Under a Spell

Chapter Five

Just down the hall from where I stood I saw the crowd and briefly wished for kick-ass leather and some kind of sword as I raced toward the students.

“Girls, girls!”

They scattered like billiard balls from a crack and left at their center was Miranda, eyes wide and terrified, and Fallon, lips pressed in a hard line, eyes sharp and accusing.

“What’s going on here?”

Fallon snaked her arms in front of her chest but didn’t take her eyes off Miranda. “Nothing, Ms. L.”

“Nothing? Miranda?”

Miranda cleared her throat and pushed a fuzzy lock of hair behind her ear. “She’s right, Ms. L. It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing, Ms. L. I saw the whole thing.” Kayleigh blazed down the hall, pointing. “Miranda shoved Fallon. I saw it. That girl is crazy—she needs to be expelled. And look, look, she ripped Fallon’s shirt!”

There was a small tear at the collar of Fallon’s shirt. She looked embarrassed or guilty—I couldn’t tell which—and began pulling her long hair over her shoulder to cover it. “That happened a long time ago.”

“So neither of you are going to tell me what was going on?”

Miranda and Fallon looked up at me and blinked. I watched the bright pink edge of Fallon’s tongue poke out from between her pursed lips and slide across her bottom lip, leaving a glossy trail. “We told you,” she said slowly.

My forehead started to pound and I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay, fine. Move on. You, too, Kayleigh. Go.”

Kayleigh threaded her arm through Fallon’s and tugged her away, throwing sinister glances over her shoulder and muttering to Fallon. Miranda’s eyes were glued to Fallon’s back and I could see her cheeks burn, her teeth clench. I put a hand softly on her shoulder.

“Ignore her, Miranda. Girls like that—”

“Only grow up to be bigger girls like that.”

I smiled, despite my attempt to be adult and full of after-school-special wisdom. “Yeah, a lot of them do. Believe me: I know better than anyone what being bullied feels like. Especially because you don’t fit in with the pretty girls or the popular girls or the smart girls.”

I looked at Miranda hopefully and saw the crestfallen look on her face.

“Oh, no, not that I meant that you’re not all of those things—pretty, popular, smart—it’s just that, well, I was bullied in high school. Right here, in these halls.” I pointed to the scuffed tile underneath us as though my tortured footprints would still be there as proof. “It was torturous and everyone hated me because I was different. And I stayed different. But when I became an adult, being different is what got me my job, my best friend, even my boyfrie—” I choked on the word, and the need to check my cell phone for a call I didn’t hear or a text I hadn’t read burned up my arms.

“You were a student here?”

I nodded quickly. “Yep.”

“And your being different got you a job as a substitute teacher.”

My mouth dropped open. My “being different” got me a job thirty floors underground and got me into a hell of a lot of scrapes. “Um, in a way, yes. You should probably get going.”

Miranda nodded and stepped away.

“Oh, wait!” I swiped the book that had been laid flat on the floor, just behind Miranda’s left foot. “You dropped this.”

I held it out to her and Miranda’s eyes shot over it as though she’d never seen it, then up at me. I glanced down at the cover and my heart lurched.

“Protection spells?” I remembered my own desperation. I would have done anything to make myself invisible, to grant myself a few hours free from the demons in my high school hallways.

Miranda reached for the book and I eyed her. “If you need help, you need to tell someone. A silly book of spells isn’t going to protect anyone.”

She snatched the book out of my hand and shoved it in her bag. “I know,” she said to her shoes.

I watched Miranda walk alone down the hall, trying my best to swallow the enormous lump that had formed in my throat.

“Everything okay, love?”

I jumped and grabbed at my thundering heart. “Oh! You scared the crap out of me. Someone should get you a bell.”

“So you could ring every time you need your bell rung?” Will’s grin was familiarly salacious, his hazel-flecked eyes slipping from my lips to my naked collarbone, to the cleave of my Nina-scaffolded breasts. I covered my chest and narrowed my eyes.

