Under a Spell

Chapter Eleven

The high-pitched, hysterical laugh that came out of my mouth echoed through the empty hallway.

“That’s funny to you?”

“No.” My heart thumped in my throat. “Gretchen Von Dow—we were at Mercy at the same time. She didn’t go missing though. I’m sure of it. Nina and I looked it up just last night. She wasn’t missing. Unless—unless it was far after high school.”

“Clothing with the Mercy logo was dumped in the makeshift grave. How are you so sure that she didn’t disappear when she was in high school?”

I licked my lips, confidence welling up inside me. “Because she was a foreign exchange student. From Hamburg, Germany. She went back during our junior year. It’s in my yearbook. ‘We’ll miss you, Gretchen,’ etcetera. Did someone try to locate her in Hamburg?”

There was a beat of pregnant silence on Will’s end of the phone. “I think you may have gotten some bad information, Soph.”

“No, no.” I started to tremble, started to need to be able to explain to Will. “It’s in the yearbook. Gretchen Von Dow was a foreign exchange student. If something happened to her while we were in high school, I would have known. I would have.”

I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince Will or myself.

“Sophie,” Will tried again.

“No,” I said, wagging my head. “Gretchen Von Dow left during our junior year. Legitimately. She was a foreign exchange student.”

I could hear Will’s fingers flying over a keyboard. “Open your iPad.”

I paused, then slowly pulled the iPad from my bag and flipped it open. “Okay.”

“Gretchen was a foreign exchange student?”

I nodded as though Will could see me. “You know, they come here, we go to their country. An exchange. For foreigners.”

“Look, I know you people consider San Francisco its own planet or whatever, but I’m pretty sure the school system would step in and disallow exchange students from San Mateo.”

“What?”

“I’m sending you the information now.”

I forced myself to look at the text populating my page.

Gretchen was born in San Mateo County and lived there until she disappeared.

I swiped the screen and frowned down at the birth certificate that flashed on my screen.

“She went back to Hamburg,” I mumbled.

“Gretchen Von Dow went missing the August before her junior year in high school.” I imagined Will scanning the screen, the black words reflected in his hazel eyes. “There were no leads, no witnesses. She was filed as a possible runaway.”

My legs went to jelly and I slid down the lockers, my butt hitting the floor, hard. “I can’t believe this. How did we not know she went missing?”

“Apparently, because you thought she was a foreign exchange student.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what all of us at Mercy thought, but, but, a kid missing. That would have been in the paper, right? That would have been big news.” I bit my lip. “Right?”

The keyboard clacked again on Will’s end of the phone. “Open those,” he commanded.

There was a little plink! then a message from Will. I opened it and files started popping up all over my screen.

“These are the local papers from the day after Gretchen was reported missing.”

I scanned one after the other, a vague recollection of headlines blaring news about a Black Friday movement, the parks in peril. “There’s nothing here.”

I began clicking through page after page of the paper, getting further and further away from blaring headlines and moving closer to the not-as-noteworthy news.

“Here!” I said, strangely triumphant. “The police blotter.”

“‘Sixteen-year-old high school student Gretchen Von Dow was reported missing by parents Lola and Howard Von Dow after failing to return home from school Thursday afternoon. Police are investigating .’”

My stomach turned in on itself. “That’s it? That’s all there is?” I yanked the article down the screen and maniacally scanned for something else, something with more meat on Gretchen and her disappearance. “There isn’t even a photo. Or a ‘she went missing from here.’ Didn’t anyone care?”

I could hear the crack in my voice, could feel the hot sting of tears behind my eyes. “Didn’t anyone look for her?”

Will’s voice was soft. “I’m sure someone looked for her, love.”

“But—but—” I flopped the cover back on my iPad. “No one did anything. And I—I didn’t even know her. I didn’t even know she went missing. None of us did.”

“It’s not your fault, love,” Will was saying, his voice soothing. “You were just a kid.”

“And I was totally wrapped up in my own stupid issues. I was giving myself home perms and crying over the Backstreet Boys while my classmate was snatched. Probably hidden away somewhere. Tortured. Words carved into her flesh.” The image of Cathy’s ravaged body flashed in front of my eyes and I heaved.

