“For those of you who’ve just tuned in,” the newscaster says, “we’re reporting live from in front of the Getty Center in Brentwood, where officials say at least thirty people simultaneously lost consciousness. When they awoke, hours had passed, and they had no memory of what happened. At this time, Getty representatives say it doesn’t appear as if anything has been stolen, but they are conducting a thorough investigation into the matter as we speak. This is just the latest in a string of what police say are bizarre incidents occurring throughout the city …”
All the blood drains from my head, and I feel faint. Chief Wiggum’s words the night the Bible went missing reverberate in my head. Blackouts. Memory loss. It’s the Priory—it has to be.
“Oh, sweetie.” Mom reaches past me and turns off the TV.
“Do you know what this means?” I ask.
The percolator bubbles and spits in the background.
“This isn’t just dangerous for witches,” I say. “It’s blackouts now, but what next? After they kill all the witches and they can do whatever they want? Just think of what this means!”
“I know,” Mom says to the linoleum, before shooting her focus back up to me. “Look, I’ve been thinking. Maybe if I talk to the girls at the next meeting—”
“No!” I cry out. “Mom, no one can know about this. Not the Wicca Society, not Aunt Penny, no one.”
“All right.” She raises a hand. “It was just an idea.”
A very bad idea, I want to say. There is no way any good would come of the public finding out about witches. Hello, Salem witch trials, anyone? But she’s just trying to help.
“It’s getting dark,” I say. We all look out the patio doors at the twilight that descends over the backyard.
Paige holds up the candles. “Lighter?”
Candles bathe my bedroom in flickering yellow light, casting ominous shadows that look like trees across the forest-green walls of my room. Paige sits on the bed, cradling a cup of coffee in her lap, while Mom stands vigil at the window. Me, I’m perched on the end of my computer desk, feet resting on the wooden chair that is so uncomfortable I sit in it only when I’m really serious about homework and don’t want to fall asleep.
“Well, there it is.” Mom draws the blinds all the way up so I can see the fat yellow moon sitting high against the black sky.
“Yep. There it is.” I slap my hands on my thighs.
“Feel any different?” Paige asks.
I do a little inventory of myself. Ten fingers? Check. Ten toes? Check. Absolutely ridiculous Afro of curls? Check. “Nope. Everything’s just as I left it.”
“Think you should try some magic or something?” Paige asks.
I laugh. “Like what? I don’t know any spells.”
She shrugs. “Maybe try to fly, like Bishop.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know how to—”
“Well, that’s because you haven’t tried,” Mom interrupts.
I let Mom drag me off the desk to the center of the room. She backs up, and now both she and Paige look at me as if enough staring will lift me right off the ground.
“Try,” Paige urges.
I couldn’t feel sillier if I were wearing a clown costume, but I do as I’m told and widen my stance, closing my eyes and reaching around inside for whatever magic I might have. After a couple of seconds have passed, I blink one eye open to check on my progress, only to find that my feet are still firmly planted on the floor.
“You’re not trying,” Paige whines, fingers twined together in front of her.
“Yes I am!”
“Say something,” Mom urges. She’s pressed against Paige, mirroring her anxious pose.
“Like what?”
“Like a spell or something.”
I raise my eyebrows. “News flash: I don’t know any spells.”
“Well, what happened to Bishop showing you the ropes?” Mom asks.
“That’s if I become a witch, Mom.” I close my eyes so she won’t see I’m lying. “No reason to come by if I’m not, which is obviously the case.”
“Just try!” Paige and Mom cry together.
I sigh. “Okay, okay.” I take slow, measured breaths through my nose and concentrate on making my body listen. I’m weightless, I’m lifting from the ground, I’m flying.
“Fly!” I say, and feel endlessly stupid for it. But from the sounds of their clapping, Mom and Paige seemed pleased with my efforts, so I go on. “Fly, fly, fly!”
I crack one eye open. Still nothing. I close my eyes again. “Oh, God of, uh, the earth”—I lift my palms up—“please, pretty please, can I fly?”
I open my eyes and—yep, not flying. An emotion bearing an uncanny resemblance to disappointment mixed with embarrassment falls over me.
“Forget it.” I let my arms drop to my sides. “I’m clearly not a witch.”
“You don’t know that,” Paige says, but she doesn’t sound very convincing. “Maybe you just need to learn some spells or something.”
“Oh, sweet pea …” Mom strides up to me and wraps an arm around my deflated shoulders.
“Hello?” I say. “What’s with everyone? Remember the news? I’m not going to die at the hands of evil sorcerers. This is a good thing.”
Mom hugs me tighter. Damn it, why does she always see through me?
“You’re right,” Mom says. “Any other time I’d say being a witch is a blessing, but right now it would be too dangerous. We’re all glad you’re safe.”
“Good,” I say, a little too quickly. “Now I need to shower for school tomorrow.”