“No, that would mean that I would have a bell. And thanks, by the way, for ruining a very touching moment here. Have you dismissed your fan club?”

Will leaned against the bank of lockers, tossing a handful of peanut M&Ms into his mouth. “Can I help it if these girls are fascinated by history?”

I rolled my eyes.

“And your ‘moment’? Saw it,” he said, chewing. “Wasn’t that touching? Nice with the ‘I was bullied, too’ stuff.”

“I was bullied,” I muttered, still staring down the hall.

“Anyway, ready to go? Oh.” Will kicked at the ground. “Dropped this.”

He handed me a receipt and I took it cautiously as though it were a snake about to bite. “This is a receipt.”

“And this is a man, walking toward the door.”

“It’s from Simply Charming out in Marin.”

Will shook another handful of candies into his mouth. “And I pegged you more as a Crate and Barrel kind of bird.”

“Simply Charming is a shop for potions, spell books, candles. And this receipt isn’t mine.”

Will stopped then and turned, eyebrows raised. “So we have a witchcraft type killer and a receipt from a witchcraft type store.”

“Yeah, but this must have fallen out of Miranda’s book. She dropped a book of protection spells when she got in a scuffle with Fallon just a few minutes ago.”

“So Miranda is dabbling in the dark arts?”

I put my hands on my hips. “No, Miranda was buying a book of protection spells because Fallon keeps bullying her and knocking her around.”

Will came toward me, crushing the M&M bag in his hand. “And you don’t find it the least bit coinky-dink that she went directly to a spell book rather than, say, the principal? Or her parents? Or a bodyguard?”

“We don’t know that she went ‘directly’ to magic. She’s probably tried everything else to get Fallon off her case and she knew if she went to the principal it would only get worse. She was probably too humiliated to go to her parents.”

The rest of the school day passed uneventfully. After I scarfed the granola bar Nina had tossed in a paper lunch bag for me, I started topping each empty desk with the single-page pop quiz Heddy had delivered that morning. I paused when I got to the end of the room, brushing my finger over the carving on one of the last desks.

“Hello,” I said, dropping the test papers and sliding into the desk. I bit my lip, still tracing the little round carving. I recognized it, but I wasn’t sure from where.

After wracking my brain, I joined the twenty-first century and snapped a picture, sending it to Lorraine—my own personal witchcraft Wikipe-dian. As I waited for her response, Will poked his head into my classroom, did a quick sweep—obviously not seeing me in the back of the class—and sauntered in, snagging my cup of dry erase pens.

“Ahem.”

Will made the exact same high-pitched yip that ChaCha made the time I had accidentally stepped on her paw. I broke down laughing, watching my collection of pens—cup and all—rain down on Will’s head.

“Holy God, Sophie! There’s a killer in our midst and you’re trying your sodden best to add to the body count.”

I sat back against the attached-chair’s backrest and shot Will my best cop look. “Looks like murder might not be the only crime afoot. Why were you stealing my pens?”

Will strode toward me. “I think the real question is why weren’t you protecting your pens?”

“You know that makes no sense, right?”

“Subject changed. What are you doing back here?”

I grabbed a few strands of my frazzled red hair and twisted them around my finger. “I’m waiting for Lorraine to call me back. See what I found?”

I pointed out the carving and Will craned his neck to look at it. “Looks like a circle.”

“Look closer.”

Will squinted, but obliged. “A circle with stuff in the middle.”

“Really, you should share your brilliant powers of deduction with the world.”

Will opened his mouth to respond, but my phone exploded into an annoying series of chirps. I glanced at the text.

“Circle with stuff in the middle my butt! According to Lorraine, that’s a symbol of protection. It’s usually found on talismans. The pattern is called Luaithrindi, and these”—I drew my finger over each of the crossed lines—“are swords. The eight Ciphers of the Angels. This part where they interlock forms a—and I quote—powerful shield of protection.”

Will crossed his arms in front of his chest. “So a girl goes missing a year ago. She turns up with carvings all over her body.” He gestured toward the desk. “Do we know if this symbol showed up?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. “Not that I remember.” My stomach roiled. “Not that I want to remember.”

