51 Quinn
Quinn
The day of the fall
Yesterday, Elena cornered me in the bathroom at school and asked if we could do magic for something important.
It seemed secretive, like it had something to do with Collingswood.
But I was preoccupied, so I lied to her and said I couldn’t find the book.
It was shitty of me, I know, and, in hindsight, deeply ironic too.
Because now I can’t find the book.
I try not to panic, but it’s kind of hard when you’ve torn apart your entire room and it’s still nowhere.
Nothing in my nightstand but my journal, some pens, a lighter, and a few small candles.
Nothing in my closet but clothes and bags and shoes.
I did a brief search of the house, but then I spotted my mom in the garden, and I didn’t want her to see how worried I was.
Because I am worried. Actually, I’m freaking the fuck out.
And my heart won’t stop clattering against my rib cage.
A ringing in my ear has started, and I can’t make it stop.
I don’t have to think too hard about this.
I know he took the book. Maybe this morning on his way to work?
I know what it means. It means he has figured out what bloodspell is.
And in my stupid ignorance, I told him exactly how to access it when I told him how I revealed all those spells in the book.
The fear that tears through me is like physical pain.
My heart is thrumming and thrumming, and my head spins because it’s only a matter of time now.
I don’t have time to worry about the book.
I have to go. I spin my grandmother’s ring around my finger, as if this fierce, witchy piece of jewelry might give me strength.
Then, I race to the front door, but my sweaty hand stays plastered to the handle.
I can’t bring myself to turn it. Not yet. I need to say goodbye.
I swallow back tears and force myself to keep my head.
I walk through the kitchen and peel open the screen door. I can’t seem to slow my heartbeat. “Hey, Mom,” I say.
She looks up, startled, from her crouch over the seedlings. “What are you doing home?”
“I forgot a textbook,” I say. “I’m just going to grab it and head back.”
She stands and glances at a watch on her wrist. “It’s the last day.” Her hands are covered in dirt.
I offer as much of a smile as I can. “I think I’m going to dad’s after school,” I lie.
“Okay.” The surprise is still not gone from her expression. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“I think I’ll stay with him tomorrow too.
” I hold on to the porch railing. Then I look at my mom.
The backs of her wrists are perched on her hips, like she doesn’t want to get her outfit dirty.
I’m sure she has somewhere to be right after this, but she came home anyway to make sure she got the planting done on the right day.
She looks down at her garden, counting to herself.
“Love you,” I say.
“Wait, wait, wait.” She hurries over and brushes my hair away from my eyes with a forearm. She dips her face down so she can look into my eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Yep,” I say. I can’t really say more, or I might cry.
And I can’t cry, because then it will all come out of me.
After the spell didn’t work this morning, I realized why he wanted it in the first place.
And now I know I’m in danger. How could I have thought I could use the magic to heal anyone?
How did I let him convince me he wanted that too?
I swallow back my fear and humiliation. Among the unspoken thoughts swimming in my brain, one needles through. “Mom, did you ever do a summoning spell without the book?”
She knots her forehead in confusion. “No, I didn’t do any spells without the book. It’s not possible.”
I nod without betraying my deep disappointment. I knew this, but I thought maybe I was wrong and could somehow summon the book to me, that I could make all this go away. But I can’t do a damn thing. Not anymore.
“Have fun with Dad,” she says.
I pull her in for a hug, crushing our bodies together. She is warm and smells of lemon cookies. “Love you, honey,” she says, hugging me back. Love oozes from her the way it always does, like it might be the last hug we ever have.
I can’t say anything, so I just nod. I don’t want her to read my face or notice that I’ve changed into my hiking boots, so I turn away quickly and give her a backward wave.
***
At Joey’s, Carly lets me in. She’s wearing a simple white T-shirt that exposes her long slender arms and bone-thin wrists, and I think about how she might have deep scars right there on those wrists—or worse—if it weren’t for her daughter.
I wait in Joey’s room and watch the clock on her dresser as rain begins to spatter the window. Four o’clock arrives. Four fifteen. Four thirty. Dust motes float past me as my panic grows. She’s not coming.
I glance at the door, praying that I’m wrong, that she’s just late, held up by a teacher, or waylaid by a muddy street she has to traverse around. But she doesn’t come.
I fold over. My hands drop to my knees, and I squeeze my eyes tight, letting out a soundless scream.
I pushed her away. There is no reason she should be here.
But I can’t wait anymore. Four forty-five.
Terror revs my muscles back to life, my brain barking instructions.
Grab that paper over there. Write her a note.
Find her hiking backpack, her tent, her stove, her rain gear.
I rummage through drawers until I find socks and underwear, extra pants, and a sports bra.
I find a spare toothbrush that’s still in the packaging and a bar of soap under the sink.
I race out to the kitchen, deciding on canned beans and dry rice, and two Snickers I find in the pantry.
I fill up the biggest water bottle I can find.
The pack is heavy, stuffed all the way up to the top.
I cinch it tight and drag it to the front door. There, I swing it onto my shoulders.
Carly is sitting at her computer. She’s leaning forward and mindlessly stamping out a cigarette in an ashtray next to her.
“I left Joey a note,” I say.
“She’s not here?” she asks, looking up.
I shake my head and move a hand to the door handle. I step one foot outside, then stop. I lean my head back in and say, “Tell her I said bye,” but I’m not sure if she hears me because she doesn’t respond.