"You want what?" Even through the phone, Miranda Arlith's voice was incredulous. "Jihn, I work spells, not miracles."
Jihn's eyes narrowed on the dark and distant "New Age"
shop in the shadowed street. Courtesy of her vampire senses and her superior
eyesight, she was able to make out Miranda's slim figure slinking behind the
counter. "I'm approximately two hundred feet away. I expect the spell to
be on the counter when I walk inside."
As Miranda fumbled with the phone, Jihn heard her sorting
through the jumble of keys resting at her fingertips. "I'm not even sure I
have those keys!"
"You're a witch. I'm sure you can find a way around
that."
"It would take days to figure out which spells were
embedded in which keys. If I don't have the key, I can't get in!"
"Fifty feet."
A press of the button, and the call ended. Through the window,
Jihn saw Miranda frantically pawing through a drawer, hopefully in search of
that key. Her steps slowed to a more leisurely pace. After all, why hurry? She had
until the start of school tomorrow morning.
Jihn didn't believe in sleep.
A waste of time and energy, she thought as she slipped a key
from her pocket. She stepped onto the sidewalk softly, her footsteps less than
a whisper against the concrete. Her shadow cut through the night like a knife,
and to anyone who looked, only shadows shifted.
Grasping the key firmly in her fingers, she moved to the glass
door. Miranda was still searching, dumping things on the counter as she looked.
Jihn slid the key quietly into the lock, her eyesight reducing any fumbling a
human would have done. A bell tinkled softly over her head as she swung the
door open.
Miranda jumped, something clattering to the floor, falling from
her hand. "I found it," she said immediately.
"Good," Jihn answered, unconcerned. Turning, she shut
and bolted the door. "I was almost certain I would have to provide some
unpleasant incentive before that happened."
She smiled coldly at Miranda, even though she knew the witch
couldn't see her, then walked to counter. The smell of herbs filtered through
the air, calming, with a touch of something acrid washing underneath. Jihn
raised an eyebrow. "And what spells have you been doing?"
Miranda muttered something inarticulate, leaning down to pick up
the ring of keys she dropped. Then, her
voice loud in the quiet, she asked, "Why did I ever give you a key?"
"You owe me."
That single statement shut Miranda up, mostly because she knew
Jihn was right. She owed Jihn much more than a forbidden spell and keys to the
shop. She also knew Jihn wouldn't be asking unless it was important.
Sighing, she indicated that Jihn should follow her into the back
of the store. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
Jihn didn't say anything, easily avoiding crystal displays and
towering shelves, and strode through the door after her.
Miranda flipped on the light. "Close the door behind
you," she instructed. "You might not need the light to see, but I
do." Then she shivered, glancing warily around the cluttered room. "I
can't believe I'm doing this," she repeated.
Following her gaze, Jihn noted several crystals far larger than
any displayed outside, intricate veins of quartz dancing through them. The
smell of herbs was stronger here and wafted around unmarked packages of various
shapes and sizes set on dusty shelves. Murky greens nestled among ominous red
packets, as well as other colors Jihn didn't associate with anything pleasant.
She knew what was in those unidentified bags, because she had gotten many of
them for Miranda and her family. Their names were better left unmentioned.
Shaking, Miranda walked over to an exquisitely carved safe at
the far end of the room, like you would see in a museum. But this safe was far older
than most museums had ever seen. It had been passed from generation to
generation. Now its gold surface was nearly rubbed bare from being touched so
often.
"Jihn..." Miranda's voice broke and she cleared her
throat. "Are you sure about this?"
"Positive." Jihn's answer was firm and uncompromising.
She stared at Miranda out of steely green eyes, a color that should have been
soft and soothing. Even though Miranda knew differently, Jihn looked so young.
Hardly the dangerous type. Hardly the type to fear.
She sighed. "I'm not going to ask what you want it for, but
please be careful. This is *dangerous*."
A shrug, completely unconcerned. Jihn hid her amusement better
than any Academy award winning actress. "I think I can handle it,"
she murmured.
"I don't even know what *you'll* do with it," Miranda
snapped. "You're not even a witch!"
"That's not your concern."
"Obviously nothing is my concern," Miranda muttered
with a sigh, fitting the key into the lock. A moment and a few whispered words
later, a click, and then the door lurched open with a groan. The witch reached
inside. She withdrew a crumbling stack of spells. "These are the
reflection spells. I can't give you the original. We're going to have to copy
it."