“One year to the day another girl goes missing. Her clothes are dumped and lit on fire. Same thing with Cathy?”

“No. I don’t think Cathy’s clothes were ever found.”

Will pressed his lips together, using his index finger to tap his clean-shaven (a rarity) chin. “So, how do we know that this”—he mashed his finger against the symbol—“has anything to do with our case?”

I could feel the adrenaline beginning to well. “Sampson suspected witchcraft. We find a symbol of protection carved into the desk, and earlier today . . .” I raised my eyebrows, assuming he’d finish my thought.

“Earlier today what?”

Of course not.

“The book—Miranda’s book of protection spells. She’s afraid of something—or someone.”

“So Miranda settles into her seat here in the back and carves herself some protection.”

I stopped cold, clamping my mouth shut. Then, “This isn’t Miranda’s desk.” I swallowed. “Up until last week, it was Alyssa’s. Now its Fallon’s.”

Will cocked a smug grin. “Well, then I guess we know the school’s not evil—just the students.”

I blanched, thinking how any girl—especially one not even old enough to vote—could be warped enough to kidnap, murder, and maim, whether or not she thought she was a powerful witch or just wanted to be.

I rested my head in my hands and massaged my scalp. “At least, for the first time in years, I’m not the one they’re aiming to kill.”

“And now it’s done.” He threw up his hands.

I looked up at him; he stood with arms widespread, a look of clear disappointment marring his hazel eyes.

“What’s done?”

“You. You are. You’ve essentially double-dog-dared every Vessel baddie in the known world to come take a swing at you.” He shook his head, clucking his tongue. “I really didn’t want to get these shoes scuffed.”

“Fine. Change into your defensive shoes while I go to the bathroom. Then we’re going to Cathy’s house.”

Will looked surprised. “On a bombardment mission?”

I rolled my eyes. “Her mother knows we’re coming. I called her between classes and got her address.” I produced the scrap piece of paper I had written the Ledwiths’ address on. “There was no answer at Alyssa’s, so we’ll have to search her place another time.”

Will left on a sigh.

My phone chirped just as I exited the classroom.

“Hey, Neens, what’s up?”

“I have great news,” she said, breathless.

“Really? Awesome. I could use some good news right now.”

“Well, first things first, I dumped UDA: The Musical .”

A little starburst of joy shot across my heart.

“Aw,” I said in my best that’s-too-bad-voice. “What made you decide that?”

“I suck at writing music. And you know what rhymes with Underworld Detection Agency? Nothing.”

“So . . .”

“So I have a new plan. And this one is legitimate. I am going to be writing, casting, and directing UDA: The Documentary.”

“Do you cast a documentary?”

“Sampson was muttering something about our need to drum up more business, so I thought what better way to do that than to advertise? And what better way to advertise than to make a commercial?”

I bit my thumbnail. “And the documentary comes in where?”

“See, that’s the great thing. I’ll have the camera people following me while I make the commercial. Isn’t that going to be incredible?”

I knew better then to remind Nina of all the enormous loopholes in her new project—she couldn’t be seen on film; the clients, and existence, of the Underworld were supposed to be kept under non-major-media wraps—so I just gave her my most enthusiastic, “That sounds amazing!”

She paused for a beat, and I knew that she was biting her lip on the other side of the phone line. “Just one totally little teensy thing.”

My hackles were going up and my tolerance was going down. “What?”

“I just may need to use the apartment for some non-apartment-related things.”

I was imagining hobgoblin slobber soaking the carpet and blood spattering every wall—Nina was nothing if not incredibly theatrical and the documentary would be that times a thousand. “Like what?”

“Writing, storyboarding, meeting with the crew, casting.”

A whoosh of relief went through me. “As long as I don’t walk in on you on the casting couch with some hot little actor, that’s totally fine with me.”

“You’re the best, Soph.”

