CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“There you are.”
I turned to see Maggie walking toward me, her hands plunged into the pockets of her jeans. Her face was pale, and there were purple circles underneath her eyes, similar to my own.
“How’d you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard to guess.” Maggie shrugged. “Besides, it’s a really small town.”
I nodded as she settled beside me on the picnic table.
“Why are you here, Lainey?”
“I really don’t know,” I replied after a minute or two. I’d woken up restless from my nap and grabbed my car keys. After driving around aimlessly for a while, I’d ended up back at the cemetery. “I guess I just didn’t know where else to go. I thought maybe if I came back here, where I saw her last, that Josephine might show up. Explain a few things.”
“Has she? Shown up, I mean?”
“No. It’s been frustratingly quiet.”
“And the trees?”
“I haven’t gotten close enough to find out.”
Maggie reached over, took my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know all of this . . . isn’t what you expected. But it’s better to know, right? The truth will set you free and all that?”
“I did want answers,” I said. “But I don’t know what to make of the ones I got. Two weeks ago, I was plain ol’ Lainey Styles, and now I’m apparently some all-powerful . . .” I couldn’t say the word out loud. “The truth about my mom and Josephine. All the lies. How am I even supposed to process it all?”
“Well, step one is to not freak out.” Maggie gave my hand another squeeze.
“Yeah, but how can I not freak out? It seems easier to completely fall apart than to accept any of this as true.”
“But it is true. What else could explain all the weird stuff that’s been happening to you?”
“I know.” I pulled away from Maggie and dropped my head in my hands. “But it shouldn’t be. I had my life all planned out, ya know? Since middle school, I’ve been killing myself to be the best at everything, to be number one. All I ever wanted to do was to get into a good school with a great science program and be on my own, have the opportunity to see and discover the world. I wanted the chance to figure out who I really am. But this?” My voice cracked. “It’s not exactly what I had in mind. . . . It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not,” Maggie agreed. “But this is your life now. This is who you are, and you can’t run away from it. You have to face it.”
My shoulders sagged. The whole story sounded too ridiculous to be real, but there was a ring of absolute truth to Serena’s words. And even stranger than that was the feeling of acquiescence that was gnawing away at me deep down—it was like being reunited with a long-lost friend or finding something valuable you didn’t even realize you had lost. It felt as though a part of me had already accepted the news of my newfound “witch” status without so much as a blink of an eye, while another part of me was convinced I had lost my mind.
It made me uncomfortable to feel so at war with myself, but I was trying not to let it show. “How are you so calm right now?” I asked Maggie. “You’re handling the news way better than I am.”
Maggie shrugged. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Styles. I’m the girl who spends more time with fictional superheroes than I do with actual people, the girl who spent an entire summer learning Elvish, the girl who already believed in magic. It’s not that far-fetched for me, if you think about it. Besides, you’re my best friend and I believe in you.”
“But what if I really am a . . . witch.” The last word came out in a whisper, and I grimaced.
“Then you’ll learn to deal with it,” Maggie said. “I think you’re looking at this all wrong. You know, before he was part of the Super-Soldier Project, Steve Rogers was this puny, unimpressive guy who was more likely to break his arm playing checkers than to accomplish anything noteworthy. But then he became freaking Captain America! You get what I’m saying?”
“Um, yes?”
Maggie laughed. “God, Styles, you have got to read more comic books.” She leaned forward. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a radioactive spider or finding a magical thunder hammer? I’ve spent my whole life wishing to be more than just ordinary. But I’m just me, just Maggie, and that’s probably all I’m ever going to be.” Maggie grabbed my hand again. “But you, Lainey, you get to be anything but ordinary, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
The words settled over me, wrapping around me and covering me with calm reassurance. I smiled. “You know, Mags, even if things go to hell, I’m glad to have you by my side.”
“Oh, don’t get all emotional on me now,” Maggie chided, but she was smiling too. “I’ve got your back, you know that.”
“I know. Thank you. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Well, for starters, you’d be stuck hanging out in a graveyard all by yourself.”
“It’s not so bad in the daylight.”
“I don’t know about that,” Maggie said, glancing around. “But you are a witch now, so I can understand if this place speaks to you.”
I sucked down a gulp of air. Maggie was just teasing me, but it was the first time anyone had actually called me a witch. It was jarring.
Well, Lainey, you’re gonna have to get used to it sooner or later. I took another deep breath. I’m a witch. I tested the phrase in my mind. It was strange, but not completely wrong.
