Conjured Page 5

  James froze mid-motion, but quickly regained his composure. He shoved his book into his bag and then slammed his locker shut.

  It took about half a minute for him to look at me. Well, forty-seven seconds, but, hey, who was counting?

  “Yeah?”

  I swallowed. “I wanted to say hello. I’m glad you’re back at school.”

  “I didn’t really have a choice.” James’ face was like stone.

  “Right,” I said. “How are you doing?” I wanted to ram my head against the locker the second the words came out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  Dark brown eyebrows shot up. A small smile curved from his tightly pressed lips. “How am I doing? Great. Amazing. Just peachy. You know, that’s how you normally feel when you’ve recently committed patricide.”

  The verbal blow sucker punched me in the gut. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question.”

  James was silent.

  Up close the dark smudges under his eyes were visible. He hadn’t been sleeping either. Was James unable to think about anything except for what happened that night in the cemetery? Were we haunted by the same nightmare?

  I really wanted to talk to James. He was the only person on the planet that had been affected as strongly as I had by that night. But it wasn’t going to happen. He still had so much anger and resentment inside.

  I pushed my hair away from my face. “I’m really sorry. For everything. I wanted to come by and thank you again.”

  James’ eyes roamed over my face. “How are you doing? Done any witchy spells lately?”

  “This isn’t the time or place to talk about that.”

  “That’s right.” James smacked his forehead in mock forgetfulness. “It was never the right time or right place for you to tell me that you were a witch.”

  I glanced uneasily around the hallway, but most of the students were already in class. “That’s not fair and you know it. I didn’t know what was happening at the time.”

  “You knew something was up. And I’m sure you told Peter, didn’t you?”

  I averted my eyes.

  “How is Peter by the way? Still the hero with the hockey stick?”

  “I guess it was a mistake to try to extend the olive branch. I won’t bother you anymore.”

  James didn’t say anything.

  Fine. I started to walk away, but something stopped me. I turned around. He was still standing there with that stony look on his face.

  “I understand that you’re hurt and angry and confused. I get it. Trust me. No one gets it more than I do. But I know you don’t hate me as much as you’re putting on,” I said.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because if you did, you wouldn’t have shown up at Grandma Claudia’s funeral. I saw you in the back, between the mausoleums. I went to find you after the service, but you were gone. Thank you.”

  James blinked and the stony mask slipped away. I saw him as he was that night in the cemetery. Lost. Confused. Scared. But still my friend. Still my ally. He ran his hand over his face and took a deep breath, his entire chest heaving. He shook his head at the ground in between us and then slowly raised his eyes to mine.

  His jaw was tense and his eyes were… cold. “Actually, I came to see if they’d killed you yet.”

  James didn’t wait for me to respond. He turned on his heel and walked away.

  CHAPTER 6

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “That’s a little over dramatic, don’t you think?” I plunged my straw into the chocolate milk shake. It was topped with whipped cream and a cherry.

  “Fine,” Peter said, leaning back against the booth with a half grin. “I’m going to smash his face in.”

  “Less dramatic, but still not appropriate. Let James say whatever he wants. Who cares?”

  “I care.”

  “And that’s very sweet of you, but they’re only words. He’s angry and upset. Let him say what he wants. He made his point - he wants us to stay clear of each other.” I took a sip of the rich chocolate shake. It was delicious. “Are you really not getting dessert?”

  Peter pulled his glass of water in front of him and frowned. “I can’t. I have conditioning practice in an hour and I just downed an entire double cheeseburger. I don’t want to puke all over the ice.”

  “Conditioning practice at night? That sucks.”

  “We can’t win a state championship without putting in the extra effort. And nice try, but you’re not going to distract me from this conversation. How do we know that what James said wasn’t a direct threat at you?”

  “We don’t. But, it’s no big surprise that Gamma wants me dead.”

  “Lex, do you hear yourself? You’re perfectly fine with knowing that someone wants you dead? Scratch that - a whole lot of someones. ”

  I pushed the chocolate shake over to Peter. He’d been eyeing it since the waitress placed it on the table. “It’s the truth. Gamma and possibly other witch hunters that know about me, want me dead. I accept that fact. Now, that doesn’t mean I’m going to lie down and die without a fight. But for the record, I don’t really buy James’ threat.”

  Peter pushed the shake back to me. “Why not? I swear you give that boy way too much credit.”

  “I could tell by his face. It was all an act to push me away. So fine, I’ll go along with it. I’ll have nothing to do with James Van Curen again.”

  The corner of Peter’s mouth pulled up into a lopsided grin. “I won’t argue with that.”

  * * *

  I was dreading third period American Literature. It would be my first class with James since he was officially back at Hawthorne and since he officially hated my guts. It was bound to be awkward. Not to mention Lucas, Logan and Sadie were in the class, too. They would undoubtedly feel the tension between James and me. And how would I explain that?

  The plan was to get to class early and not look at James when he walked in. Fat chance. When I walked into American Literature ten minutes before the bell, five people were in the room, including James.

  I straightened my shoulders, walked down the row and took my seat. I didn’t acknowledge James - I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction - so I had no idea if he looked my way, smiled or spit in my direction.

