The Zodiac Collector (6 page)

Mary sets aside her textbook and rises from the bed. “Grandmother said it was okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What're you going to do?”

“Invoke the twins.”

“Huh?”

“You don't remember chanting with Gamma when we were little, do you?”

She squares the stack of books on the bed.

“Mary?”

“I remember. Just like I remember wishing Mom would be normal.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. “We tried chanting it. Remember that?”

I exhale, expunging the hope of rekindling Mary's belief while the memory trickles in one drop at a time. It was so long ago that it doesn't seem real. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Why are you holding onto this kid stuff?” She waves her hand at the figurine, then glances at my pillow and the spellbook hiding underneath it.

“It's not kid stuff. It's real. I'll show you.”

She shakes her head, whipping her tight curls back and forth. “How?”

The only way to get her buy in is to pick something she'll go for. An idea perches on my shoulder and whispers in my ear. “I'm going to make sure we have a great birthday, without Mom interfering and ruining it.”

“With magick?”

“That's the idea.” I pull my hair into a ponytail.

“It won't work.” She sounds like Penny Archerson snarking at Katy Nelson when she tried to do a special backflip in gymnastics. Penny was right and Katy twisted her ankle on the landing.

“Yes, it will. I wasn't doing it right before, so it didn't count.” She can't argue with my foolproof logic.

“Please, don't.”

“You sound scared,” I challenge.

She folds her arms across her chest. “I'm not scared.”

“Then we can try again.”

“Don't be silly. Magick isn't real, Anne. Science and physics are.”

Funny how she doesn't remember the chants that worked. And by funny, I mean convenient. “Thanks, Professor Knowitall. You tell me how Mom knew when we tasted the ale last year at the faire? She wasn't anywhere near us and no one saw us, either.”

“So, you think she has her own Zodiac spellbook? She doesn't. She's just crazy.”

“I'm not saying that. I'm saying that there's more out there than we think. Things with no rational, logical explanation.”

“Whatever. Anybody could've seen us and then told her. Everybody knows everything around here.”

“That's small-town living for you.” I offer her the figurine. “Hold this.”

She plucks the thing from my hand and bites her bottom lip.

I spin and grab the spellbook. Standing there, in the middle of my bedroom, I flip through the pages, searching for the invocation spell. Anticipation sharpens its talons by raking them up and down my spine. The oily scent of ink mixes with the bitter leather and teases my nose. I take in a deep breath and smile. Yes, this will work.

“Ah, found it.”

“Great. Now what?”

“Now I chant it.” I set the book on the floor and gather my collection of pillar candles. So much better than tea lights. Within seconds, I have them arranged on the rug, one for each direction on the compass, like before.

“Do we really have to do this?” Mary joins me on the floor, folding her legs under her.

“Yes.” Any scientist will tell you there's no better way to prove something is real than to demonstrate it. Therefore, if Mary sees magick, then she'll have to believe it. I strike a long stick match. The tang of sulfur tickles my throat. I light each wick, calling out each name as I go:

“North, south, east, west. Earth, fire, wind, water.”

Pollux and Castor stare at us from Mary's bed. They don't like fire, even if it's from a small candle flame.

Mary fumbles with the figurine. “What's this for?”

“It's an offering to the Gemini twins. We have to invoke them first, then we can do the spell.” I blow out the match. Smoke streams from the tip in a serpentine dance.

She places the horse and knight statue between us. “Invoke? Oh, gawd.”

“It'll be okay. Take my hands and read it with me. Gamma said it'll work better that way, if we do it together.” I rest the book on my legs and extend my arms.

“Oh, all right. We'll chant, it won't work, then you can drop it so we can focus on the exam.” She leans toward the book.

We chant:

Mary squeezes my hands. Sweat slicks my palms. I swallow the growing lump in my throat. I didn't bother to ask Gamma how I'd know if the invocation worked or not.

“Is that it?” Mary asks. She's breathing fast and her forehead is wrinkled from worry.

“We have to actually chant a spell to keep our birthday plans a secret.”

She nods. “Hurry up.”

My stomach jitters. I don't have a specific spell, so I have to modify an old story Gamma told us about once. A witch had made a pact with her diary to keep her secrets. She'd messed up the wording and ended up losing her ability to speak. She could only write in the dairy, but whenever anyone tried to read what she wrote, the pages became blank—an unexpected consequence and a mistake I won't fall into. If I word things correctly, I can weave a chant allowing us to keep our birthday party a secret. It can't be too hard. Mary and I are working together, the Gemini twins are invoked, and we're not trying to change anybody. Really, we're only asking for a blessing. Nothing wrong with that.

“Anne?”

“I'm just thinking how to phrase it.”

Her gaze ricochets from me to the book and back to me again. “You're not using a spell from the book?”

“Hold on.” I search the pages and find the Secret Spell. “I'm using this one.”

She squints at me.
“O-kay.”

I chant:

“Is that really in the book?” Mary's mouth twists to the side.

“Shh. I'm personalizing it.”

She sighs.

“Close your eyes.” I continue:

“Say it with me,” I say.

“I don't remember what you said.”

I let go of her hands with a sigh, collect a notepad and pen from the desk drawer, and write down the chant. I pass the bubble-gum-scented paper to her.

She studies my quick scribblings. “Your handwriting is terrible.”

“Focus, or something will go wrong.”

She throws up her hands. “Oh, great. Now you're telling me something bad will happen.”

“Just say the spell with me.” I hold out my hands. “Three times, then we're done.”

