he and Antony will make the tent while you and I will figure out a dress.”
I paused. That had been very considerate. Salinger knew that much about what I liked to do? Did he really have me figured out?
Antony came up behind us and said, “But not tonight. I'm bushed. When is the pizza going to get here?”
Pearl left me and went to see if the delivery man was outside.
I didn't see Salinger and went deeper into the house to find him. Pearl's house was built in the year 1911 and that meant two things. Firstly, the place was about two seconds off of being condemned, and secondly, that it had dozens of beauty spots. Specifically, there was a sunroom in the back of the house that was perfect for laying out magical objects to gather solar and lunar energy.
That was where I found Salinger. He was setting a table.
“What are you doing out here?”
He was placing a collection of ancient candles between the two place settings. “Pearl and Antony are planning to watch something on Netflix, but I didn't think you were the type of girl to sit on the couch and let pizza crumbs fall on your dress.”
“It's a skirt,” I corrected. “A real Scottish one that was woven in the highlands.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Then I'll get napkins.”
I put up my hand. “I'll get them. You don't know where they are and you are tired. Sit down.”
Back in the house, the pizza had arrived and Antony handed me the one Salinger had paid for, his expression acidic. I was about to walk past him, but remembering the napkins, I paused to riffle around Myra’s kitchen. Since Pearl wasn't in the room, I took the chance to talk smooth things over with him.
“Antony,” I whispered, leaning forward. “I'm sorry about what happened before.”
“I'm sure you are,” he said, turning away from me and lighting a stick of dragon's breath.
“I didn't mean to hurt you.”
“It was unavoidable,” he drawled, smoking. His expression read, 'We’ll get along better if you stop talking.'
I grabbed the napkins and moved away.
“I feel sorry for that poor new bastard you have on the line. He'll be disappointed too.”
I flicked an impudent look back at him. “I keep telling him that. Maybe you can help persuade him to leave me alone.”
Antony smirked, “It wouldn't work. He wants you too much. It’s as obvious as this smoke.” He blew a line of orange vapor in my face.
It wasn’t like tobacco smoke and instead smelled like cotton candy. I smiled, breathing it in. It was a happy bit of magic and I felt so proud of Pearl for making it. It was so potent, I forgot completely that Antony and I were at odds. I bent closer to him. “Hey Antony, give me a drag.”
He extended his slim brown hand and handed it to me between his fingers. I took it between mine and was about to take a puff when I felt something. Antony’s hands were in plain sight. One was resting on his abdomen and the thumb of his other hand stroked his bottom lip, but again I felt his hands on me. The feeling was not the feeling of two fingers lightly caressing my thigh. It was the feeling of four fingers on my collarbone, touching my throat carefully and tenderly. Then he was touching me with five fingers. Then I felt a second hand on my back, soothing, slowly moving downwards.
Sick, I handed the dragon’s breath back to him without inhaling. “Can’t she make it pink, like her hair, like her clothes, like her heart?” I said acidly to repay him for the insult of touching me with invisible fingers.
We glared at each other in a face-off, neither of us softening until we heard Peal call to us from the living room.
Finished with him, I flicked my hair in his face and left the room.
When I got back to the sunroom, Salinger was pouring something into two goblets.
“What's that?” I asked.
“Don't get too excited. I haven't landed on what our drink should be yet, and tonight I didn't have time to prepare a proper audition. This is just ginger ale with raspberries mushed in.”
“If you were trying to impress me, you would say 'ginger ale with a raspberry infusion.'”
He smiled.
“'Our drink?'” I repeated.
“Sure. We've got to have a drink. I know you had that one thing when you had lunch with Antony, but when you're with me we should drink something different. You like something bubbly, so it should be something that starts with carbonation, but what about the exact flavor?”
“If you want it to be unique, it should be two flavors or maybe even three,” I suggested as I dished out the pizza.
Salinger took a sip. “I like this just fine, but fresh raspberries that I stole from the back of Intarsia's house are not always available.”
“Let's see. Raspberry-lemon, raspberry-peach, raspberry pear, raspberries, and...”
“Cream,” he finished.
Almost at once, the idea of raspberries and cream flooded my mind with the most incredible vision of late summer and the old days where I used to pick raspberries by the basketful. I could feel the golden wind of the sunset toss my hair over my shoulders and the feeling of the berry bursting in my mouth. Out of absolutely nowhere, the words sprung to my lips, “I love you.” I said it in a hushed whisper. I didn't even realize I had said it out loud.
“What did you say?” Salinger interrupted.
Whipped out of my daze, I bumbled, “Did I say something?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?” I faltered, knowing exactly what I had said.
He didn't answer me but leaned forward. The sun was setting, though not like the sunset of my vision, it provided enough light to see that Salinger's eyes were amused and provoked at the same time. “Say it again,” he drawled.
The look in his eyes was too inviting. Something was wrong. I couldn't remember why we weren’t supposed to be together. When I said I loved him, I couldn't have meant it. It had to have been a blurt, like a hiccup or a sneeze. That was the only thing that made sense.
“I'm not sure what I said,” I lied.
“Someday, you'll say it again,” he said confidently.
I was at the downtown bus station. Of all my cousins, the guy I was bringing in was the worst one I had. I didn't want to ask him to come to Edmonton. It was only possible because he was so directionless and at the same time so talented. I bet he didn't have anything better to do than to help me with my project and as always, he didn't.
I saw Remy coming through the terminal surrounded by a cluster of teenage girls in pajama bottoms and hoodies. They had been on the night bus, which explained the stuffed animals they carried, though they probably didn't sleep much if they sat close to Remy. He had his guitar strapped to his back, next to his backpack. I hoped he had more luggage than that. If not, it would be less than three days before he started pilfering my clothing.
When I first arrived in Edmonton, I enjoyed the attention Veda's cousins gave me. It made me feel like a celebrity to have that much attention. I expected it to wane. When it didn't, it felt weird and selfish to keep the girls all to myself. Then when Fair Isle started making her nightly visits, I started thinking about whether or not I knew any guys I could room with. Merely procuring a roommate was not enough. I decided on Remy because he could room with me, help me with Intarsia, and with the work I was doing at Cold as Stone. I would not have chosen him if he wasn’t so useful, because I never got along with him.
He was a year older than me, and only a quarter Inuit instead of half. We shared a grandfather, and our fathers were half-brothers. Which made us half-cousins. The rest of his blood was white, so he managed to have blue eyes, and hardly anybody ever suspected him of being part Inuit. I had seen girls gush over it.
Bringing him to Edmonton was me burning my bridges. I brought him as a gift for Intarsia and if I gave him to her, I would never have a chance with her in the future. It was wrong to keep her as a backup. Intarsia had written to me for years and not even I was naive enough to think that she did it only for the fun of having a pen pal. Intarsia hoped that if she wrote to me, we would have a romantic relationship when we met up as adults. I didn't dare to think how far her imagination went—probably all the way. She was disappointed I had not made all her dreams come true. I was sorry, so I brought Remy in to do one thing I couldn't.
It turned out that my offer to go to college with Intarsia was unnecessary. When I toured Grant McEwan with Intarsia, everything bored her until we passed a bulletin board that had an advertisement for a harpist. You could rip off a strip at the bottom of the page and hire her to play at an event. Intarsia looked at it with longing.
“If only I could do something like that. Wouldn't that be great? Dress up all fine, do my hair up, and play beautiful Celtic melodies for private parties? If that was my job, I'd always be the belle of the ball, except I'd have no money, no one would think I was respectable, and I'd hardly ever get any work.”
I frowned, hating the idea that she couldn't do anything she wanted because she was afraid of being poor. We were supposed to be witches, weaving magic into everything we did so that the impossible worked out. Why was she so fearful? “Forgetting the money,” I interrupted, “is there anything else you would rather do?”
“I'd like to travel. That is the one thing I admire about Aunt Zellica. She travels.”
“Aunt Zellica?”
“Veda's mother, but no one thinks anything good about her because her traveling involved her leaving Veda.”
“But you're not a mother. Why can't you travel?”
“How would I fund it? Working at my mother's yarn shop would never pay for it.”
That was when I got my idea. Remy was a wanderer who played practically every instrument. He was the guy everyone called when a band member was out, and that wasn't just for rock-and-roll, it was also for bigger concerts and symphonies. The wretch had game.
The last time I had seen Remy, we had clashed, but it was water under the bridge now. I heard his news from his dad, who worked with my father in our woodshop. Remy was always playing in a different city. Sometimes he was even in the newspaper.
I didn't like him partly because he was a show-off and partly because I found him painfully flippant. He agreed with every half-baked scheme that came along, even if they disagreed with something else he just said he believed. He believed all conspiracy theories, all tabloids... everything. I couldn't stand the inconsistency. He was one of those guys who not only liked everything they saw on Facebook but also posted it. Flat earth? Yes. No such thing as gravity? Yes. Batboy? Yes. However, his insipidness didn't mean that Intarsia couldn't learn a lot from him as a musician. If she wanted to be a minstrel who traveled the world, I didn't know anyone better for her to learn from.
At the bus station, I had already caught his eye. He was bidding farewell to his gaggle of teenagers, blowing them kisses, and promising them they would stay in touch. The only thing I registered was how much he needed a shower. Even though he was a tramp, he wore expensive boots and the case on his back was brand new. He knew a bit about being a hobo.
“Hello, half-cuz,” he said when he reached me. “I'm glad you got in touch. I had just finished a gig in Victoria and didn't know what to do with myself. I almost went back to White Horse.”
“Well, it's really good you didn't have to do that,” I heard myself saying. “Edmonton is nice this time of year.”
“Let's go over this again,” he said, sounding like a stoner, but he had spoken in that drawl for as long as I had known him. “There's a girl I'm supposed to teach to play the strings?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“She's eighteen?”
“Yeah.”
“This is her?” Remy said as he showed me a picture of Intarsia on his phone from her Facebook page. In the picture, she still wore green lipstick.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling repetitive.
“She looks amazing,” he said, chill. “Green lipstick. Is that normal for her?”
“Used to be. She's wearing red these days.”
“That's going to take some getting used to.”
I did a double-take. “Why?”
“I already spent all this time getting used to her with green lipstick. Now it'll be like I'm meeting a stranger.”
“Either way you were meeting a stranger, Remy. What if it hadn't turned out to be the right girl you found on Facebook?”
“No way. She is the only girl in the world named Intarsia.”
He had a point.
I led him out of the bus depot.
“So, I'm going to be staying with you?” Remy questioned as he followed me.
“Yeah. I'm renting an apartment across from the school you'll be teaching at. Have you ever taught at an actual school?”
“All the time,” he said as he bent a fresh stick of gum into his mouth.
I took him back to the attic at Fair Isle's. There was already a bunk for him and he slid his guitar case under the bed and dropped his backpack on the bedspread.
“I like it here,” he drawled as he looked at the walls with their fake greenery. He sat down and his eyes closed. I wasn't sure if he was getting ready to sleep or do a full lotus.
“Do you want to go over to the school and see the equipment I've set up or did you have something else you wanted to do first?” I was thinking of a shower.
Remy opened his eyes. “We can go to the school.”
I knew the school would be open with at least one person in the office. For one second, I hoped Veda would not be there. I should not have felt insecure. It was just that sometimes women were very impressed with Remy. We grew up together, and I knew all about the impressions he made. If a girl wasn't impressed with the odd openness of his mind, she was always impressed by the way he performed. I saw a girl faint once when he sang. I wanted to shake her. He wasn’t a real superstar. He was just a guy with a guitar.
June was there when we came in. She shook out her gray suit and welcomed us. “Salinger, I like the harp you selected.”
I shrugged. “There wasn't much to choose from.”
“Is this your cousin?”
I stepped aside for Remy to meet June. “This is Remy. He's the teacher I told you about.”
“Pleasure,” June said.
“All mine,” Remy said... and I saw it. There was that effect he had on her, like other women. She instantly liked him. It made me feel less hopeful about Veda.
We went into the music room. It had most instruments, but it did not have a harp, so I had rented one and brought it in the day before. I didn't previously have an attitude against pianos, but the music room had two of them and I needed to move the upright if I was going to fit the harp in the only fitting place—on the lowest stair. I had permission to move it and it did not have wheels. Day two; I hated pianos.
“Would you like me to order some sheet music for you?” June asked as Remy sat on the stool behind the harp.
“Why would you need to do that?” he said easily, and he proceeded to play something both intricate and daring. He made the harp almost sound loud.
June was impressed again, but she kept her head and answered firmly, “For Intarsia.”
“Oh, then yes.” He turned his attention back to the harp. Slapping the side of it, he said, “I think she's a little out of tune.”
“It’s funny how much you remind me of Veda’s father,” June said speculatively.
I didn’t believe that. Veda couldn’t possibly be the child of someone like Remy.
“Was he handsome as hell and twice as unlucky?” Remy mused.
“Naturally,” she said, turning to brush something from her eyes.
I pushed the conversation along. “Want me to call Intarsia over?” I offered. “I don't think she's working today, so you could at least meet her.”
“No,” he said, getting up. “I'm starving and you haven't fed me yet.”
I smiled at that. He wouldn't have to worry about his meals. He was a mage who was staying at Fair Isle's. Willow would make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for him for as long as he stayed, and I wouldn't have to worry about him freeloading off me, because... I ate there too.
We got up to leave.
Suddenly, June caught up to us. “Salinger, I forgot I was going to give this to you.” She handed me a key. “I think you might need this if Intarsia's lessons run late.”
I looked at her and wondered if she knew that if she gave me a key to the school, I would use it for other things besides Intarsia’s lessons. I was famous back home for overusing similar privileges.
I thanked her and was glad that another one of my problems was half solved.
⚘⚘⚘
After dinner, Fair Isle caught me in the hallway, by slamming my back against the wall.
“I burned the book,” I said as I put my hands up to stop her from handling me roughly.
“Why?” she gasped, horror and disbelief flashing in her eyes.
“Because,” I said, extracting her fingers from around my collar. “I didn’t make that book for you.”
“I didn’t steal it because we were meant to be together,” she said desperately.
“Forget what happened in the book. It’s gone. You read that book thinking that nothing would be different if you read it. No one would even know what you’d done, and now that everyone knows, you still don’t think it was stealing because Veda doesn’t want me. It’s not stealing if you take something no one wants out of a trash bin. That’s how you are justifying yourself, but whether Veda wants me or not, I’m not trash and I get to decide who I love.” I gave her a hard look to help convince her to stop. “I won’t fool around with you for kicks.”
She took a step back and let her head droop. “Couldn’t you give me a chance? Take me on a few dates and spend a little time with me?”
I bit my teeth together before answering. “I just said I won’t fool around with you for kicks. What makes you think I would play around with your hopes when I want someone else?”
She withdrew her hands. “I see. I won’t come to your room again.”
As she wandered away from me down the hall, a storm cloud formed over her head.
When she made it to the kitchen, I heard Willow shout with dismay, “It’s happening! Get the umbrella.”
I never expected Salinger to bring Pearl and me closer together. It was unthinkable for Pearl to only have one dress for fortune-telling, so she had ordered one online and I was making her a second one. It felt like the last time I would get to spend with her before the world flipped over.
Pearl was happy with her life and I realized that was why she had always been a drab little thing in stripes. She hadn't yet learned the skill of making herself happy. I wasn't sure if she had learned it yet, but when she talked about the future, she was like a champagne flute, full of bubbles.
Suddenly, when I thought of her future, I couldn't stop thinking about Salinger. I had given Pearl a boyfriend, but Salinger had given her something else. He was giving her a business worth inheriting. He worked at Cold as Stone almost every day—for free—working to make a different dream come true.
Back in my bedroom, I selected the book where I schemed on behalf of Pearl and looked at it. Before Salinger came, the list I had of things that needed to be done for Pearl was long, longer than it was for any of the other cousins. She had to pick a color. I had secretly hoped for blue. She had to make all kinds of decisions for her life. She had to get some confidence and be a person who had energy. I had taken a terrible shortcut teaching her confidence with a boyfriend.
I was filled with dissatisfaction as I struck each part of my plan written out in my book and wrote a little blurb about each one. Everything had been done by someone else. I may have given her Antony, but Antony had gone to her himself. I didn't make him, and I couldn’t make him stay with her. Looking back, the other cousins had done more than I had, yet Pearl attributed all her success to me. She even thought Salinger's help was because I had put him up to it. I hadn't done anything. She was supposed to be one of my projects. Now she didn’t need me and in the future, she wouldn’t need me either.
Without my schemes, I guessed we were friends.
⚘⚘⚘
Since my eighteenth birthday, I was allowed to enter and read the books in the hidden library. Clementine had given me a brief rundown as to which ones to read and which ones to avoid. I knew she had one that was her favorite. I didn't need her to hide it. It had a hold on her that was completely undesirable, but I hoped it was fading. A person could only read one book so many times. Earlier in the summer, she looked miserable since the school was only open until five and she usually worked during the day. Lately, she looked radiant. Maybe she had finally finished the book.
That was what I wanted for Clementine. I wanted her to stop living in a dream world. I had been at a loss of how to do it. I knew the real world didn't have much to offer compared to the book.
Previously, I had tried a few things. First, I tried getting her addicted to online gaming. Normally, a person would say that getting addicted to anything would not be an improvement, but in her case, I felt that it would have been vast. At least then, she would be playing with real people. The spell book she read was written by someone who was long gone. There was no one left to make a connection with. Too bad my venture was a failure.
Clementine had yawned and said, “I'm supposed to type on a computer? Sounds stupid, and slow.”
I pointed at the great graphics and then I turned red. The picture at that moment was an exaggerated view of some anime guy's abdomen.
She rolled her eyes and walked out on me.
I was ready to admit it hadn't been such a great idea.
