Seriously Shifted Page 2

  I did, placing the deck on the table.

  Malkin flicked her gaze around the room. “You may all draw a card,” she said. “Do not show anyone else.”

  Esmerelda drew the first one. Her eyebrows rose, then she smiled. “Oh, this one looks perfect,” she said.

  Rage and fear flashed up to my eyes. “What are you doing?” Before they could stop me, I grabbed a card myself and flipped it over. The wide, pale face of my math tutor was imprinted on it. On the top and the bottom, where the numbers and suit usually are, was his name: Kelvin. Below it ran a list of his classes and clubs: drama club, 4-H, calc I.…

  “If you’re quite through with the dramatics,” said Valda. She took the next card and peered at it over her plastic glasses. A snort of laughter escaped her nose. “Well, this will be entertaining.”

  “Stop it!” I scooped up the cards, holding them tightly. “I don’t know how you did that without a wand, but you can’t.”

  Malkin flashed her palm at me. I saw now that a small wand was fitted under several rings on her second finger, like some sort of conjuring trick. The casing must be made out of fabric or something flexible that bent with her hand. “Plucked plenty of good images of students from your memory,” she said. “You can’t even shield properly.”

  “Tsk,” said Esmerelda, presumably just to annoy me.

  Sarmine rose to her feet. “Mind reading was outlawed by the Geneva—”

  “The Geneva Coven, I know, I know,” said Malkin. She leaned casually back in her chair. “So were a number of other things, weren’t they, Sarmine?”

  Her sentence clearly held some deeper meaning, a reminder of something in their past. Sarmine’s mouth closed, an angry, thin line.

  Malkin gestured to the other two witches. “Those will be your students,” she said. She pulled out her phone to check the time. “Let’s see, it’s Sunday evening, eight forty-two p.m.… You have exactly five days to make their lives as miserable as possible.”

  “You can’t do this,” I said, standing. “You have no right. Sarmine, tell them they can’t do this.”

  Sarmine sighed. “Put the cards back on the table, Camellia.”

  “But…”

  “No permanent harm will come to the students, correct, Malkin?”

  Malkin shrugged. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

  “And you will only go after the student on your card?”

  “Rules,” groaned Malkin. Her manner was flippant, but her eyes were so cold I could not tell what she was thinking.

  Sarmine rapped the table to turn my attention back to her. “Think of it as a character-building exercise, Camellia. We”—she gestured to the club—“have done this little game before. You will find your fellow students are in fact toughened up by this experience. They will learn and grow and be able to achieve greater things.” She held my eyes. “Put the cards back on the table.”

  Reluctantly I reached out and set down the stack of cards. I had been through enough of Sarmine’s punishments and “learning exercises” to know that she was a big fan of this method of character-building. I wasn’t going to be able to stop their fun.

  Malkin fanned the stack of cards across the table, running her ringed fingers over them. She pulled one from the middle of the pile. That didn’t seem like proper card etiquette, but I was not going to be the one to tell her that. She studied the card, reading the name and stats. “Lovely,” she said. I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

  “Well, if we’re going to do it that way,” said Sarmine. She fanned the cards in the other direction and held her hand above them, considering. Then she picked one of her own. The other two witches rolled their eyes at the one-upmanship. Sarmine barely glanced at the card before sliding it into her fanny pack. Her poker face, as always, was excellent. Sarmine was the only one of the four who might conceivably know some of my friends and not-friends at high school. Potentially she could have drawn someone she knew—Jenah or Devon or even Sparkle. But I had no idea.

  Four witches, four cards. Four students—possibly friends—about to have their lives destroyed by wicked witches for fun.

  “Well, that was entertaining,” said Esmerelda with a delicate yawn. “Who’s up for another drink?”

  “I’ll take a prickly pear margarita,” said Valda. “With a little umbrella.”

  I shook my head, steeling myself. I might not be able to stop their game. But a good witch would fight. I was going to go down trying.

  I put my hand over the pile of cards.

  “Oh, did you want to play?” said Malkin. “There’s always room for a fifth.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m going to stop you.”

