It’s tempting, but I’m sober enough now to realize that a snogfest with my boyfriend while my best friend is missing definitely qualifies me for some sort of Shitty Person award.
“I don’t know how long we have before Aunt Penny gets back,” I say, crossing to the door. “Get the curtains.” I flip the dead bolt closed and flick off the neon Open sign while Bishop lowers the venetian blinds over the big picture window so that we’re enveloped in darkness. A sense of déjà vu washes over me, and I remember the summonings we did to hear Mom’s voice. I won’t let myself do those anymore. It’s too painful.
“You got the goods?” Bishop asks.
I pull the violin case from its hiding spot behind the shelf near the door. “Yep. And for the record, you sound like a drug dealer.”
“What would you know about that?” he asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched high.
“I’ve watched movies,” I say, mock-offended. “So, what do I do with this?”
“Lay it down there,” he says, indicating the center of the rug. Metal scrapes as he drags the cauldron from its display by the window and hauls it next to the violin. Then he disappears down a darkened aisle. He returns moments later with five fat candles bundled in his arms.
“Hope your aunt doesn’t mind us borrowing,” he says, grinning.
He sets the candles around the violin and cauldron. With a flick of his hand, the candles burst into flame, lighting the room with a soft orange glow. I realize that if I connected the dots, they’d form the shape of a pentagram.
Bishop pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket and brings it close to his face.
“Oh. I guess we should have gotten inside the circle before I lit them,” he mumbles.
“Dear God, tell me those aren’t instructions,” I say.
“What? I’ve never done it before.” He pockets the paper. “Okay, we need to get inside the circle and face west.”
I take a careful step between two burning candles and stand next to Bishop as he pulls a little black pouch out of his pocket. He releases the tie cord and shakes the bag’s contents into his hand. A mushroom with a fat stem and bulbous, black top with tiny freckles of white sits in his palm. My heart gives a hard beat.
Bishop makes a fist and crushes the mushroom, then shakes the crumbled black remnants into the cauldron, dusting off his hands when he’s done. Then he pulls a medicine dropper from his breast pocket. Red liquid sloshes inside.
“What’s that?”
“Blood of fox.”
“You killed a fox?” I shriek.
“I bought it pre-vialed,” he says. “Relax.”
I don’t bother to ask from where as he leans over the cauldron and carefully dispenses three drops inside. When the third drop hits, a huge puff of smoke erupts. Bishop reels back in a coughing fit. When the smoke settles, I see that the cauldron is full to the brim with thick, black bubbling liquid. Steam hovers around the edges of the pot, filling the shop with the metallic scent of blood and, strangely, cooked meat.
“Whoa,” I breathe. “That’s insane.” I peer into the cauldron. “So what now? Eye of newt? Toe of frog?”
“Now we sit,” Bishop says.
He settles onto the carpet. I sit cross-legged next to him, our knees bumping awkwardly in the candlelit room.
“Wanna make out first?” he says into my ear in a corny soap-actor voice. I give him a playful punch on the shoulder that almost knocks him over. “Right. Later, then. The goal of the ceremony is to invoke the energy of the person we’re trying to locate. The personal item allows the magic to focus on the correct person.”
“Did you get that from your cue card?” I ask.
“I thought we were being serious,” he answers.
I motion that I’m zipping my lips.
“According to my cue card,” he continues, “the witch or warlock should put their hands to the cauldron and summon all their magic inside it while chanting the spell. If done correctly, an image should appear inside the cauldron of the location of the missing person.” He looks at me, going off script. “You could probably do it by yourself, but I figured you might need the boost since you’re new. I hope you don’t mind.”
I smile at my boyfriend; he could be doing anything in the world right now, and he chooses to be with me, doing everything in his power to help me find my best friend. I interlock my fingers with his. He gives me a small smile, and we put our hands onto the cold metal of the cauldron.
“I feel like a real witch,” I whisper.
Bishop hisses at me to be quiet, suddenly all business.
I call the heat. Maybe it’s the candles—which Bishop says are like an energy drink for witches—but my magic bursts to life inside my stomach almost before it’s a thought in my head, burning like a hot oven in my body, making me delirious. A thrill passes through my veins as the heat surges down to my fingertips. The sound of busy Melrose Avenue traffic becomes muted by the thumping heartbeat in my ears.
And then I close my eyes and concentrate, because moving my magic outside of my body has always been the trickiest part.
“Inveniere Paige Abernathy,” Bishop says, his voice loud in the quiet shop.
I join in.
“Inveniere Paige Abernathy. Inveniere Paige Abernathy.” Our voices sync, and beneath my hands I feel the cauldron vibrate slightly with our combined force. It’s working!
Bishop shifts beside me. I open my eyes to find him kneeling over the cauldron. I follow his lead and peer inside.
Nothing but the swirling black sludge.
“What happened?” I ask. “It seemed like it was working.”
Bishop pulls out his note and scans the directions. “We didn’t miss anything.” He shoves the paper back in his pocket and grabs hold of the sides of the cauldron again. “Come on,” he says, nodding me into action.
We repeat the words. Just like last time, the cauldron hums to life under our touch. And just like last time, the spell doesn’t work.
“I don’t get it,” Bishop says.
I slump back onto my butt, disappointment weighting my heart. “Maybe we did it wrong,” I say listlessly. “Maybe that was a bunk mushroom.”