The next thing I tried was to get her to join a fencing club. To my astonishment, she said she already knew swordplay and she wasn't interested. The instructor said he wanted to see what she knew, so she suited up.
He had underestimated her and paid for it dearly. I didn't even know you could throw someone flat on their back in fencing. Apparently, he didn't either, because he got up, removed his grill, swore, and asked her for a rematch. She'd given it to him, and she'd made him bleed.
On his knees, with her sword at his throat, he'd proposed marriage to her.
She shook her white hair free and said, “Don't be stupid. What happened in the last fifteen minutes that would make me want you?” She kicked him over and walked out.
From what I understood, he had somehow got her phone number. The last time he’d called, she had threatened to charge him with harassment if he didn't leave her alone.
I gave up on the club idea. Witches had such weird talents. Clementine could fence. Did she learn how to do it within the pages of the spell book she read?
My most recent try was to give her number to a guy from school who had been in my grade instead of hers. He had always liked her. She had said she didn't want to date a guy who was younger than her. I thought maybe it was a teenage pride thing. If that was true, she might be okay going on a date with him after he had graduated from high school.
Clementine didn't tell me anything about it, but I got a text from him explaining that she’d blown him off again.
Something was going on with her.
I went over to her place to find out what it was.
She wasn't there.
Not even a little put-off, I went to her work, but she wasn't there either. The manager said she was still on the day shift and had left hours ago.
I texted her. No reply. I started asking around. Her mother didn't know where she was, but maybe someone else did. I texted each one of the cousins, but each of them said they had no idea. Finally, I texted Salinger.
The text I got back from him read, “Yeah, I know where she is. Be cool. Talk to her in the morning.”
What exactly did that mean?
I tramped straight over to Cold as Stone. The sign outside said it was closed for renovations, but the lights were on and I could see them banging around inside. I tried the door. It was locked. I had to make a commotion to get someone to notice me.
The guy who answered the door was unfamiliar to me. He opened the door a crack and said, “Sorry, we're closed.”
“I know you're closed. I'm here to see Salinger. Is he here?”
The door immediately opened. The guy gave me enough room to bring in a hit squad with me.
Salinger wasn't in the showroom.
“I’m Veda. Who are you?” I asked the guy.
“I'm Remy. Sal's cousin.”
I was so concentrated on finding Salinger that I barely looked at his cousin. “He had to bring in reinforcements?” I commented drolly as I stepped past him.
I found Salinger working in the customer bathroom. He was bagging up broken tiles. The dust made his hair gray instead of brown.
“Veda!” he exclaimed in alarm. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you.”
“Did you just get here?” he asked, agitated.
“Yes.”
“You mean, you just got here? You didn't stand out front talking to Remy for the past hour, did you?”
“No. Why would I have done that?”
Salinger looked over my shoulder, to check who could be listening. “So, you came straight in here to talk to me?”
“Yes,” I said slowly, feeling annoyed. Why would that matter?
His eyes were enormous. I was about to ask him what was going on when he abruptly dropped his broom and dustpan and brought me into his arms.
“What are you doing?” I protested. “I'm wearing all black. You're making a mess out of me!” I struggled against him and when that didn't work, I kicked him in the shins. “What's the big idea?”
He backed off and fell on the floor nursing his bruised leg. “It's nothing,” he lied, before covering his mouth to hold back a chuckle.
“Your hand is very dirty,” I remarked.
“Maybe.” He rubbed it across his forehead and made a chalky smear. Getting control of himself, he got to his feet. “Sorry about that. I was just so happy that...” he trailed off.
“Happy that what?”
“Nothing. What’s up?”
“Clementine.”
He dropped his amused expression. “She said to keep it a secret from you.”
“I won't like what she's up to?”
“No.”
I tried to figure out what she could be doing that would set me on fire. “She's not getting another tattoo, is she? I couldn't pull the same trick on her that I did on Fair Isle. Her tattoos are real. She isn't getting another one, is she? She already has enough to make a Mongolian mummy jealous.”
“I'm not supposed to say,” he said, clearly enjoying something about the situation.
“Okay. If it's not that, then I have to conclude that you have somehow found a way for her to read that toxic book at night after she's finished work and if I were to break into the school, I would find her there.”
He looked less amused.
I got it right. “Why do you encourage her, Salinger? When she really gets into that book, she doesn't eat. She's not part of our world. I don't want to let her waste the best part of her life in a book that can't give her anything.”
“What makes you so sure it can't give her anything?” he asked suddenly.
“It's a book. Who knows how long ago it was written? The author is gone.”
“What if the author wasn't gone?”
I blinked at him. “Are you saying you know where he is?”
“I do.”
I brushed the dust from my clothes. “Are you planning on bringing him out to meet her? What would he want with her? She's nineteen.”
“You know as well as I do, that's not true. Did you know, she hasn't got very many chapters left? When I talked to her earlier, she had two. If she does one tonight and then the last one tomorrow night, she may be a free woman.”
“ May !” I stressed, repeating the word acidly. “What if she simply turns it over and dives in for round two?”
“I've already told her she can't do that.”
I tapped my forehead and prepared to let the sarcasm roll forth. “Why didn't I think of that? Just ask her not to read compulsively? She always does exactly what she's told!”
“Hush up!” he said mildly. “Has she told you much about what her life is like within the book?”
I let my shoulders droop. “No.”
“She hasn't told you anything because it's special and it can't have anything to do with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you would violently disapprove. Just trust me to know how to solve this problem because I'm doing what she wants.”
Thus far in our conversation, I had not been angry. He thought I wouldn't do what was best for her? No one in the world was more prepared to do what was best for her. Who did he think he was?
I did not say anything. I turned on my heel and headed out. He followed me. He was saying things, pleading for me not to be mad.
In the showroom, I actually saw Remy for the first time. He did not look like a random guy the second time I went through. What was different? He looked attractive to me as he wiped his hands with a rag. He was every bit as smudged as Salinger, but the muscles in his arms looked accentuated and something about his unassuming gaze struck me as downright magnetic.
I stopped and said to him, “Do you think I could ruin someone's happiness just by being concerned about them?”
His voice was clear as he said, “Absolutely.”
I exhaled painfully. He had no reason to insult me. He didn’t even know me. Disgusted, I moved to leave when he grabbed my arm.
I didn't turn around to look at him, but I heard him whisper in my ear, “It's part of your charm that the black witch cares so much about other people.”
It felt like my heart tripped, righted itself, and then started beating again. I told myself it was just the welcome heat from his breath in my ear that made my body react.
I turned around to look at Remy, but it wasn't Remy who had grabbed me and whispered in my ear. It was Salinger. Remy was standing behind him looking like an idiot. Why hadn't I realized he was an idiot before I asked him my question? Salinger was still there, grasping my upper arm and making my cheeks hot.
“Are you going to let me go?”
“I'm going to take you home,” he said, releasing my arm and giving it a little rub. “Remy, can you get a lift home with Antony?”
I felt battered as he led me out of the store and up the hill, though he hadn't handled me much and he had definitely not hurt me. On the street, he walked beside me, giving me all the space a woman with sensory issues needed.
Finally, I formed the words I needed to say. “What will happen to Clementine if I let you be her handler?”
“Who said anything about wanting to be her handler? Is that how you see yourself? As her handler? Pretty small ambition.”
I closed my eyes and took a breath, but it didn't feel like I could get the right kind of air in my lungs. He put out his hand and took mine in his. “From now on, I'm holding this.”
“Your hands are filthy.”
“They're only filthy because of the work I'm doing for you.”
When he put it like that, the hand that held mine didn't seem dirty at all. “It can't all be for me,” I whispered.
“It can. It is.”
“But...”
“Let me take care of Clementine,” he interjected. “What I'm doing will either make all her dreams come true, or it will bring her into reality exactly the way you want. Trust me.”
I felt sick. “I don't know that I've ever trusted anyone.”
“I'll help you.”
“How?”
“Slowly.” He paused. “Let me explain something about me. Did you know that fairy tales were not just meant for little girls dreaming of a prince charming, but also for little boys dreaming about the princess they would one day grow up to rescue? That a little boy wishes that one day he will have a girl all to himself and together they will do better than his parents. They'll care for each other before they take care of anyone else. They'll make each other’s dreams come true, everything from a frosted cupcake to a diamond necklace, and maybe, one day, the dearest ambition of their lover's heart.”
“I still owe you a scarf,” I muttered, feeling suddenly that I had let him down. “I'm only half-finished.”
He kissed the back of my hand. “Intarsia tells me that knitting takes a long time. I'll let you have all the time you want. It's summer, so I don’t need a scarf and I know that when you are making it, you are thinking of me.”
“I have been,” I confessed weakly. “But tell me, when you were a prince and you dreamed of a princess, what kind of a girl was she?”
He gazed off into the blackness of night, trying to remember. “I don't think I was able to think of anything as vivid as you in that purple dress.”
My back straightened. “I don't own a purple dress.”
“Of course, you don't. You've probably only broken your vow that one time at graduation. If I had been dreaming of a princess in a white dress, the sight of you would have shattered the idea. The truth is, I can't remember what I used to fantasize about, because now it’s you.”
I couldn't focus on what he was saying. He had said a moment ago that he had seen me in a purple dress. There was only one place he could have seen me dressed like that and I felt sick with horror at the thought of it.
“Have you been in my room?” I asked crossly.
“No.”
“Then where have you seen me in a purple dress? You said you could not have imagined something like that, so where did you see it?”
“There was a book in the reading cupboard of the hidden library.”
“And you picked it up and read it?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No. I left it there and it was gone when I went back to get it.”
Me wearing a purple dress could mean a lot of things. “What happened in the book? Were you drawn in?”
“Yes. It was set in the lobby of a theater.”
I felt my stomach fall. It was something I wrote. It was a manuscript I had discarded. I thought it empty of all magical content, so I hadn't burned it. I had thrown it in the trash. Someone found it and put it into circulation? In that case, the number of people who had read it was a big fat unknown number.
“Let's go to the hidden library and see if we can find it,” I mumbled, pulling the hairpins from my hair as we walked. Suddenly, my hair felt painfully twisted by those pins.
Salinger said nothing. I didn't normally wear my hair completely down with no adornment. I stacked the bobby pins in my palm as we walked. I didn't realize I used so many. The pins felt very heavy. I tucked them into the pocket of my vest. Then I undid the top two buttons of my shirt. They felt like they were choking me. I also didn't realize I had so many buttons. I undid the ones on my cuffs and all the buttons on my vest. As I untucked my shirt, I noticed Salinger staring at me.
“Letting it all out?” he inquired.
“I feel sick. We have to find that book,” I answered evasively. “I don't want anyone else to read it, no matter who has already read it.” I let the spell on my hair go and I felt the uncoiling curls hit my waist.
“Trying not to look like a princess?” Salinger asked as he reclaimed my hand.
“No. I just suddenly feel very tired and you know what? For the first time in my life, my high heels are hurting my feet. It feels like I'm getting blisters in some places and bleeding in others.”
“Let me see.” Salinger picked all of me up like a princess and set me on the sidewalk.
“I'll get dirty!” I complained.
“You're already dirty,” he reminded me as he unbuckled my shoe and turned on the flashlight of his phone to see in the darkness. “Your stockings are ripped in a few places and yes, you are bleeding. You didn't notice until now? We need a ride. Who do you know who has a car?”
“Antony, but if you call him, I'll kill you,” I reached to take my shoe back from him.
He stretched it out of my grasp. “Why?”
“I can't let him see me like this.”
“But it's okay if I see you like this?”
“Apparently. Besides, if you read my story then you know all about me, don't you? What would be the point of trying to hide? When an author writes a story all sorts of things they believe come out in between the words whether the author allows it consciously or not. How much more powerful an effect of unmasking a person would a spell book have? This is why I have never let anyone read one of my books before. I wanted to get a grip on that aspect of writing before I publicized them. You see, I never wrote anything as adorable as a sport where you fling moss balls.”
“You wrote that book?”
“Of course, I did. Who else is going to write a story about me running around a mansion in a purple dress? Who else would find that interesting?”
Salinger had been crouching on the sidewalk. When he heard I was the author, he fell over.
“That shocked?”
“Yes. You are a much better author than I am.”
“I'm not too sure about that. I can't experience my stories, so I don't know if they are going well.”
“I can't either. If I could, I would have known my second book was a flop.”
“It was a hit with Fair Isle.”
He shook his head like he couldn't stand thinking about it.
“It seems strange to me that you’re bothering with Clementine’s problem. Fair Isle is the one you should be saving.”
“How do I do that?”
“All you have to do is write a new story. Don't worry about making the world of the story intricate. Just write something that describes how you feel about her. That way, her story with you can end.”
“I'm not sure,” Salinger said hesitantly. “What happened in the story after you stopped reading was intense. I used the story as a mechanism to show you my love for you. My love confession was perfect. I got the words just right. If only it had been you who read it.”
“I hardly ever get the words just right.”
Salinger handed me my shoe. “I'll carry you.”
“Like a princess?”
“Sure, if princesses are carried like drunk Korean girls. Get on my back.”
We walked like that for half a block before Antony, Pearl and Remy pulled up in their car beside us.
“Do you want a ride?” Pearl called.
At the sound of her voice, my hair curled into ringlets and my buttons did up. Salinger set me on my scratched and blistered feet. He yelled back that we would. Then he glanced at me.
“You make fresh makeup happen, too?” he asked.
“I might be able to do even more,” I said as I got in the back of the sedan beside Remy.
I looked at Salinger's cousin one more time to see what I thought of him. He looked like an idiot. Why did I think he was something special during that one moment?
Back at my place, I bandaged my toes and heels in the bathroom while Salinger made nice with Hattie.
I paused for a second to see what my sudden flare of magic had done to my hair. It was getting curlier. I normally kept my hair in long ringlets. Now each tendril was turning into tight corkscrews. I wasn't doing it on purpose. What was winding me up? It couldn't be Salinger. His beautiful whispers in my ears had absolutely no effect on me. Likewise, him carrying me without a complaint or a grunt did nothing for me.
Unthinkingly, I went to meet him with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step. He still looked like a train wreck standing in the living room talking to Hattie, but he beamed when he saw me and held out his hand for me.
“We're going to the school.”
“Have her back before midnight,” Hattie called.
We crossed the street.
“Isn't it locked?” I asked as we got to the front doors. “I bet Clementine locked it.”
“I bet she did, but that didn't stop me from making a copy of June’s key before I gave it to Clementine.” He pulled out his keyring and I saw he had quite a lot of keys.
“You don't happen to have keys to the yarn shop, do you? I seriously doubt they'd miss a few balls.”
“They would,” he retorted as he opened the doors and led me inside.
“Spoilsport.” I stuck my tongue out at him as we headed down the hall.
The hidden library was lit by moonlight that shone through the skylight. Thinking about my book instead of Clementine in the cupboard, I rifled through the bookshelves. Soon, I had checked everywhere. There was only one last place to look.
“You said you found it in the cupboard?” I asked.
“Don't open that. It wasn't in there the last time I checked. Besides, Clementine is in there.”
“She'll be reading and won't notice us. My spell book could be in there.”
I pushed the painting aside and by then it was too late not to see everything. Inside, Clementine was lying on her back and there was a man in the cupboard on top of her, kissing her passionately. The couple (fortunately dressed) noticed and looked up at us.
“Hello, Salinger,” the man said, not lifting himself completely off Clementine. He was neither shy nor ashamed. His white teeth gleamed a dazzling smile, while his voice sounded husky in the dark, more like the voice of a mature man than the young man I had always envisioned Clementine to paired up with.
“Veda!” Clementine shrieked with happiness. “You'll never guess who this is!”
I bet I could, but I let her talk.
“It's the Gray Wolf. He's the author of the spell book I can't get over.”
“Hello, Ata,” Salinger said. “I didn't say you should come in my email.”
Even in the darkness, I could see the older man looked confused. “I didn't get an email from you. This is my magic and it doesn't have anything to do with you. We'll meet up later.” He looked at the door meaningfully and it swung shut on its own.
Salinger took me by the shoulders and led me out. Neither of us spoke until we were almost out of the school. “So, who is Ata?”
“Ata means father,” he said gravely.
I strolled beside Salinger and commented placidly, “Your father is the Gray Wolf? That explains where your literary talent comes from.”
“Does it?”
“How old is he?”
“Thirty-six.”
That made him sixteen when Salinger was born.
“The age difference isn't horrifying me if that's what you're wondering. I told you, she's older than she looks.”
Salinger whipped his head around. “You mean, you're okay with the fact that you just caught my father with your cousin.”
I nodded. “It's great news. Why shouldn't it be a good match? Do you know anything about your father that would make him a bad match for Clem?”
Salinger ran a hand over his face. “I don't know. What kind of man were you hoping to snare for her? Tell me about him and I'll tell you whether my father hits the mark.”
“Well, he should be a mage.”
“He is. A famous one, too.”
“He has to be single.”
“My father has had two wives. The first one was my mother. She disappeared and my father eventually got remarried. Woman number two lasted less than a year. He's been single for the last decade. He doesn't even date.”
I wanted to ask him more about his mother who disappeared, but when he said it, I knew the words could just as easily have come out of my mouth. That was the word I always wanted to use when I spoke about my mother but hadn't known that was the word I wanted.
I clicked my tongue and continued, “He has to have a life in the real world.”
“Trust me, he does. He's a builder and an architect. His work will melt her heart, and actually, his work is supposed to melt your heart.”
“Why?”
“Because he designed the house he built for me. You know, the witchy house I'm supposed to bring my witch bride home to.”
“That is a real place?”
“Absolutely. I'll tell you about it sometime.”
Anxious to move on, I cleared my throat. “He's got to think tattoos are cool.”
“Then you're really not responsible for Clementine's tattoos?” he asked, flirting.
“I already said I wasn't. They are enchanted, but not by me.”
