The Witch is Back

Chapter Twenty-One




I must have gone momentarily deaf, because I could’ve sworn that Asher just said that Brooklyn was with him the night before.

“Huh?” I asked blankly.

“Had, don’t freak out, okay?” Asher said, placing his hand in mine. I let him do it, but I didn’t return his reassuring squeeze. In fact, I barely felt him touching me as the truth of what he said sunk in.

“I won’t freak out, because it can’t be true,” I said finally, my voice not sounding like my own. “You couldn’t have been with her, Asher, because you already had plans with Hudson and Dane. Wasn’t that the reason you couldn’t meet the rest of your coven last night?”

“Mmmm, Dane,” Sascha cooed dreamily. “Crikey! Where is my cute Aussie tonight, anyway?”

“You realize they don’t actually say that over in Australia, right?” Jasmine said.

I ignored both of them, staring at Asher as I waited for him to answer me. But he didn’t. It was like we were in some sort of standoff, both waiting for the other to draw their gun first.

“Yes they do,” Sascha insisted. “The Crocodile Dundee said it all the time.”

Jasmine looked up at the ceiling and sighed loudly. “Well, if you saw it on TV then it must be true,” she said. “In fact, you should definitely ask Dane about it the next time you see him. I’m sure he’d love to hear you speak his native language.”

“You think?” Sascha asked, smiling like she was already considering it.

“Look, I did have plans with the guys last night—” Asher finally said to me.

“Glad we cleared that up,” I said.

“—but when we were done, Brooklyn and Eve came by,” he said.

“Why would they think it was okay to drop by your room so late at night? Or at all?” I asked, growing angrier as I pictured them prancing around in their pajamas.

“It wasn’t a big deal, Had. Honest,” he said. “Brooklyn said it was Eve’s idea—I think she likes one of the guys or something—”

“It better not be Dane,” Sascha chimed in, her eyes narrowing into slits.

“—so, I figured it was as good a time as any to clear things up with her. You know, make things right after what happened?” Asher’s eyes pleaded with me not to make him go into details in front of the other Cleri members.

“And you just had to do it in your bedroom?” I asked.

He looked around the table for help, but no one was going to save him from my wrath. Especially since he was currently surrounded by girls. Looking deflated, he turned back to me again.

“Clearly, talking to Brooklyn in my room—even though it’s not like we were alone or anything—was a bad idea. I can see that now,” he said carefully, trying to lighten the mood. I didn’t think it was funny. “Next time I’ll make sure we hang out in neutral territory.”

“Yeah. Somewhere there isn’t a bed, genius,” Jasmine said, snickering.

“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “No. There isn’t going to be a next time, Asher. That was it. You explained things to her, you guys had your closure, there’s no reason the two of you need to hang out ever again.”

Asher wasn’t a dumb guy. So why was he saying such stupid things? Beyond that, why did he even want to spend time with Brooklyn at all? It was clear that Asher and I connected on a deeper level; and I had no doubt that Asher loved me. That was a truth that I felt in my heart.

Still, Brooklyn had powers that I didn’t. Here was a girl who could make people fall for her. Whether they wanted to or not.

“Had, you know that I love you. And I’d do anything to make you happy. But I can’t promise you I’ll never talk to her again,” he said to me gently.

It was like a shot through my heart and for a few seconds I didn’t know what to say. I stood up to leave—forgetting that it was my own room—but Asher gripped my hand harder to keep me from escaping.

“I have roommates,” he explained. “If they want to invite Brooklyn over, I can’t do anything about it. And with Eve on the scene . . . well, she’ll probably be back. Which means Brooklyn might tag along. Besides, we’re all sort of stuck here, babe. It’s not exactly a big campus and I can’t just start ignoring her. Especially since I’m trying to do the right thing this time around.”

His explanation made sense, but I still didn’t like knowing that there wasn’t a whole lot I could do to keep the two of them apart. I wanted Asher to offer to leave the room if Brooklyn came to “hang out” again, but the gesture never came.