  All the witches howled laughter at that. “Stop us!” said Esmerelda. “You’re just a baby.”

  “A whelp.”

  “A pup.”

  “With dubious ideas about morality,” put in Malkin.

  “You don’t even know who’s been chosen,” said Esmerelda.

  “That prevents cheating,” explained Valda.

  “So how would you even find them?” said Esmerelda.

  “What you’re doing is not right and I’m going to stop you,” I said stubbornly. I was getting angry and that was not safe. Any one of these witches could destroy me on a whim. Okay, my mother would probably stop me from getting destroyed destroyed. But she was big on me learning lessons, so I doubted she would stop anything less. She might even join in. “How were you going to decide who wins, anyway?”

  “With this,” said Malkin. From an inner coat pocket she pulled out a bubble wrap–swathed package that really shouldn’t have fit in an inner coat pocket. She unrolled the bubble wrap to reveal four slender glass tubes that she then placed on the coffee table. They looked like repurposed thermometers—the kind that have water in them and little different-colored bubbles that float up and down with the different temperatures. These only had one bubble floating in the cylinder. Each cylinder had a witch’s name written on the stand in curly gold letters. Esmerelda, Valda, Malkin, and Sarmine.

  “Whoever’s bubble gets closest to the bottom wins,” explained Valda. She took her dark glasses off and cleaned them on her skirt. “I remember a time when it was neck and neck between Sarmine and Malkin, but then Malkin covered her victim in birdseed and sent seventy-two hungry pigeons after her. That was an exciting finish.”

  I looked more closely at the tubes. Horizontal lines marked off the levels of happiness. From the top down it read: 6-Ecstatic, 5-Pretty Darn Happy, 4-Content, 3-Vaguely Dissatisfied, 2-Really Not Great, and 1-Despair. Between 3 and 4 was a painted red line marking the midpoint.

  “The bubbles aren’t even,” I said. “Valda’s bubble is in four but everyone else’s bubble is down in three.”

  Esmerelda shrugged gracefully. “The luck of the draw. It only matters where the bubble is at the end of the game.”

  “Oh, man,” said Valda. “Once I had a five and he would not leave it no matter what. I threw locusts and plagues at him and he whistled down the street saying things like, ‘Gee, it’s great to be alive.’ He was the worst.”

  “I’m still going to stop you,” I said stubbornly. “I’m going to make all four bubbles finish above the red line.”

  “But you don’t even know magic,” scoffed Esmerelda. She glanced at Sarmine. “Or have things changed dramatically since the last time you dragged her out in public?”

  I rounded on Sarmine. “Look, you,” I said. “You’re always saying I need to practice more spells. Well, now I’ll practice them. You can help me learn the spells I need.”

  “How do you know she won’t cheat?” pointed out Valda. “You’re asking her to play both sides.”

  I looked at Sarmine. “Will you?”

  She made a considering face.

  “Really?” said Esmerelda. “This girl? No magic, no lust for mayhem…”

  “Too many ethics,” put in Valda.

  “And you think you can waltz in here and join our
game? You’re not even a member of the club.”

  “A fair point,” said Valda.

  Malkin narrowed her eyes at me. “A test,” she said. “The teensiest little initiation, just to see if she can join the club at all.”

  I swallowed. “I don’t need to join the club,” I pointed out in a sort of soft, squeaky voice. “I could just try to stop you.”

  Malkin was suddenly near me/not near me again, and that sense of power and musk overwhelmed me. “Sarmine, we have been too lax,” she said. “We have allowed an outsider to overhear our meeting.”

  “This is true,” said Valda.

  “Confirmed,” said Esmerelda. Their expressions were suddenly very dangerous.

  “True,” admitted Sarmine. “Are you going to impose the Ultimate Punishment on her?” I couldn’t tell from her expression whether she would try to stop them or if she would help dole it out.

  “The Ultimate Punishment,” I croaked. “That’s something nice, right, like a hot fudge sundae?”

  “First we encase you in leeches,” said Malkin. “Next, we—”

  “I would absolutely love to join your club,” I put in. “What do I need to do?”