I clicked my phone off and put a little hop in my step. Things would work out. We were going to find Alyssa and solve this case and my alma mater would be no worse for the wear. High school was terrifying enough without adding a cache of teen witches—and Mercy didn’t have any, anyway. I smiled to myself. By this time tomorrow I could be peeing in the comfort of the Underworld Detection Agency, right next to the tiny pixie stall, with Nina giving me advice from her perch on the sink where she stared at her non-reflection.

I was disgusted—yet slightly comforted—to see that the girls’ room in the Junior Hall hadn’t changed since my years of hiding from my tormenters there. The tile was still that same horrid, milky pink with once-white grout that had endured years of pens and fingernails being driven into it. I tried not to breathe in, lest the stench of canned potpourri and industrial-strength cleanser stick in my lungs.

I flushed, and was mentally picking out tomorrow’s outfit when the overhead light started humming. It crackled, and my heart stopped beating while the light did one of those horror-movie flashes before going back to normal. I laughed at myself and yanked on the stall door, and nothing happened.

I jiggled the handle. I jiggled the lock. I yanked. I pushed. I pulled.

“Hello?” I called in the universal come-kill-me-now fashion.

The lights buzzed and flashed again, and heat zipped up the back of my neck. I started to panic, clawing at the cold metal door, kicking it, throwing my full weight against the chintzy lock. It gave at the same moment the lights went out. I stumbled over my own feet and barrel rolled onto the cold tile floor, gagging at the thought of bathroom floor touching skin and whimpering at the all-encompassing darkness. The room was pitch black and deadly silent, the only sound the heavy beating of my heart and my own open-mouthed panting.

And then came the sound. A bristling howl—primitive, inhuman—and deafening. I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to press the brain-numbing sound out, but it only got louder. I hunched down into myself as each stall door barreled open on its own accord, the metal slabs clanking against each other. The toilets were next—one, two, three—exploding pistols of water straight up toward the ceiling. A chilling blue light swirled with the water and I pushed myself up, steadying against a sink as water swirled around my ankles.

I gaped. The mirror was smeared with angry slashes of red, the words GET OUT scrawled across the mirror, hacking through my reflection. I was screaming and crying, tears and snot rolling over my chin, throwing my weight against the bathroom door when a heavy force pushed against me. My legs were matchsticks and I crumpled back to the horrible pebbled tile and Will looked down at me.

“Soph?”

In an instant the bathroom was bright and dry. The mirrors reflected the unscathed Pepto-pink stall doors and the only sound was the slight hum of the overhead lights and my own thrumming heart.

I could see that Will was geared to say something smart, but the second he saw me, he crouched down at my feet and pulled me to him, one hand on my shoulder, the other cradling my cheek. He thumbed a tear from the end of my nose. “What happened?”

I looked over both shoulders, expecting singing birds or a giant neon sign blaring CRAZY PANTS with an arrow pointing to me.

“There was, and then—” I sniffled. “Something happened in here, Will!”

Will stepped around me, poking his head in each stall, doing a quick check. He turned to me and shrugged, his expression surprisingly sympathetic.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” Will said.

I pushed myself up and used the heel of my hand to wipe away the tears, then scanned the room myself from the safety of the doorway.

“Lights were blinking, and then they went out and there was—” I paused while Will studied me. I couldn’t tell if he was listening hard or considering whether or not my family history of nuttiness and pure evil had seeped into my brain. “There!” I pointed to the ceiling, cocking my head. “There, you hear that, right?”

The ominous squeak-squeak-squeak sounded again. I grabbed Will by both lapels. “Tell me you hear that!”

Will slid his arms around my waist and carefully led me into the hall. His eyes were intense. “Yes, I heard that, too.”

Part of me felt like collapsing in relief in his arms. The other part of me wanted to climb the length of his body and bury myself in his neck while we ran from imminent danger.

“What is it?” I whispered.

The triple squeak stopped, but my heart continued to hammer.

“Wait,” Will hissed. “Listen.”

Something heavy hit something hard. I could hear goo, something—blood?—sloshing and I started to heave. “That’s a body. That’s a body hitting the ground if I ever heard it.”