“You need to relax. You couldn’t have done anything even then. You thought she was a foreign exchange student.”

I suddenly stopped crying and used the back of my hand to swipe at my wet cheeks. “Yeah. I did.” I pinched my bottom lip. “Why did I think that?”

“What do you mean?”

I slumped back against the locker. “Well, why would I just assume—I mean, we had foreign exchange students, but Gretchen—” I squinted, remembering. “She didn’t look all that foreign.”

“Maybe she told you she was from a different county. I used to tell birds I was Australian. Upped the mystique. Every girl wants to bed a bloke from Oz.”

“No.” I shook my head, using my fingernail to trace a line of grout. “I was social napalm. No one told me anything. At least not directly. And you’re disgusting.” I sighed. “Maybe it was just a rumor.”

“Who would start a rumor that a girl who had gone missing was actually just a foreign exchange student on her way back to the mother country?”

I bit my lip. “The person who made her disappear.”

At that moment, the bell rang. I pushed myself up from the linoleum as students flooded out of their classrooms, the bell soon drowned out by the flurry of conversation and the general din of movement.

“A bunch of bodies,” I heard someone say.

“Bones, like, thousands of them,” someone else whispered.

“Hey, Ms. Lawson!”

I looked up from the sea of navy blue to see Miranda, arm raised, a wide grin on her face. I took one step closer to her and then she was gone, girls closing over the small hole she made in the crowd.

“Miranda?”

“I think she needed to sit for a spell.” Fallon’s lips were right at my ear, her voice serpentine, like a black snake winding its way into my brain.

Just as I was about to respond Fallon was washed down the hall, too, the only remainder of her a high-pitched giggle mingled with Finleigh and Kayleigh’s.

“Miranda!” I yelled, pushing my way through the crowd. “Miranda!”

Miranda was on her butt on the ground—just as I had been—and probably with the same dumbfounded expression. Her books were strewn around her and I crouched down hurriedly, gathering her things, feeling every bit like I was stepping back into my own high school life.

Miranda pushed herself up, her cheeks blazing red. “Thanks, Ms. Lawson,” she said, taking the books I held out to her.

I smiled. “You can call me Sophie. I’m not working here anymore.”

Miranda’s face fell. “You’re not?”

“No. I’m needed elsewhere.” I sounded like a dumb superhero, but Miranda didn’t seem to notice. “Did Fallon just shove you?”

“No. No, I just tripped. I’m clumsy.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I was clumsy in high school, too. You don’t have to take that, Miranda. Bullying is a crime. Or, you know, a lot of what bullying has become is. You can talk to me.”

Miranda took a step away from me, a cold front going up. “I’m fine. I can take care of myself. But thank you for the public service announcement.” She whipped around and ducked into a classroom.

I sighed, and turned just in time to see the swarm of girls parting like the Red Sea, their voices dropping away until only silence remained.

And then I knew why.

Framed in the open doorway and against the mid-day fog was Vlad. His eyes scanned the crowd and he licked his lips, a tiny triangle of blood-red tongue running across them. As gross as it was, he was stunning against the gray backdrop, his usually helmeted hair slightly mussed by the wind outside, his thick, deep navy peacoat buttoned up over what I was certain was an unattractive Dracula-style puffy shirt. I saw his dark eyes scan over the sea of ardent adorers before he caught mine.

The door snapped shut behind him, and it was like every girl had been released from her silent trap. The murmuring started and reached nearly deafening levels immediately, ponytailed heads snapping between Vlad and the girl he may have been looking at, a plethora of whispers of “how’s my hair?” and a Sephora’s worth of lip gloss being whipped out and applied.

“Sophie!” Vlad’s deep voice cut through the crowd and all was silent again, though every mouth was open, every eye fixated on me, every onlooker completely floored that he was looking for me.

If he hadn’t been Vlad—my manager, my roommate, Nina’s BloodLust-playing teen nephew—I would have kept up the mystique, let the girls ogle me in wonder while I rewrote what never happened in my high school past. But it was Vlad and I was miffed.

“What are you doing here?”

