Spellcaster (19 page)

“Fine. I’m sitting. Look at me, sitting here, not going anywhere,” he said, clearly exasperated with me as he rested his elbows on the step behind him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I took a page from his style book and leaned against the black-painted iron banister. “I’m just going to plunge right in here, Brendan. Remember Megan?”

He stared at me blankly. And then his jaw dropped. “Freshman-year Megan?”

I nodded, and he sat upright.

“Crazy Megan?”

“That’s the one.”

“The one who cut off my hair in class—that Megan?” Brendan reached back to touch the crown of his head, where he once sported a bald spot from Megan’s dark-magic efforts. His mess of black hair was a lot shorter then.

“Yeah, that was for a love spell she tried to get me to do with her,” I admitted sheepishly.

“So Megan
was
a witch? A real, honest witch? Like you and Randi and my girlfriend?” he asked, his mouth wide-open in disbelief. “I thought she was just a wackjob. I mean, this was before I knew magic was real, but…wow.”

“Well, she is. A dangerous one. And she’s behind all of this.”

I took a deep breath and told Brendan what happened tonight—from Ashley’s collapse right up to Megan’s demand for Emma’s blood.

When I was done talking, he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands and taking a deep breath. Then Brendan stepped off the stoop onto the sidewalk. He walked back and forth for a moment—not quite pacing, but almost like he didn’t know which direction he was going, his right hand raking through his hair so violently I thought he’d give himself another bald spot.

And then he reared his foot back and kicked a garbage can, leaving an impressive dent in the thick metal.

“Well, that’s not smart. You’ll break your foot,” I snapped, annoyed. And then my irritation with him melted away, when Brendan turned to face me with damp eyelashes. I didn’t need to be an empath to know he felt so guilty, so grief-stricken, that he was drowning in it. It was threatening to stream down his cheeks.

But I
was
an empath, and I knew what he was feeling. And it was excruciating.

“What am I supposed to do?” Brendan asked, collapsing back on the stoop, his head in his hands. “From the moment I met her, I’ve brought her nothing but trouble and pain.” He raised his head and looked at me. “I know you agree.”

He didn’t say it accusingly, but plainly—honestly. Completely without judgment, which surprised me, given our mutual acrimony. I nodded in agreement, cautiously sitting across from him on the stoop.

“Before, it was who I was—her reincarnated soul mate, of all things. I couldn’t help that. But now, knowing it’s what
I’ve
done that’s brought this on her and her family…” He trailed off, and flipped his hood up, resting his forehead on his hand.

I wouldn’t have believed it if I wasn’t there to see it. I still couldn’t be sure since he had his hood up. But Brendan Salinger—heart-taker, troublemaker, rule-breaker—was moved to tears. In front of me.
Me.
And he didn’t seem to care. The Brendan Salinger
I
thought I knew would have demanded that this Brendan hand over his man card ASAP.

“We don’t have time for this right now,” I said gently. “You guys can talk about it later.”

“Just be honest with me. Please,” Brendan pleaded from inside the cocoon of his dark hood. “Do you think this is the curse, still pulling strings? Am I just destined to ruin her life?” He turned to face me, and his eyes were shut. He took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes, the anguish in them was torture for me.

“Be honest with me. She’s been through enough in her life. Is it better for Emma if we break up?” Brendan asked, his voice cracking over the words.

“I can’t tell you if you should break up or not,” I replied, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. “You have to decide if you want to break—”

“I didn’t ask
should
we break up. I sure as hell don’t
want
to break up,” Brendan interrupted me. “I asked if it’s better for her if we do.”

I considered it. Emma, not dealing with some fresh hell from Brendan’s past. School would be a lot easier—she’d fly under the radar, as she always wanted to, once she no longer had a target on her back. I bet even Kristin would back off. And she’d have more free time to focus on witchcraft.

For a single, selfish and wonderful, glorious moment I considered telling Brendan it was better for her. Because you know what, she didn’t even get the chance to be young and single in New York.
We could have a
lot
of fun.
It would awesome to be single with Emma, to meet boys and flirt.
We could meet boys that I actually wanted to meet—Brendan’s basketball teammates? No, thanks.
And I honestly thought it would be better for her, in a lot of ways.
Brendan’s head-over-heels for her, so it’s not like he’s going anywhere.
He’d wait for her. They could pick up in a couple of years and be fine.
She’s barely seventeen and already involved with the person she’s most assuredly going to end up with someday. That can’t be healthy.

I could tell Brendan that it would be better for her if they broke up—or even took a break—and I would mostly mean it. And Brendan would listen to me. Without question, he would listen to me…because he loved her. Because he wanted to make her happy.
Damn it.