  “Everyone still have their newt eyeball?” said Malkin. “Esmerelda, demonstrate.”

  Esmerelda popped the eyeball into her mouth.

  “Make sure you crunch on it,” said Valda to me. “I don’t advise swallowing.”

  Esmerelda got a funny expression on her face as she bit down. Then she parted her lips—and emitted a small stream of fire, straight into the remains of her vodka. The alcohol flamed up, burning blue. The witches applauded.

  Sarmine crossed to the minibar and pulled out the jar of newt eyeballs. I noticed now that the handwritten label claimed them to be Ye Finest Olde Newte Eyeballs, Steeped in Unicorn Hair Vodka, with Especiale Ingredients. Witches like that fake ye oldey stuff. They think it makes them look classy.

  “I’m not sure…” I demurred. I mean, fire-spouting eyeballs sounded scary enough. What if I accidentally swallowed it? Plus, there was the thought of crunching down on those newt eyeballs that probably some newt would have rather kept.

  “Got a dud,” said Valda through a cough. I looked over to see a cloud of smoke around her. She pursed her lips and blew a smoke ring.

  Sarmine picked an eyeball out with the cocktail tongs and dropped it into my hand. It was slimy. “Bottoms up,” she said, and then she and Malkin both crunched on theirs at the same time. Malkin burned a hole in our coffee table. Sarmine lit Malkin’s pant leg on fire. “Oops,” said Sarmine.

  “My deepest apologies,” countered Malkin as she snuffed her pants.

  I looked at the eyeball in my palm. My choice at this moment was between the eyeball of something that was already dead, and the lives of four kids at school.

  Deep breath, Cam.

  I crunched and blew.

  Fire shot out into the air and then burned itself up and vanished.

  I laughed with relief, feeling my face. I was fine, I was fine. My lips were warm, and my mouth tasted disgusting, but I was fine. I almost jumped with glee.

  Valda rose and clapped me on the back. “Well done,” she said. “There’s the makings of a wicked witch in you after all.”

  “A good witch,” I said. “Not a wicked witch.”

  Valda snorted. “Don’t know many good witches who snack on newt eyeballs.”

  A side glance at Malkin showed that she was laughing at me. There was a nasty feeling forming in the pit of my stomach. “But I had to,” I protested. “In order to not be encased in leeches.”

  “Ethics,” said Malkin, petting her snake scarf. “A slippery slope.”

  “Enough of this,” said Esmerelda. “I have to get up early to drop the kid off at school. Can we make it official and go home?”

  “Almost,” said Malkin. “There’s the little matter of what the baby witch will ante up.”

  “I don’t have anything,” I said.

  “I know I’ve been jealous of Sarmine’s little helper all night,” she continued. “Shall we say one week’s servitude to the winner?”

  Valda shrugged. “Fine by me.”

  I could hardly think of anything worse than to be at one of these witches’ beck and call for a week. But in a strange way it seemed fair. The other kids from school didn’t have a say in being included in the witches’ game. I was stuck, too. “As long as I win all your treasures,” I said. “When I win.”

  “Of course,” said Malkin, writing down my wager. “And now we can make it official.” She spat on her hand and held it out.

  Around me the other three witches did the same.

  I looked at the wet palms dubiously.

  “That’s how you seal the deal, Camellia,” Sarmine said crisply.

  “So it’s fair, and we’re agreeing that we’re mostly not cheating,” put in Valda.

  “Witch spit?” Reluctantly I spat on my hand and began shaking around the table. The process was … moist.

  “Then it’s settled,” Malkin said at last. “Whoever’s bubble is the lowest on Friday evening wins.” She looked at me. “Or, if all the bubbles are above the red line, then Camellia wins, and she gets the prize.” She tossed the prize envelope on the coffee table and it skidded to a stop next to the thermometers.

  “Not that that’s going to happen,” said Esmerelda.

  Malkin curled her lip. “No,” she said. “It’s not.”