Her hands are cold and clammy, though the room is warm.

We chant the spell:

At the end of the third round, I open my eyes and let out a long breath. “Wasn't so bad, right?”

“Yeah.” Mary nods. She rubs her hands together. “So, is that it?”

“I—”

Goosebumps erupt on my arms as the temperature suddenly plummets. Everything in our room shakes—beds, desk, chair, light fixtures. Our cell phones ring and the alarm clock buzzes. A gust of wind whips our hair into knots and sends a stack of loose papers swirling in circles. The candles blow out, throwing our room into twilight. Castor and Pollux both howl from under Mary's bed.

“Oh, crap, we did something wrong.” Mary's voice trembles with fear.

“Ack!” A paperback novel swoops toward my head. I duck. It ricochets off my mattress and slides toward Castor. He scrambles deeper under the bed. Pollux barks at him, then the book.

“Stop it, Anne!” Mary swats an airborne sweater before it wraps around her face and smothers her.

“I don't know how.” I grab her arm and drag her toward the door. “Let's get out of here!”

We huddle by the door and Mary keeps watch for random projectiles while I jiggle the handle. I twist and twist, but the thing won't turn. “It's locked!”

By now, the swirling wind, wonky electronics, and yelping dogs have fried my brain. I can't think beyond
please stop, please stop, please stop
.

“Anne? Mary? Knock off that racket! I need to concentrate.” Mom is louder than the commotion in our room. “I mean it. Don't make me come up there!”

I can't decide what is worse—a poltergeist or Mom.

I stand and put my hands up. “Castor and Pollux, hear our plea. Stop destroying our room, I beg thee!”

The chaos intensifies. The dogs go crazy. Mary starts crying.

“Castor and Pollux, shut up!” I stomp my foot.

The wind stops. Everything falls to the floor as gravity once again takes over. Our phones stop ringing. The alarm clock dies.

I smooth my tangled hair—like it's possible—and try to catch my breath. Mary is still whimpering by the door. I kneel next to her. “It's okay. It's over.”

Whatever “it” was.

“Anne,” she stares at me with a white face, “what have we done?”

Chapter Six

“
G
irls! The power's out. Did you do something?” Mom's voice is muffled, like a hoarse bleat from a tuba. The brash percussion of her heavy stomps follow, vibrating the walls. Knickknacks and lampshades tremble in terror, much like my bones.

“Oh jeez, she's coming upstairs!” I dash around the room, gathering the candles and tucking them under my bed, along with the spellbook.

A rapid series of bangs pummels the door. “Anne! Mary! Answer me!”

Mary retreats to her bed and clutches her bio notebook to her chest like a shield.

I bellyflop onto my bed and pry open my math book a half-second before Mom bursts in.

She looms over us, eyes wide and teeth bared. The dragon is awake. “Well? What have you done?”

Mary picks at a fingernail. “N-n-nothing.”

Mom props her hands on her hips. I picture a thin layer of leathery skin stretching from her shoulders to her wrists—dragon's wings. “Nothing? Nothing! How am I supposed to use my sewing machine without electricity?”

“We didn't knock the power out. We were studying,” I say.

Mom stomps farther into our room and steps on the figurine. It breaks with a sharp
crack
. She scoops it up like a bird of prey snatches a field mouse with its claws. “What's this doing on the floor?”

Mary tucks her hair behind her ears. “C-c-c…P-p-p,” she pauses, eyes darting. “The dogs were playing with it.”

Mom chucks it into the wicker trash can under the desk. “This isn't a dog toy.” She points to my pile of laundry. “Clean this up.”

I nod and try to hold my breath. Hopefully the shroud of bitter cigarette smoke surrounding Mom will prevent her from smelling the subtle—but potentially traitorous—odor of a freshly blown-out candle.

Mary glares at me while Mom storms out of the room and marches downstairs.

“What?”

“Why's the power out?”

“Dunno.”

She springs to her feet, crosses the room in a millisecond, closes the door, and leans against it. Her eyes pinch shut and her mouth puckers. Makes her look like a constipated supermodel. “It was the spell.”

“We don't know that.”

She shoves off the door and pads to my bed, pinky finger extended. “Pinky swear and cross your heart that you'll never make me do another spell
ever.”

I sit up and extend my arm in ultra-slow motion, puzzling over what could've gone wrong. We'd followed Gamma's instructions. We'd given an offering to the twins. Hooking fingers with Mary, I promise to myself that I'll figure out what happened and correct it for next time—with or without Mary's help.

“You're not planning something, are you?” She holds onto my finger as if touching me will let her identify insincerity like a lie-detector machine.

I waggle free and bend to scoop Castor up into my arms. “No way.”

“Right. I can hear the wheels turning in your skull.”

That evening, I head downstairs to fix dinner, even though it's Mary's turn. It's the least I can do, and it should be easy considering the power's out, so there won't be any actual cooking involved.

I creep downstairs, keeping an eye on Mom's studio door. A burst of curses rattles the paintings hanging in the hallway—sounds like she pricked herself with a needle. An odd assortment of sketches, dress patterns, and Dali landscapes huddle together like islands in a sea of robin's-egg-blue walls. The collection pretty much covers all of Mom's tastes. Except for the very first sword Dad forged. It marks the center of the display, as if he is claiming a piece of an otherwise Mom-dominated world. Maybe that's the type of weapon I need for a spell to work. Maybe I pissed off Castor and Pollux with my five-dollar faire trinket. Maybe they didn't like the idea I'd “re-gifted” it.