The Witch is Back

Chapter Seventeen




It was difficult getting up the next morning. Not only had we been up late casting the protection and location spells, but I’d also had a hard time falling asleep. I kept picturing the gemstone shaking and couldn’t stop thinking about what it could mean.

But it hadn’t fallen over.

That would be the real sign that Samuel was back.

After all, the movement could’ve been a response to just about anything. Distraction while casting. Not having the full thirteen of us in the circle. Interference from the dozens of other witches inhabiting the camp. There were a ton of excuses why the spell might’ve gone the way it had—yet the only thing I could focus on was the possibility that Samuel was still alive. And if that was the case, then we were all in major trouble.

“It’s too early to be this hot,” Jasmine whined as we walked out the front door of the cabin, dressed in clothes we could cast in. “I don’t know why you guys wouldn’t just let me stay in bed this morning.”

The rest of us walked beside her, most of us dragging our feet the whole way. Only Jinx and Colette looked ready to tackle the day, which we knew wasn’t a coincidence considering both had actually gotten sleep the night before. Sascha, Jasmine, Abby, and I, however, had no business being out among people. The dark circles around our eyes and the fact that we couldn’t stop yawning were dead giveaways that we’d been up late.

“You’re going to have to rally, Jazz,” I said, silently willing myself to do the same. “This isn’t like missing a day of school. We can actually use the stuff we’re learning here.”

“I feel so bad that I had to stay behind last night,” Jinx whispered to me as Colette walked up ahead of us.

“You needed the sleep,” I said. “Speaking of: you look a little better today.”

It was true. The redness had faded to a light pink and for the first time since we’d gotten to camp, she didn’t look like she was seconds away from passing out. She seemed happier, somehow. Even if she wasn’t smiling.

I had chosen to withhold the information on Samuel and the stone, which had definitely been the right decision.

“I feel like every time you need me, I’m not there,” she said, sounding guilty.

“You know that’s not true, Jinxy,” I said.

Without her having to say it, I knew that something was going on. Something was taking a toll on her. I’d been planning to log some alone time to ask her about it, but she’d already been asleep by the time we’d gotten back to our rooms the night before. That had probably been for the best though, since I’d been too shaken up to be helpful anyway.

“Well, I promise I’ll be there next time,” Jinx vowed, looking me in the eye.

I just nodded.

We were about to enter the dining hall for breakfast when Fallon ran up to us from the direction of the amphitheaters. He was out of breath and seemed oddly excited.

“You guys have to come see this,” he said, barely stopping before turning back around. “Something’s happened.”

I’d been wrong. It wasn’t excitement I’d seen in his eyes; it was fear. My stomach lurched.

“What?” It was all I could get out before we all started to jog toward the area where our classes were held. As we got closer, I could see that a group had started to form.

We ran around the corner that led to the boys’ side and then skidded to a stop, causing several people to run into us in the process. There was a gasp somewhere behind me, and I felt a little light-headed as I tried to make sense of what we were seeing.

“Where did it all go?” Sasha asked.

In front of us, there was now a cleared-out space where the seats had been. Everything was gone, down to the bolts that had held the rows of chairs in place. Only cement steps remained. Hanging from the rafters above the stage was a ratty, old banner, with the words I’M WATCHING written in a dark red liquid.

“Is that blood?” Jinx asked, her voice shaking. “Please tell me that’s not blood.”

I was too busy gaping at what the message said to answer. It was eerily similar to the one that was left for me in the shower.

“Where did the chairs go?” Jasmine asked. “I mean, it’s not like someone could just get up and walk away with them.”

“Uh, guys?” Fallon said, causing all of us to look in his direction. When he pointed up into the air, our eyes followed his finger.

“No way,” Colette said, adjusting her glasses before tilting her head back.

Up on top of the curved roof of the amphitheater were the rows of missing chairs. Each one pointed in our direction below, as if an invisible crowd were watching us. The effect was beyond creepy.

Miss Peggy walked along the roof, checking out the chairs and shaking them every few feet. Finally she stepped off the ledge, and with a few words, floated down until her feet touched the ground again safely. The move was very Mary Poppins, except for the fact that Miss Peggy’s accessories jangled the whole way, sounding a bit like Santa’s sleigh. At least it gave those below her a chance to move out of the way before she landed.

Hurrying over to the other counselors, Miss Peggy began to confer with Mrs. Jeanette and Mrs. B. Her tone was hushed, but I was standing close enough that I could hear everything she was saying.

“They’re bolted to the roof,” Miss Peggy said, shaking her head. “I tried to move them, but they won’t budge.”

“I don’t understand how they got up there in the first place,” Mrs. Jeanette said, looking back up at the chairs. “Or more importantly, why?”


“You really want to know why? Well, that’s the easy part,” Mrs. B answered, crossing her arms over her chest, smugly.

“Do you know something we don’t?” Miss Peggy asked.

“I have six kids and they pull stuff like this all the time. One time, the girls took all the furniture in our bedroom and charmed it to the ceiling, so we’d think we were actually upside down,” she said. “It took us nearly an entire day to put it back into place and even then, the dog was so confused that he wouldn’t come into our room anymore. A fact my husband actually appreciated, I might add.”

“So, you’re saying this is just a prank?” Miss Peggy asked.

“Seems like a lot of work just for a gag,” Mrs. Jeanette said, unconvinced. “And what about the sign? When I first saw it, I thought it was actually written in blood. How is that funny?”