So I looked at the cautious way he was watching me deliberate, and I knew I couldn’t tell him Emma would be better off. Because it wasn’t the truth. She was so ridiculously, cartoonishly, skipping-down-the-street blissful with him that their breakup would, at this point in her short, tragic life, devastate her.

“No, Brendan. I don’t think it would be better for her. Or you,” I added, scrutinizing him with a critical eye. “In fact, I think you’d be kind of a disaster without her.”

“That’s more accurate than you know,” he said, laughing bitterly, then he ran his hands through that mess of hair. “She’s probably going to dump my ass anyway. How could she not hate me?
I
would hate me.”

How the hell did I go from detesting this kid to being his guidance counselor and encouraging him to salvage his relationship?
I’d seen a lot of weird things in my life as a witch, but me consoling Brendan Salinger was right up there with the first time I conjured fire.

“I think she’ll forgive you for being the Slut King two years ago. You did do that little thing where you saved her life and all,” I reminded him dryly.

“It was my fault she was in that position to begin with.”

“Well, look at it this way. Would you hate Emma?” Brendan just looked at me, confused.

“What do you mean? I love her! I could never hate—”

“I’m not asking that,” I interrupted, forcing myself to not roll my eyes at his unabashed professions of love. “If this was some psycho from Emma’s past, who attacked
you,
was threatening
you,
would you hate Emma?”

Brendan looked at me like I was blowing bubbles out my nose. “Of course not! I’d kill the guy!”

“But what about Emma? Wouldn’t you be mad at her?”

“No. How could I be? I couldn’t blame her…it’s not her fault… Oh. I see what you did there,” Brendan said, smiling a little.

“Well, genius, don’t you think she’s going to have the same reaction?”

“Good point,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Still, I feel guilty. And I made Megan crazy.”

“Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back there, cowboy.” I snorted. “She was a resident of Crazyland long before she became the president.”

“What do you mean?” Brendan stopped rubbing his eyes and turned to stare at me, his green eyes bloodshot.

“That girl has major issues—her parents favor her sister, and Megan just
had
to prove that she was a special little snowflake. That was most of her attraction to you, to be honest. She just thought that your little, um, encounter was the start of something,” I explained, standing up. “You were really just a prop for her, a medal to be won.”

“That makes me feel a little better, but still.” He sighed, staring down mournfully. “I feel like a dick.”

“Well, I’m glad you do. You’d be a terrible person if you didn’t,” I said adamantly, snapping my fingers to get his attention. “And you can wallow in self-loathing all you want to tomorrow. Right now, we need to get to the hospital, tell Emma that Ashley’s going to be okay, and then I need to meet my old psychotic friend in ninety minutes. It’s going to be a long night. So let’s get going.”

Chapter 10

“And then I met Brendan at the pizza place, told him what happened and we came straight here.” Angelique finished talking, taking a deep breath that seemed to come straight from the tips of her thick-soled shoes.

“So who has a knife?” I asked, pushing up the sleeve of my black shirt. Brendan put his hand over mine, stopping me.

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re not doing that.” He pulled my sleeve down.

“You heard what Angelique said. She wants
my
blood.” My voice was numb, almost robotic, as I began pushing my sleeve up again.
Just give her what she wants, so Ashley is okay. I’ll deal with the consequences later.

“She’s not going anywhere near you,” Brendan retorted, grabbing the hem of my sleeve and pulling it back down.

“That was only for tomorrow. Brendan’s going to make the, um, donation tonight,” Angelique interjected, her lips curling in disgust over the words.

“How?” I asked, busying myself with the minor details so I wouldn’t have to think about the bigger picture.

“I flirted with a nurse in triage to distract her. Angelique grabbed a syringe and some rubbing alcohol while she wasn’t paying attention,” Brendan confessed with a bitter smile. “She probably went off and accidentally overdosed someone’s meds. That’s what I’m good at, right? That’s what I was basically made for? Ruining lives.”

“Stop,” Angelique chastised him with one word, and to my surprise, Brendan just nodded.

“Look, why don’t you go find a bathroom and take care of it in there?” Angelique suggested, casting a glance around the family waiting room inside the emergency department. “Not like it’s packed in here, but I doubt you pulling out a needle will go over well.”

Brendan nodded again, mumbled a “Be right back” and headed off in the direction of the bathroom.

“How are you doing?” Angelique asked, staring at me seriously.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully, staring at the shadow patterns my hands made on the floor. “I’m a…kaleidoscope of emotions right now.”

“That’s horribly cheesy yet almost poetic, you realize.”

“But accurate,” I said then shook my head as something occurred to me. “Why do you need me to tell you? You’re the empath. You know what I’m feeling.”