Jihn stared back impassively. Her face was as cold and blank as
always, her silky blond hair falling around her face like a halo. She motioned
for Miranda to bring the pile over.
Gritting her teeth, Miranda did so. "Which one did you
need?" she asked, setting them carefully on one of the many shelves so she
could sort through them. She deftly separated the first from the pile.
"I have it written down," Jihn answered. She pulled
the slip of paper Tierney had given her from her pocket and handed it
carelessly to the witch.
Miranda accepted it silently, her eyes reading over the scrawled
words quickly. "Whoever wrote this has *really* messy handwriting."
She shook her head, then crumbled the piece of paper in her fist. "I can't
believe I'm doing this."
This time amusement shone brightly on Jihn's face, her eyes
lighting like leaves in the rising sun. "Then don't believe it, Miranda.
Just do it."
"I'm looking for it," the witch retorted. She sorted
rapidly through the spells, even while she was careful not to bend or rip
any. Finally, her fingers hesitated
over an age-mellowed sheet. "This is it."
She lifted it carefully, cradling it in her open hands, and
carried it away from the shelf. Weaving her way around the piles of gleaming
crystals to a small table, she laid it down. Jihn followed her only because she
didn't have anything else to do and was tired of standing in the doorway.
"Be useful," Miranda said sweetly. "Go find me
some paper. It's the least you can do when I'm likely to get in trouble for
giving you this."
Silently, Jihn turned and walked to the front of the store,
where she picked up a sale flier. Snagging a pen, she traced her way into the
back room, careful to close the door behind her. She handed it to her without a word.
"And don't stand over me."
Miranda didn't glance up as she said it. No emotion flickered
over Jihn's face, nor did her body language betray any reaction. She turned
quietly and moved to sit at the other end of the room. Not a muscle moved. She
simply sat and waited, her silence almost inhuman and just as disconcerting.
It took only a few moments to copy the spell down on the back of
what Miranda considered to be brightly colored trash. Necessary to pay the bills, the bright greens, pinks, and yellows
attracted customers to their little corner. But so little care was given to
those fliers. A frisson of premonition surged through her, so strong she almost
didn't hand it over.
"Please," she begged, "be careful with this,
Jihn. I swear, if I get caught--"
"You won't get caught," Jihn interrupted smoothly,
reaching to snatch it neatly from her hand. "Have some faith."
Her glowing green eyes met Miranda's violet steadily,
unblinking, until the witch had to look away. Jihn had steel-plated nerves and
an iron strong will, not that she let it show. Her tall, willowy body looked
fragile, too slender, and too weak. Not hinting at the strength that lay buried
in those sleekly muscled limbs. And even though there was nothing child-like in
those eyes, burning like copper chloride set to flame, they were wide and open
and endless. As with quicksand, it was hard to tell their depths.
She kept her delicate features emotionless, the faint rosy flush
perpetually brushing over her golden skin lending to the impression of
inadequacy. She looked a mere seventeen and just as helpless.
And Jihn knew the worst part was the way she used it to her
advantage.
"I don't think you realize how important this is."
Miranda, despite what seemed to be a conscious effort, was shaking. "We're not allowed to change time to
alter the present, even in ways as miniscule as this spell. It alters people's
*thinking*."
Shrugging, Jihn glanced down at the paper casually, then tucked
it into her pocket. As always, her face rested impassive under the witch's
worried scrutiny. "Thank you, Miranda," she said politely, then
deliberately turned her back.
She felt the witch's eyes on her as walked to the door,
unlocking it long enough to slip through, then securing it from the outside.
Satisfaction flooded through her like a raging river down a streambed. That had
been almost too easy. A moment's curiosity drenched her mind before she shoved
it aside. What Tierney wanted from the spell was her business, and it would
stay that way.
***
Tierney didn't see Raquel the next day until after her second
class, English with Mrs. Harington. Luckily, Tierney was in the Honors section,
taking early American literature, and Mrs. Harington hadn't assigned them any
essays on "obscure English words," as Raquel had quite eloquently put
it. Instead, she'd gifted them with sixty pages of Thoreau to read.
It wasn't worth the effort to complain and Tierney didn't mind
anyway. The assigned reading had taken her mind off her soulmate and the spell
Jihn had promised to get.
"I hate science," Raquel grumbled as Tierney got to
her locker. "Why do I need to know about meiosis? How will it effect my
daily life?"