He paused and leaned against the wall. “What kind of enchantment?”
“She does something to them to make the lines look cleaner. Her tattoos are far prettier than the average. The colors are bolder. Anyway, it’s too late not to have them. Her magic isn’t strong enough to make them disappear entirely.”
“Is yours?”
I grumbled. “I can't juggle that many enchantments. I have one going on myself at all times for my hair, six on Fair Isle, and...”
He interrupted, “Isn't it about time you told her the truth about her piercings?”
“Uh. No. The reason I enchanted her in the first place was that I thought she was doing it for the wrong reasons. Clementine had just got her tattoos and she had this fresh amazing style. It was stupid, but she was suddenly really popular at school, and Fair Isle wanted to do something similar, but she didn't want to be exactly the same, so she got piercings instead of tattoos. I knew she was going to grow up and not want them anymore, so I gave her a way where she could have both. I just didn't want to see her make the same mistake twice.”
“What mistake?”
“When Fair Isle chose black for her color, she did so after a spell of tremendous envy of me. All the elders thought my choosing black was so responsible and appropriate. They all showered me with compliments. She wanted that too, so she picked black when she wasn’t ready and it wasn't really what was right for her.”
“What's right?”
“Red. She knows it too, but she wasn't brave enough to go through high school entirely in red, so she chose black to appear mature. She should have waited until high school was over to make the decision. Red is her color.”
“Can she change her color now?”
“Yes. I don't think the family would treat her as badly as Emi, but she would always be remembered as a flake. She doesn't want to be spoken about like that, so she wears black now and probably always will.”
“Couldn't you do something about that instead? Make everyone believe her color was always some brilliant scarlet instead of convincing everyone she has ten piercings in her head?”
I glared at him. “She is really angry at me right now. It's hard to keep my current enchantments intact. The only reason I'm able to do it at all is that there are magical artifacts involved. If she does move to British Columbia, I won't be able to maintain it. I'd love to be with her in the piercing salon when she goes to get her ears pierced for the first time. The pain will wind her. But seriously, no. I can't do anything more for her in her current state of mind.”
There was a lull in the conversation, but I pointed it where it needed to go. “I guess I'll have to wait and see what I think of your father and Clementine together. So far, I have no objections. It seems like the best thing for her, like the ending of a fairytale. A nice fairytale! The whimsical girl falls into reading a magical book, wherein she meets a man that makes her heart beat. Magically, he turns out to be real. It's like a princess kissing a frog and getting prince charming.”
Salinger stood beside me. The light of the moonlight arched through the window next to him and cast a single shadow from the window frame up the side of his face. “That was what your book did to me. Except at the end of the story, you disappeared, like Cinderella down the stairs at midnight.”
Something caught in my throat. He said disappeared . Except it wasn't his mother or my mother who was disappearing. It was me.
“Veda, the book doesn't make anyone love. People choose to love. I choose to love you. Let me.” His hand came out to touch my cheek.
On instinct, I brushed his hand away. I might still disappear.
“It serves me right. I should never have thrown my work in the garbage and expected it to stay there. The garbage is not a portal into nothingness. Someone who knows what to look for can always find it.” After I said those words, it was obvious who had taken my book, and the more I thought of it, the more sense it made. He was obsessed. He was confused. He didn’t need my permission. “Antony has my book,” I deduced, clearing my throat to remove the knots. “I have written dozens, and I don't know how many of them I have thrown away. He may have more than one.”
“More than one?” Salinger almost cursed. The apprehension that covered his face revealed that he was far more worried about the consequences than I was. I was humbled to realize, he understood what had happened to Antony far better than I did. “Well, then I guess that explains Antony.”
“What do you mean?”
“That explains why his mouth fills with saliva when you enter the room. Why he can’t stop ogling you, even when he has Pearl in his arms. He’s been chasing you around in your books, and believe me, he could have done anything with the version of you that he met in the book. I did things with Fair Isle I would never do in real life. Probably, as far as he is concerned, you two are already lovers.”
My cheeks went ashen. “I never meant for something like this to happen.”
“I’ll fix it. I’ll get the books back from him.”
“How?”
“I’ll think of a way.”
Salinger sounded stupid when he told me he would get my books back from Antony. I didn’t think he had much hope. If I were keeping something as forbidden as those books, I would squirrel them away so well, no one would ever find them. I'd use half my available magic to keep them a secret.
Antony was from a powerful witch family and he had exhibited more ability than any of my other cousins. Even so, I had always thought he wasn't capable of much, but what if that was because he used the lion's share of his magic to keep forbidden things hidden? If Antony had been gathering my garbage for years, he had become corrupted like Fair Isle, except worse, and the evidence was only starting to leak now.
Was Salinger strong enough to retrieve them? If he found them, would he return them to me unused, or would he slip within the pages himself and become like Antony?
I should never have trusted him.
The books in my room were not safe either. I emptied my bookshelf. I had been storing my books on a shelf out in the open believing they were safe. In my mind, they were safe under the same principle as the books in the hidden library, safe because no one thought something magical and rare could be stored out in the open. No one thought I could write a spell book. I had stupidly believed they were safe.
I went through each title and made sure all my beauties were accounted for. Then I slid each one of them into a decorative cardboard chest with a lock on the front. That may not have seemed like a very safe place, but it was all in where I put it.
I took it directly to Hattie's room and slid it under her dresser. She was reading on her bed when I barged in.
“Can I put this here?” I asked after I had already got it in place.
Hattie looked at me over her glasses and glanced at the box. “You can leave it there if you want to, but I think it would be safer if you admitted your talent to June and she locked it in the third tree in the hidden library. There is magic there that never stops spinning.”
I was surprised. I hadn’t known that. “You think it would be safer?”
“I know it would be safer. Oh, except for one thing.” She took off her glasses. “Salinger would probably be able to open it.”
“Why would he?”
“Oh, you know...” again she trailed off and didn't explain.
“No, I don't,” I stamped.
“You will.” She smiled knowingly before saying, “I don't mind being the keeper of your secrets, but I might not be able to keep it safe from him.”
Exasperated, I squawked. “Why?”
“Can't you feel it?” She cast her gaze around the room like the very walls of the house were telling her something. “I know the letter from your mother said it was because you were eighteen, but what if it only said that because… you wouldn't accept… the real reason.”
I brushed past her and swept out of the room. Only a girl in a magnificent skirt could do that, and luckily, I was wearing one.
Hattie didn't know anything! She was an outsider I had taken pity on and though she was cleverer than I had initially given her credit for, that didn't mean she understood what she was talking about.
I put her out of my mind, left the house, and crossed the street to the school. Though I wasn't much of a dancer, the studio would be empty and I could do a few things to work out my frustration.
In the change room, I put on my black yoga pants and top. Once again, I enjoyed the fact that I had chosen black as my color. It never looked bad. These clothes had been squashed in my locker since I had last washed them. They still looked fine as I smoothed them out over my body. I put my hair in a braid, grabbed my mat, and went into the studio.
In the distance, I could hear something. There was music coming from down the hall.
I rolled out my mat. I did my initial stretches on it, completing four sun salutations. The music rang louder and got better every time I put my face to the mat. Whoever was in the music room, they were making progress.
Normally, at that point in my workout, I would have gone through the eight dances I needed to know by heart to tutor, but the music down the hall beckoned me.
I tiptoed down the hall to peek in the music room. Through a glass window in the door, I could easily see Intarsia. I noticed her dark green lipstick before I noticed that she was playing the harp. Remy was next to her cradling a violin. Intarsia was playing the accompaniment while he played the melody. I didn't know Intarsia knew how to play the harp. I didn't know she had a forest green velvet dress with a ladylike slit, or green silk stockings, or graceful green high heels. The last shoes I had seen her purchase had been a pair of green crocks. Remy wore a black suit with a white cravat that swung slightly with the rhythm of his bow.
If I didn't know better, I would have thought they were having a dress rehearsal, but where could they possibly be performing? Every event I could think of was over until fall.
Their piece finished. Remy put his bow down and rested his instrument on the floor. Then he pulled up a stool behind Intarsia and put his hands over hers. My first thought was that he was one of those stupid boys who shows a woman how to hold a gun when she already knew, just because he was trying to flaunt his expertise and rub up against her. Yet as I watched his face, he didn't seem like a moron who was trying to get a cheap thrill out of the contact. Instead, he was diligent in his pursuit of music and helped guide her fingers to the right places on the right strings. It was downright magical and I was intruding.
I turned away.
I had never seen her so happy.
Packing up my things, I thought about how different love wore on her than it did on Pearl. Pearl was so happy, she was almost giddy. Intarsia seemed like she was an engine revving up to do something amazing. Almost like she had put greatness instead of the color green.
On second thought, maybe what was happening with both of them was exactly what love did to you. It made you into more of the person you wanted to be.
Again, this progress was Salinger’s doing.
I stepped onto the front steps of the school and leaned against the rails. My goals were being realized faster than I’d planned. All because of Salinger. If I loved him, what would it do to me? I remembered my curls from the previous night that sprang up without my permission. Well, that wasn't who I really was! My hair was straight. I made it curl into large loose ringlets to look more beautiful. Curls were not me.
I told myself that over and over again.
That was when I ran into Pearl on the sidewalk.
“Hello, stranger,” she called to me.
“Hi.” I wrapped my fingers around the bus stop pole and walked around it in a controlled circle a few times before I forced myself to make small talk. “Where are you headed?”
“Over to Antony's,” she said as she adjusted the strap on her backpack. It beat the heck out of me where she found a coral pink backpack with sequins on it.
“Got a hot date?”
“Not exactly,” she said hesitantly, biting her lip. “Salinger was over at Antony's this morning. I guess he saw inside his room. Have you ever been in Antony's room?”
I shook my head negatively.
“Right,” Pearl conceded. “You would never go into a boy's room. Well, I'm not so ladylike and I've been in there a time or two. Salinger says the mess is blocking Antony's creative flow and he wants me to straighten it out.”
“Brave girl,” I said, trying to be encouraging. Antony should clean his own filthy room. I would have told her so myself, except before I stupidly opened my mouth, I figured out that Salinger was getting Pearl to look for my books. “Do you want some help?” I volunteered.
“Nah. That's all right. He's my boyfriend, so it's okay.”
“How about just for the company? I won't touch even one of his socks.”
“It's okay, Veda. You shouldn't even have to see one of his socks. I'll talk to you later, okay?” Pearl left in the direction of Antony's house.
For a moment, I wondered where Antony was, but Salinger probably had him tied up at Cold as Stone. If they worked all day, maybe they wouldn't have that much left to do. With that in mind, I went home and dutifully sewed the dress I promised I'd make Pearl. After all, she would need it soon.
From the moment Pearl entered Cold as Stone, it was obvious she had been successful. Not only was she so angry her cheeks were an abused red and her fingers trembled as she came across the room to me.
“Is Antony here?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Yeah. I think he's out back smoking one of those things you make him.”
“Okay. I can't see him,” she said, pulling her mouth into a distorted line. “I need you to take my bag and give what's inside to Veda. Can you do that for me, preferably without letting Antony know what you've done?”
“Is there anywhere I can hide it?”
Pearl opened a cupboard under the cash register and stuffed it inside. She gave me the key and managed to leave the store before Antony came back from his smoke break.
When he finally did come back, he looked around and said, “I think I'm done for the day.”
We were not finished, but I agreed because I wanted him to leave. “Yeah, go ahead. I'll stay here and clean the brushes.”
Antony strode out of the store muttering, “Great. Great.”
I went to wash them in the bathroom sink. I had just finished when I heard the tinkle of the front bell.
Back in the showroom, a woman stood on the mat by the door. She had long black hair that lay perfectly straight and her clothes were a faded, sad blue. Lost was the word to describe her. She could have been in her twenties or her forties. If I had to spot her in a lineup of suspects, she would be easy to identify. She was a witch who had once possessed a lot of magic, but now, almost all of it was gone.
“Can I help you find anything?” I asked with the customer service voice of a Shoe Locker salesman rather than that of a mystic.
Her gaze leveled me. “You. I came to find you.”
Maybe she had a bit of magic left. I felt myself being assessed by her. I said nothing and let her look at me. I had no secrets. Actually, because of my work for Veda, I had never felt better about myself and I met her eyes with confidence.
The strength of her stare ebbed and her eyes wandered to examine other things, although with far less interest. Obviously oblivious to what was on the shelves, she said, “You must remember, she has always been alone and will not fit in with others. Not right away. She needs time to trust. She will need time alone.”
I swallowed. This was a prophecy and I needed to listen.
“Never allow her to think you don't love her. When you can't think of what to say to her, always say you love her. Say it as many times as the sea shifts the sands.” The woman seemed to be struggling with her ability to speak. “Say it as many times as the wind moves the leaves. Say it forever.” Then her eyes suddenly clapped on me and for a second it seemed to me that flames danced inside them. “He's coming,” she hissed.
I turned and saw Antony's car screech into a parking spot. I heard the bell on the door move, but when I turned to see which way the woman had fled, she was completely gone. Antony slammed his car door shut. He raced to the front doors to open them, but they were locked. Antony cursed and jabbed his fingers into his pocket to retrieve his keys.
I didn't move. I wasn't afraid of him, so I wiped my hands and braced for the moment he would actually be in my face, but it didn't come. Antony's key fit the lock, but the doors were tied with something.
“Salinger! Let me in. Why won't it open?” He obviously couldn't see the cords.
I played stupid. “I dunno what happened, man,” I said as I pretended to look over the knots. It was a knitted thing with cables down it. It was a mix of charcoal and green. I liked it.
“Let me in!”
“Give me a second. What did you come for anyway? Maybe I can grab it for you.”
Antony took a step back and fumed. “What did you do to Pearl?”
I cleared my throat and prepared for it. “I told her your room was messy and she would be a very good girlfriend if she cleaned it.”
“You sack of...” The last word was muffled a bit through his clenched teeth. “The messy room was a spell.”
“I know. It's meant to hide things, but guess what? It's time for you to give back what doesn't belong to you.”
He seemed confused for a moment. I went back behind the counter and got the bag Pearl had brought me. I opened it up, showing him the books.
“I didn't steal those. They were in the garbage,” Antony explained.
“Uh-huh. Do you think that matters to Pearl?”
His come-back was quick. “This doesn't have anything to do with Pearl.”
“She broke your spell only to find out that you are still hung up on Veda.”
“Open this door!” he hollered.
The knot was getting bigger and tighter. That woman who had come to the shop had enchanted it. But why? Why should she want to save me from Antony's wrath?
“I can't,” I admitted with a shrug of my shoulders. “Doesn't matter anyway. I won’t give them back. You don't get to have Veda and if you don't move quickly, you're going to lose Pearl.”
“You have more relatives to drum up?”
“Who needs relatives? Pearl's a minor and she doesn't need a new man to realize she doesn't want you.”
Antony backed away from the door and spat on the ground. He wasn't listening to me. He was cursing, but I did hear him say one thing under his breath. “You sound just like Veda.” He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to steady himself. Finally, he turned to me and said in the icy voice of ultimate rage, “Open that door!”
“I don't think I can. The cord binding the door shut keeps getting bigger and tighter.”
“So stop it, you half-wit.”
“I'm not the one who started it.” I looked at the knitting and gaped. “I've never seen magic work this hard.”
“Who put it on the lock?”
“I don't know. A woman who came in.”
Antony smiled a twisted amused grin. “If it was who I think it was, maybe it would be better if you stayed in there.”
Knowing something I didn’t, Antony left the shop undisturbed and went back to his car. I watched him get behind the wheel. Once there, he adjusted the rearview mirror, so he could get a better look at himself. He checked his teeth, put on a pair of sunglasses, and popped a piece of gum in his mouth. He flipped me the bird before he sped off.
It didn't take a genius to figure out he was on his way to see Veda.
I checked the knot on the front door. The length of the knit was getting eaten up in the knot. I touched it and could actually feel the yarn constricting and tightening like a wooly snake.
I checked the back door to see if there was a way out. The knob didn't budge. Something was wrong. There was a spell on this building meant to keep others out as well as me in.
At first, I didn't know what to do.
Resigning myself, I changed the open sign to closed and picked up Pearl's bag. It didn't enter into my mind to think about warning Veda that Antony was coming to see her. Making a call would have been easy, but I didn't think of it. I had to work out what I needed to do to make the knitting on the front doors untangle itself.
I heard Antony's car pull up and his footfalls on the front step. Did his appearance mean Pearl had found my books?
He rapped on the door frame with his knuckles and bounced on the balls of his feet.
Angry and eager to confront him, I opened the door. He was different. Was it his sunglasses? Had his jaw always been so square? One thing was for sure, he was using more product in his hair than usual and it looked good on him. Was there an extra steak of blond in there too? It looked natural.
He clicked his tongue against his teeth and smiled. “How have you been, Veda?”
For some reason, the greeting felt pointedly intimate. Like we had once been so close that it was natural for me to tell him anything and everything. That had never been true.
“I'm surviving,” I drawled, trying to put him in his place with only the tone of my voice.
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside to make room for him and as he came through, the scent of his cologne almost undid me. Though I had never openly admitted it to anyone, I had a particular weakness for men's cologne, aftershave, deodorant, body spray, and anything of the like. Even if the stuff wasn't meant to be a woman’s undoing, for me, it was like slamming down hard liquor. It went straight to my head.
There was no reasonable place to sit down in the living room, so I led him in there, breathing him in all the way. He sat on the floor and stretched out his jean-clad legs. I hadn't even known he owned pants that clung to his body like that. Antony's color was navy, so the jeans and the shirt he wore went along those lines. It made his eyes look bluer.
I sat down and as was my habit, I picked up my wool and needles started their slow clicking between my fingers. This way, I didn't have to look at him.
However, this didn't stop me from hearing him. “Veda. Veda. Veda. How far have we gone wrong?”