“Yep, I do. But I don’t know who or what it’s directed at,” Angelique admitted, getting up and sitting next to me in the chair Aunt Christine had occupied.

“I don’t even know how I’m feeling,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and letting them fall, defeated. “I’m choosing not to deal with any of this until Ashley is okay.”

“That’s fair. But when you do decide to deal with it, go easy on him. Brendan is absolutely shredding himself up over this.” She shuddered, grimacing. “The boy is in agony.”

I stared at her, confused, as she gave me a sympathetic little smile.

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

“What?” Angelique asked innocently, her eyes wide.

“You hate Brendan. He irritates you to no end. You’ve told me so,” I reminded her. “Here is your perfect opportunity to throw him under the bus, and you’re defending him. What’s going on?”

“I don’t
hate
him,” she began, then saw the look on my face and relented. “Okay, I didn’t like him, but I realized I was being unfair. I misjudged him.”

“You…misjudged him?” I repeated, confused.

“Yes, I did,” she admitted ruefully. “You know, I meant it when I said the guy who screwed Megan over isn’t at Vince A anymore.”

“That’s right, you told me that guy transferred out.”

“No, I said he isn’t really there anymore. And Brendan—well, he’s kind of changed from the guy who screwed Megan over. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “looking at the way things went down, I don’t think Brendan screwed her over so much.”

Angelique paused, twisting the bangles on her wrist. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be pissed. Be pissed! But I can’t believe I’m saying this—don’t torture him over it. He’s doing that to himself better than you ever could.”

I looked at her suspiciously. “That seems really…specific…to have been picked up through your empathy.”

Pulling her purple-and-blue locks in front of her, Angelique gave me a reluctant smile. “You caught me. So, we had a little heart-to-heart. I don’t want to say what he said—”

“Wow. Now you’re his confidante. That’s…unexpected,” I said, biting back a laugh in spite of the dour circumstances. “Are you going to join a book club with him next?”

“He reads?”

“Aaaaand there’s the friend I know so well,” I replied, grinning.

“Look, I get the sense that he was kind of…lost…before he met you. And being realistic, what guy is going to turn down a veritable buffet of girls willing to—”

“That makes me want to vomit,” I interrupted her.

“Well, all I’m saying is, he wouldn’t hold it against you if the tables were turned,” Angelique said, taking off one of her bangles and twirling it around her finger.

I wringed my hands, watching the way the shadows on the floor twisted and undulated under the lights. “I know he wouldn’t. And I know it would be the most hypocritical thing in the world for me to judge him on anything that happened in the past. Long before he ever even met me. But,” I added, looking up from my shadowy contortions to look at my friend, “I’m just not going to deal with it right now. I can’t. Not until Ashley is okay.”

“So the blind stabbing rage I’m sensing toward Brendan is on hold for now?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Brendan?” I asked, incredulous. “Hell, no. That’s all for Megan.”

My eyes narrowed to slits when I thought about the scrawny, stringy-haired specter of a girl from the Magel bathroom. I wanted to give her another black eye. I wanted to make her feel every bit of pain Aunt Jess and Uncle Dan were feeling. “We’re doing what we need to do tonight to make sure Ashley is okay. But Megan’s really off her rocker if she thinks I’m meeting her tomorrow so she can slice me open. I’ll kill her first.”

Angelique’s eyes widened so far her eyelids threatened to invade her forehead, then she looked around the waiting room to see if anyone heard. But apart from a few speculative looks her appearance earned when she first walked in, no one paid any further attention to us.

“You’re serious,” she whispered gravely. “I can tell. But, Emma, you’re talking about murder.” She mouthed the last word, shaking her head.

“Well, then there has to be something magical that we can do to stop her,” I said, my voice shaking with rage. “Megan needs to pay for what she’s done to Ashley.”

Brendan strode back into the room, effectively ending our conversation. He picked Angelique’s bag off the floor and slipped the syringe, which he hid in the sleeve of his hoodie, inside the front pocket.

“I should go,” Angelique said, picking up her bag and standing next to Brendan. “I’ve got to meet Megan and put an end to this.”

“So once you get the clip?” I asked, looking up at Angelique as she stood before me.

“I’ll destroy it, and Ashley should open her eyes,” she promised me. “I’ll text you also, just so you know for sure that it’s happened.”

“And there’s no chance, once this clip is destroyed, that anything else can happen to Ashley?” Brendan asked, his arms folded as he absentmindedly rubbed the inside of his elbow.

“Right.” Angelique affirmed it, nodding her head vehemently.

