Spellcaster. Cara Shultz Lynn

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СКАЧАТЬ in Central Park with Anthony.

       “I don’t want to take any chances. The spell I have in mind, you need to do.”

       Her ominous tone sent shivers through my body, and I nervously began tugging on the row of small silver hoops in my earlobe as she pulled a large boot box from underneath her bed. She plopped it next to me, the weight of the box causing the comforter to pillow and plump on the sides. Angelique lifted the lid to reveal the worn, intricately carved leather cover of Hadrian’s Medieval Legends, nestled among some tissue paper and small jars filled with herbs.

       “You still have it? I thought your mom had to return it!” I exclaimed, staring at the book in awe. It was in that old book that I had learned about the ancient curse that bound my soul to Brendan’s—and doomed me. It was also where we figured out that we had broken the curse—but our story shared space with tales about dragons, demons and witches. And those weren’t real…well, except for the witch part.

       “She’s a little scatterbrained, as you know, and forgot that I even have it,” Angelique confessed. “She’ll remember when the school asks for it.” Angelique’s mom, Dr. Evelyn Tedt, was a professor of Medieval Studies at Fordham University, and one of the brightest minds in her field. She could tell you the date an illuminated manuscript was created just by inspecting the scrollwork in the border. But where Angelique had a photographic memory, Dr. Tedt couldn’t remember to put the milk back in the fridge. It had caused many an unpleasant surprise when Angelique and I tried to have cereal.

       “Won’t you get into trouble with your mom? That book is ancient, I thought!”

       “Not ancient. Just an antique. It’s from the late 1800s.” Angelique shrugged casually, as if the book was merely an old magazine.

       “Still, Angelique—she’s going to kill you when she finds out.”

       “I don’t care. I’m glad I kept it. Especially since I can tell you’re feeling a dozen emotions looking at it—that bodes well for the spell,” she added wisely.

       “A dozen emotions might be an understatement,” I mumbled, my eyes still riveted on the book. “So what’s this spell that’s so important that I had to have props?” I held up the dress and shook it toward Hadrian’s.

       “I’ve been feeling…I don’t know how to describe it. Almost like I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack at all times,” she said, getting that faraway look she always got when she explained what it’s like for her to read emotions and people. “You know when you’re watching a horror movie, and you’re waiting for the killer to pop out? And the music is building? Well, I feel like the music is building. And it’s getting louder and louder, but the killer hasn’t popped out yet.”

       She rubbed her ear, as if she were trying to shake the ominous sound out. “I just feel very unsettled. The last time I was anxious like this…” she paused to look up at me, and when she continued, her voice was very low “…it was right before the winter formal. But I just thought I was feeling sick because of the flu—I’d never felt like this before,” she explained quickly. “How was I supposed to know I was sensing any kind of danger? I don’t know if this is an empath thing, or just me being in tune with the universe, but I figured I’d better pay attention.”

       “You had the same feeling back then?” I whispered, and Angelique nodded, curling a finger around a drying lock of Tiffany-blue hair. “When I put two and two together—I had the same creepy feeling back then. I’d hate to think I was ignoring some kind of warning now, too.”

       Angelique flopped on her bed, next to Hadrian’s Medieval Legends.

       “There’s a lot in here,” Angelique confessed, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. “I’m not even halfway through it. The way it’s written isn’t consistent. Even the setting of the stories change—one’s in the 1800s, another’s medieval. But there are enough stories in here that make me feel like, well, my anxiety has to do with you, obviously.” She dropped the pages and looked at me seriously.

       “Emma, someone with the amount of mystical energy you have needs to be a little more careful. And I’m not just talking about Anthony.”

       Angelique was not one for any kind of emotional displays—the last time she hugged someone it was probably to give them the Heimlich maneuver—so what she said next floored me.

       “Besides, Em, you’re important to me. You don’t know how nice it’s been to have someone I can talk to about this stuff. I haven’t had a witch as a friend in a really long time. Not since freshman year.” She twisted the piles of silver rings on her fingers as she spoke.

       “Aww, Angelique,” I murmured, pausing my show of affection when she glared at me. I quickly changed the subject. “What do you mean you don’t have anyone to talk to? What about your mom and Miranda and the rest of your family?”

       “My mom’s different—I mean, she’s my mom. I can’t talk to her about any spell that she might consider too dangerous, because then she goes all über-momwitch on me,” Angelique complained, studying the hem of her shirt. “I can sometimes talk to Miranda, but she likes to remind me all the time that she’s four years older and soo much more experienced. It’s annoying. ‘I was doing divination with stones while you were still playing with Barbies.’” Angelique affected a high-pitched, nasal voice as she mimicked her cousin’s conceited way of talking.

       “You played with Barbies?” I asked, awed. I’d have been less surprised if she told me she played with live grenades. Angelique just gave me a withering look and I shut my mouth.

       “Anyway, I had one friend that I could do spells with and talk to about the supernatural, and that didn’t end so well.”

       “What do you mean?”

       Angelique fidgeted uncomfortably. “She was always a little—how can I put this?—dark. But then, some guy she liked totally used her. We got into a fight because I refused to help her do a love spell on him. She ended up transferring out after freshman year.” She paused, giving me a tight-lipped, grim smile. “It really, really just sucked losing someone I could relate to—over some lame guy, of all things.”

       “Who’s the guy? From Vince A?” Not that I was surprised. You’d think they put pheromones in the water fountains, the hump-tastic way people carried on at that place.

       “Not important. Besides, he’s pretty much gone,” Angelique said dismissively. “Anyway, I really don’t want to lose you, too—to something worse than some guy. And bonus points, you’re not already a little unbalanced like she was. So let’s just make sure you’re safe.”

       “Aw, Angelique…” I began, but she returned to her brisk, businesslike demeanor, grabbing the dress from me and returning to her place on the floor.

       “Do you care if I rip a piece off the dress?” she asked. As I was about to give her permission—the thing looked like it’d been through a blender, anyway—she ripped the satin liner from underneath the dress, laying it on the already destroyed throw rug and motioned for me to join her on the floor.

       As I sat down, she busied herself, pulling out some candles and a small, round marble canister from her desk drawer.

       “What we’re going to do is find out if you’re in any kind of danger, or if there’s anything you need to be watching out for. Some of the stories I’ve read in the book, well, let’s just say that true love СКАЧАТЬ