I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise.
“All this time,” he continued. “We've been together and not together. Don't you see how wrong that is?”
“Not particularly.” Still, I refused to look at him.
Then slowly, like a tadpole losing its tail, his voice began to change. The tones containing friendship dropped from hearing. “Do you remember when we were little? We were playing Snow White and you were pretending to be dead? Everyone thought that you were dead. You were so good at breathing so little that your chest wouldn't rise or fall. You didn't flutter an eyelash, not even when I shook you. The cousins became so scared they ran to get an adult and you and I were left alone. I knew you were fine, so I put my cheek under your nose to feel your breath.”
By this point, his voice had completely lapsed into the new voice. It was a voice I recognized, but couldn't place.
I stopped knitting.
Going on, he said, “You quit breathing completely. I should have backed off, but I didn't. I wanted to force you to breathe, so I could catch you at your game, but you didn't. You held your breath until you fainted rather than appear alive.”
I remembered that. If only I could remember who owned the voice he was using. I trusted that voice, but why? Why did I trust a voice I couldn't identify?
Antony went on. “I learned something about you that day, Veda.”
Something was wrong with me. I picked up my needles and started knitting furiously. “What was that?”
“That you are special.” He changed his position. He was no longer sitting on the floor with his legs out. He was on his hands and knees and he was inching his way closer to me. His scent was getting thicker. “You are not like the little girl who pretends to be Snow White so she can be kissed. You pretend to be Snow White so you can be dead.”
“Shut up!” I snapped, getting up and moving away from him. “You don't understand.”
At first, he didn't say anything, but picked up the yarn and moved it carefully to the side. Still, on his knees, he continued. “Who could understand better than me? I've been here our entire lives. How many times have I held you?”
I didn't know. Every member of my family was always hugging me or trying to hug me, no matter how awkward I claimed it was.
“You never once felt my closeness or my love.” It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
I glared at him.
“It's okay,” he said in his new voice. “You can't feel it.” He got up and moved to the front door. Once there, he leaned against the wall and gave me an entire room's worth of space away from him. “If you let me love you, you wouldn't have to care about me in return. I know you can't love me. I know you can only feel things on the outside and not on the inside. If you pretend to care, I'll know that's the best you can do. I'll love you and worship you. In exchange, you can have me for whatever you want.”
“What do you mean?”
“Most of the time, you don't want to be touched. Sometimes you do. You don't feel things the way other people feel them. Like when it's cold, and you want to be held forever because you can't get the chill out of your body. I'll do what you want. I'm here on the other side of the room now, because that's what you want.”
What he said was true. How could my books have taught him so much about me?
“Antony,” I said, actually struggling to find my voice. “I have already told you that I don't want to be involved with you romantically. We're cousins.”
“You don't want to have children, so why does it matter if we’re cousins?”
I hated those words. I hated them because they were true, but he had no right to throw them in my face. My indignation helped me rebut him. “I also don't want to be in a romantic relationship. I don't want to give anyone that sort of access to my body.”
“Lies. You can feel more than you think you can,” he said. “Look out the window. Pretend it isn't July. You know July is only a passing phase here in the Gateway to the North. Summer is something we feel for a short time, but we all know it can't last. We will enjoy three months of good weather for nine months of bad. Look out the window. Out there, the leaves on the trees are a passing fancy. Looking beyond, you can see what they will look like in two months. The leaves will go and there will be nothing left for the trees but the bark and the bones.” Antony ground his teeth.
“Please stop talking. You're hurting me,” I whispered.
“Then let me in,” he pleaded. “Acknowledge that I understand you and I'll stop.”
“No,” I said, scraping together my courage. “You're not special. You know what everyone knows, but they have the grace not to rub it in my face. Knowing this much about me isn't reaching my gooey center.”
“There's snow, and it's falling,” he continued, even though I asked him to stop. “It falls flake by flake and each one of those flakes is different, like a unique memory of a tragedy. December 17, the year you were seven. Don't you remember? January 29, the year you were twelve. June 26, this year, and the letter you got from your mother? A new memory all yours to treasure? Did anyone share that hideous moment with you? Was there even one person with you?”
“June.”
“You don't want her ,” he almost spat.
“Perhaps not,” I acknowledged, “but what makes you think you would fill each and every one of the holes inside me? You haven't got enough fingers. You forget all the times you yourself could have been there for me and were not. What makes you think you are deserving of my trust?”
“I was a child,” he spoke in the voice and it came a little clearer. I was so close to recognizing it. “I can prove myself.”
I didn't answer. I was so close to identifying the voice. I tried to think, but his words were confusing me. Antony did not normally talk about snowflakes or pretending to be dead. The voice he used was like the one I used when I wrote my books. Then the truth assaulted me. He had learned to speak in my voice, but not just any voice I used. Through my books he had learned to speak in the voice I used inside my head.
I was so horrified that I couldn't talk. I just stared at him and tried to think of the thing that would hurt him the most. For someone I was willing to spend my entire life taking care of, I found a way to twist the knife frightfully fast.
“Like snow,” I breathed. “Do you know who really reminds me of snow? Salinger. He's not like you. Maybe it's because he's not exactly a white boy that he comes off so magical. Like a person who is partly made of snow. The first time I saw him get out of a taxi in the rain, he brushed it off like he was used to far worse, and our rain was like a blessing from heaven like the rainwater in the bowl you broke. Right from that first moment, he seemed so strong. Maybe that was why I didn't turn him down when he wanted to date me, even though it meant an immediate lynching from the cousins. I had to have him all to myself, to look into his dark eyes and imagine what the night that never ends is like, where he comes from. I wonder what the wind there is like. I bet it rips across your skin so hard, you forget how to feel, so you can only feel brave. He makes me feel like I could give him everything , and he would give me courage.”
“Everything?” Anthony suddenly fumed. His voice returned to normal and all his old bitterness came with it.
“Yes. I said he is made of snow, so we're the same. I feel a closeness with him I've never felt before like he could be everything to me. So, instead of loving my mother, I'll love him. Instead of loving you...”
“You'll love him?” Antony spat.
“Exactly. I'm glad you understand so well. Now hurry back to Pearl before you ruin things with her. After looking in my crystal ball, I think you two might have a glorious future, provided you don't screw it up chasing something that could never be yours.”
At that moment, he screamed. It was the worst sound I had ever heard. It wasn't his scream, it was mine. And it was agony. I knew how I would have to feel inside to make a sound like that. I had made that sound before. It was when I read the letter from my mother on my graduation night. No one heard it. I was alone and it was the end. Antony couldn't know that sound. Yet, he was making it. I covered my ears with my palms, but it didn't stop the noise from coming in. It was like he was shoving needles in my head while he towered over me screaming like a heart had been ripped in two.
It wasn't his heart that was breaking, I told myself. It was a sound he had taught himself. It couldn't be a true reflection of his feelings. He had been happy with Pearl. He had been the boyfriend he always wished to be for me. Hadn’t they been happy together?
He wasn't stopping to breathe in. His fingers gripped my wrists, pulling my hands away from my ears. He was pressing his forehead against mine. I fought him, but I was losing.
Then, suddenly, I was saved. Someone had come up behind Antony and was hitting his back with a red umbrella. “Get off her!” someone shrieked, even louder than Antony. When he didn't move, she hit him over the head and then butted him across the cheek with the crooked end. It was Fair Isle's black head behind that shriek. She was wearing enormous combat boots and she kicked him over and over. “Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth,” she chanted as he stared up at her in shock and shame. His voice lost volume and eventually, it trailed off into nothing.
I didn't take my hands away from my ears as I watched her.
She kicked him until he was huddled against the wall. Then she battered him across the cheek with the umbrella again, chanting all the while. Dropping to her knees, she put her palm to Antony's forehead. She whispered something. “Get going,” she sneered down at him.
He scrambled to his feet, tripped through the door and down the steps. Only when I saw him off the property through the lacy front window did I let my hands drop from my ears. My palms were red with blood.
Fair Isle saw the blood trickling down my forearms. “You're bleeding like a pig,” she commented as she went to fetch a dishtowel from the kitchen. “It's probably not as bad as it looks. Head injuries always bleed like this. Hey, can you hear me?”
I nodded, though her voice sounded distant and small.
“You're all right,” she declared, while she let me blot the blood.
“Thank you,” I mumbled. “I… didn't have the strength to… deal with him.”
“Of course, you didn't. You're putting too much of your magic in places you shouldn't.”
It was then that I noticed she didn't have any of her piercings in. They were all gone. She almost looked like a different person. Maybe like a person who wasn't pissed off with everything, which was odd since she had just kicked the hell out of Antony. However, her cheeks were flushed and her usually paste-like skin was alive with color. What happened to her?
“I know what he was doing,” she said crossly, though it was unclear who exactly she was cross with. “He was using your voice. I thought I heard you screaming. Actually, I thought you were reading Salinger's new book and having a bad experience. I came in here to try to snap you out of it.” She brushed off her clothes like she was trying to wipe the disgust off. “I have to get to Pearl's. She needs to know what Antony tried to do to you.”
“What was he trying to do to me? It felt like he was trying to override my senses. He looked different when he came in. He smelled different. He talked...”
“Like you,” Fair Isle finished for me. “He was trying to replace the voice in your head with his voice so he could turn you into his slave. He'd say something and you would think it was your own idea and do it. It's a type of mind control. I had no idea he was powerful enough to give it a try.” She tapped the discarded bloody dishtowel with the toe of her boot. “But he used too much power. He must have wanted you too much. I don't think someone speaking with your voice is supposed to make you bleed. Try not to worry. He won't come back. I bound him with a spell before he left. I doubt he'll be able to break it.”
As far as I knew, Fair Isle had never been strong enough to adequately complete a spell, but now I questioned what I knew about her. The piercings were gone and the chanting she had used on Antony had been effective. Maybe it would hold up.
“Call June and Hattie. They need to watch you until you can get your strength up. I've got to get to Pearl's.”
“Can't I come?”
“Get a clue. Your presence would complete her humiliation,” Fair Isle said, looking like she wanted to hit me as much as she had hit Antony. “Call June and Hattie. If he comes back, you can make a circle of three witches. Besides,” she said as she opened the front door. “I may come back with Pearl. She may want to talk to you.”
After Fair Isle left, I felt tired. I tried to text June, but the screen on my phone was too fuzzy for me to type properly. It was my eyes and not my phone on the fritz. I was dizzy and let my body fall. The cold hardwood on my cheek felt awesome.
The first book I pulled out of Pearl's bag was very cute. It had a gray fabric cover. Veda made a new cover to hide the ugly one beneath. She had obviously had high hopes for this story. I wondered what had gone wrong. Looking at the spine, it had been opened many times. Was that because Antony had read it so many times, he had given it a worn look?
I began reading.
I was her doctor in an empty hospital. She was the only patient, all tucked up in bed, with her black hair hanging in ringlets around her. Her lips were white, and there were faint circles under her eyes.
I picked up a clipboard at the end of her bed that said she was dying and all the reasons why. It also said there was no treatment for her illness. The only instruction was to keep her comfortable until she died.
I realized immediately that the goal of the book was for me to keep her alive, even though she claimed she was in pain and wanted to die. I had to make the time meaningful for her, help her to love life, and eventually, say the words, ‘I don’t want to die.’
It wasn’t easy. She resisted my every attempt.
I was worried when the first night came. I had to remind myself that I didn't need to worry about how much time was passing in the outside world. Hardly any time would have passed and I could give all my attention to the imaginary Veda who was dying.
I wheeled another hospital bed close to hers and told her I would stay with her all night so she wouldn't be scared. \I had to take her to the bathroom. She cried on the way because putting pressure on her legs hurt. She cried while she peed too, and eventually, I had to go into the bathroom to hold her hand. Her gown covered her well enough that her modesty was not violated, but what girl wants to be held while she uses the toilet? It was like she already knew what it would be like to so hurt that all social niceties fell away.
When she got up from the toilet, the urine was red. I should have expected it after all her crying, but I didn't. She was able to wipe herself but no more, and I had to carry her back to the bed princess-style.
After I got her settled, she wanted to tell me stories. She told me about all her dreams for her life that would never happen. The most peculiar thing about her stories is that they held a common theme. They were all things she wanted to do with her mother.
They were all ordinary things. She wanted to knit one end of a scarf, while her mother knit the other end. They were going to watch a black and white movie and make this big scarf (they would have to watch a lot of movies) and when it was finished, she would wear it even after it was worn out. Then she wanted to do it again, but the second time, knit one for her mother. She wanted to take her mother to visit the White Cliffs of Dover and hang their legs off the side and stare off into the distance and imagine what France must be like. The one after that surprised me. She wanted to go to White Horse and see the northern lights and observe the stars without the light pollution of Edmonton. I could do that for her.
I told her so on the spot. I have a house there. I told her, but she just looked at me like I didn't understand. She didn't want to go with me. She wanted to go with her mother, and she never could.
That was when everything made sense to me. There was a scarf that was knit on one side by Veda and the other side by her mother. It was real and it had magic. That was the scarf that was holding the doors to Cold as Stone shut. Which meant that the woman I had seen by the doors was Zellica.
She was dead.
She had always been dead.
It all added up. That was why ownership of the house came to Veda on her eighteenth birthday. That was the soonest it could be done. That was why her mother was always chasing her father. He was dead too and the relationship Veda had with her mother was one that had only been possible because Veda was a witch and a child. Veda had been bringing her mother's spirit home. And often. That was what I saw, Zellica's spirit and a scarf that was made half in our world and half in the world of the dead.
Veda couldn't keep bringing her mother’s ghost back. Children were better at that kind of magic than anyone. It was because they were so recently from the unseen world themselves. That had to be why Veda had been losing her ability to do it as she approached her eighteenth birthday. The letter meant that her mother wanted her to stop bringing her into this world. It was dangerous for Veda. If she did it too many times, she would die.
Zellica had visited me to teach me what I needed to do to keep Veda in this world. I needed to be mindful of her differences, but I also needed to love her, and love her fiercely.
“I love you,” I suddenly said to the sick Veda who was dripping blood from her nose.
She looked at me with huge eyes. “You're a doctor. Of course, you don't want me to die. Of course, you feel sorry for me, but it's just one night of your career. You'll be here in this room with another girl on a different night and you'll feel the same way for her that you feel now for me. I'm not special.”
“No, you are special,” I said, taking her one hand in mine and wiping her nose with the sleeve of my lab coat.
“Stop it. I'll call the nurse,” Veda threatened.
“There is no nurse. There is no one in this whole hospital, except you and me. Why do you think we are here, alone together?”
She suddenly looked very afraid, “Because I'm contagious?”
I stared at her. “You’re not sick.”
“Of course, I'm sick,” she whimpered. “I hurt everywhere. I'm bleeding from everywhere.”
Then I noticed she was bleeding from her ear. “Let me look.” I got out my instrument and looked in her ear. I couldn't tell where the blood was coming from, no matter how many times I wiped it clean.
So far in the story, Veda had taken her symptoms in stride no matter what happened, but her reaction to the blood dripping from her ears was different. She seemed to panic, catching the blood that fell on the backs of her hands and inadvertently spreading it everywhere.
I had to think. Was I wrong about the purpose of the story? What was I supposed to do? Could I convince her that she wasn't sick when she bled so freely? She started coughing and sprayed tiny spots of blood across the white blankets.
“Do you want to die?” I suddenly asked her.
She leaned back into her pillows comfortably. “Oh, yes. I'm just a little scared. That's why you're here, to ease my passing.”
I put my hands in the pockets of my lab coat. I felt a syringe in the left-hand pocket. That was it. Once I got tired of seeing her in pain, I could give her the needle and the story would be over.
Except I couldn't.
“I'll see if I can find something to help,” I lied, as I excused myself from the room.
Veda was a better writer than me at every turn. In this book, the world was detailed and complex. I took myself to a custodial closet that had a tiny shower in the corner. There, I crushed the syringe with the heel of my doctor-like loafer.
Back in the room with Veda, I put my hand in my pocket, and the syringe was back. It didn't matter how many times I disposed of it, it would always be back in my pocket because I couldn't finish the spell book without it.
Veda took no notice and continued weeping blood into a white towel that was slowly turning pink.
I couldn't watch her. I went back into the hallway to think.
Veda was planning to die. Was that the whole reason she had goals for her cousins? Because she wasn't going to be here to see them? I had been hastening her project because I hoped to free her to live her own life, but she didn’t want to live her own life, did she?
I promptly had a panic attack. I felt like an invisible door had opened in front of me and I had been thrust into hell. The hall looked the same. Nothing looked different.
I was in hell.
When I helped Veda and her cousins I was actually helping her put her life in order so she could die? That had to be why it was so important to her to make sure they had good life patterns. But if she never got them on course, then maybe she wouldn't feel like she could leave them. Her link to the spirit world wouldn't last forever. It had been fading for years, and if everyone could stall her for a few more, then the link would be gone... Maybe there was another way to break it. I thought again about the scarf holding the door closed. Maybe there was a way to sever the link that didn't involve waiting for it to dissolve. Maybe the scarf held the door to the spirit world open.
I grasped my courage. Zellica had given me the scarf. I thought she had given it to me to protect me from Antony, but perhaps she had used it that way only because it had been convenient. She gave it to me so I could destroy it and save the life of her child.
I had to get back to Cold as Stone and get it off the door. Except, I couldn't go. I couldn't give Veda that needle. That was how Antony had gotten out of the book when he read it. He had given her the injection.
When I last saw him, he was on his way to visit Veda.
Hell was only the beginning.
Hattie picked me up off the floor. I hadn't managed to call her or June even though Fair Isle told me to.
“This house is stupid,” Hattie muttered. “There's no proper furniture. Tomorrow, I'm ordering a couch and tossing that stupid bench out the back door.”