Vlad edged his way through the girls and I held my breath, half-expecting a series of fainting spells as he made contact with the girls.

I bent my head when he approached me and pinched my lips together, trying to talk as discreetly as possible. “You better not be using a glamour.”

Vlad grinned at me. “That’s the funny thing. I’m not.”

I rolled my eyes and cocked out a hip. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, but Lorraine said I should give you this.”

He held out a royal-blue velvet shoulder bag. I wrinkled my nose. “I already have a purse.”

“It’s not the purse. She wanted you to have what’s inside.”

I frowned, then popped open the purse. I immediately snapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, what is that?”

Vlad just shrugged and tossed some senior one of those “how you doin’?” head bobs.

The smell that was coming from the innocuous-looking bag was noxious to say the least. Kind of like a cross between Steve’s socks and flaming garbage.

“She said you need it for protection.”

“From what?” I pulled the bag shut. “From anyone with nostrils in a forty-five-mile radius? And why does she suddenly think I need protection?”

“I don’t know.” Another head nod as the girls went back to normal motion—although the majority of them seemed to find one reason or another to brush their breasts up against Vlad. “She said you put something on her desk and there was something dangerous in it or something.”

I gaped. “She said there was something dangerous in the photos or something? What was dangerous, Vlad?”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember. Something. What’d you put in the photos?”

“There was a picture of Battery Townsley, a picture taken here at the school, a receipt—”

“I definitely remember that she didn’t say anything about a receipt.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great.”

“And I’m doing you a favor bringing this here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re doing me a favor?”

Vlad nodded.

“Out of the goodness of your black heart?”

Vlad’s eyes narrowed.

“And you got nothing out of it. Nothing except the satisfaction of knowing that I will now be safe against not-receipts.”

Vlad blinked. “I may have gotten something out of it, too.”

I waited and Vlad sighed.

“Fine,” he groaned. “Lorraine is going to talk to Kale. Maybe try to smooth things out so I could talk to her without her, you know, cutting off my head and spitting fire down my throat. Oh, and Lorraine said there’s something in there that you have to wear.” He took the bag from me, reached in, and yanked something that looked like a cat horked up, tied to a piece of twine. “This thing. You’re supposed to wear it all the time. Under stuff. It’s supposed to touch your skin.”

I took the charm from Vlad. As I brought it closer to my face, my mouth started to water with that familiar pre-vomit saliva. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Lorraine said you would get used to the smell.”

“Not likely.”

I held my breath and put the thing over my head anyway, immediately pushing the cat-hork end under my shirt, hoping that would stamp out the smell.

Vlad smiled. “Gotta go.”

He wound his way through the crowd and out the front doors. I briefly expected a rush of girls pressing their noses against the windows, pound-puppy style. Instead, I came eye to eye with Fallon.

“You know him?”

“Of course I do, Fallon. And you know what? I’m glad you’re here. I want to talk to you about something.”

Fallon looked over her shoulder and then back at me. She paused for a beat, then wrinkled her nose. “What smells?”

I took a deep breath and then instantly regretted it, visualizing my insides turning into withering blackness as the stench whipped through my lungs. “I don’t know. Come with me.”

I was surprised when Fallon did, falling into step with me. She pressed her palm against her nose. “It’s like the smell is getting worse.”

I pulled open the door to my old classroom and ushered Fallon in. She looked around as though she hadn’t been in that room every weekday of her junior year. “You’re not working here anymore. Are you allowed to pull students into an empty room like this?”

“Look, Fallon, I know what’s going on between you and Miranda.”

For the first time since I’d known the girl, Fallon’s eyes widened, her perfect façade cracking just slightly. She recovered almost immediately.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I put my hands on my hips and did my best to stare down and intimidate her. “The hall the other day? And then today? You said she wanted to ‘sit down for a spell.’ What did you mean by that?”

There was a miniscule twitch at the edges of Fallon’s mouth, the infinitesimal start of a smile. “She wanted to sit down.”

I inched closer. “You said, ‘for a spell.’”

“It means for a while.”

“I know what it means. What I want to know is why you chose that particular phrase.”