"You'd be surprised," Tierney laughed, yanking her
locker open. Unlike her purse and unlike her room, her locker was immaculate,
all the books neatly categorized and notebooks neatly stacked. Placing her
English books carefully into the correct place, she straightened and slammed
the locker shut. "Ready for art?"
Raquel brightened. "Nothing is more fulfilling than making
my stick figures look authentic."
Groaning, Tierney replied, "There has to be something that
you're good at or that you like. Why don't you at least make an effort in art?
You might find you enjoy it."
"It's more fun to antagonize Mrs. Obry." Raquel shut
her own locker, falling into step beside Tierney. The trip to the art room was
short, which was the standing reason that Raquel made it to class without fail.
Usually, she was even on time.
Tierney followed her through the door. The art room was her
least favorite place in the entire school. English, science, math, languages...
No problem. But put a pencil in her hand and ask her to draw a tree and it
would probably end up looking like a poorly drawn horse. Art was definitely
*not* her forté. In fact, it probably couldn't even be considered one of her
weaker skills.
Her artistic talent was simply nonexistent.
They sat down at the wide, scarred tables in their usual seats,
across from the window. Raquel liked to watch the guys' gym class; Tierney
liked to daydream. Neither activity was conducive to Mrs. Obry's expectations.
"Oh, look how cute they are sitting there together!"
someone exclaimed.
"Let's get them a box of crayons so they can start their
latest art project," came the mocking reply. "I hear two-year-old
just love that."
Gritting her teeth, Tierney promised herself she wouldn't rise
to the bait. She'd been more than dismayed to find she had art with both
Lindsay *and* Meera at the start of the semester and had been enduring their
barbs since then.
Raquel opened her mouth to snap back what Tierney suspected was
a nasty reply, yelping when she kicked her under the table. "What was that
for?" she hissed. She leaned down to rub her jean-clad shin.
"What do you think?" Tierney snapped back.
She wrinkled her nose. The smell of turpentine was absolutely
putrid and seemed to be billowing about the room in abundance. Apparently, the
case before them had been experimenting with oil paints, a logical assumption
due to the smell drifting through the room and the canvasses that were set
carefully against the back wall.
Still glaring, Raquel followed the direction of her gaze.
"I hope she doesn't make us do something that requires talent," she
muttered.
Malicious laughter drifted from in front of them. Lindsay
slapped two canvasses down on the table. "Don't worry," she
practically purred, "Mrs. Obry gave me express orders not to let you two
have anything but finger-paint."
"Oh, good," Raquel shot back before Tierney could stop
her, "I was wondering if there was some way we could improve your
face."
Lindsay sneered, but couldn't seem to come up with an
appropriate response. She flounced away with the sneer still plastered on her
features.
Noticing the disapproving look on Tierney's face, Raquel rolled
her eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that. At least I didn't tell her that
putting a plastic bag over her head would improve it even more."
"I wish we could play with finger-paint," Tierney
answered, ignoring Raquel's final comment. "It would be more fun than
whatever torture Obry has planned for today."
They watched as the woman strode over to them, her hands full of
various art supplies. Seeing the obstinate expression Raquel's face, she looked
merely resigned. She stopped at their table.
"Acrylics," she announced dryly, setting down a
handful of paints. "I trust you'll find something inartistic to do with
them, but please, try to aim for the canvas, Raquel."
"Can it be abstract?" Tierney pleaded, already
dreading this exercise. She picked up a wide, flat paintbrush, helplessness
already spiraling through her.
Mrs. Obry's expression softened. She seemed to like Tierney
because she actually tried, despite her complete lack of skill. "Let me
get you another piece of canvas so you can practice mixing colors. Abstract is
fine."
"I don't know why she likes you," Raquel muttered,
watching as she walked to the front of the cluttered classroom, dodging pottery
and sculptures along the way.
Tarps spilled over the floor, their smoky translucent surfaces
splattered with paint and dried clay. They glistened in the light. Mrs. Obry
avoided them easily, even as the drafty air caused them to flutter and sprawl
along the thin slice of open floor. The misshapen sculptures and too long pieces
of rough material made the obstacle course that much more interesting.
She came back with not one but two pieces of canvas board.
"Surprise me, Raquel," she said, handing one to her. "Give me a
reason not to fail you."
"Oh, I can do that without drawing a thing," Raquel
answered cheerfully. "If I pass, you won't have to see me next year."
"That's almost enough incentive to give you an A,"
they heard her mutter as she shook her head and walked away.
