Chapter Two
“Whooooa, caught in a bad romance,” I sang at the top of my lungs along with Lady Gaga. I was in my car, jamming to the megamix playlist of the over-the-top pop singer that I’d created just for this trip. It was the perfect music to get a person in the mood for some spell casting.
After all, I’d known Gaga back when she was just plain Stefani Germanotta, a gangly teenager who liked to play the piano and put on productions of musicals at coven gatherings. It wasn’t until she’d fully embraced her magical side that she really hit it big in the entertainment world. I mean, why else would people be okay with a young woman running around in the crazy outfits she wore?
Still, you gotta love a girl who uses her God-given talents.
The song ended as I pulled into the Hobbses’ driveway, parking behind at least three other cars that were already lined up in a row.
Looks like I’m the last one here. Again.
I hated being late to anything, and according to the clock, I still had a minute until the meeting would start. Turning off the ignition, I swung the car door closed behind me and bounded up the front steps. Ringing the doorbell, I smoothed down my dress, ran a hand through my hair, and waited for someone to answer.
“Well, hello, Hadley!” Mrs. Hobbs said when she opened the door. She was pretty, in her early forties, maybe, and was dressed in a pair of jeans and a black sweater. At first glance, she looked like your typical suburban mom. However, I knew better.
“Hi, Mrs. Hobbs!” I said politely, waiting for her to invite me in. When she stepped to the side, I joined her in the foyer.
“Everyone’s already downstairs. Why don’t you grab something to drink on your way? You know where everything is,” she said before disappearing into the living room, where the TV was blaring.
“Thanks!” I shouted, rushing to the stairs and taking each step as fast as I could in my four-inch heels. When I’d made it down to the bottom safe and sound, I pushed open the door to the basement den and burst inside.
“I’m here! I’m here!” I yelled, scurrying to my usual spot on the windowsill.
“You heard the girl, let’s get this party started!” said Fallon, sitting on a beanbag chair in the corner. I narrowed my eyes at him and made a face. He was kind of dorky-looking and his body was a bit too puny for his head. But it was his out-of-control hair that really labeled him a grade-A nerd. If I didn’t know Fallon personally, I’d probably gloss right over him walking down the hallway. But I did, and he was a total thorn in my side.
“Nice to see you, too, Fallon,” I said, glancing around the room at the other dozen or so kids. A quick search showed me that I was, indeed, the last to show. Did I mention that I hate being late? Even if it’s just by a few minutes, my stomach starts to feel queasy. All the research I’ve done on influential people has said that it’s actually good to make people wait for you. It’s supposed to subconsciously make them think that your time is more valuable than theirs. Still, I’d always thought it just made a person seem irresponsible and rude. And I couldn’t help but feel like everyone else in the coven felt the same way. They wouldn’t say it, of course—well, maybe Fallon would—but I think it just gave them more of a reason to shy away from me.
I may have commanded my school, but here I wasn’t exactly the center of attention. Maybe it was because I wasn’t the only extraordinary one in the room. Or because spell casting came easily to me, which meant I didn’t have to work quite as hard as the others and didn’t need to attend as many of our magic meetings to pass our spell tests. This gave the others more time to bond and left me sort of on the outside looking in. But I was too busy with all my commitments at school to hang around witch classes just to watch others try to catch up to where I was. And as of yet, I hadn’t been able to find a spell that allowed me to be in two places at once. Until then, I’d just have to be okay with having the best of one world.
This didn’t mean I didn’t try to get along with the others, though. I looked over at Jackson with an apologetic smile. He was parked at the front of the room where he always stood, arms crossed over his chest. I could tell he wasn’t exactly annoyed that I was the last one to show. In fact, he seemed more amused to hear my excuses than anything. This was probably because I was a lot like him when he was my age. The first couple of years that I’d gone to Cleri magic lessons, Jackson had been there, too, only he’d been in high school at the time. I remember thinking that he had everything together: He’d been incredibly driven and excelled at everything he’d done. He’d gone on to become president of his fraternity in college and then went to work for an advertising firm after graduation.