Fallon took a step back and waved her hand in front of her nose. “Is the smell coming from you?”

“Fallon, at least two girls have gone missing from Mercy High in the last two years. And according to things uncovered by the police—and by me—possibly a lot more. You know this is all tied to witchcraft.”

Again that tiny, twitching smile. “I do?”

I cocked my head, pinning her with a glare. “Why would you say ‘sit for a spell’?”

Now it was Fallon who stepped forward, suddenly uncomfortably close to me. “Are you accusing me of something, Ms. Lawson?”

“Tell me about Cathy.”

“She was murdered. Before that, she was alive.”

I blinked, and Fallon blinked back at me, as if daring me to ask her to elaborate.

“Alyssa?”

Fallon held her ground for a beat before turning stiffly, her hair fanning out behind her. “I don’t have to—”

She stopped when I grabbed her arm. Her eyes sliced over her shoulder and narrowed, first staring at my hand on her arm, then looking directly up at me. “Get your hand off of me,” she said sharply.

I let her go as if her skin had burned my palm.

Once Fallon disappeared into the hall, I slid up on my former desk, resting my face in my hands.

Did I really believe that Fallon was some kind of witchy serial killer?

At least three bodies . . . Will’s voice echoed in my head. Gretchen Von Dow . . . I hopped off the desk and started shoving things in my shoulder bag, humming a riff from a Bon Jovi (my era) tune when there was a knock on my door.

I didn’t look up when the door opened. “Nice, Will,” I said, grabbing a sheaf of papers. “You knock on my classroom door but barge in on me in the bath—” I stopped, my eyes wide. “Tub. Kayleigh, hi. I was just—can I help you with something?”

I was fairly certain that the abject horror in Kayleigh’s eyes—Teachers have lives outside of school?—mirrored my own. She went beet red from the tips of her ears all the way down to the tops of her UGG boots.

I cleared my throat and blinked at her, flashing a pleading “let’s pretend this never happened” look.

“Can I help you with something?” I said again.

Kayleigh’s hands went from fingering the strap on her crossover bag to fumbling in front of her. She licked her already glossy lips and took a tentative step forward without saying anything.

I laid my shoulder bag back down on my desk and practiced one of those “open stances” that supposedly welcomed communication—or so Dr. Phil said.

“Do you want to talk to me about something?”

Kayleigh glanced over her shoulder—quickly, nervously—before stepping all the way into the room and pulling the door closed behind her. She waited until it clicked shut to let out a shaky breath.

“It’s about Fallon,” she said, her voice a low whisper. “And Miranda, in the hall the other day.”

I felt my ears prick as my hackles went up. I was instantly protective of Kayleigh, of whatever it was she needed to tell me.

“You can tell me anything, Kayleigh. We can keep it just between us.”

“Fallon would murder me if she knew I was talking to you, but this—this is getting really serious. You—you don’t know the whole story—everything that’s happening with Fallon and Miranda.”

“No, I guess I don’t. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Kayleigh licked her lips and hugged the strap of her bag tighter against her chest. She opened her mouth, but her words were drowned out by three hard, heavy raps on the glass. She whirled and my head snapped up, just in time to see Fallon’s narrowed eyes, that slate-blue stare boring into me. She was in the hallway, her lips set in a hard, thin line. She disappeared from view, the snap of her gum echoing in the hallway before she pulled open my door. Her eyes regarded me coolly before zeroing in on Kayleigh. I was shaking for her, the sweat breaking out at the back of my neck, but Kayleigh dropped into the iceberg-cool mode I was sure I’d never master.

Fallon snapped another bubble.

“Do you want a ride home or not? I’ve been waiting for you for, like, ever.”

I surreptitiously glanced at the clock: nine minutes since the last bell. I was about to let Kayleigh off of Fallon’s barbed hook, but she spoke, shaking her long hair over her shoulder and turned her back on me.

“Old lady Lawson said my Beowulf paper lacked depth.”

“She should know all about lacking depth,” Fallon said in a low snark.

I rolled my eyes, then grabbed a page off my desk, scrawled my number down and stepped in between the girls, shoving the half-folded paper into Kayleigh’s hands. I caught her eye, held it.