“Fine,” I said, feeling totally over the conversation.

I freed my hand from his and scooted over the back of the couch, escaping to my bed. Pulling my legs up onto the bedspread, I looked out the window as it raised up into the air and away from Asher and the others.

The rest of the Cleri realized this was their hint to leave and I didn’t have to watch them to know they were heading toward the door. A few seconds later, I heard it open and feet shuffling out.


“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Asher said quietly. There was a sadness in his voice, but I felt too betrayed to care. So I just mumbled something incoherent and lay down until the last of them were gone.



I stayed there like that, even after Abby and Colette had left for dinner, just staring out the window. When I finally snapped out of it, I came up with a new game plan. One that redirected my focus from Brooklyn and back onto the people I actually cared about.

Even if they didn’t seem to care about me at the moment.

I immediately got to work on creating the perfume for Jinx. Her emotional health was more important than any squabble—no matter how big. Besides, I’d nearly died getting all the ingredients and I was damned if I was going to let them go to waste now.

So, with a new fire ignited inside me, I started on the potion, first conjuring up an empty glass bottle that would work perfectly as a perfume dispenser. It was pretty. Big and round with cuts in the glass like a mini-disco-ball. In the light it even shone a little like one. I was sure Jinx would love it. Any girl would. Well, maybe not Jasmine, but she was sort of in a (dark) league of her own.

I ran my fingers over the pages of the book that now rested on my comforter in front of me. Following the strokes of the pen on the page I was currently turned to, I couldn’t help but smile.

My family magic book always had that effect on me.

At first I’d wondered if it was stupid for me to take such a priceless family heirloom to a camp where the potential for someone to get their hands on it was higher than at home. But the truth was: I felt safer with it on me. Even if I had to hide it whenever I was away from it.

And by hide, I mean morph it into something else entirely, so that no one would be tempted to steal it or read the private spells located within its pages. A day of research and a simple spell later, I had successfully glamoured the giant hardback book into a distressed copy of The Catcher in the Rye. I figured it was a safe alternative, considering it was highly unlikely that anyone our age would pick up the classic for a light read. Even Abby thought it was a little too much emo-whining for her.

So, after switching Salinger back into my beloved Book o’ Spells, I spread out all the flowers and herbs that I’d collected from the woods. Whites, purples, yellows, greens, blues—the petals were all so vibrant and beautiful, it was almost a shame I’d have to crush most of what was in front of me.

Earlier, I’d snagged some food and borrowed a small container of olive oil from the dining hall. The kitchen staff hadn’t asked me why I’d wanted it, just handed the bottle over. And true, regular old olive oil had a stronger base smell to it than grapeseed oil, but ultimately it wouldn’t interfere with the other scents I’d be infusing the oil with. And in a pinch, beggars can’t be choosers.

I began pulling the petals from each of the flowers, placing them along with some of the roots into a bowl like the ones people used to make guacamole in restaurants. Luckily, this had been another item we’d had on campus—both in the dining hall and in the magic-supply closet, which was kept downstairs. The mortar and pestle were actually items typically found in any magicking household, so they were pretty easy to come by.

Civilians registered for plates and Crock-Pots. We witches asked for equipment to make our potions in. What are you going to do?

When I was done plucking the flowers, I took the pestle and began to crush the petals inside the bowl. Immediately all sorts of sweet smells filled the room. It was like being in a flower shop, only better, since I was squeezing out all the oils that were inside the flowers and letting their essences permeate the air. It was only through destroying the flowers that the power inside them would truly be unleashed. The outer smell of a flower faded fast, but the essence . . . the essence lasted much longer.

When I was done, the mulch in front of me wasn’t anything to look at, but the smell was delicious and once added to the oil it became more than just a fragrance. It was the answer to Jinx’s problems.

Or it would be soon, I hoped.