“Okay.” I nodded, standing up. “I know you hate this but I’m going to do it anyway,” I said, throwing my arms around Angelique. I expected her to just stand there like a pole—a very irritated, why-are-you-touching-me pole—but to my surprise she hugged me back. Well, sort of. She patted my back the way someone who doesn’t like cats pets one that keeps rubbing itself on their leg.

But still, I appreciated the gesture.

With a nod to Brendan, Angelique swirled out of the waiting room, her black skirt billowing behind her.

Brendan uncrossed his arms and stuffed his hands in his pockets, making his stance wide so he was closer to my eye level.

“Do you want me to stay? I’ll understand if you tell me to go,” he said hesitantly.

“Stay,” I replied, sitting back down in my chair. Brendan sat next to me.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked, his voice low. I shook my head.

“I need Ashley to be okay first.” I couldn’t process anything else until my cousin was safe. I felt like I had shut down, and I could only focus on one thing.

“Okay,” Brendan said, reaching over and tentatively putting his hand over mine. I turned my hand over to thread my fingers through his, and he exhaled, relieved. Aunt Christine came out to check on me, even telling me I should head home, but I insisted on staying—and sent her back into Ashley’s room. Our hands clasped, Brendan and I stayed like that for another hour, our eyes glued to the muted television hanging off the ceiling but never really registering what was on it.

My phone vibrated in my back pocket, and I quickly pulled it out to check the message.

Clip destroyed. Text me with what happens to Ash. Will call you tomorrow. Mom furious at me for not calling her and being so late.

“What’s up?” Brendan asked, peering at the text message over my arm.

“Angelique destroyed the clip—and she’s going to call me tomorrow. She never called, and now her mom is mad that it’s past 1:00 a.m. and she isn’t home yet.”

“So Ashley should be opening her eyes now, right?”

“Right,” I said, “or, she should have already.” I took a deep breath and tried to calm the panic and adrenaline searing my veins, wrapping around my rapidly beating heart. I was almost light-headed—and getting dizzier by the second as I stared at the door, willing Aunt Christine or Uncle Dan or Aunt Jess to materialize.

“Emma, relax,” Brendan whispered, rubbing my back soothingly. “You sound like you’re about to hyperventilate.” I just looked at him and the tears overflowed, right down my cheeks.

“What if Megan didn’t do the spell right the first time?” I sniffled, wiping my eyes with the heel of my hand. “Or what if it’s not magical and Ashley really is sick? Or I made her hit her head and it’s all my fau—”

“Emma! She’s awake!” Aunt Christine called from the doorway, a relieved smile spread over her tired face. I jumped up and ran across the emergency room and threw my arms around my aunt, almost knocking her over.

“Why don’t you go in to see her, and I’ll wait out here,” Aunt Christine said, and I headed down the blue-and-white-tiled hall to Ashley’s curtained-off bed. I could hear her before I could see her, her voice raspy with exhaustion. When I pulled back the curtain, Aunt Jess and Uncle Dan were standing by her bedside, and she was sitting upright, playing with the settings on the adjustable bed. Her cloud of red hair was a splash of color against the white bedsheet, which matched her pale face.

“Emma! What the hell happened tonight?” Ashley asked me, her blue eyes wide with alarm as I threw my arms around her neck, never so happy to inhale the syrupy sweet scent of her favorite perfume as I was in that moment.

“The last thing I remember was being in the bathroom, and then I got light-headed,” she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder. “And then I woke up to this and now you’re suffocating me.”

“Sorry,” I said, standing back and wiping my eyes.

“Mom, why can’t I go home now?” Ashley asked, turning to her worried mother with a forlorn look on her face. “I feel fine. I’m just a little tired.”

“The doctor wants to keep you in for observation, just for the night,” Aunt Jess clucked, stroking her daughter’s red hair, which matched her own fiery locks.

“I don’t care,” Ashley said, slamming her fist down on the side of the bed. “I feel fine, just tired. I want to go home. I don’t
wanna
stay in the hospital.” And then tears—big, fat, baseball-sized ones—began rolling down her cheek.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I just want to go home to my own bed.” Ashley sniffled. “Please, Mom and Dad?”

“Honey, you can come home tomorrow,” Uncle Dan said, kissing her on the forehead. “You know we want you home. We just have to see what the doctor says.”

Ashley frowned then turned to me. “Emma, please? Take me home. I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I just want to be okay.”

“You
are
okay,” I assured her, gripping the railing of her bed to steady myself against a fresh wave of guilt.

“You don’t know that! What if I have some kind of disease or a brain tumor and they have to shave my head?” Ashley’s hands went up to her tangle of red curls and she protectively covered her head.

“That won’t happen,” I promised her. And that’s when I made her a silent promise—I was going to make sure Megan never did this to anyone else. No matter what it took.