“I would never do that,” he said, as if he were not standing by the door, looking ready to do exactly that. “I’ll be around, enjoying the quaint ambience of this picturesque little seaside village during its Tricentennial celebration. You’ll be able to find me when you need me. In the meantime—how do they put it on the Council? Oh, right.” And then he smiled—an actual smile, showing a set of white, even teeth. “Blessed be.”
Then he was gone, leaving me with only a pile of paper, a pendant, a task I didn’t have the slightest idea how to accomplish, and the sinking feeling that West Harbor’s “rift”—which apparently only I could heal—might somehow have been caused by me in the first place.
Jessica
Journal Entry from 2005
To rid thyself of unwanted pests place a turnip near thy breasts.
Goody Fletcher, Book of Useful Household Tips
Today at lunch, Billy came and sat next to me. Because of course he did. Dina and Mark and everyone else were cool about it . . .
. . . until Billy got up to get us more soda—Coke for him, Diet Coke for me. That’s when Mark burst out with, “I can’t believe this, Jess. He’s sitting with us again? When is this going to end?”
“Mark!” Dina cried.
“What?” Mark looked mad. “It’s true. That guy’s a dope. Worse, he’s a dope I have to sit with at lunch every day because Jess put the hex on him with her witchy magic.”
I glared at Dina reproachfully. “You told him?”
Dina gave an apologetic shrug. “I had to tell him. He kept asking why a jock like Billy was sitting here with us emos. He pretty much knew already anyway after the thing with the stew a few weeks ago. You did look kind of weird walking around the caf and eating it, instead of sitting down like a normal person.”
“You girls.” Mark looked at Dina and me and shook his head, his long black hair swaying against his leather-jacketed shoulders. “Goddamned witches. Is that how you got me, Dee? You cast a spell on me, too?”
Dina grinned and reached out to pinch one of Mark’s cheeks. “I didn’t have to cast a spell on you, honey. You’ve been in love with me since the moment you saw me.”
“Lucky for you that’s true.” The adoration that was always in his eyes when Mark spoke to or about Dina softened them, and suddenly, the two of them were kissing. I sighed and looked at the dome-shaped skylight above our heads.
Being a witch is hard, no matter how pure your intentions might be. And being a solitary witch might be harder than anything—AP Chem included. Obviously I had let my best friend, Dina, in on my secret, way back in middle school.
Fortunately Dina took to magic like a duck takes to water, and the two of us had formed our own little mini-coven. It’s nice to have someone to try out spells with, even if most of them didn’t seem to work—or at least not the way we meant them to.
But I can’t say Dina’s boyfriend, Mark, is always one hundred percent supportive of our mystical endeavors.
“But you,” he said to me, his gaze hardening, when the two of them resurfaced from sucking face. “Billy Walker? Really?”
I smiled and ate some more of my peach yogurt. “Don’t you worry about Billy. I’m taking good care of him. Reeeeaaaal good care of him.”
Dina burst out laughing while Mark gagged. “I’m gonna puke,” he said. “And what’s worse is, you don’t even know what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” I said, licking my spoon and thinking about the night before. Billy had shown up—as he had every night since I’d cast the spell—and sprayed my window with pebbles. Then the two of us had snuck out into his truck, where I’d undressed him . . . and allowed him to undress me. I’d stepped up my nightwear since I’d realized romantic moonlit rendezvous were his thing. Instead of my flannel pj’s, I’d started wearing the lacy camisoles I’d bought at Victoria’s Secret in the vain hope that someone might see me in them.
Turned out those hopes weren’t so vain, after all. My inner thighs still tingled from his whisker burn. Billy had proved a very quick—and eager—student of my personal brand of sexual education.
“No, you don’t have any idea what you’re doing,” Mark said. “Because if you did, you’d know just how much of a dope that guy is.”
“Oh, give it up, Mark.” Dina rolled her eyes. “Just because Billy likes football—”
“It’s got nothing to do with football,” Mark said. “Sal’s a football player, and there’s nothing dopey about him.” Dina’s older brother, Sal, had graduated two years before us and gone off to Syracuse on a football scholarship. “I’m talking about Billy, and the shit he says when you girls aren’t around.”
“Oh, you mean guy talk?” Dina aped her boyfriend. “I can’t wait. Come on, tell us. What kind of shit does Billy say?”
Mark shook his head, suddenly reluctant to speak—which for Mark was unusual, so it had to be bad. Mark’s father had passed when he was young, leaving Mama Giovanni’s, the family restaurant, to be run by Mark, his mother, and his three sisters. Mark was intensely protective of both the restaurant and all of the women in his life, and that included his girlfriend—and her best friend. Still, he ordinarily wasn’t shy about sharing juicy gossip.
“Come on, Mark.” I had a hard time imagining Billy saying anything so awful that Mark wouldn’t repeat it. “What did he say? You can tell me. I won’t get mad.”
“Well.” Mark glanced over my shoulder to make sure Billy was still out of earshot, then leaned forward, the sleeve of his leather jacket squeaking against the smooth laminate of the cafeteria table. “Okay. If you must know, he won’t stop talking about how much he loves you.”
Dina’s brow furrowed. “Is that all? What’s wrong with that? I think that’s sweet!”
“No, I mean—he won’t stop talking about it. It’s all he talks about. Billy used to talk about how he couldn’t wait to graduate and go to Notre Dame on that football scholarship he got. But now all he talks about is how he can’t wait to graduate and move to Manhattan and live in a loft with you, and run Jess’s errands while she’s in class at FIT.”
I froze with a spoonful of yogurt halfway to my mouth. Dina and I exchanged nervous glances. “What?”
“Yeah. I thought that might get your attention.” Mark opened the Tupperware containing the lunch his mother had made him. Mama Giovanni’s lunches were legendary. But for once I was more interested in what Mark had to say than in what he was eating. “Billy doesn’t want to go to Notre Dame anymore because that’ll mean being away from his precious Jess. He’s going to skip college altogether and go straight to work at some union job if he can get it, so he can start saving up to buy you a great big fat diamond engagement ring, because he’s so in love with you, he wants to mar—”
“No.” I set down my yogurt, feeling suddenly ill. “Please. Stop.”
“Hey.” Mark shrugged. “I don’t make the news. I only deliver it.”