It reminded me of the time I bought my first pair of cowboy boots. I remembered pulling the soft-soled boots out of the box and marveling at how the rustic leather looked vintage and worn in all the right places. I’d bought them immediately and worn them out of the store, but that night my feet were sore and blistered. It wasn’t until I’d properly broken in the boots that they fit without pain. Maybe, like the boots, I just needed to give myself some time to get used to the idea—to break it in, so to speak.
I’m a witch, I tried again. This time, the words didn’t completely jar me. I’m a witch. Better still. I’m a witch. It was getting better every time.
“I’m a witch,” I whispered under my breath, testing the words on my tongue. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to completely surrender, to try and reconcile the two warring sides of myself. Warm energy crackled underneath my skin. “I’m a witch,” I said again, a little louder this time. “I am—”
“Um, Lainey?” Maggie suddenly interrupted.
My eyes flew open. “Sorry. I was just trying to—”
“No,” Maggie interrupted again. “Look.” She pointed over my shoulder.
Unsure of what to expect, I turned around slowly. At first I didn’t realize what I was supposed to be looking at, but then I gasped.
The tombstone behind me was a small worn piece of polished stone. It was so old, the inscription of the name was barely visible, and weathering the elements for so many years had coated it in a dark layer of grime. But it wasn’t the stone that stole my breath; it was the rosebush behind it.
Most of the plants in the cemetery had grown wild, covering the tombstones around them like ivy, while others had simply succumbed to the Georgia heat. This was one of the latter, its withered, brown leaves brittle and lifeless.
But as I watched, slack-jawed, the rosebush had begun to change. The base of the bush turned green again, and tiny pink buds sprouted from its branches.
Maggie’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and it took several gulps of air before I could speak.
“Did I . . .” I trailed off. “Did I do that?” I finally squeaked out.
Maggie looked back and forth between the rosebush and me. “There’s only one way to find out.” She stood up, pulling me with her, and pushed my hand toward the bush. “Say it again.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. I leaned forward and touched one of the tiny buds. “I’m a witch,” I whispered.
Immediately, the bud responded, blossoming into a large pink rose with wavy petals and a darker center. I’d never seen a rose look so alive before. A tiny squeal of both laughter and amazement escaped my lips. Behind me, Maggie had her hand clamped over her mouth.
“I’m a witch,” I said again, louder and with both hands stretched out over the rosebush. I was still overwhelmed and absolutely terrified by the prospect of the future, but watching as the entire bush began to bloom and teem with life just felt right.
I turned back to Maggie, whose face mirrored my own amazement. “I probably shouldn’t have done that. I’m guessing that was a pulse?”
“Looks that way,” Maggie replied, and she started laughing. “God, Styles, if you get your Hogwarts letter before me, I’m gonna be so pissed!”
The look on Maggie’s face was so comical I couldn’t help but laugh.
It was surprising how easily the sound spilled out, how easy it was to laugh off the anxiety that was gnawing at me from the inside out. Was I really accepting that this was my fate?
I glanced over at the rosebush that was continuing to bloom and flourish, and then back at Maggie, who was still giggling. “I’m a witch,” I said, and for the first time since I’d discovered the truth, the word didn’t seem so foreign. It would still take some getting used to, but it was a start.
“So,” Maggie asked a little while later, “what’s the next step in all of this?”
I sighed. “I have to talk to Gareth.” It was the logical thing to do, but I was dreading it. I was so angry with him for lying to me, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to calmly and rationally discuss the issues at hand. What I really wanted to do was punch him in the face.
“Does he know you know?”
“I assume Serena has told him by now. I had a few missed calls from him.”
Maggie scrunched her nose in thought. “What do you think he’ll say?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “But he’s got some serious explaining to do.”
A short tritone chime chirped from inside my bag. Sighing, I dug around until my fingers wrapped around my phone. “Maybe that’s him now.” I slid my finger across the screen to read the text.
The number was unfamiliar, but as I read the message, a smile crept across my face. “It’s from Ty.” A rush of adrenaline shot through me, and my heart fluttered. “I didn’t even know he had my number.”
“Oh, I gave it to him.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks, Maggie.”
“You’re welcome,” Maggie replied, her cheeks pulled up into a devilish grin.
I snorted and turned my attention back to the text. “He wanted to make sure I was okay.”