That’s why it wasn’t surprising when he’d been appointed the new leader of our witching lessons when our old one retired. He could show us how to lead a balanced life as a witch in this world.
In other words, he’d managed to do what I couldn’t: dominate in both his personal life and the responsibilities of his coven. Even so, I think he understood my desire to have a life outside the magical realm. This is where the others and I differed. They’d all chosen to focus more on their magical sides. Me, I thought there was more to life than just practicing spells in someone’s basement. Jackson understood both and worked hard to try to get us to meet in the middle.
“I had a student government meeting after school,” I explained. “We were picking a theme for homecoming and it ran a little longer than expected.”
“What did you decide on?” Sascha asked. She might have been the only ally I had in the group and I knew she was genuinely curious to hear the answer. I had a feeling Sascha lived vicariously through me. Like, she knew she’d never be able to have a big social life, so she settled for hearing about mine. I’d tried on several occasions to give her tips on how she could rule her own school, but she insisted it wouldn’t work. And like they say, if you think you can’t, you’re right. A person had to be confident to live the kind of life I lived.
“Our theme is: Something Wicked This Way Comes,” I announced proudly.
“Wow, and it took you two whole hours to figure that one out?” Fallon asked, snorting as he cracked up at his own joke. I bit back a nasty response. No one could get on my last nerve quite like Fallon. I knew I shouldn’t be bothered by a kid who was several years younger than me, but he irked me every chance he got.
We fought like brother and sister, which in a messed-up way, we kind of were. Not through blood of course, but through the bonds of the coven. It was a connection that went back hundreds of years, to the original Cleri members. To Bridget and the witch trials. This wasn’t what made us bristle with antagonism toward each other though. No, Fallon was the only one who challenged me every chance he got. And I was of the mind-set that you should respect those more powerful than you.
“I think it sounds cool,” Sascha said, still stuck on the theme of the dance.
“Hell, if we had themes like that, I might actually attend school functions,” Jasmine said, picking at her black nail polish. Jasmine was the kind of girl people automatically assumed practiced witchcraft, based on her appearance alone. To say she was a fan of the color black was an understatement. Her makeup was a little on the theatrical side and she had a tendency to frown more than she smiled, but that was who she was. With Jasmine, what you saw was what you got. In a way, she was the only one of us who was being 100 percent herself, 100 percent of the time.
She didn’t even hide her magical abilities. Of course, people just thought she was weird. Goes to show you how clueless the nonmagical community can be. She also didn’t sugarcoat the fact that she thought things like dances were beneath her. According to Jasmine, being witches made us superior to civilians, and typical teenage things like attending parties had no place in our world. She’d rather spend her time perfecting her spells. Needless to say, this might have been the reason we weren’t exactly best friends. Still, it wasn’t like we were enemies, either.
“As much as I’d love to talk dance themes—and my school had a few doozies—we need to get started on today’s lesson,” Jackson said, walking to the middle of the room. He motioned for us to stand up.
I nearly groaned but knew it wouldn’t go over so well with this crowd. It wasn’t that I didn’t like talking magic. Like I said, it sort of came naturally to me and I used spells for just about everything in my daily life. But our bimonthly lessons tended to be about things that didn’t affect me personally. Most of the spells I used on a daily basis I’d either taught myself or created out of necessity. The stuff Jackson taught us had been passed down from generation to generation, and to be honest, seemed a bit old. Sometimes we talked so much about the past that I couldn’t see how it had anything to do with the present.
Jackson said it was like high school in that way: it may seem like we won’t use anything we learn, but eventually it will come in handy. I wasn’t so sure, but until I turned eighteen, I had no choice. At least according to my parents. They said that if witch lessons were good enough for our ancestors, they were good enough for me.
So I kept my thoughts to myself as we gathered around him.
“Does anyone know what our greatest asset is when it comes to our magic?” Jackson asked.
“Knowledge?” Peter, the youngest in the group, said.
“Intelligence?” Sascha guessed.