“A looter will carry it away on a bike,” I croaked through my dry vocal cords. “Besides, I'd kill you if you got rid of it. My father carved it.”
“Where is your father?” she suddenly asked, putting her face so close to mine, I could smell her shampoo. It jolted me to a higher level of awareness, and I answered her.
“He's dead.”
“That's not the story I heard,” she grumbled. “I heard that your mother left you here for months on end so she could follow him on a never-ending tour of the world.”
I coughed. The scraping of my windpipe hurt. “They're still telling that story? That's sweet of them.”
“It's not true?”
“How could it be true if he's dead? He's been dead since before I was born. My mother was so beautiful. Did you know?” I gasped. “She was like a princess, or a model, or a black and white movie star. All the men wanted her. They fought and fought. Not only did they fight each other, but they also fought her. She had scars on her body from where they took out their rage.” I paused, distracted by the concern on Hattie’s face.
She was trying to muscle me down the hall to my bedroom, but she was failing.
“Stop it,” I begged. “I love lying on the floor. Just drop me.”
She didn't drop me. She lowered me carefully. Then she fetched me a pillow and insisted she put it under my cheek.
“My beautiful father… she loved him so much… and he disappeared. She wanted us to be together… to be a family… but in the end, she didn’t have the strength to take both of us to be with him. She left me here, with all this.” I waved my hand around the room. “These people who sort of love me, until I piss them off by being like my beautiful parents. This house… that sort of shelters me… until it doesn’t. And there’s only one place to go that’s safe.”
“Where?”
I didn’t answer her. “Why didn’t Antony love Pearl?”
“She's not you,” Hattie reminded me.
“No, she isn't. But if I'm a black rose and she's a pink one, then which one is more beautiful? Neither. They are just different. She grew so much and I thought she had that moment.”
“What moment?”
I was finished evading her. “The moment when she becomes precious. People are always precious, but not everyone can see it. Usually, only their parents feel their preciousness. I could see it because I have always believed that she was a girl worth fighting for. That was why I did everything.” I was starting to break down. I was going to end up crying. “Fair Isle is over at her house explaining to her what Antony tried to do to me and she's going to spin it like what he tried to do was worse than rape. And I can't stop her!”
Hattie put her hands on either side of my face and tried to look in my eyes though I kept looking anywhere but at her.
I continued venting. “She was supposed to be precious to Antony. I was supposed to get out of the way so he could see only her. I tried to show him I wasn't that great, but I didn't know how. I am so conceited. It's sick.”
“Stop talking,” Hattie instructed. “Can you hear that?”
I tried to listen, but I couldn't hear anything above the ringing in my ears.
“Your cousins are here.”
Then I heard their footsteps on the porch and the knock on the front door.
Hattie got up.
I wanted to tell her not to answer it. I wanted to tell her to hide on the floor with me and pretend we were not home. The war I waged for my cousins had been so long already and I had lost. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want them to explain all the ways I had failed.
I buried my face in the pillow and waited for what Hattie would do.
I didn't feel anything. I didn't hear any sounds of doors opening, or of people coming in, or of Hattie explaining that I couldn't have visitors just then. Nothing.
After a decent interval, I lifted my head a fraction above my pillow and breathed, “Are they gone?”
No answer.
I turned my head and saw green velvet Doc Martins. Intarsia was standing beside me. I breathed one easy breath. I wasn't afraid of Intarsia. I turned over and plopped back on the pillow. Clementine and Fair Isle were also there, but no Pearl.
“I have some interesting news for you, girl,” Fair Isle said, squatting in her pleather pants. “Pearl already knew about Antony's treachery, so she's not home hating on you, but she's in no state to go outside. Nothing to fret about though, her mother is home and I sent my mom and Clementine's mom over to help. Don't get the wrong idea. I didn't send Willow and Savannah over to protect Pearl. I don't think Antony is going to make a shady appearance. They need to heal her.”
I nodded. I wanted to stand in the circle for that, but I knew Pearl wouldn't want me. Besides, those three aunts were all sisters. Nothing could be more powerful.
“And we are here to heal you ,” Fair Isle said as she got up.
“No,” I whimpered. “I don't deserve it.”
“You may not be able to cure yourself,” Intarsia said softly. Her lips were forest green and though it defied common sense, it looked almost normal.
“I can!” I cried, feeling less worthy than before. “I'm not using the magic I was using to trick Fair Isle about her piercings. I have so much free magic it's like I have a whole other arm. I can do it.”
“Then why aren't you doing it?” Intarsia pointed out.
“What's the hurry?” I muttered caustically, as I moved onto my side. Blood dripped from my ear onto the white pillowcase. “Clementine is the only cousin who isn't mad at me, and for all I know, she might be mad too.”
“Why would I be mad?” Clementine scoffed. “You have been a terrific sport. You've known my secret for years and never blabbed it except in the one moment I needed you to.”
“What do you mean?” Fair Isle asked. “You reading in the library is not a secret.”
“Not that. Veda knows I'm not nineteen.”
Fair Isle gawked. “You're not?”
“No. I'm twenty-nine and Veda only ever told one person.”
“Who?”
“Salinger. He needed to hear it more than anyone. Now he knows that his father isn't a cradle robber and I can start acting my age. It's sort of exciting. I'm going to be someone's wife and go on adventures and have babies... and finally, grow up.” She shook her hair excitedly, then she glanced at me. “She's still bleeding. We need to get moving. The point is, I am not pissed at you. I love you. I always have.”
Intarsia started speaking then. “I'm not angry either. I wasn't even mad at you when Salinger liked you better than me. It was always a risk that he wouldn't fall in love with me. He likes me, and every time he talks to me I can see that I'm not 'the one' in all its glory. Yes, I was hurt, but I never felt like his rejection of me had anything to do with you. He doesn’t match up with me and he has given me an amazing gift.”
“Remy?” Clementine snorted.
“Stop it. I'm not interested in him like that. Have you met the lead singer of his band? His name is Carlos, which I never thought was a sexy name until I met him. You know, the old ladies say there aren't that many other witches in the world? They're wrong. You'd all think so too if you heard this man sing. It's magic.” Intarsia looked at me. “You love us all too much to hurt us on purpose. You never would.”
The moment stretched. Intarsia and Clementine were waiting for Fair Isle to speak. Her lips were parted and her eyes moved from each of the cousins shiftily like she didn't know what to say or how to begin. “This isn't my scene,” she said with her thumbs in her belt loops.
“Oh, isn't it?” Clementine mocked. “You, who always want to get a witch circle going for stupid stuff. Remember Archer? That boy from school who didn't like you and you couldn't figure out why and so you had us make a circle to persuade him, only to discover later that nothing would have helped. He had trypophobia, a fear of holes, and you had ten in your head.”
“That was...” she began.
“A trifle. Nothing. Veda is bleeding. We can't take her to the hospital. No skin has been torn. This is magical and it has to be cured magically.”
“She said she can do it herself,” Fair Isle defended.
“I don’t think she can. He's sapped her strength,” Intarsia retorted.
“Talk to her,” Clementine urged.
Fair Isle still hesitated.
I looked around for Hattie. I couldn't see her anywhere. Why had she left me alone with them? She needed to take Fair Isle's place in the circle. The pain in my head was taking over. I knew now I had lied. I couldn't fix myself.
“Where's Hattie?” I asked.
The cousins looked around.
“Is she here?” Clementine asked.
I nodded. “She was.”
“The door opened to let us in on its own. I thought you did that,” Intarsia said.
“Fair Isle,” Clementine interrupted. “If you are going to make up with Veda so we can heal her, you had better do it now.”
“But,” Fair Isle fairly squeaked, “I hate her. I have always hated her. She did everything I wanted to do, but five seconds before I did it. I always looked like a copycat. I wanted black to be my color, I just wasn't ready to make the commitment as quickly as she was. I only got piercings because I knew Veda would never get them. I did it to make myself special. And sometimes I didn't even know what I wanted to do until I saw her do it, like when she broke tradition and wore a white dress to grad. I didn't even think of doing that and if I had thought of it, I would have done the crap out of it. We always have our milestones together, but I always trip over mine while she dances over hers. It's not fair. Why should she always have the best choice? Because Zellica is gone? I'm sick of that excuse.”
“Shut up, Fair Isle,” Clementine barked. “Those are terrible reasons for hating someone. Isn't it just that you're envious and you don't hate her at all?”
Fair Isle bit her lip and closed her eyes in pain. “She tricked me. I thought I was a badass all this time with all my hooks and loops and studs... and it turns out, I've just been a poser.”
“Do you really want to have all those piercings? I wouldn't blame you if you did want them. My tattoos are real, but I honestly did not get them before I was an adult. I was actually twenty-five and so Veda did not interfere. She knew I was old enough to make that decision. You weren't. But now you're eighteen. Do you want to get those damn piercings done again? Then go! You can go right now.”
Fair Isle's shoulders sagged, but she didn't move.
“See? You never even wanted them. What you wanted was to be different from Veda! And you are!” Clementine sounded victorious as she declared it. She touched both Fair Isle's shoulders and looked into her eyes, “And you are!”
Intarsia stepped forward. “You saved her this afternoon. You are angry at her, and that doesn't mean you hate her. She's bleeding. Do you want her to suffer?”
“No,” Fair Isle said. She stepped forward taking her white and green cousins by the hands.
They started chanting and what they said, I couldn't hear. Their voices were so quiet, their words were like wind. Whatever they said, I only knew it didn't hurt my ears. The pain was gone, but unfortunately, so was everything else.
Intarsia screamed. It was a pitiful sound. The spell my cousins had been working to keep me in a stupor broke. I woke because something had gone wrong.
“She's bleeding again,” Fair Isle said. “Why is she bleeding again?”
“It's not working,” Clementine said, as she dropped her hands from the circle. “Tell me again, Fair Isle. Exactly what happened?”
“Antony was screaming at her. He was using her voice. He was trying to take over her mind.”
Clementine shook her white head and for a moment, she looked old. “I don't think you stopped him from what he was trying to do. I think he may have let you kick him out because he had already accomplished his goal.” Keeping her eyes fixed on the grandfather clock, she took my pulse. “It's slow,” she reported. She flipped my hand over and the real trouble started. “Look at her hands.”
Intarsia screamed again. It sounded strangled.
I forced myself to sit up and look. There were cracks down the backs of my hands that followed the lines of my veins. My hands were so dry the skin had begun to split and bleed. I couldn't feel the pain. Was it really blood? Did that mean, it was finally happening? Was I finally crossing over to the underworld? I always suspected that my hands would be the first to go because I used them to knit the scarf I made with my mother.
I whispered, “My mother is dead.”
“We know,” Fair Isle said with more sensitivity than was customary. “We just don't like to say it, because we know it hurts your feelings and cracks the spells you use to see her, but you have to stop that now, Veda. You know that, right?”
“It's too late. Years ago, my mother did a spell with me, one that won't break. We made something together. I made my half in this world, and she made her half in the world of the dead. She sent me a letter on grad night saying it was time to let go. I did a ritual and sent her our object, so she can't back out on me. I thought I'd have more time to live here and help all of you, but if this continues, I will be dead before morning.”
“Did Antony do this?” Intarsia whispered shakily.
“He did something bad. It was more than just trying to make me his slave in this world. I think he knew my plan to die to be with mum, but how did he know the end was today? Did he see my mother or something?”
“I get it,” Clementine volunteered. “He has been planning to have Veda and Pearl all along. He planned to have Pearl in this world, while he would have Veda in the other world. He knew Veda was planning to die, so she could be with her mother. He read her books and learned her voice so that he would be able to take control of her just before she died. When that happened, her soul would be tied to him and when he spoke in her voice, he could make her do things. She wouldn't be able to be in the part of the spirit world where her mother lives, she would have to stay by his side and serve him.”
“What would he be able to make her do?” Intarsia asked.
Clementine shuddered. “I don't know the limits. He could use Veda to spy on people, so he could learn things no one else in the world could know. He would seem magical. And it would be magic, except a kind that no one should ever perform.” Suddenly, Clementine started talking directly to me, “This is strong. If you die before his spell is countered, he’ll trap your spirit in this world. You have to stay alive!”
“What the crap are you saying?” Fair Isle snarled. “Why aren't we beating her? She just admitted that she has been planning to commit suicide!”
“And what have we done to make her want to stay here?” Clementine spat.
Fair Isle stepped back like she'd been slapped.
Clementine took a breath and softened her tone. “If Veda dies with Antony's spell on her, she will never be able to join her mother. She will be tied to this world in a way Zellica is not. She will only exist to do Antony's bidding.”
“But that's really black magic,” Intarsia whimpered.
“He's already done it. We need help. We need all our mothers. Call them. Get Pearl and her mother too. If Hattie is still around, we can make a coven of nine.”
“Don't be scared, Veda!” Intarsia said, draping herself over me. “We'll save you.”
I didn't think they could. “I want Salinger,” I said. “You've got to find him. Clementine, call your wolf boyfriend. Ask him and Salinger to come. Bring Remy, Intarsia.”
“She wants a coven of men. Smart.”
“To get Salinger, we try his phone, we call my house, and we try Cold as Stone,” Fair Isle said, knowing where he spent most of his time. “Then we try the school, then Pearl's, then Antony's.”
Clementine was the fastest on the phone. She already seemed to communicate with the Grey Wolf telepathically. Her conversation with him went, “Yeah? Not home. No answer. Cold as Stone.” Then she hung up. It was really beautiful. “He's on his way to the store.”
Then she called her mother.
Intarsia pulled my wooden bench into the middle of the room and after ordering Fair Isle to grab my ankles, heaved me onto the bench. It was uncomfortable until Intarsia put a pillow under my head. Then she took out her phone and started making calls with Fair Isle.
Clementine had a pocket knife, she was carving symbols into the floor. A minute later Clementine's mother came in, saw her, pulled a switchblade from her pocket, switched it, and started carving up the floor too.
“You women are animals,” Fair Isle commented as she pulled a marker that could only be used for graffiti out of her pocket. Then she dropped to her knees and started drawing the magic circle with them.
I looked at my hands. The splits in my skin were getting longer and as the women worked, the growth of the scratches stalled, though they did not heal. They were getting close to finishing, even without Intarsia's help. She was on the phone with Pearl. That was a hard fight and she might not win. I could hear Pearl's mother in the background giving reasons why everything that happened to me was my own fault and I did not deserve help. I had done something that stupid. According to her, I should never have let Antony in the house.
I shuddered.
However, listening to Intarsia's side of the conversation was soothing. “She's one of us… She never did anything to hurt you… We were all fooled by him… I'll bring you. I'll drive... No, I wouldn’t be leaving her alone. There's a coven of three here, even without me… Yes, we need you. It’s bad… I'll talk to your mother. Put her on the phone… Auntie, you need to see her before you say those things… I'll wait.”
Listening to those words, my eyes felt heavy, and though I could feel the blood in fresh droplets dripping from my ears and the last moment before the tiny stream trickled against my scalp. My hair was spoiled. I had no energy to maintain it. It fell limp like my hands.
Heavy as tungsten, I felt myself fall.
Perhaps I died. Was dying like reading a spell book?
I found myself in a hospital room. I was in a wheelchair and Salinger was in front of me, changing the sheets on the bed.
He didn't notice me looking at him. I had never seen a man change the sheets on a bed before. He was in my book. He'd got it from Antony and he was reading my story. I knew this story. He was supposed to give me the needle in the pocket of his lab coat, but he hadn’t. Instead, he was changing the sheets. I wasn’t sure, but I thought that he looked unusually handsome as he tucked it in. Had he always been that handsome?
I said to him, “I was fifteen when I wrote this story. I threw it in the garbage because I didn't want anyone to know this was my plan. I thought that when I died, someone might read all my books and I didn't want them to know that this,” I indicated the blood dripping from my nose, “was how I felt living without my parents.”
“You wanted to die?”
“Not the whole time. I didn't know until I was fifteen that my mother’s visits would stop when I got too old. Her visits came half as often. She tried to make it sound as though we were seeing each other less often because I was growing away from her. She thought I'd naturally want to spend less time with her as I got older.”
“That wasn't what happened, was it?”
I groaned. “I haven't been able to imagine a future for myself. My cousins have their own lives. Whenever I do a reading, to see who will be the next generation of witches here, I have always been excluded. Where am I supposed to go? I can’t afford my house! There’s no place for me here! Our school has fewer enrollment numbers every year. I do not have a future here as a teacher. What am I supposed to do? I have always been happiest when my mother was visiting and I never once felt like I truly belonged with my cousins. There is one place I belong.”
“The spirit world?” Salinger asked, sounding remarkably unimpressed.
“My father is there too.”
He was unfazed. “And my mother who disappeared.”
So, the word disappear had meant dead. I averted my eyes from his pain… so like mine. Maybe Salinger was the only person who could understand how I felt. I turned to look at him again, but I didn’t know what his expression meant.
“But I don't want my mother,” he said abruptly.
I was surprised. “No?”
“I want you . Whether my mother is dead or not is far from the issue. Even if my mother were in the room right now, I wouldn't want her, I'd want you.”
I sighed, “You got over her, then?”
“It was probably easier for me than for you. I'm not comparing us. I had my father. I had my brothers. Your feelings are understandable. I'm saying, it's okay to let the dead go now.”
“That's adorable,” I said caustically. “Do you know why you’re talking to the real me instead of the shadow me that only exists as a character inside this book? It's because I'm bleeding from my ears and from split skin up to my elbows in the real world. Clementine and the others are doing their best to stop the blood, but the way I see it, they won't be able to break the spells in time to save me.”
“Wait. Why are you bleeding in real life?”
“Because Antony's spells are working beside spells I put in place myself to gently take me to the underworld. I'm scared, Salinger. If I die tonight, and I might, he's bound my soul to him.”
“How?”
I told Salinger what I knew. When I was finished, he looked hopeful, like there was a way.