I carefully pushed the crushed-up mush through the opening of the bottle and watched as it hit the oil below and then floated in chunks near the surface. When I’d placed enough in there to fill the entire container, I closed up the top and looked at it objectively. It didn’t look as pretty or professional as one of my mom’s but it would do the trick.

“Now, for the icing on the cake,” I said to myself, placing the bottle on the right page of my book, while reading the one on the left.

Shortly after taking my family’s spell book home from our cabin, I’d begun to add other spells to it. Ones that my mom had used on a regular basis—including her perfuming spell—as well as others I’d created and ones Dad favored. I’d even gone as far as to rack my brain for spells that Grammy casted when I visited her as a child.

So now, along with Bridget Bishop’s original spells and those of her daughter Christian, there were whole generations of our family’s magic written between the covers of the book. It was really cool to see that much history—and power—in one place.

Reading the spell once more to myself, I picked up the bottle and took a few deep, cleansing breaths to prepare myself for the casting. My heartbeat began to slow and my brain quieted.

Clear mind, clear cast.

Recalling my mom’s favorite saying, I finally felt ready to say the words to her perfuming spell for the first time since she’d died. I cupped the bottle like a precious jewel. My voice came out strong and purposeful.

Gifts from stone, herb, root, and flower,

Infuse the wearer with thy power.

Take her desires and make them true,

From you to her, let her start anew.

As I finished the spell, the contents began to swirl around, and the light tingling sensation in my hands told me that it was working. Smiling, I snapped the family book shut and peered through the glass at my first unassisted perfuming. It looked like it should and it certainly smelled good. A bit strong, but better that than weak.

I thought about rubbing some of the oil onto myself to see if it worked but was reminded of the fact that I’d been concentrating on Jinx when I’d said the spell, making her the focus of its energies. It wouldn’t have the same effect on anyone else.

I’d just have to wait to see if it worked once Jinx was wearing it.

As I finished up, Colette walked through the door, followed by Abby and Jinx. Colette looked lost in her own thoughts, but bounced a bit with every step, and the other two spoke softly to each other as they crossed the room and sat down on the circular couch. Saying the words to the spell that would switch my family’s book back to The Catcher in the Rye, I eyeballed the flowery mess on my comforter and decided to clean up later. Right now I was more interested in hearing what Abby and Jinx were talking about.

I had to settle for catching bits and pieces of their conversation, since their voices were so low. Of course, doing so was more like playing a messed-up game of Mad Libs. One where I was required to fill in the bulk of the story.

“. . . impossible to sleep,” Abby said.

“. . . talked to Fallon—” This part was from Jinx.

Abby shook her head and then waited patiently as Jinx continued whatever she was saying.

“Nothing’s working,” Abby said, just loudly enough for me to actually hear her.

“Try doing a spell, maybe?” Jinx said, biting her lower lip as she thought about it. “On second thought—that hasn’t really worked for me lately, either. . . .” Her sentence trailed off.


Which was my cue.

I threw my legs over the side of my bed and waited patiently as the mattress lowered and my heels touched the floor again. Once I was vertical, I walked over to the girls and handed Jinx the bottle.

“What’s this?” she asked, warily.

“It’s a present,” I said softly. “Look, I know I’ve sort of been crazy lately and things haven’t been easy for you . . . so, I made you this perfume with the flowers I got out in the woods today. I thought it might cheer you up.”

I could tell she was genuinely surprised by the gesture and looked over at Abby quickly before taking the bottle from me. Abby’s face remained stony, but she didn’t tell her not to accept it.

“Er, thanks Hadley,” Jinx said, perplexed. “That was really nice of you.”

“It’s no problem, really,” I said, trying to make it sound like that was true. “I just hope you like it.”

Removing the stopper, Jinx touched her finger gingerly to the oil and then hesitated slightly before spreading it onto her neck and wrist. It didn’t take long for the smells to fill the room. And even before she’d closed the bottle back up, I could have sworn she seemed different.