“Our ability to trick our opponents!” Fallon shouted, as if we weren’t all standing within a few feet of him. I covered my right ear, which was now ringing, and prepared to answer.
“Power.” There was no doubt in my mind that this was my greatest asset when it came to performing spells.
“All of those are good answers, and in a way, you’re all correct,” Jackson answered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his fitted jeans. The charcoal color of his sweater made his blue eyes stand out even more than usual. I could see why he’d been such a catch as a teenager. If he weren’t so old now—almost twenty-five—we might’ve made a great power couple. Alas, I’d never understood the whole teacher/student attraction. Not for me, thanks.
Jackson continued his lecture. “Good guesses, but there’s one very small, very simple thing you’re each overlooking.”
We looked around at each other quizzically. I still thought my answer was right, but I was willing to see where he was going with this. After all, he was our teacher, and this was his lesson.
“Fallon, come on over here a minute,” Jackson said, motioning for my nemesis to stand beside him. We all took a step back to watch. “Okay. Now try to hit me with a spell. Doesn’t matter which one. Surprise me and put everything you’ve got into it.”
A devilish smile grew on Fallon’s face as he was given permission to do his worst. I couldn’t remember the last time we were given free rein to go crazy with our magic during a lesson. I could tell Fallon was going to enjoy this, and I had to be honest: part of me wished I could switch places with him.
Jackson steadied his stance and rolled his neck in a circle as if he were warming up for a five-mile run. See, it’s important for a witch to be as calm and loose as possible in order to sustain an attack from another witch. If you’re too tense, it’s easier for the magic to work its way into you.
Besides, when your mind and heart are clear, you can respond a lot more quickly to things.
Right before Fallon spoke the words to his spell, I caught Jackson mumbling something under his breath. Everyone else was focused on Fallon, waiting to see what spell he’d choose. Instead, his eyes grew wide as no sound came from his lips. Fallon opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, but still, nothing happened. When he began to claw at his throat, Jackson said, “Muflix sertikin,” and carefully put his hands on Fallon’s shoulders.
“What the hell was that?” Fallon yelled, gasping, when he was finally able to speak again, sending a nasty look Jackson’s way. He was shaken—and it was more than just embarrassment over failing to one-up our teacher.
“Calm down and let me explain,” Jackson said evenly. “Did everyone just see what happened here?”
“Fallon couldn’t get his magic to work,” I said, snickering a little at the implication.
“True. But any idea why?” This time nobody answered. Finally, Jackson told us. “I took away his ability to speak.”
A few people still looked confused, but I had a feeling I knew what Jackson was getting at. “No voice, no spell,” I said, already admiring the cunning behind his simple counterattack.
“Exactly, Hadley. Very few witches have the power of thought alone to pull off a spell. Take away a person’s voice, and you take away their ability to use that power,” said Jackson.
“Excellent,” Jasmine said, smiling.
“It’s cheating, if you ask me,” Fallon mumbled, not enjoying the fact that he’d been the butt of a joke, even if it was to prove Jackson’s point.
“Oh, come on, Fallon. You had no chance from the very beginning,” Jackson said, trying to smooth things over with him. “There’s nothing a person can do when their voice is taken away. What we’re going to learn today is how to perform the mumming spell on our enemies, and of course, how to deflect them so we’re not caught in such a vulnerable position. Now, split up into groups of two and start practicing.”
For the next hour, we took turns performing the spells on each other. I teamed up with Sascha, who’s usually good at casting spells but isn’t very aggressive with her magic. This meant that after the first few times I deflected her mumming spells with no problem, I stopped trying to avert them in order to give her a chance. Nobody likes a show-off.
Fallon obviously didn’t know this, and I watched as he refused to allow Peter to bewitch him. As much as I hated to admit it, Fallon was probably the most powerful kid in the coven besides me. Peter, however, was only eleven and hadn’t really found his voice yet, which made him an easy target. Because of this, I couldn’t help but feel protective of him. Maybe if I’d gone up against Fallon, I could’ve kept him from running his mouth for the rest of the night.
Ahh, there’s always next time.