Cheerful now -- Tierney could only assume she was happy she'd
managed to ruin the teacher's day -- Raquel reached for a tube of paint.
"What do you think will happen if I mix cerulean with tangerine?"
"Something interesting?" Tierney offered. She picked
up another paintbrush, wondering desperately which one she should use. Did the
shape of the brush make a difference? And wasn't there something you were
supposed to do before you dipped it in paint?
Mrs. Obry clapped her hands, now standing at the front of the
classroom. Or at the back, depending on how you looked at it. She wore
disapproval like a black cloud of impending gloom and pinned one of the guys
with a piercing stare. The class gave
her full attention, as they knew better than to ignore her. Mrs. Obry could be
formidable when crossed.
"At the beginning of the semester, I told you the
paintbrushes needed to be wet before acrylic paint ever touched the bristles. I
gather that none of you were listening to that speech, as several of you,"
Shane Carson cringed, "have started painting without wetting the brush. If
I see anyone else making this mistake, you'll spend your afternoon learning the
proper care of your equipment."
Raquel was careful to dip her brush in water before bringing it
anywhere near paint.
Picking up a tube of cadmium yellow, Tierney uncapped it and
squeezed a small amount on a palette, following that with a drop of white. She
dipped her paintbrush in water, then began trying to mix the colors. All she
managed to do was smear the white into the yellow.
"This is hopeless," she moaned. "It dries too
fast for me to do anything but ruin it." She sighed, then tried again.
"I have papers for you to look at."
Attentively mashing globs of colors opposite to each other on
the color wheel, Raquel was making several interesting shades of brown.
"After school?"
Tierney nodded. "That works. Do you mind if Jihn comes with
us?"
Raquel's brush halted, pressing roughly against the canvas.
Suspicion lurked in her eyes. "Why would Jihn Daniels come with us? She's
not a witch, is she?"
First of all, Tierney thought, her name isn't Jihn Daniels. But
you don't need to know that just yet. Second, if you even knew about the rest
of it... She squirted quinacra violet on the palette.
"No, she's not," she admitted, "but I thought we
could all get something to eat, then you and I could go back to my house and I
could show you."
The paintbrush resumed its former path of spreading
uncomplimentary colors of paint. "I don't like Jihn."
"I know," Tierney answered dryly. "You've more
than expressed that opinion in the past. She's not so bad though, really. You
should talk to her sometime."
"What's with suddenly advocating Jihn as a decent person?
Did she bribe you or something? And if she did, what does she want with
me?"
"No bribes," Tierney lied, though it wasn't exactly a
lie, either. She *had* told Jihn she didn't want anything in return. Jihn had
merely coerced her into accepting something. "I just think she's
lonely."
Raquel laughed. "Do you think that could have anything to
do with the fact that she's a bitch? No one *wants* to talk to her."
Silently, Tierney agreed with her, but out loud she said,
"She's got the Collective being nice to her. You've got to give her
that."
"They're scared to death of her. I don't know if it
counts."
Tierney didn't know what to say to that, because it was true and
she couldn't even lie to refute it. It was almost written in stone, as much as
the Collective pretended otherwise. "Well, I just wish you would give her
a chance. What would it hurt?"
Setting down her paintbrush, Raquel held up her canvas board
thoughtfully and tilted it so it caught the light. "You know," she
answered, "you said the exact same thing about that science lecture you
made me go to about six months ago. I was sick for weeks."
"I didn't know you were allergic to the chemicals he was
using in the demonstration!"
"Neither did I," Raquel admitted. "Still, I have
this strong feeling I'm going to find out I'm allergic to Jihn, too."
She set the canvas board down, apparently ready to start
painting on her real canvas. The water she had been using to rinse off her
brush was a murky color that reminded Tierney of swamps and alligators. She
shamelessly stole Tierney's container without asking. Tierney didn't say anything.
"But if you think I should..." Raquel sighed. "I
guess there's no reason not to."
***
"Mrs. Byrd, please have Tierney Anderson report to the
office immediately."
The intercom crackled weakly, Mrs. Shumaker's voice somehow
dryer and older through a communication system that might have been considered
"advanced" fifty years ago. Those broken tones sent confusion spiral
through Tierney's mind. Why was *she* being called to the office?
From where she stood at the front of the room, Mrs. Byrd, who
was substitute teaching for the day, nodded at her. Baffled, Tierney stood,
momentarily debating whether or not to take her things. Sixth period would be
over shortly and whether or not she'd make it back was debatable. Suddenly
decisive, she gathered up her books.