Will took his hands off me and turned carefully. “Go back into your classroom and lock the door. Don’t come out until I tell you to.”

I clung to his back, wrapping my arms around him and burying my forehead in the cleft between his shoulder blades. “No. No, no, no, no, no. I can’t lose you, too. I won’t sit by and watch you die.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.”

“There it is again!” I gripped fistfuls of Will’s shirt and moved with him, my eyes clenched shut.

“This would go a lot more smoothly if you would let go of me.”

“I can’t.” My muscles had seized up, my full body molded into the shape of ardent terror. “If I survive, I’m going to be in this position forever.”

“Lucky me. Would you just—” He wedged his hand between my front and his back and I was forced to move a quarter inch. “I thought you were supposed to be some great crime-fighting asset. Weren’t you learning to be tough or something?”

That’s right! “That’s right!” Adrenaline shot through my entire body and I imagined myself giving whatever terror awaited us the ass-kicking of a lifetime. I’d stake a vamp with the number-two pencil in Will’s shirt pocket. I would stop a zombie with a head-removing scissor kick.

Squeak-squeak-squeak.

My bladder felt heavy, but I was ready.

Finally, I felt Will’s body loosen slightly. He pulled my hands from his shirt. “This one’s yours.”

He stepped aside and I imagined myself jumping into my most Buffy-esque fighting stance before doing some sort of dive roll into a helicopter kick that would disable my attacker.

In actuality, I was crunched myself into a chair pose and held my fisted hands close to my sides, protecting my breasts. The smell of fear, adrenaline and fate hung in the air.

And it smelled like bleu cheese.

“Steve?”

Steve, the Underworld Detection Agency’s resident troll and three-foot-tall stalker, grinned at me, baring all three of his snaggled yellow teeth.

“What the hell are you doing here? You almost got your ass kicked!”

“By him?” Steve motioned toward Will, who was doubled over, holding his gut, doing that silent, tears-down-the-face kind of laugh.

I wanted to slap him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sophie needs Steve. Sophie is in danger, and Steve would never leave his Sophie in danger.” He looked disdainfully at Will. “A true gentleman would never leave his woman in danger.”

“I’m not your woman. And why do you have a bucket? Why—” Knowing—sickening, overwhelming knowing—crashed over me. “You’re wearing a uniform. A janitor’s uniform.”

“Steve is undercover. Steve knows that’s the best way to protect his woman.”

Will stopped laughing and gasping for air long enough to say, “Does he always refer to himself in the third?”

“Steve does,” said Steve.

“Okay, okay, wait. Both of you—wait. Steve?”

“Steve is filling in for the janitor on vacation.” He looked at his bucket and frowned. “Steve doesn’t like his job very much.” He flapped nonexistent eyelashes. “But anything for my Sophie.”

“Did you just start today?”

Steve nodded.

“So when you said Soph—I—was in danger, it was just general. You don’t have any pertinent information, do you?”

A slip of Steve’s forked black tongue washed across his bottom lip. “Steve always has pertinent information.”

Will straightened. “Share it, mate.”

Steve shot him a blood-curdling glare. “Steve only shares with his woman.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping that would stop my new, suddenly pounding headache and the fact that my left eye was starting that twitching thing again. “Okay, Steve, what information do you have?”

He grabbed the wooden handle of the mop he had been slapping across the linoleum and pointed to the second floor with it. “Toilet’s clogged.”

I gaped. My eye twitched. “That’s your pertinent information?”

“Steve fixed the clog.”

Will blew out an annoyed sigh. “Fabulous. You’ve exorcised the crap out of the toilet.” He clapped. “Brilliant job, mate.”

“Steve, we don’t have time for this. Will and I need to—”

“Doesn’t Sophie want to know what clogged the toilet?”

I felt myself blanch. “Not especially.”

He poked his mop into his bucket and laboriously fished out a sopping wet sweater. “Not even if it was this?”

I took a step closer. “Is that a sweater?”

Will took a step closer. “From here?”