“Here’s your paper back. If you’d like help, you can call on me, anytime.”

I waited for a miniscule flash of thanks or apology to flit through Kayleigh’s eyes but got nothing. She just snatched the page and edged past Fallon to get out the door. Fallon said nothing, but she shot me a look that was so icy that I actually shivered before she let the door go. I caught it before it snapped shut and stood there, considering. When I caught a mane of fuzzy dark hair out of the corner of my eye, I dashed toward it.

“Miranda?”

Miranda, her back to me as she sipped from the water fountain, straightened, then turned slowly.

“Um, Ms. L?”

I leaned in so our foreheads were nearly touching. “I need to talk to you.”

Miranda tried to inch away from me, her butt up against the water fountain. “I told you—”

“It’s not about Fallon,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not about bullying or what happened in the hallway.”

Miranda looked around. I realized we were circled now, girls strategically angled to look like they weren’t paying attention to us, but every eyebrow was quirked, every glossed lip was pursed in a slick smile. Miranda looked part horrified, part pacified—as though being the center of unwanted attention was something she had gotten used to.

“Please?” I said on a whisper.

Miranda took a step forward and I led her to an alcove in the hall. I would have dragged her into my room, but after Kayleigh and Fallon, I figured it wouldn’t be long until Heddy or Principal Lowe stationed an armed guard there.

“You’re not really a teacher, are you?”

I started. “Well, no. I’m a substitute.”

Miranda smiled. “Yeah?”

I felt an instant wave of guilt and I made a mental note to get my hormones checked. I was investigating a crime scene undercover, and feeling guilty for lying to possible major players.

“Yeah. Look, I know we talked a little bit before—about clubs and stuff on campus.” I held her eyes, hoping my raised brows would convey what I didn’t want to say.

“Yeah, so?”

I lowered my voice. “And the covens?”

Miranda shrugged. “Yeah, we talked about that.”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, I don’t work for the school, okay? At least not officially. But I really need to know, Miranda, are there girls who think they’re witches here?”

Miranda didn’t seem startled by my question, but she didn’t answer, either.

“The book that you dropped in your scuffle with Fallon? This is it, right?” I unfolded one of the color copies of the book’s cover.

Miranda gave it a cursory look, her shoulders rising a half inch. “Yeah, why?”

“It’s a book of spells, Miranda.”

“I know. You don’t think that I—I’m not some kind of witch. I just—some girls . . .” Her voice trailed off, her eyes focusing on her shoes.

“It’s okay. I know what they are.”

Miranda’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “You do?”

“Protection spells. I know what this is, too.” I unfolded the copy of the symbol carved into the desk in my classroom.

Miranda took the page from me and studied it. “Is this in the book? I didn’t really read it.”

“You don’t recognize this symbol?”

Miranda swung her head. “Should I?”

“You said you weren’t friends with Cathy Ledwith.”

Miranda leaned against the alcove wall and yanked on the straps of her backpack. “Not really, no.”

“You knew her from around school?”

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes skittering to mine, then going back to her toes.

“Did you know she had the same spell book that you have?”

Miranda looked up, but the “oh my!” expression I was wanting wasn’t there. Instead, she shrugged again and said, “No. Was she one of the witches?”

I swallowed hard. “No, I don’t think so. But the book is for protection. So is the symbol. Cathy had both and now you—you at least have the book. What—or who—are you afraid of, Miranda?”

Miranda kicked at the ground, the toe of her sneaker grimy and well worn.

I hunched so I was directly in her line of sight. “Miranda, this is important. You’re not going to get in trouble if you tell me.”

Finally she looked up, her cheeks blazing red. “I bought it by mistake.”

I felt my eyebrows arch up. “By mistake?”

Miranda kicked at the floor again, checked her backpack straps a second time, and glanced at the ceiling—anything to avoid my gaze while the blush on her cheeks went all the way to the tops of her ears. “I thought it was a book on love spells.”

“Love spells?” I said it out loud, then clapped a hand over my mouth. Then, in a whisper, “You wanted a book of love spells?”

“Yeah.” It was barely a mumble.

“What for?”