“I can break the spell. His spell is only working because of your spell that you worked with your mother. Your mother brought me the scarf,” he said the words all in a rush. “If I can just get out of this book, I can unravel it. It's wrapped around the handles of the front doors at Cold as Stone.”
“But you can't get out of this spell book unless you kill me,” I reminded him. “If you kill me here, I'll be dead in the real world.”
“Why? Antony read this book! Antony killed you to get out of it. Why would it kill the real you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Because he killed a figment of my imagination, a false girl who was only a purple carbon copy of me. I'm here now, the real me. It would have been fine if you had killed me immediately when I was still simply part of the book instead of babying me. But perhaps I’m only alive because you were reading this book and gave my flighty spirit a place to go instead of the spirit world. Who knows? But now, we’re out of options. You and I stay here together until my body dies, or someone else figures out how to break my spell.” I felt my lip tremble.
“There has to be a better way,” he said.
“There isn't a better way. Why did you read this stupid spell book?”
“Your mother trapped me inside Cold as Stone with your books. I thought I had to read them before her spell locking me in the store would wear off.”
“I don't know,” I said, breaking down into a tearful wail. “I don't know why she would have done that. I don't know what she would have wanted for me, exactly. The last time I saw her with my own eyes was a really long time ago. The last few times have been in dreams. All I felt was love… I thought she wanted me to join her, but if she’s given you the scarf… it feels like she doesn’t want me.”
Salinger rubbed my back and tried to search my face. “She does want you! She just wants more for you than for you to be with her. She wants you to be happy, have a life, feel love… from what she said to me, she wants you to feel love, but she knows it’s hard for you to feel it. That’s why you’ve never felt love from your cousins and your family because it’s hard for you to feel it. She knows I love you, and she gave me the scarf so I could give you love you can feel.”
“It doesn't matter anymore,” I said, ravaging my hair with my fingertips. “We can't get out of this story! It doesn't matter what anyone wanted anymore!”
Salinger stuck his tongue around in his mouth, making his cheek stick out. “I've already tried to dispose of the syringe. It has to be used before the story can end.”
I stared at him. I didn't like where his logic was taking him.
He put his hand in the pocket of his lab coat.
I reached out to stop him, but I was too late. He didn't take the syringe out of his pocket like I thought he would. With one hand, he removed the cap and jabbed the needle through his lab coat, through his pants, and into his thigh.
It was too late before I could even touch him.
I screamed.
“It’ll be okay,” he said soothingly.
“I've never heard of someone dying in a spell book and living,” I barked, my face flushed and my nervous system on fire. “If you die in the book, you die in real life.”
“How many heartbeats do I have before it kicks in?”
I groaned. “Not many.”
“I love you, Veda.”
“Why would you say that now?”
“To drown out Antony's voice.”
“It's not his voice. It's my voice. That's what I'm hearing in my head. My voice. I don't even know what he put in there or how he could use it to control me. It just feels like me talking to myself.”
“Then remember my voice! I love you!”
I was about to tell him that he couldn't mean that when he lost his strength and slowly lowered himself onto the bed.
“Forever,” he breathed.
I couldn't answer him. I just sat there stupidly, breathing huskily, not knowing what to do. I couldn't even touch him. I hated to be touched. Then I thought of it a different way. He wouldn't be touching me. I would be touching him. I eased myself out of the wheelchair and took the two steps over to him. “How could it be forever?” I asked. “We only just met.”
“How could it only be for this moment?” he replied. “When I have been waiting for you all my life?”
I put my hand out and he grasped it. The feeling wasn't repulsive like it usually was. It was safe. I was safe. I sat next to him and let my leg and my side touch his.
Then he whispered warm words in my ear and the feeling was magical. The heat of his breath hit me in a place inside my head that was never warm. It was the first place to get cold when the wind blew, when the snow fell, and when the blankets didn't come high enough.
He whispered. “I love you, forever. You are all I ever hoped to find. You'll never have to worry if you are enough or if what you are is right. You are perfect to me.”
At that moment, I felt warmth spread out to cover all of me, Salinger's strength was spent. His hand dropped and his body slumped. He was dead. I couldn't believe it. How could a book I had written have the power to kill someone? His body fell sideways and his face looked at rest, exactly the way I had described my dead body. It would have been the last thing the reader saw before they were jolted back to reality.
Was that what was going to happen to me now?
If Salinger was able to unravel the scarf my mother and I made… I tried to push the thought away. All my plans were ruined. What future did I have? Something had changed inside me when Salinger took the poison and whispered in my ear. When I tried to analyze the change, I couldn't pinpoint it, except that it felt like the opposite of what Antony had done to me. Instead of binding me to a fate, Salinger was going to set me free. I could feel it, but what had given him the power to do that? I didn't understand. There were things he said that were similar to what Antony said and yet the feeling was polar.
I slipped my hand around Salinger's dead body. It was still him and yet it wasn't. Was this what he was like when he was asleep? I thought I'd like to see that. I wondered what I was like when he dreamed about me. I let my body fall next to his, with both our legs hanging off the edge of the bed. Even though he wasn't there to comfort me, or tell me if he was okay, I felt warm and safe. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he loved me, and for the first time in my life, while holding his corpse, I felt love.
I felt it.
“I didn't know you were capable of this level of drama,” a calm voice said in my ear. It was my Ata, and he didn't think what was going on was the least bit funny.
“Why not?” I muttered, still half gone.
“Because you've never given me a scare,” he answered drolly.
“Is Veda awake?” I asked.
“How would we know? Remy, can you call Intarsia?”
My head was still spinning. “What happened? How did you guys find me?”
“Clementine sent us here to get you,” he said as he pulled me into a sitting position. “I had to break a window to get in. That's why this is so dramatic. Remy cut himself on the way in. He needs stitches. I would have taken him to the hospital right away if I hadn't found you, dead.”
“I was dead?”
“You were very dead,” my father said, his voice deadpan. “You had no pulse and you were cold.”
“Then, how did you save me?”
“I write these books, son. I broke the spell the book had on you.”
“How did you do that?” I asked incredulously.
Remy hung up the phone with one hand. He has a wad of paper towel wrapped around his other hand. The blood was seeping through. After depositing his phone in his back pocket, he explained, “He pulled the book off you, and punched you in the face. What do you think he did? It saved your life. You took a wheezing breath in and you were saved.” He paused to answer the first question. “Veda is asleep.”
I gazed at my father and the grave look on his face. I threw my arm around his neck and he caught me in the sort of hug we gave each other. This was what Veda didn’t have. I had to find a way to give it to her. I pulled away.
“How bad is Remy?” I asked, looking at my least favorite cousin.
“He's bad. He needs a doctor to check his tendons. I'd take you to a doctor too, except that you're fine. I thought you would be smarter than to let yourself get killed in a book.”
I would have liked to explain what happened then, but it was not the time. I pushed myself to my feet. I blacked out a bit when I got up to my full height. Two steps later, I could see again.
Out in the front, I found the window they broke. It was the first one beside the doors Zellica had enchanted. Her magic that locked me inside, hadn't lasted long or spread far. It was already fading, but the magic in the scarf was a different kind of magic all together.
I touched the wool. It uncurled itself and fell on the floor as if it had never been as tight as iron.
I picked it up. It was obvious that part of the scarf was not present. There were places at one end that had big loops that should never have been there if there wasn't something holding them in that shape. On the end that existed in our world, Veda had made tassels. I sat down on the floor where I was and started pulling them out. Bits of yarn littered the carpet around me.
“Hospital time?” Remy prompted, coming up behind me.
“Shh,” Ata told him. “This is why he died in that book. So he could get here, and do this. It won't take long. This kind of magic takes months to make and minutes to unravel. He'll finish soon. If you pass out, I'll give you a transfusion myself.”
Remy chuckled. “I knew I missed my family.”
I undid the last tassel and the makings of it lay on the carpet. Only partway finished, I started undoing the knot that held the rest of the scarf together.
A car pulled up to the store and the headlights nearly blinded me. Hours had passed and night had fallen. The rev of the engine sounded more menacing than a wolf howling in the wild.
“It's Antony,” I said.
“How do we keep him out?” Remy asked, kicking shards of broken glass and staring at the open window.
“We don't,” my father said, pulling me to my feet by my armpits. “We'll go out the back.”
I followed him. The back door swung open. We snuck around the building, keeping our heads low until we got to Ata's truck. He had driven all the way to Edmonton? I saw Antony moving through the store.
Once we were in the truck, I saw him through the gaps between the posters in the front. He had Pearl's backpack with Veda's books inside. Then he knelt and picked up the scraps of yarn I had left. Panic surged through me.
“I left the books and the yarn! We have to go back!”
“Leave them,” Remy said as if in a trance. “Undo the scarf.”
I stared at him. He was possessed. June’s words came back to me about how he was like Veda’s father. It was him talking through Remy.
“Undo it!” the spirit inside Remy commanded.
Ata sparked the engine and we were driving.
I tried to undo that one knot, maybe the only knot in the whole thing, but I couldn't do it. “Ata, give me your knife.”
“You'll have to get it out of my boot,” he said, and I had to crawl over Remy to reach it. It was not an easy job and the constant bumps and turns didn't help anything. Finally, I got the knife, got off Remi, and straightened myself. I opened the knife (putting everyone in the vehicle in peril since my father was the one driving). The yarn broke and bounced slightly as I severed it. I pulled and the delicate knit unraveled.
Remy caught the end and started winding it between his two hands.
“Are you sure you should be doing that?” I asked.
“I should keep my hand elevated,” he replied coolly, sounding like himself. Was the spirit of Veda’s father gone already?
I pulled the scarf apart.
It wasn't all the way unraveled when we pulled up to the emergency room of a hospital. Ata pulled the yarn off Remy's hands. “I'll do it. You go inside.” He got out and let Remy out. “We'll come in when we're finished.”
That was how Veda's connection with her mother was cut, outside a hospital on a summer day probably meters from where Veda was born. My father held the gray yarn between his hands while I ripped apart the only dream of the girl I loved.
Finally, the yarn was nothing but a coil of string.
“I think I have to go back to Cold as Stone,” I told my Ata. “I have to get the yarn scraps and Veda’s books back from Antony.”
My father rubbed the yarn between his fingers. “I think all the spirit energy has left this stuff. I think it's safe to say that the rest of the yarn has no power. However, the books are dangerous. If we had not come, the one you were reading would have killed you. If that boy reads them, don't you think they will hurt him too?”
“They're not dangerous.”
“The one you were reading was toxic. I could feel it in the pages when I tore it off you. If that boy reads that book, I think he will have a similar fate.”
I shook my head. “That book is engineered for you to kill the girl in it as a mercy killing. Killing her is the only way to get out of it. I refused that route and killed myself instead. Antony has already read it and he chose to kill her. I don't think the book will hurt him if he reads it and instead, I think he will kill her again. She's there, really there, in the book. I have to go back.”
“Well, then let's go,” Ata said. He was about to put the truck in gear when suddenly, a woman was standing outside his mirror. Ata jumped.
I didn't. I leaned over and unrolled Ata's window since I recognized her. “Hattie, what are you doing here?”
She looked quickly in both directions like she was scared someone awful would see her. “Salinger, I need you to come with me. Right now. June is waiting for us in the car parked behind you. We have some magical items we need to give you.”
Ata and I got out of the truck and followed her to the vehicle behind. Hattie opened the back door for me and I saw an embellished box on the backseat. I opened it. It was a collection of books like the ones Pearl had taken from Antony, but from their beauty, they were Veda's best efforts.
“If he reads a different book, he can catch Veda’s soul when Antony murders her,” she explained.
“He needs a place to read,” Ata said behind me.
“The book cupboard in the hidden library has been compromised,” June said, not even hinting that the reason for that might have everything to do with me and my Ata. “We want to take him somewhere special. You're welcome to accompany him.”
“No. Remy is in the ER. He may need me. Salinger can get in touch with me whenever he wants.”
Ata patted my shoulder and, with a weary look, got back into his truck. I guessed he was going to park it.
I waved at him, and I thought he fanned his fingers against the steering wheel in reply, but I couldn't be sure. With me in the backseat, the backdoor of June's car suddenly slammed shut, when there was no one to physically slam it, and June's foot was on the gas. I looked between the two sisters. I didn't know which of the two had the power to move things with their minds.
“We’re not going far,” June said. “Use the time to choose which book to read.”
I tried to. It was dark, and it was hard to see. Within a few minutes, we pulled up in front of a spectacular house.
“Who lives here?” I asked as I hauled the box out of the backseat.
“Emi,” Hattie answered.
“Whoa! What are we doing here?”
“She's a powerful witch, not only that, but she is in a better position to be your friend just now than we are. We need to get back to Veda.”
“Besides,” Hattie chimed in. “You're going to be fine.”
They drove away before I rang the bell.
When the door swung open, Emi wasn't the one who answered, but a guy about my age. I knew it had to be her nephew, Evander, who was not at all magical, but who managed to write a book good enough to be made into an intricate spell book. I sort of hated him on sight, and not because he was significantly taller than me.
“Is Emi here?” I asked.
“No. She's out. We're babysitting,” he answered blankly like I had just woken him.
“I'm Salinger Meriwa, and I need a place to read. I'll just take up a spot in the corner if you don't mind. You won't even know I'm here. If you need a reference, you can call Emi. I'm sure she can vouch for me.”
“She's in Italy,” Evander replied, practically yawning.
Behind me was a blank, bleak, street. “I have nowhere else to turn and I really need a place to read. I'm here because of one of Emi's cousins, a girl named Veda. Do you know her?”
A spark of interest lighted Evander's face. “I don't know anything about Emi's cousins, except that they don't like her very much.”
“Yes, well, I am not one of them. As I said, I'm a Meriwa. I'm from Whitehorse and I'm not part of whatever skirmish Emi has with her witch coven. I've been to see Emi a couple of times at the art gallery. You're her nephew, Evander, right?”
“Yeah.”
Still wasn't good enough. I needed to say more to convince him. “She told me all about that book she enchanted for your girlfriend, Sarah. I'm having a little bit of a personal crisis with my girlfriend, Veda, and I need a place to read a book she wrote.”
A girl appeared at the door. She looked boring until she opened her eyes wide to look at me. Her eyes were bright green. It was so striking, I nearly dropped the box I was carrying.
She smiled. “Let him in already, Evander. If he's going to read a spell book, he'll be comatose in a corner, but he shouldn't be alone. He might need medical attention when he's finished.”
Evander gave her a look, but he opened the door and beckoned for me to enter.
“Thank you,” I said as I removed my shoes.
The green-eyed girl led me into the living room. “I'm Sarah. Your girlfriend is a witch? Will we get to meet her?”
I glanced around the room and my eyes landed on a photograph of Emi that was all black and white and raspberry. “She's a lot like that,” I said, pointing to the picture. “Except she’s prettier.”
Sarah gawked slightly. “How can that be possible?”
“Emi doesn't use glamor on her appearance. She's trying not to use her magic. Veda is a full-blown witch who does whatever she wants. Including, though not limited to, writing books.” I opened the lid of the box.
“Whoa! All these are spell books?” Sarah wondered.
“Probably.” I stopped talking. I thought I ought to tell her just one more thing. “I don't know exactly what happened to you when you read his book,” I said, pointing my chin at a still bored looking Evander. “But that was different from what these books are like. Emi made that book into a spell book, knowing it was safe. No one knows what is inside these books. It’s not an exaggeration to say that you could die reading one. When I start reading, it will be like you said. I’ll be comatose on the couch. I wouldn’t even be reading one if it wasn’t an emergency. If either of you read one of her other books while I’m reading, it could be your funeral.”
“I won't let her,” Evander piped up.
Sarah didn't look disappointed, or even like she was bothered. “Of course, we won't read them,” she said reassuringly. “I had second-degree burns on my feet after reading a chapter in Evander's book.”
I frowned. “What were you doing?”
“I stepped into a burning pyre, but don't worry about that. You said this was an emergency, so do what you need to do. We’ll call Emi and tell her you’re here, but...”
“But what?”
“Can I look at the covers?”
“I suppose.”
“Great!” Sarah took the box from my lap and started laying all the books out on the floor in a giant square. “These are so amazing. Did your girlfriend make all the covers herself?”
“I think so.”
“And she wrote all these books?” Evander said, timidly.
I nodded.
There were twenty-four books, four lines of six, once Sarah had finished arranging them. A few of them had unusual covers. I picked up one that had an orange circle on it. Once I examined it closely, I saw that the word Clementine was embroidered under the circle.
“I don't think this one is a spell book,” I said as I flipped open the cover. It was a journal regarding how Veda was going to help Clementine organize her life. Surprisingly, there was a lot about fencing.
“This book isn't a spell book. I need one that’s magical,” I said, placing it back in the box. I picked out any of the other books that I thought might be similar to the one about Clementine.
“Are there more that aren't spell books?” Evander asked me.
“Probably. I mean, you write. How many books did you write before you turned eighteen?”
“Four,” he promptly responded. Then he added, “But I wasn't trying very hard. I'm more interested in art.”
I let out a slow breath to restore my patience. I thought that I had tried hard to write since I wrote my book about the moss balls, but seeing how hard Veda had worked at writing and how hard Evander said he worked, I realized I hadn't tried at all. What had I spent my time doing? I knew. I had written to girls on the internet I wasn't actually planning on dating. I had gone to Remy's concerts and been jealous of his talent. I had watched my father work and wondered how I could be like him, without putting any effort into being like him at all.
It had only been since I had come to Edmonton, seen Veda, and realized that she needed more. So, I'd tried to be more, and I had been. I had fixed up Cold as Stone. I had given up my selfishness towards Intarsia and given her Remy, who I believed spoiled women for other men. I had helped Clementine. It turned out there had always been more of me to give. I had just never bothered to realize it.