As she walked past other students in the classroom, she managed
to catch snippets of snide comments from all sides. Keeping her head high, she ignored their brutal whispers.
"*I* heard she put a spell on him."
"What?!"
She could only assume they were talking about how she'd gotten
Julien to ask to her prom. And oddly, he'd been the last person on her mind.
"It's true," the first voice insisted, "she's a
devil worshipping witch. Matt swears he saw her bathing in pig's blood last
night!"
"You are *so* gullible," the second voice sneered.
"She's not a witch. She's just a freak. How would Matt know if it was
pig's blood anyway?"
Tierney continued to walk, forcing her features to remain stoic.
She knew exactly where that little rumor had come from, but refused to
acknowledge it. After all, what was the point? If she tried to deny it, the
gossip would spread faster than -- well, she would say "wildfire,"
but it had already done that. Only this time it would have the ring of truth to
it.
Edging past two empty desks, she forced herself to relax. Think
of something pleasant, like shopping for your prom dress, she thought. If
Tierney couldn't find Jihn before the end of the day, she and Raquel were going
to shop after school.
She ambled through the door into the darkened hallway, lined on
both sides with dull, sea foam green lockers. Highly reminiscent of a mental
ward, the colors in the school should have led to mass depression. The pale hue
was a calming color, but used in overabundance, anything could drive you mad.
Tierney would definitely say they'd crossed the line.
Then again, Tierney's parents only paid taxes. What did her
opinion matter?
Focusing on the white haven at the end of the hall, she went
back to wondering what the administration wanted now. If she was really
unlucky, they'd ask her to show the new boy around school. Dare. Her soulmate.
Whatever title she called him by, the punishment was still the same.
The office appeared on her left shortly, her thoughts wandering
slower than her feet against the pseudo-granite floor. Mrs. Shumaker glowered
at her through the wide picture window separating the office from the main
hallway. Nothing new there. If Mrs. Shumaker wasn't glaring, Tierney might
start to worry for her health. The woman always looked like she'd just
swallowed a porcupine.
"Can I help you?" she wheezed. Her voice had the same
grating tones as a floor sander against polished metal. Staring imperiously,
she somehow managed to look down her nose even though Tierney was standing over
her.
"You called me to the office?" A quizzical raising of
the eyebrow, coupled with the brief uncertainty as to the state of Mrs.
Shumaker's mental health. "From Mrs. Byrd's class? The one she's
substituting for today?"
If possible, Mrs. Shumaker's expression turned even more
sour. "I did no such thing."
Tierney stared at her. Maybe her concern for the secretary's
mental state wasn't so farfetched. "But I --"
Raising an eyebrow, the lady said, "Go back to class,
Tierney, and stop trying to cause trouble." She sniffed angrily, turning
her attention back to the papers in front of her.
Not sure what to say, Tierney glanced around the office twice to
make sure one of the other secretaries wasn't lurking there. No one. And Mrs.
Shumaker said she hadn't --
Shaking her head, Tierney walked out of the office. Huge windows gleamed around her, proudly
displaying a few straggling bushes in a bed of river rock. Soon they would be
in full bloom, but now they just looked dejected. Clutching her books, Tierney
silently opted between going back to her locker during the five minutes she had
left or wandering to her next class.
Her locker, she decided. While it might be interesting to go to
French unprepared, Mrs. Cavendar would likely have an apoplexy. She started
down the hall, subdued, and wondering what had just happened. If anyone was
crazy, it was definitely Mrs. Shumaker.
The thought almost made her giggle. The woman was bad enough
sane, with a humor so dry it made the Sahara desert look fertile. But, crazy...
Oh, it would be funny to see her staid business suits replaced with something a
little louder, like green and orange plaid. And she'd even match the walls.
A small smile curved her lips. Yes, that had been weird, but at
least she'd gotten out of the last ten minutes of history. Mr. Timmons might be the most boring teacher
on the face of the earth, but at least you didn't have to listen. Mrs. Byrd
liked to randomly ask questions instead of finishing her sentences.
She turned the corner, trying to remember if Mrs. Cavendar had
assigned them any homework for today. Probably. The woman just loved to grade.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice the shadow playing dimly over the scantily
lit floor. Someone yanked her into the teachers' lounge and slammed the door.
Tierney drew in a breath to scream.
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