Miranda looked up at me. “What do you think?”

Now I felt myself blush.

“Look at me, Ms. L.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Because I’m smart, funny, and some day some amazing guy is going to come along and realize it, once guys are mature enough to see over my current idiocy? Thanks, I’ve heard it. I’m sixteen. I’ve never even held hands with a guy.”

“Well, you are at an all-girls school.”

“I know it’s stupid, but I don’t have any friends at school so it’s not like I can even go to one of the mixer dances. Like I’m just going to walk in there alone and stand there the whole night, waiting for Mr. Mature to throw someone like Fallon or Kayleigh aside and ask me to dance. Never. Going. To. Happen. Never! I thought maybe—I don’t really believe in the stuff—but I thought maybe I could get a little extra help.” Her smile was small, almost apologetic. “I figured, what could it hurt, right?”

I sighed, wanting to hug her, wanting to gush about all the dances I sat at home through, how the last actual date I’d been on ended with a jaw-snapping werewolf and a zombie pub crawl. But I also wanted to give this kid hope.

“You don’t need any book of spells to get a boy to notice you. Maybe just—” I put an index finger under her lowered chin and gently tilted her head up. “Maybe just look up once in a while. Make eye contact.”

Miranda smiled, her cheeks still pink. “I was so embarrassed buying that book that I walked into the store, went straight to the book shelf, and assumed any book with a red binding must be about love. I guess I picked wrong. I hadn’t even opened it.”

“So you didn’t buy a book of protection spells because you thought you were in any danger?”

“Only in danger of being alone for the rest of my life.”

“That won’t happen. But no more spells, okay?”

“Okay.” Miranda turned and was halfway out of the alcove before I stopped her.

“Hey—what do you know about Lock and Key Club?”

She shrugged. “Only that I can’t get in. Ask one of the perfect girls.” She waved, made a point to look me in the eye, and disappeared down the hall.

I went back to my classroom to gather my things and sat there, alone, until the school quieted as students filed out of the halls and into the parking lot. It was still early, but the fog had already rolled in, casting shadows through the large picture windows. I was in a silent, mourning stupor, which is why I nearly tossed my cell phone across the room when it started sputtering a jazz-heavy version of “God Save the Queen.”

“You changed my ringtone again, didn’t you?”

“And a good day to you, too,” Will chirped into my ear. “Where are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple question, love. Where. Are. You. I, myself, am sitting at your kitchen table enjoying a spot of tea.”

I hopped off the desk, offended. “Why are you at my house? How did you get into my house?”

“A good Guardian shall always have access to his charge’s place.”

“A good Guardian wouldn’t have to call to know where his charge is.”

“Touché.”

“I thought you’d come down here, to the school,” I said, pressing my fingers against my just-starting-to-ache forehead.

“I have my every confidence in you. Besides, football’s on.”

I could hear the rush of the crowd from his side of the phone. “Whatever. I’m going to grab a couple of those yearbooks, maybe poke around a bit, then I’m on my way home. Be ready to go by Alyssa’s house when I get there.” I glanced at the closed door. “And maybe Fallon’s. Okay?”

“Aye aye, love.”

I hung up the phone on a groan.

I heard the clack-clack-clack of Heddy’s shoes before I saw her. Then suddenly she was in front of me, all pudges and grins.

“Well, Sophie! I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Um, just wrapping up a few things. Actually, though, it’s a good thing I ran into you. Does Mercy have a policy against bullying?”

Heddy’s eyes were wide behind her big round glasses. “Oh my, yes. The bullying has gotten so bad nowadays.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “So you’ve had bullying here on campus?”

“Heavens, no! The girls here all get along. They’re just angels! Well, you remember that from your years here, don’t you?”

I thought back to my cowering, terror-filled years, the overwhelming silence and screaming into my pillows at night. “Yeah, sure. It was a big ol’ love fest.”

Heddy smiled at me and hiked up her bag, flipping up her collar as though she were heading into the Arctic. “I hope we get to see you around under better circumstances,” she said as she pushed open the door.

I offered her a pressed-lipped smile and waved. The door snapped shut behind her and echoed through the silent hall.