Sarah started pulling aside all the books that did not have any decoration on the cover. “If you were to ask me,” she said. “These are probably personal journals.”
“Do any of these look weird?” I asked.
“They’re all weird,” Evander said. “Awesome, but weird.”
I zeroed in on a book that had a green semi-circle on it. It was bound in forest green leather with silky stitching that read Turtle Hill. It seemed harmless and an excellent place to start.
“This one,” I said, picking it up.
“That one?” Sarah and Evander said at the same time. Oddly enough, their expressions were exactly the same.
“Well, which one would you choose?”
She grabbed one that was navy blue with white lace on the cover that read Midnight in the Garden . He chose a black one with a huge crescent moon on the cover called Europa Crescent.
“Ya both like night, eh? I think I'll go with this one. It looks uplifting. I mean, who would write a book called Turtle Hill only to turn it into a horror story?”
Sarah gathered up the discarded books, while Evander sat in a chair. Then I saw him do something I'd never seen anyone do before. He sat in the chair, which he looked large enough to reasonably fill, but then he mushed himself into one corner of it, leaving a lot of space left. With his bulk, he shouldn't have been able to leave that much room. When Sarah was finished with the books, she got in the chair with him. Her legs crossed his and dangled over the edge.
It was sweet.
An idea started to form in the forefront of my mind like a white mist. I should try to find my clothes. When a patient checked into a hospital, the nurses took their clothes and put them in a bag while the patient wore the hospital gown. I was not wearing a normal hospital gown. I was wearing something I had constructed for myself. It was purple to help the reader remember that what they were experiencing was not real life, but only something I wrote. Thus, I knew that none of my own clothes were anywhere in the hospital. Why would I try to find something I already knew wasn't there?
Again, I thought I should change my clothes, and that I should look inside a particular cupboard for my bag.
I got up and checked it. Surprisingly, I found a white plastic bag containing clothes. Not the purple clothes of my make-believe story, but black clothes. They were ones I owned in real life.
I dropped the bag.
I hadn't written about those. Something had changed and someone had started writing additional text to my story.
All my fears were realized as I turned around and saw that Salinger's hair was no longer black, but a light brown. With his back to me, he sat up, cracked his neck, and took a deep breath. Orange vapor poured from his nostrils and hung in the air around him.
I didn't dare move. Somehow Antony had entered the story as the doctor. He sat with his back to me and I didn't know what to do. Part of me wanted to beat him senseless and another part wanted to hide behind the other bed.
I watched, paralyzed with indecision, as he reached into his lab coat. He gasped as he yanked the syringe out of his leg. When he withdrew it from his pocket, it was completely empty. The cylinder magically refilled itself with fluorescent yellow liquid. No one could escape from my book without using the syringe, so the poison would always magically reappear no matter how many times you disposed of it. I cursed myself.
What was more confusing was why Antony was there at all. How had he been able to enter the book when Salinger had been the one reading it? I tried to think of something that explained the switch in readers, but before I could formulate a theory, Antony stood up.
There was no way out. There was nothing to this world, except the inside of the hospital. No way out. No way out.
I shook my head. Why was I thinking in such a pessimistic way? I had been planning on killing myself, but I wasn’t doing it because I was helpless, but because I was strong and I could do whatever I wanted—including kill myself. Why was I being such a baby now?
Was I only thinking that way because he told me to?
I peered over the bed. His mouth was moving, and he was saying. “No way out.”
‘I love you,’ Salinger had said. The memory was still strong. I had to hang onto his voice and what it sounded like, so I could push out Antony’s commands.
He spotted me.
“Beautiful girl,” he said, in a voice that was all his. “How are you feeling?”
I crossed my arms in a defiant gesture. “I'm fine. Give me the syringe.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm not playing doctor with you. I'm not pretending to be your patient. You have been taking my discarded books and using them to learn about me. You think you know everything, but you only know about the side of me that I've been trying to throw away.”
“Is that so?”
“How does it feel, Antony, eating my waste?”
He chuckled. “You are such a lady! You can't even say shit, can you?”
I glared at him. “And you're proud of your language? I wonder what you said to Pearl that made her like you. You certainly never said it to me.”
His expression lost its joviality. He knew why. It was because she was easier than me. I was hard as nails and following some paradoxical logic, my recent experience with Salinger had made me even harder.
“Give me the syringe,” I prompted.
“You can't destroy it.”
“I know. I wrote the book on the syringe, back in the days when I was too afraid to face death by myself and I wanted someone to ease my passage to my mother. Those days are gone and if I want to die, I'll do it myself. Give me the syringe. Yours is not the last face I want to see.”
He glared at me. “You can be such a bitch!”
“It's all part of my charm. That's why I am better than the other cousins. It's actually why you want me. Getting Pearl's approval is easy, isn't it? It didn't matter what you said. Everything sounded like magic to her. She's two years younger than us and easily impressed. I bet you felt like a real man picking her up for a date in your car. I bet her cheeks were flushed and you felt sensational because that was what your reflection in her eyes showed you. You could fall right into that fantasy, except for that one thing. Breathe orange again. Does her dragon's breath taste like mine?”
His face contorted in discomfort.
I ignored him and continued, “Because if you were going through my trash on a regular basis, you would have found my attempts. That's why you get her to make it for you, isn't it? Because you liked mine?”
He spat on the floor. It was nothing like mine. “Why did you make it? Even once?” he snarled.
It wasn't the time to hide my daggers, and I laughed condescendingly, to make him feel like a smudge on the floor. “I didn’t spend all my time arranging my cousins' lives and working out my death. Another part wanted something very different. You see, there was this tiny little part of me that wanted to fall in love. You know, I wanted to find a man who was a blue to my pink, a diamond to my onyx, a sun to my moon. Otherwise, why wear ruffles? If I was merely going to grow into an adult and then kill myself, why cast a spell every single day to make my hair beautiful? Why learn to dance, when truly, dogs have better coordination than me.”
Antony stared at me like what I said was impossible.
I didn’t acknowledge him and continued. “How I look proves how much I want to meet a partner who I can see myself in, and who I can give a part of myself to. Dragon's breath isn't much more than incense if it's not made for the right person.” I let my shoulders fall. “It was never you, and no one has had more of a chance to grow into what I want than you. You can never be what I want.”
Antony did not respond. He stood still, warring with himself over which words he would use next and I let him gather himself. Allowing him a chance to ask me questions was the perfect way to stall him. Salinger might break my spell or the cousins might heal me at any moment and when they did, I would only leave a version of myself he could kill behind.
Finally, he growled, “I don't know what you see in Salinger.”
“Don't you? Care for an explanation?”
He inclined his head bitterly.
“Start by thinking of everything he has done for Pearl and ask yourself if you would have thought to do any of it without him.”
“Okay,” Antony said after a moment's thought. “I agree that Salinger is an okay guy, nice even, but how does that match up with you? You're such a bitch!”
I slapped my hands together in front of me. “Let's review my behavior in the past few months. Did I do one thing to retaliate against the cousins when they were cross with me? Did I say even one unkind word about them? I didn't build up a camp and go to war. I could have talked to June and the other witches who work at the school to rally support, but I didn't. We could have had a family feud on our hands if I had fought back. Instead, I did nothing. No one got cursed. The only thing I have been guilty of has been saying—on repeat—that I don't want to be with you. That doesn't make me a bad person. Give me the syringe.”
He ground his teeth together and refused.
“If you bind my spirit to you, it won't be what you want. I'll never love you the way you want,” I persisted.
He took a few steps away from me and licked his lips. “I’m trying to give you a chance here. I’ve been trying to tell you that I added an extra chapter to this book. I got your black clothes into the story. They’re here so you can get rid of the purple clothes marker. Instead of reminding the reader that you’re fake, they’ll remind you that you’re real. I added more to the setting too. We can leave this story, go past the hospital door and into a part of the book that I wrote.” He was rambling, as he rifled around the room. He pocketed the syringe and picked something off the floor. It was a rope.
I put my hand on my hip. “What are you going to use that for?”
“We can’t stay here and I know you won’t come with me willingly. But before we go,” he said slowly, sliding the rope between his fingers, “I want to know why it can’t be me.”
I was getting nervous. “Didn't I already say? Didn't I already say quite a few reasons?”
He stood there, tying the rope into a menacing loop.
“Antony,” I said slowly, trying a different tactic. “Do you remember Fair Isle?”
“What about her?”
“She read Salinger's book and it made her fall in love with him. Do you think something similar happened to you when you read my books? The book is magic and it makes you feel like I'm something special, when really, in real life, I'm not special at all. You come face to face with me, and I'm a...” it was hard to say the word, “bitch, but when you read my book, I'm amazing. In this book especially, I look up at you with my big please-save-me eyes and you want to save me, but the book is set up so you can never really save me. A lot of my discarded stories are like that. You want to save me in real life too, but I don’t want to be saved. The only way to satisfy me is to help me die, but if I die, I'll be gone. You don't want me to be gone, so you found a spell that will keep me with you.”
His face crumpled.
What I was saying was somewhat true. That was one way of saying how he truly felt. Perhaps, I had been demonizing him before with my comments. He was my cousin, not a monster.
“I'm not going to kill myself, Antony. I'm not going to do that anymore.” I whispered, “I outgrew it.”
“I'm sorry, Veda.” His face was dark violet, and he was fighting off the tears. He had been so immersed in the books he had stolen, he had forgotten I was a real person. Yet, he still had the syringe. For a moment, it looked like he might drop the rope as emotion overtook him, but then he rallied and got a grip on himself. He wiped his eyes with his dry palm and started again. “I have spent my whole life with you. What is it about you that I don't understand?” He dropped the rope.
I thought furiously. “Maybe it's just that fate hasn't been on the side of us becoming a couple.”
“Fate?” he wheezed like he couldn't believe what I was saying.
“It was fate that made us cousins. I've always thought we look alike,” I admitted painfully. I had never wanted to say that out loud, even if everyone knew it.
“Where? Where do we look alike? You look like your father.”
Thirty seconds later we were in the bathroom. I showed him how our eyebrows were the exact same shape, even though I plucked out the strays he still had. Then I showed him our lips and chins and how they were the same and then I showed him the last similarity.
“Our foreheads slope at the exact same angle.”
“Your forehead doesn't slope!”
“Yes, it does. That’s why I wear bangs.” I pulled all my fringe back and showed him. I turned my back on him to do so.
Slowly, he realized, “You’re never going to change your mind, are you?”
At that moment, he stabbed me in the thigh with the needle. I didn't even see his hand enter his pocket, but I felt the liquid disperse into my thigh muscle before I could even turn around. I had been so foolish to drop my guard. I thought I was helping him understand my position and his familiarity had made me feel safe. So stupid. I hadn't learned my lesson that he was no longer to be trusted, even after he made my ears bleed, I still thought of him as my cousin… someone who could never really hurt me. Nothing I said mattered.
He killed me.
In my last moments of consciousness, Antony caught me and whispered, “Inside your books, do you know how many times I have made you mine? Ever since I learned how to add text, you do whatever I say. Losing your tangible form will be a shame, but thanks to your prolific and extended writing, I don’t need you to have you whenever I want.” He smacked his lips. “Without your body, it doesn’t matter if we look alike, whether you want me or not, whether I have a girlfriend or not. You’re mine. And just in case you were wondering… this isn’t because I love you. It’s because I hate you. I never want you to leave and I never want you to be happy. I only want you to do as I say.”
Grabbing me by my armpits, he dragged me back to the hospital room. He jolted me up on the bed that Salinger had made and I felt his hand move up my thighs.
I couldn’t move when the blackness overtook me.
I woke up. At first, I thought I was back with my cousins in the real world, but it was too quiet. Nothing moved or spoke. Was I dead? I could hear the wind rustling leaves and the clock ticking on the wall. I couldn’t be dead. The smooth hardwood floor under my head convinced me.
I opened my eyes and saw where I was. I was in my house on Turtle Hill. It wasn’t a real place, but inside a book I wrote.
Someone was reading another one of my books. That was the only explanation for why Antony jabbing me with that needle hadn’t killed me. I was safe because this book had caught me. Except, it was confusing. This was not one of the books Antony had pinched out of the trash. The last I knew, I had hidden it in Hattie’s room.
Was Hattie reading my book?
I stood up and saw Salinger coming up across the yard through the window. He was the one reading it! At that moment, something happened that had never happened to me before. My heart skipped a beat because the man I loved was on his way to visit me.
I opened the door for him. Shyly, I hid most of my body behind the door and peered around it at him.
His gaze on the other side was troubled. “Veda? Is that really you or is it a version of you made only for this story?”
I let go of the door because I wanted to hold something sturdier than the wood. I reached for him and he caught me.
At that moment, all my manners… fell off me.
I clutched him with one hand and covered my mouth to hold back the sobs with the other. “Antony… killed me…”
Salinger pushed my hair out of my face and held it in a knot behind my back to keep it separate from my tears that gushed forth. I was the type that didn’t cry. Now I cried because I couldn’t hold it back anymore. He pushed my face into his shirt, so I could wipe my wet cheeks on the fabric. I couldn’t stand for my face to be wet, and I hated the feeling of my sinuses being full of all the fluid I was suddenly losing.
When I didn’t stop crying and I couldn’t speak because every time I tried, I sounded like a new kind of whale, he lifted me over his shoulder and carried me into the house.
There was a sofa there, soft and inviting, unlike the way my real living room was furnished. He lowered us down on the cushions and settled me onto his chest. He patted me and made soothing sounds that may have been words in English, or words I didn’t know, like Inuit spells made to calm a person.
I tried to cool down, but my cheeks were flushed and my heart was hammering.
Finally, I was able to say something intelligible and it was only because they were the words I would have said if the book progressed the way it was supposed to. “Welcome to Turtle Hill cottage. Come to relax, stay to be healed.”
He laughed and said, “Let’s hope so.”
“He killed me,” I managed to say without hyperventilating.
Salinger nodded thoughtfully.
“I thought that he cast that spell to replace my voice because he didn’t want me to go away. I thought that if I convinced him that I wouldn’t kill myself then everything would work out.”
“He entered the hospital book, huh? He must have known you would be there, and with the real you there, the book was a death trap. Did he know that when he went in?” Salinger wondered.
It was hard to listen to him through the steaming fog that filled my brain. “He asked me to leave the hospital with him. He said, and proved, that he had added more to the book, but he changed his mind about whatever story he had planned. After he killed me, he told me he wanted me with him always even though he hates me.”
“How else could he have left the story? Either you were going to die or he was.”
I gasped in fear. “Are you dead? Is that why Antony got my book? Because you died?”
“My Ata saved me, but if he hadn’t come in when he did, I would have died. My guess about the rest of the book is that that was where Antony was going to take you if he decided he wanted to try one last time to romance you. If he was successful, maybe he would have kept you alive.”
“He changed his mind after I took him into the bathroom to show him how we look the same, like family. My back was turned for a second and he jabbed me with the needle. What did you do when you woke up and found you weren’t dead?” I asked.
He looked at me like he did not like to admit what he had done, but he had no intention of hiding it from me. “I unraveled the scarf you and your mother made.”
I breathed and bit my lips together. “She gave it to you?”
“Yes.”
I waited quietly for my world to explode. Everything should have been turned upside down. It wasn’t. It was exactly the same, except for one thing. Salinger was holding me on his lap with that look on his face. He was analyzing me. He was wondering what he could do to make me feel better. He was wondering if he ought to make me feel better. Maybe what I was feeling was what I had to feel whether it was pleasant or not.
How did I feel?
I was rattled. There were so many emotions coming from so many directions. I started crying again, sobbing into his shirt.
“Veda,” he said, lifting my head off his chest. Looking around, he yanked a doily out from under a nearby lamp and wiped my face with it.
I took it and blew my nose.
He angled in like he was planning to kiss me.
My eyes went wide. I had never seen a person that close before. I almost shoved him off, but then I remembered that I had had people that close to me… and often. I taught dancing and I was sometimes one millimeter off of being that close to my partner.
“Salinger, what are you doing?”
“I was going to comfort you. You’ve just been through a lot and you could use some… comfort.” He said the last word with a playful grin.
I put a contemplative finger to my temple. “That sounds like a lame excuse.”
“It’s true that I’d kiss you because the moon is up and then kiss you because it’s down. You are right that I’d say anything, but making out honestly feels the best when someone is a little distressed.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s been my experience,” he said, still cheeky like there was a personal joke hidden in his words.
“Salinger,” I said, my voice trembling. “Would you be surprised to learn that I have never been kissed before?”
He put a finger to his temple. “My divination has shown that. It’s shown a great many other things too. Can you see what I’ve seen?”
I started thinking of my spell book like a stack of cards, or tea leaves, or a crystal ball. If I was reading what was around me, I saw the lines of Salinger’s arms and one of his legs. In them, I could see all the readings I had ever taken and now they all made sense. “I was never going to be able to stay in Edmonton. We will never be able to prove to the police that Antony tried to kill me, and he’ll always be here, with the rest of my family. That’s why my readings always showed a future where I was gone!”
Salinger nodded. “When you do your readings, where’s Clementine?”
“She’s gone too,” I suddenly realized.
His Adam’s apple bobbed uncomfortably as he admitted the next part. “That’s because she’s coming with you, with us, up north.”
“I can’t go with you to Whitehorse! I’m a child! I can’t be your wife or anyone else’s,” I protested.
He shook his head soothingly. “I’m not asking for that. Just come up there with me and take a look around. See if you like it there, see if you like me when I’m there and if you can imagine a life for yourself there.”
I relaxed into his arms, but swamped with uncertainty, I turned to him. “And you love me?”
“I love you.”
“If I say I love you back, will you try to push me into accepting--”
He cut me off. “Calm down. I love you enough to take things at your pace. All I want today is for you to kiss me… once.”
“Only once?”
