Spellcaster. Cara Shultz Lynn

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СКАЧАТЬ grimaced as if she’d just smelled something gross. I guiltily hung my head as I followed my friend down the apartment’s cheerful, yellow-painted hallway to her more dramatically decorated bedroom.

       “But then again, you seem to have that effect on me,” she added dryly, and I ducked my head a little more. Angelique had always been able to read auras, but meeting a fellow witch like me had somehow triggered her latent empath talent. Although she was still learning how to harness it, Angelique could always read me crystal clear. “It’s like your emotions are in HD,” she’d complained. That’s how I was able to help her develop her talent—I’d think of something that evoked a strong emotion, she’d guess what I was feeling. We were like a really bizarre supernatural game show—Stump the Empath.

       “How come your hair is wet?” I changed the subject, noticing that Angelique’s damp, jet-black hair was leaving little wet spots all over her oversize, comfy-looking burgundy T-shirt. She was naturally a blonde, but dyed it dark, save for the occasional colorful streak.

       “Oh, my cousin Miranda’s on spring break from college, so she came over and helped me touch up my roots,” she replied, pointing to her scalp with a charcoal-gray-painted nail. “We added a few streaks of purple and blue in.”

       Angelique loved being a witch—and she positively adored dressing the part. Her Goth attire hadn’t won her many friends at Vincent Academy, where the aesthetic was more Chanel than Charmed. But her flair for the dramatic was one of my favorite things about her. The rest of her witchy family—the ones I’d met, at least—didn’t share her darker sense of style.

       “So what are we working on today?” I asked, kicking off my beloved, but ridiculously scuffed, Mary Janes. After taking a swig from my still-cold iced tea, I sat cross-legged on Angelique’s bed, fighting the desire to just sprawl out on it and stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck all over the purple walls. She had the most comfortable bed in the world—thick feather bed topped with a black velvet comforter. It was like lying in a gigantic plush marshmallow.

       “Are we doing potions? Spells? Maybe some kind of magic to fix my witch’s block?” I asked, glaring at my backpack on the floor. Maybe Angelique’s presence can help you successfully pull off a little spell… .

      “Emoveo!” I yelled, pointing at my backpack as it sat upright in the middle of the floor. And then my jaw dropped, practically falling onto her bed as the bag slid, slowly along the linoleum—to Angelique, who had dragged it closer to where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

       She gave me an entertained look, shaking her head.

       “Did you think you moved your bag?”

       “Kinda,” I admitted, embarrassed. I started inspecting my dark nail polish so I wouldn’t have to look at her. I didn’t have to see her face to know she was frustrated with me. I could hear it in her voice.

       “You’re not concentrating nearly hard enough. Born witch or not, you’re new to this. Just shouting out spells isn’t going to work,” she said sternly, adding, “as I’ve told you about a thousand times.”

       “It did in the beginning.” I sulked, thinking of some early spells that I’d successfully pulled off. It’s probably because the spell is in Latin. And you hate Latin.

      “Well, your focus was a lot better then,” she retorted. I looked up as Angelique stood and tossed the bag on the bed next to me, adding, “And the spell is a repulsion spell. It’s meant to make something move away from you, not go sliding across the floor to you.”

       She took an oversize blue pen out of the bright yellow souvenir Florida mug on her desk and cleared a space for it on the messy surface.

       “Watch,” she instructed, turning to her desk with her eyes slitted in concentration. She held her left palm out and took a deep breath.

      “Emoveo,” she whispered, her fingers splaying out as she focused.

       My breath caught in my throat as the blue pen twitched.

      “Emoveo!” Angelique repeated more forcefully, holding her arm out straighter, locking her elbow at the joint. The pen flung backward as if someone had tugged it off the surface with an invisible string. It hit the wall before falling down behind her desk.

       She turned to me with a self-satisfied smile while my eyes were about as wide as bagels. Angelique rarely flaunted her skills just for the sake of showing off. Sure, her empath side would occasionally get slammed with someone’s mood on the subway—and she’d elbow me with a whispered “They totally just did it” and nod toward two people sharing shy glances—but generally, Angelique thought it was an abuse of the craft to just show off.

       “Have you always been able to do that?” I asked, awed at her display.

       “Of course not. I wanted to show you what a little practice can do,” she said, her voice dripping with a “nyah-nyah-nyah-I-told-you-so” tone.

       “Message received.” I bowed slightly to her. “I’ll practice on focusing my emotions more.”

       “Good,” she replied, a big grin on her face. “Remember, dabbling with witchcraft is like playing with guns. It’s dangerous. Besides, the more you practice, the more quickly you should be able to find your emotional center. It’s something you have to feel out…it’s not really a tangible thing. Once you can access that emotional place, your spells will come together more, um—” her eyes darted to the burn mark in her rug “—effectively. Which is why I asked you to bring the dress. Did you?”

       I nodded, digging in my backpack and pulling out the item she had asked me to pack—the black tulle dress I’d worn to the dance where Anthony had attacked me. I didn’t know why I’d even saved it. It was ripped and dirty, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out. I felt like I needed a reminder—like I couldn’t get too comfortable with my current, blissful situation. So it had spent the past few months tied in a plastic bag in the back of my closet.

       “Well, considering our last couple of potions haven’t gone so well,” Angelique began, cautiously eyeing the burn again, “I was thinking we should go back to the basics.”

       “What do you mean?” I asked, not looking directly at the dress as she inspected the tulle and satiny liner.

       “Well, your most effective spells were, um, ones that happened when your emotions were running very high. And since you’re so happy these days, you’re having a little trouble finding your center to do these spells, so I had an idea…” Angelique trailed off. I had a sinking feeling that I knew where she was going with this.

       That night on the rocks, I was able to somehow summon my brother’s spirit to help me pull Brendan to safety as he dangled more than one hundred feet above Turtle Pond. Thinking about my brother, and how I felt like I lost him twice—Angelique knew the kind of pain that caused me. And there was no way I was going to reach out to his spirit, especially if he was finally at peace.

       “No,” I interrupted. “I don’t want to disturb Ethan or do anything like that.”

       “I don’t mean…summoning spirits,” Angelique said, raising her palms. “The spell I have in mind, you need for this to work. I’m hoping this dress will just be a prop to remind you, kind of a shortcut to take you to back to that emotional place.”

       “So this dress is my GPS system?”

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