“Oh, Jeanette, didn’t you ever raise hell as a kid?” Mrs. B asked, lifting her eyebrows at the other woman mischievously.

The buttoned-up counselor hesitated before letting out a small smile. It was the first expression I’d seen her give that didn’t scream “scientist.”

“Well . . . once I rigged my father’s glass to keep refilling with water, so it would look like he hadn’t drunk anything. He just kept chugging it and it never went down,” Mrs. Jeanette said, a sparkle in her eyes. “It took him an hour to figure out I was behind it. My mom and I laughed for hours.”

“Wait, so you tricked your dad into hydrating?” Mrs. B asked. “That was your prank? Making someone drink more water? I’ve got news for you, Jeanette, pranks have changed since you were a kid.”

“I thought it was funny,” Mrs. Jeanette said, quieter than before.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Miss Peggy said, blinking away the conversation. “We know that the message was left in paint, not blood, so that should be a load off our minds. If it was a prank, then what was the point?”

“At the risk of being burned at the stake . . . could it have been the Witch in the Woods?” Mrs. B asked.

My ears perked up as Mrs. B mentioned the urban legend. Until she’d said it, I hadn’t even considered it.

“You aren’t actually suggesting that the Witch in the Woods is real,” a man asked as he walked up to the others. I recognized him as the grumpy counselor who’d refused my request for a double room. By the looks on the counselors’ faces, they weren’t fans of his either. “Please don’t tell me you’re that gullible.”

Mrs. B placed her hands on her hips and gave the handlebar- mustached guy a look that would’ve been intimidating to anyone else. To someone as ego-driven as him, though, the gesture flew right past.

“Of course I’m not saying that, David,” she said, sounding like she’d already lost her patience. “What I’m saying is that it might be possible that whoever did this wanted people to think it was the Witch in the Woods.”

Miss Peggy nodded her head thoughtfully. “There’s a chance you’re right,” she said. “Every summer someone tries to resurrect the ghost of Moll Brenner. It’s a good story to tell around the campfire. And a way to place blame on someone else.”

“We don’t have a campfire,” Counselor David said, sneering.

“You know what she means,” Mrs. B answered.

“But they’ve never done anything this big before,” Mrs. Jeanette said, waving her hand at the chaos around us.

“Well, we do have some new heavy hitters at camp this year,” Counselor David said, turning to look in our direction. Luckily, I’d turned away before they could catch me eavesdropping. “Maybe it’s a juvenile attempt to mark their territory, prove that they’re superior? I say we look at them first.”

I glanced around at the others to see if they were listening to the exchange too, but most were either talking to each other or still studying the rooftop seating. They had no idea that we were currently being implicated for something we hadn’t done.

So much for being innocent until proven guilty.

“This could’ve been done by anyone, David,” Mrs. B said, defending us.

“Well, not really,” Miss Peggy chimed in slowly. “You haven’t been up there, Rose. Those things are bolted down tight and each row has to weigh at least a thousand pounds. It would’ve taken a really strong witch—or several witches—to pull this off.”

“Okay, but I still say we need to look at everyone,” she said.

“And we should try to put the kibosh on the whole ‘Witch in the Woods’ thing before it gets out of control,” Mrs. Jeanette said. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” David said.

“Agreed,” both Mrs. B and Miss Peggy answered.

The four counselors dispersed then and walked in the direction of the stage to try to take down the banner, which was still dripping paint onto the floor below. Just as they were pulling it down, I felt someone come up behind me.

“Whoa, dude, what happened here?” a voice I recognized as Hudson’s said. I turned to see Asher, Hudson, and Dane walk up to where the rest of us were already standing.

“Bugger, that’s some epic shit!” Dane said, his accent making Sascha swoon. “Is this the type of warped activity you Yanks do for fun in the States?”

Asher, who was now standing by my side, spoke up. “I don’t think this was done in good fun,” he said, frowning. “Anyone know what’s going on?”

The others shook their heads, but Asher had his gaze set on me.

“I might have an idea,” I said, causing the others to flash me surprised looks.

“Well?” Jasmine asked when I didn’t respond right away.

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk . . . freely,” I said, looking around at the crowd, which almost included the whole camp by this point.

We began to retreat from the scene of the crime and walked toward the dining hall. Our casting sessions were supposed to begin in less than five minutes, but from the looks of it, things weren’t going to be starting on time. If at all. Might as well get something to eat and maybe a little caffeine fix in the meantime.

Asher placed his hand in mine and we pulled up ahead of the others who were already chatting behind us.

“Wasn’t that where you guys met last night?” he asked, keeping his voice low so no one else could hear.

I nodded. “Yep.”

“You guys didn’t do it, did you?”

I gave him a look that told him he was being ridiculous. “You’re seriously asking me that?” He raised his hands up in surrender as a response. “Maybe if you’d been there with us, you wouldn’t have to ask.”

And maybe he should’ve been looking at his ex instead of his current girlfriend. . . .

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Had,” he said, leaning over and kissing me lightly on the cheek, a feat considering we were mid-stride. “But if there was anyone powerful enough to pull that off, it’d be you.”

“Don’t try to butter me up, Asher,” I said, but I appreciated the compliment.

“So, who’s really behind this?” he asked. “And should I be worried?”

I took a deep breath and looked over at him. “I think we’re way past worried.”