  2

  Who Esmerelda Had

  Monday morning I came downstairs bright and early. I had all the witch’s regular chores to do, of course, but before that I wanted to check on the glass bubbles. They were all floating at the same level they had been last night. I guess none of the witches were early risers.

  So that was good, right?

  After I let Wulfie out to do his business, I sunk down on the couch, staring through the thermometers into nothing. There was a lingering scent of burned coffee table in the air. A lingering taste of newt eyeballs in my mouth.

  So much for my “good witch” ethics.

  I mean, I wasn’t a vegetarian or anything. The witch had served newt burgers a couple times and I had eaten them. But this wasn’t food—these were party tricks. And I was against the idea of using animal parts for the personal gain of magic spells.

  Yes, I had been doing it to try to save the kids from my high school. But did that make it right?

  To be honest, what really bothered me was how quickly Malkin had been able to talk me into it. A good witch needed to be firmer than that.

  I found a piece of paper and started a list. I had a feeling I was going to need it this week. I wrote:

  Good Witch Ethics

  1. Don’t use animal parts in spells.

  * * *

  Okay, so it wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  The Kelvin card had fallen on the floor. I studied it more closely. It was slick plastic, rounded corners—a perfectly normal playing card. His entire class schedule was neatly printed on it, with locations and everything. The witches would have no trouble finding their prey. I sighed and set Kelvin on the table. At least I knew one of my friends was safe. I was still worried about Jenah and Devon, though. I mean, Devon had just survived a demon infestation, brought about by my mother. Our friendship/relationship/whatever-it-was-ship was dicey at best. If he got caught up in this, he’d never forgive me.

  A small noise and I looked up to see Sarmine coming down the stairs. Sarmine never got out of bed before ten o’clock. I was the keeper of the five a.m. chores. It was a shock to find her up.

  “Coffee,” she muttered. Her hands waved vaguely around for it like a zombie seeking brains.

  I raced to start her coffee brewing. “Worried I’m going to tamper with the thermometers somehow?” I said over my shoulder. I shoved the coffee mug directly under the dripper to catch the first cup of coffee.

  She rubbed sleep out of her eyes. “That would be a shortcut.”

  “I don’t fol
low.”

  Sarmine sat on the couch, smoothing her silver hair into place. She might be out of bed, but she was still in her starched white nightgown. “Cam,” she said. “You are going to win this thing.”

  “I am. I mean, I am?”

  “I am going to help you.”

  I could hardly believe it. It must be a trap. “Wouldn’t you rather watch me stumble through this on my own and then laugh?”

  Sarmine yawned. “Nonsense. We need to get one up on Malkin. If she thinks she can waltz in here after a decade and start this nonsense up again she has another think coming.” I handed her the full coffee mug and she breathed in the scent before she spoke again. “Besides, in fourteen years I have never once heard you beg me to teach you magic. What kind of a mother would I be if I didn’t seize that opportunity?”

  “Well, great,” I said. I sat down beside her and watched her try to get caffeine out of the steam. And then, tentatively, I said, “But aren’t you, you know, kind of working against me with your own student you’re supposed to make miserable? How do I know you won’t cheat?”

  The witch drew herself up. “I never cheat,” she said loftily. “Unless circumstances require it.” She looked thoughtful. “Besides, Malkin is up to something. I can tell. I wouldn’t trust her farther than I could throw her off of a broomstick.”

  “You and me both.”

  “All that nonsense about telling Esmerelda and Valda what to ante up. I don’t know what Bigfoot claws are used for but I can tell you that mermaid fins are used to contain magical creatures. The more powerful the animal, the stronger the spell needed to contain it.”

  “Suspicious,” I agreed.

  “Camellia,” she said, with the air of someone bestowing eternal life and a million dollars, “I will cancel your morning chores this week in favor of early-morning spell-crafting sessions.”

  This was getting better and better.

  “But. If I am going to help you—and work against my own self in doing so—I need a promise from you.”

  “Such as?”

  “That you will promise to learn the spells I teach you,” she said.

  Ah. There was the trap. “If they’re nice spells,” I said, thinking of the list I had started.