Steve flicked the sweater end of the mop in Will’s direction. “For Sophie’s eyes only.”

“Fine, Steve. It is a Mercy sweater,” I told Will over my shoulder. “Where did you get this?”

“Steve feels like he’s sharing a lot of information.”

“Of course. What do you want, Steve?”

Steve puckered up. “Little kiss?”

“Not if you pulled Jesus himself out of the toilet.”

Steve narrowed his eyes and started to sink the sweater again.

“Wait! Wait! I’ve got something even better. A kiss is so fast. It just comes and goes—”

“Not when Steve kisses.”

I let that roll off me and kept going. “This is way better.” I fished a tube of lip balm out of my pocket and held it in the palm of my hand. Steve poked his head forward, then tentatively came around his bucket, pulling my hand just under his nose.

“Lipstick?”

“Better.” I uncapped the balm and spread it across my lips. “Lip balm. I use it everyday. All the time. If you take this, it’s like your lips will be touching my lips all the time.”

Steve cocked his head.

“That’s awfully sexy. If the little man here doesn’t want it—” Will went to reach for my hand, but Steve rolled up on his tiptoes, yanked the balm from my hand, and squirreled backward with it tucked against his chest. He glared at Will. “Steve’s woman.” He uncapped the lip balm, rubbed it across his lips. I looked away as his eyes rolled backward and a little moan of pleasure emanated from his thin black lips.

“Where’d you get the sweater, Steve?”

“Someone tried to flush it down the toilet in the bathroom upstairs.” He rolled the balm over his bottom lip and closed his eyes. “Sweet kisses.”

“The upstairs bathroom? When?”

“Sweet, sweet, Sophie kisses.”

“When, Steve?”

He cracked open one eye. “After lunch. Took Steve a while to get it out. Not because Steve is weak.” His eyes flashed open, panicked. “Because water is strong.”

“Which toilet?”

“Huh?” Will asked.

“Which toilet was that stuffed in?”

Another swipe of the lip balm. Another ecstatic roll of his eyes. “Second from the wall. Next to the handicap.”

I dug through my purse and yanked out a travel bag, covering my hand, plucking out the sweater and dropping the sodden thing into it. “Thanks, Steve. You’re the best! Let’s go, Will.”

Once we were clear of Steve and the high school, Will turned to me. “So you traded some ChapStick for a toilet-soaked sweater? That’s—that’s horrific, love.”

“No—I mean, yes, it’s gross—but I was there, Will. I was there when this sweater was flushed.”

Will looked mildly impressed.

“I was in the upstairs bathroom and someone came in. She was crying, but it sounded like she was angry. She screamed a little bit and then went into the stall next to me and I heard her throw this”—I pointed to the bag holding the sweater—“in.”

“You heard it or you saw it?”

“I heard it because she—well, she didn’t know I was there in the bathroom. But I know I heard it. She wasn’t going to the bathroom because her feet were facing the wrong way and it didn’t sound like someone going to the bathroom. And she was wearing sneakers and socks! I heard something hit the water and then she flushed. And I thought it flushed for a while, but then I didn’t really think about it.”

Will’s impressed look went to one of slight disgust. “I think this is the most disgusting clue we’ve ever found.”

“Well, we have to look at the sweater. We have to find out who it belonged to.”

Will grimaced. “You didn’t recognize the flusher by the shoes?”

I brightened. “Well, I can certainly narrow it down that way. I know it was a student. Who was wearing white socks and sneakers.”

“Excellent. That cuts out approximately six people. Well done, love. Now take a look at the sweater.”

“I’m not going to look at the sweater. You look at the sweater. I already told you the information. So technically, it’s your turn to do something.”

“You happened to be taking a pee when someone walked in and may or may not have tried to flush a sweater. It’s really your investigation. You started it.” He gestured toward the bag. “You should finish it.”

I chewed my bottom lip. “Okay, how’s this? We’ll let it dry out a little bit while we go to Cathy’s and then we can both figure out what to do with it.”

Will didn’t look convinced, but he agreed anyway, and started the car.