He smiled. “One real kiss from you would mean everything.”
Slowly, I said, “I’ll go to Whitehorse with you.” It was easier to agree to that.
He nodded heartily.
“And I’ll kiss you once today,” I whispered.
“What was that?” he said, bending his ear and tilting his head closer to me.
I said it even quieter, “I’ll kiss you.”
“Come again?” He came even closer.
I kissed him on the cheek.
He smiled, but said, “That was very sweet, but that isn’t going to cut it. I want a real kiss and it sounded like you said you’d give me one.”
I recoiled slightly. “I’m a bit nervous.”
He glanced at my body from my knees to the top of my head. “No, you’re not. You’re excited. Veda, it’s been very clear to me from the moment I first saw you that you want to be appreciated as a real woman. That doesn’t mean little pecks on the cheek. That means that you want me to put my hands on your waist, feel the curves I’m allowed to touch, fantasize about the ones I’m not allowed to touch yet, and get excited. You must love teasing the guys you teach to dance. They touch you, get all keyed up, and you like it. You’re not as inexperienced at this as you have convinced yourself you are.”
An uncomfortable heat colored my cheeks. “You think about the curves you’re not allowed to touch yet ?”
“I’m a man, not a rock.”
“And do you think that those boys I danced with…”
“Also thought about the curves they’re not allowed to touch?” Salinger finished for me. “If I were to make a guess, they probably don’t care about dancing and only took your tutoring so they could dance with you. You take care to make sure a man notices you’re a woman and then you get that confused lost look on your face when they do? I don’t believe it. You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I admitted, allowing my face to be red without trying to cool it. “I just don’t want to blame myself for what Antony tried to do, and I don’t want...” I trailed off hesitantly.
“What?” he asked, concentrating on my face.
“I don’t want to be so charming and beautiful that you don’t have a choice about whether or not you love me. Or inadvertently turn you into what Antony has become. How much of a part did I play in that?”
A half-smile played on his lips before he said, “I don’t see why you have to take responsibility for anything Antony or I do, or make excuses for what you want. We all get the same chances and you don’t control anyone’s destiny other than your own. You’re going to have to let your feelings of responsibility toward your cousins end here.”
“But I’ve always felt responsible for them!”
He smiled. “You’re stalling.”
Even with his prompting, I still couldn’t move to place my lips on his.
He took his hands off me and scooched out from under me. “I get it. I asked for too much. Even in a place like this, I asked for too much.”
As he took his body heat from me, I suddenly felt frozen, and I clearly realized that I had been cold all my life and that when he took me in his arms, that was the first time I’d been warm. I was too slow to grab him. He was already standing next to the couch. He was walking the length of the house and taking it all in.
He shook his head faintly. “We’re in a house, on a hill, on the back of a turtle, swimming through the ocean. Is there anywhere for it to land?”
“Not really. This place is supposed to be a contained space. I made this book as a gift for my cousins so that after I died, they would be able to come here and talk to me in the same way you would go to a therapist.”
Putting his hands on the support beams of the ceiling, they were close enough for him to reach, he smiled and said, “This is a really intricate room. You are a much better writer than I am.”
My ears tingled and bells rang in my brain. Like the secretly clumsy girl I was, I got my feet out from under me, and on uncertain legs, I crossed the space on the floor between us. I had to kiss him. I leaned forward and…
The sensory experience was almost too much for a girl like me.
He had stubble on his chin. His lips were dry. He had saliva in his mouth and it tasted like something I’d never tasted before. It was unfamiliar… and too intimate. I couldn’t breathe. Was I allowed to breathe? I would never get used to what two mouths pushing against each other felt like.
It was exactly what I had always suspected about myself. I was not made for love.
At least, that was what I thought until I felt everything else. His hands were on my back, touching me, rubbing parts of my back that felt tense, then parts of my shoulders that felt tense. That felt right. That felt normal.
Without warning, the kiss on our lips felt normal. Like kissing was normal, good, and even desirable. I was desirable.
I could breathe.
He could kiss me.
And I could love him.
When I woke up, my ears hurt and there were too many people to count leaning over me. The face that was closest to mine was Antony. I wouldn't have sat up, but doing so would have cracked our skulls together. Horrified, I screamed, rolled off the bench, and landed with a crack on the floor.
“It's okay,” Intarsia said, half-catching me.
I cut my eyes at Antony accusingly.
At that very moment, Fair Isle clocked him over the head with the crook of her umbrella and he joined me on the floor with a thud. Crab crawling backward, I scrambled to get away from him.
“You made him break his spell,” I breathed in relief once there was a decent distance between me and my worst cousin.
Intarsia looked around the room at all our relatives as if she was asking permission to speak. Antony's father was there too. He shrugged his shoulders and looked at the floor as an expression of resignation. Intarsia cleared her throat with a girly cough. “We couldn't break it by ourselves. Even after Hattie and June got here and we'd emptied all our houses of everyone who could cast a spell. It was still too strong. I thought we had it when Salinger tore out the scarf, but we didn’t. Antony's spells were so well woven. Finally, Fair Isle decided there was only one thing to be done. She got on her boots and went to find Antony.”
I glanced over at her. Not just her cheeks had turned red, but her whole self: her ears, her throat, and even her hands. Even though she still wore black, she was wearing red, like I'd always envisioned for her. She was bursting with pride, but she was also embarrassed to have so much attention on her. She didn't need their approval. She was proud of herself. For the first time, she had done something that I hadn't done first.
Intarsia went on, “She found him at Cold as Stone. He was in a stupor. He was reading one of your books. Fair Isle didn't wake him up. She dragged him to her car and brought him here. All by herself.”
Admiringly, I looked back at Fair Isle. I could never have lifted Antony. He was tall and full of muscles. She did it all by herself?
“When she got back here, we called a family council, woke him, and forced him at knife-point to break the spell.”
I looked around the room. Everyone was holding knives. Looking down at Antony’s bruised face, Fair Isle must have kicked the crap out of him to bring him here, and from the cuts on his arms, the family had done some convincing of their own.
“Then you woke up, so that pretty much brings you up to speed.”
“What's going to happen to him? He killed me and desecrated me within the book. If Salinger hadn't started reading another one of my books, the act would have murdered me.”
Intarsia recoiled slightly. “We haven't talked about that yet.”
“When she says 'family counsel' she means that we called his parents,” Fair Isle said drolly. “They were the only family members who weren’t here already.”
“Where's Salinger?” I asked, looking from face to face. My eyes stopped at Hattie. She and June were staring at the ceiling like they didn’t want any attention on them and they certainly did not want to answer. “Is he okay?” I asked the sisters.
Hattie stepped forward with less concern for consequences than June. “He's at Emi's.”
The revelation made quite the sensation.
Hattie had nothing to lose, so she spoke and everyone listened. “I am only welcome back here because my marriages are over. We need to stop this. Our blood is getting thin and Emi, one of our strongest, the constructor of the hidden library, has a daughter. Even if you don't want to include her in your witchcraft, we could at least welcome her back into the family.”
“You're only saying that because she's your niece,” Willow said without reservation.
Everyone grumbled.
“But you say she has a daughter?” Willow asked sheepishly, taking a step closer to the sisters.
They nodded.
“We'll talk about it later,” Willow said, glancing at Fair Isle, who was standing prone over Antony's unconscious form. “We have some things here to deal with. Bring Salinger back to the house. Veda's asking for him.”
With that, I was bundled off to my bedroom away from the family members who were obviously planning to use my living room for the discussion. I knew they didn't feel like they could leave the house until they had decided what would happen to Antony. They couldn't call the police. They had to deal with it themselves. I wasn't invited, but I didn't care. My future was not here.
June helped me into bed, while Hattie called Salinger. There was no answer. She promptly left the house and I heard an ignition turn over in the driveway. She was going to pick him up, but I wasn't worried. I knew everything would be fine. Turtle Hill was a book designed only for healing. He was safe inside my imaginings.
It was unfamiliar to trust him, but it wasn't until I gave into him that I realized how hard I had fought against him. Not fighting anymore felt wonderful. Trusting felt safe.
I eased myself into my bed and found comfort.
June wanted to clean the blood off me, so I let her. She took off her dove-gray coat and rolled up the sleeves of her perfectly tailored blouse. Then she got a basin of water, a face cloth, and started the job. I could have just got in the shower, and I almost said so, when I looked at her.
“Am I your daughter?” I asked quietly.
She pursed her lips in a business-like way. “You've never wanted our relationship to be like that, and it doesn't have to be. Zellica will always be your mother.”
I smiled at her. “My mother would have raised me to be bohemian. You raised a proper lady.”
She gave me a wicked smile. “Sometimes you're bohemian and sometimes you're a proper lady. You don't have to have labels, and I will always be here for you.”
“You and Hattie performed quite the miracle with Emi's situation. Having her provide shelter for Salinger in our family's time of need.”
She averted her eyes. “You don't even know the best part.”
“What's the best part?”
“She's not even home.”
I smothered a laugh.
June leaned in. “They don't need to know the details. Besides, they will all love having her back in the family. I mean, if she'll forgive us.”
“She will.”
June finished cleaning up my bloodstains. “I wonder what's keeping Salinger.”
“I'm going to Whitehorse with him,” I suddenly said.
June stopped at the door and turned.
“I plan to spend the rest of the summer there.”
She didn't reply at first but cast her gaze upwards. “I think everyone in the front room would be interested in hearing that when deciding Antony's fate. It'll be easier for everyone in the family if you are vacant for the time being. How soon do you want to go? Should I book flights?”
I nodded. “The sooner the better.”
The older woman smiled and it looked like she was a teenager again, reliving something she had once had and loved. “Tomorrow is soon enough, but just to be sure. You aren't leaving to get away from Antony, but in order to be with Salinger...” Her voice trailed off.
I chuckled weakly. “I'm in love with him. We’ve come to an agreement, but I don't want to call him my new boyfriend. That sounds so weird like I've labeled him with a cute title that doesn't describe my feelings. A boyfriend should get me a pop and take me to the movies.”
“He's not going to do that?”
“He might,” I conceded. “But, how I feel about him doesn't feel ordinary. It feels like something amazing is going to happen.”
“Like what?” she asked kindly.
“Like that moment! That one really exciting moment.”
June knew what I was talking about. “The moment when the girl becomes precious?”
“Yeah.” My eyes filled with tears. “I never thought I'd have that moment myself. I thought the girl didn't know she had become precious. Yet, I feel it, and the other way too.”
“The other way?” she asked curiously.
“I’ve had the moment where the boy becomes precious. He feels precious... to me.”
June didn't ask for specifics. She nodded her understanding and left the room. She had things to do. Within minutes, I heard her voice join the other voices in the living room.
I closed my eyes.
As much as I would have loved to jet off to Whitehorse that night without a second glance, we weren’t the only people going, so we couldn't leave immediately. My Ata had asked Clementine to marry him and she’d accepted, claiming they’d been in love for years and this was the end of a very long courtship. Her things were packed. Her things filled the back of his truck and left only enough room for one person to go with him in the front. Clementine wanted to go with him but was persuaded to fly to Whitehorse with Veda a few days later.
I looked at the back of the truck after it was packed. “Clementine has a lot of stuff,” I murmured, completely against hoarding.
“Son,” my Ata said quietly. “Only half of these things belong to Clem.” He looked at me meaningfully and strode away like he hadn’t told me something monumental.
I chased after him. I almost asked him outright if the other half belonged to Veda. Was she moving to be with me? Stopping, I realized the truth. Whatever happened between us, she wasn’t coming back here. That part of her life was over.
No one spoke of it. Plans continued, and no one acted like Veda was doing anything other than coming with me for a visit.
Someone asked Clementine if she wanted to go wedding dress shopping for the wedding, which would be in Whitehorse. Clementine laughed, “Are you asking me if I need to buy a white dress?” She was decked from head to toe in white every day.
Before I got in that one seat left in my father’s truck, I had a few people I needed to sort things out with.
I hadn't seen Remy since we dropped him off at the hospital. They let him go that night with no nerve damage, but it was a very unpleasant cut he had achieved rescuing me. Rest and painkillers were on the menu.
I found him in our room, trying to pack his stuff with one hand and losing at it. I took over for him.
“Thanks, man,” he said as he dropped back on the mattress.
“Where are you going?”
“Calgary.”
“What for?”
“Intarsia joined Carlos' band. Do you remember him and his crew?”
I did and thought sadly what a waste it was for Intarsia to end up living a life like theirs. It was all on the road and the gigs barely paid their expenses. Intarsia wasn't going to like it. She would be back at her mother's yarn store doing the books before she knew it.
“She's going to sing backup for him,” Remy admitted. “She asked me if I would go along and do sound mixing for them. She wants to be with him so bad, but she's scared of the feeling. She wants me along in case her little romance goes awry.”
“Could it go right?”
He scratched his nose. “I wish it wouldn't.”
I did a double-take. That did not sound like Remy. The Remy I knew believed everything would work out, believed what everyone told him, believed everything. The Remy I knew didn't wish things would collapse and end.
I shut my mouth and tightened my jaw. He didn't say it and I didn't need him to. He was in love with Intarsia and he had watched her interest in his friend bloom until she was ready to run away with him. I didn't say I was sorry. Instead, I thanked him for coming to help me the night he got hurt and told him I would be happy to let him stay at my place the next time he was up north.
He shook my hand with his good one and threw his duffel bag over his shoulder.
Then I went to Cold as stone. Pearl's parents were there doing all the jobs I had planned but hadn’t finished before everything blew up. They thanked me for everything I had done for them, apologized for not being around as much as they should have been, and sent me on my way.
The next thing was the last thing I had to do. I went to speak to Fair Isle. I got the book, put a red ribbon on it, and went to find her.
She was sitting by the large windows in the front of her house. She looked different. Her hair was longer than usual, but that only meant that it spiked out a bit everywhere instead of being the perfect pixie cut she usually wore. Her clothes were black but incredibly faded. The sweater sleeves covering her knuckles were frayed.
My instinct was to approach and say something like, “Hey, gorgeous!” But I clued into the fact that kind of greeting was incredibly inappropriate and I would have to learn to stop talking to women like that. Instead, I came up and sat across from her without being invited and said, “I have something for you.”
Fair Isle glanced at the book. “Yeah? Let me guess. Is it a blank book, so I can write a spell book of my very own?”
“No.”
“Then, if I’m not mistaken, that is the new spell book you started writing for Veda?”
I shook my head. “I never began a second book for her. It’s a spell book I wrote for you.”
Her face crumpled. “You wrote a spell book for me? Isn't it ultimately going to say something like, 'Fair Isle, you're a great girl, but you're not the one for me’?”
“You already know that. That’s not what the book is about. I didn’t go through the trouble to write you a spell book that was a rejection. This is not that. It’s something else. The only thing I have to say about it is that it is a fantasy. It’s not real, but when you’re angry, there will be a baseball bat inside that you can use to wail on anything or anyone you want. When you’re lonely, there will be a reasonably attractive man to be exactly what you want and make out with you for as long as you want. And when you’re discouraged, you can read this, and you’ll be reminded of who you really are, The Red Witch of the North. That’s the title of the book.” I put it between her hands.
Her face crumpled further until she was unrecognizable as she hugged the book to her chest. “Why can’t you love me?”
I was about to touch her by putting my hand on her knee when I realized I should not touch her at all. “Have you done readings for your own future?” I asked her.
“No. I like potions and salves and stuff you can sell.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m pretty good at doing readings and do you know what I see in your future?”
“What?” she pouted.
“I see many lovers. I don’t see you with just one man. I see legions. I see men fighting over you. I see them running each other over to be the first one to make it to you, like that will make you choose them. I see a different man falling in love with you every time you turn around. I see you being so many different things, fighting, brewing, scheming, stealing, healing… and being a woman who is everything. One day, you’ll look back over the sands of time and you’ll wonder how you could have been jealous of Veda. She’s going to curl herself into a ball and knit herself into a sweater. You’re going to see the world and knitting stockings in Whitehorse never could have done it for you. She’s an artist. You’re a traveler.”
“You think so?” she whispered, her eyes wide with possibility.
“Start in British Columbia. With my fortune teller’s tongue, I will give you one more piece of advice.”
“Oh?”
I leaned in and winked. “Pack light.”
She tore the ribbon off the cover. “Arrogant little sucker, aren't you?”
“It's the kind of book that doesn't record what you do, and the kind you can read over and over. Read it, forget me, and live well.”
I touched the top of her head once and walked away. Fair Isle watched me go, and she did not call me back.
I went upstairs, collected my stuff, and brought it down for my father to stuff into his truck. I went back to Veda’s to say goodbye. We would only be parted for three days, but I felt like I was cutting off my arm as I crossed the yard to her house.
Inside, Pearl was heartbroken in a way that only a teenage girl could be. Evander's girlfriend, Sarah, was there, sitting next to Pearl at the table listening intently while Pearl explained the trouble. She was the same age as Pearl and had a lot of advice on how to pick yourself up.
Veda sat on a new couch in the living room and put the last few stitches into the scarf she had been knitting for me. I watched her weave in the ends, proclaim it finished, and put it on me.
She smoothed it around my neck and said, “In a backward tale, there was once a scarf that kept me warm whenever the person I loved wore it. That scarf is gone. Can you promise to wear this scarf and keep me warm?”
I thought about the bet we made that started her knitting the scarf for me. It was something stupid to do with lipstick, but now I saw that things never seem legendary when you are in the midst of them, instead, they seem normal.
“I can,” I said.
And she kissed me.
THE END
Sneak peek at other books by Stephanie Van Orman:
His 16th Face
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Whenever You Want
Christina didn't want to be an escort! She didn't want to juggle the egos of different men! She wanted to get a job and stop escorting, but what was she to do when her favorite client is now her boss? And he's very attractive.
Kiss of Tragedy
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