“How sweet!”
“I guess so.” I tossed Maggie the phone so she could read the message. “But all things considered, why in the world is he still talking to me? Last night was like a freaking episode of the Twilight Zone. What normal guy would be into that?”
“Eh, normal is overrated,” Maggie replied matter-of-factly.
I thought of the sympathetic look in his eyes as I’d spilled my guts about all the freaky stuff that had been happening, of the reassuring pressure of his hand in mine. Most of the guys I knew would’ve run for the hills by now. But Ty hadn’t.
I took my phone back from Maggie and stared at the screen, contemplating a reply.
“Hey, Styles?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re blushing.” Maggie giggled and then winked at me.
“Oh, shut up!” I reached over to smack her, but she darted out of the way with a laugh. “I am not. I’m just trying to figure out a response that doesn’t make me sound like a complete psycho.”
“Say what you want, Styles. But I can read you like a book.” Maggie smirked again and started making kissing noises.
“God, Maggie! What are you, five years old?” I pulled a comic book from the messenger bag around her shoulders and tossed it at her. “Here, read about that green lamp guy and quit distracting me.”
“Lantern,” Maggie corrected. “It’s the Green Lantern!”
“Whatever. Same thing!”
Maggie mockingly gripped her chest as though she were in pain. “You wound me, Styles. You wound me.”
“Maggie!”
“Okay, okay.” Maggie threw her hands up in surrender. “Be sure to tell Pretty Face I said hello.” And with one final kissy noise, she turned her attention to her comic book.
With Maggie’s teasing voice echoing in my ear, I recalled the moment Ty had brought me back from the brink with Josephine. The whole evening was starting to blur together, and the moments after Josephine’s appearance were the fuzziest of all.
Yet, I could distinctly remember the feel of Ty’s hands, the way his fingers had pressed into my back as he held me. I could still see the worry burning in his eyes as he tried to calm me, and the very thought of how his strong arms had wrapped around me, forceful yet gentle at the same time, was enough to get my heart pounding again. I remembered the undeniable feeling of security I’d felt wrapped in his arms, the sound of his husky voice murmuring words of comfort in my ear. I shivered just thinking about it all.
Beside me, Maggie giggled. “I saw that, Styles.” She eyed me suggestively, and this time my whole face ignited, betraying me. “I knew you were thinking about it.”
I rolled my eyes and quickly tapped out a short reply on my phone. I hit send and tossed the phone back into my bag. “You’re something else, Mags.”
“I know. That’s why you love me,” Maggie replied sweetly, flipping her comic book shut with an audible snap.
“Oh, yeah? Well, that’s debatable.” I laughed. “Now, come on. I should get going.”
“Heading home, then?”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Gareth will be home soon. It’s time he and I had a talk.”
Gareth’s truck was parked in its usual spot in front of the house. I parked next to it and opened my car door, wincing as the creaky hinges grated against my frazzled nerves.
I walked slowly up the walkway. I hated how nervous I felt; I’d wanted to confront Gareth with strength and confidence, but now that the conversation was moments away, I was the exact opposite of brave. I was a lamb being led to the slaughter.
Stop it, Lainey. He’s your uncle, not an executioner. I straightened my shoulders and walked toward Gareth’s office. It was where he spent most of his time when he was home.
Pushing the door open, I stuck my head inside.
Two of the four walls of the room were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and a large antique desk sat near a large window with a wide bench seat. The other wall was decorated in large maps that were covered in Post-it notes, Gareth’s neat handwriting scrawled across them.
I’d always loved the way the room smelled of old, well-loved books. Some of my favorite childhood memories were of Gareth and me sprawled out together on the large rug, flipping through antique encyclopedias and atlases, of reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and The Hobbit.
I scanned the room and frowned. It was empty. That’s strange.
The rest of the house was quiet, and I’d been certain I’d find Gareth behind his desk, poring over papers. I shrugged, turned toward the door, and stopped.
One of the bookshelves on the far wall was leaning precariously forward, and there was a dim, hazy glowing coming from the right side of the shelf.
I blinked. Maybe it was the sunlight that poured in through the window creating some kind of optical illusion. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep that was making me loopy, but it almost seemed as if the bookshelf had come unattached from the wall and was floating in midair.
I moved closer to get a better look.
I stopped again, my breath hitching in my throat.
It had been an optical illusion after all. The bookshelf wasn’t floating or about to fall over.
It was a door.