When Jackson felt we’d had a sufficient chance to put the new spell into practice, and most of us seemed comfortable with it, he had us gather around for the history portion of the night.
We met only twice a month since our members lived across several neighboring towns—not like in the olden days when covens were determined by location. After the trials, the original Cleri members who were left felt it would be safer if they spread themselves out. So those who escaped Salem Town moved far away and then tried to separate themselves so as not to draw unwanted attention.
Because we had to travel a ways to get to each meeting—the location of which rotated—Jackson had to try and cram as much into our lessons as possible. The truth was, with the state of the world being what it was, our parents didn’t have the time they used to to devote to our daily lessons. So most of our group depended on our magic classes to learn about our powers and the Cleri heritage.
I got to do both. My parents both used magic pretty regularly and had always encouraged me to develop mine. And as much as I loved to take advantage of the practical side of magic, I felt like I knew all I needed to about our history.
Maybe too much, I thought, recalling that morning’s dream. Why relive such a gruesome part of our past over and over again? We’re not masochists.
“Now, can anyone tell me when this spell was first used and who created it?” Jackson asked as he paced across the floor. My hand remained by my side, even though he was looking straight at me as he said it. I wasn’t sure why, as I never knew the answers to these types of questions. “No guesses?” We remained silent. “Well, Hadley, it would do you some good to do a little research into your family’s past. Given your lineage, many of our lessons stem from your relatives. This one in particular was thought up by your great-great-great-aunt Trixie Bishop.”
“Ah yes, Great-Aunt Trixie,” I mumbled, already bored. “I believe she’s referred to as Crazy Aunt Trixie in our house. Not the finest example of the Bishop bloodline apparently.”
Jackson chose to ignore this comment and instead moved on. “And can anyone tell me why Trixie cooked up the mumming spell?”
This time, several hands flew up all around me. Seemed like my classmates had actually listened when Jackson suggested that reading material a few months back. They must not have had a school to run, a squad to lead, a reputation to uphold . . . Even so, I hated that they knew something I didn’t, and I began to rethink my position on studying magical history.
“Jinx?” Jackson asked, calling on the pretty brunette sitting in the corner. Looking at her now, I thought about how the name didn’t match her at all. The girl in front of me was mild-mannered and quiet and came from a really great family—you’d never know it but her parents were very well-off. She got good grades and was liked by everyone as far as I could tell. Despite her name, she was the last person you’d ever consider to be bad luck.
“It’s said that Trixie came up with most of her spells as a way to fight off future attacks from Samuel Parris’s coven,” Jinx answered, placing her manicured hands demurely in her lap.
“A lot of good it did her against the Parrishables,” I said, just loud enough for people to hear me.
“That’s correct, Jinx. And, Hadley, you know that’s not the proper name of the coven,” Jackson said with a sigh.
This was true. After Samuel broke off from the Cleri, he’d started his own coven, which he’d named the Parish. But almost from the start, people had called them the Parrishables, because of their ability to wipe out so many other witches. I still wasn’t clear why we even bothered to learn about the original name, though, considering it seemed to have died along with Samuel.
“Oh, come on. This isn’t Harry Potter. We can call them whatever we want. Parrishables. Barbarians. Murderers. It’s all the same if you ask me.”
“Hadley,” he warned. I could tell he was starting to get annoyed, but I was sick of constantly having this same conversation.
“I just think it’s sort of a waste of time,” I said, raising my eyes to his. “It’s not like anyone’s seen or heard from the Parrishables in like forever, right? I’ve read enough of Magic Through the Ages to know that. I think we’ve all got better things to do than gear up for a battle that isn’t likely to happen.”
“And if it did, what then?” Jackson asked slowly. “What if the Parrishables were to come back and try to finish what they started?” A dangerous tone had crept into his voice. I was always pushing the boundaries with him. Usually I knew when to stop before I took things too far. Right now, though, I was teetering on the edge—and wasn’t ready to stop.
“In that case, shouldn’t the question be, why are we sitting around waiting for them to come after us?”