  I pulled out my collection of Edgar Allan Poe short stories and poems. I flipped to The Raven and re-read the poem to keep distracted. It was a bad idea, because it immediately reminded me of my nightmare about the fireflies and ravens.

  “Do we have a quiz or something?” Logan sat down in the desk in front of me.

  “Huh?”

  “Why are you reading? Do we have a quiz?”

  “Oh. No, I was brushing up on Poe before class,” I said.

  Logan gave me a strange look, but didn’t say anything else. He pulled out his book, too, and shuffled through the pages.

  I couldn’t help but see James when I was talking to Logan. He was rigidly sitting in his chair facing the front of the room. Lucas and Sadie walked in and James waived at them before they took their seats.

  Maybe it was smart that I arrived to class early. At least the others wouldn’t have noticed the palpable tension between James and me. Would he have pretended to be nice in front of the others? Or openly hostile?

  “Hi ya,” Sadie said taking her seat beside me. “Oh no, do we have a quiz?”

  I slammed my book shut. “No. No quiz. Am I that bad of a student? If I’m reading my book before class does that automatically mean I have some top secret info that a quiz is imminent?”

  Sadie raised her dark eyebrows. “Well, yeah.”

  Lucas turned around in his chair. “Bad morning, Alex?”

  “No,” I said stubbornly. I let a smile escape, realizing how stupid I was acting. “Sorry guys.”

  The late bell sounded and Mr. Eubanks walked into the room with his briefcase. At least I didn’t have to talk or explain my bad behavior for the next hour.

  “Good morning class! Hope everyone is wide-eyed and al
ert. Today we’re beginning a new American author, Edgar Allan Poe. Did everyone read the assigned pages?” Mr. Eubanks walked back and forth in front of the dry-erase board.

  The class murmured.

  “Because I’m not lecturing today.”

  Logan sat up in his chair. “A quiz?”

  “No,” Mr. Eubanks said. “But that isn’t a bad idea. Today, you all are going to teach each other. I realized that most of you tune me out when I stand up here and feed you details about all the fascinating American authors and their timeless classics.”

  He tossed his dry erase marker in the air and caught it. “As unfortunate as that is, I still believe that this information is important for your future. I want my students to be educated on the classics. And if you’re still not motivated by my speech, then at least I want you to have fun facts to spit out at cocktail parties. So, we are going to be a little more interactive today.”

  Super.

  “When I call on you, please give me a valuable piece of information about Edgar Allan Poe. From there, we’ll see where our discussion leads,” Mr. Eubanks said, moving behind his podium.

  The class tensed. No one liked being called on.

  “Let’s begin. Cheyenne, how about you go first?”

  The quiet girl with the mousy brown hair shifted in her seat. “Uh, he was born in Boston. But he grew up in Virginia.”

  Mr. Eubank’s clapped his hands together. “Right. See, this is fun! That’s all we needed - just a little interaction. Hmmm, who’s next? Sadie, how about you?”

  Sadie stopped picking at her dark nail polish. “He… wrote The Raven in 1845.”

  “Spectacular Miss Williams! Now, before we move on. Let’s discuss The Raven and what it’s really about. The poem has deep mystical overtones, like most of Poe’s work. It’s a perfect example of thick gothic atmosphere - where the lines between the living and the dead are often blurred.”

  The pit of my stomach tightened. I couldn’t get away from spirits. Was the supernatural always going to be in the forefront of my life? Even in class? Couldn’t we read Mark Twain? Or Thoreau? Did it always have to be about witches and ghosts and death and the paranormal?

  “The narrator is a distraught young man who has lost his true love, Lenore,” Mr. Eubanks said. “Line by line the poem reveals the young man’s descent into madness as he converses at midnight with a mysterious black raven. Or so the young man thinks he’s talking to the Raven, but that, of course, is up for interpretation. Is the Raven really speaking? Or has the young man gone mad over the loss of his beloved Lenore?”

  Mr. Eubanks strolled down the aisle. “The Raven is one of Poe’s most powerful poems and it deserves a thorough examination. You can say the line ‘Quoth the Raven: Nevermore,’ to anyone on the street and there is a very good likelihood that they’ll know what you’re saying. Can any of you comment on some of the themes in the poem?”

  Logan raised his hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Cooper, Logan that is.” Eubanks gave an apologetic smile to Lucas, who definitely wasn’t raising his hand. Lucas was busy passing a note to Sadie.

  “I think the supernatural is a dominate theme, even though no actual ghosts appear in the poem,” Logan said.

  Ghosts. Spirits. Great.

  I should have skipped American Lit. I bet Peter would’ve ditched with me if I’d asked him. Was I the only one in class feeling uncomfortable?

  James was flipping through the pages of his book, paying close attention to the lecture. Maybe he wasn’t tired of the supernatural. No scratch that - he was definitely tired of the paranormal, but he probably didn’t know that ghosts and spirits existed, too. Good for him. The less one knew about the supernatural world, the better.

  “I completely agree with you, Logan,” Mr. Eubanks said. “What about some of the symbols depicted in The Raven?”

  “You have the time of the poem - midnight - which in some cultures represents the witching hour or the haunting hour. The time of the night when ghosts are free to roam,” Logan said, twirling his pencil in his fingers. “Then you have the Raven. The bird, itself, is mystical because it has the ability to speak. But the bird is also dark and mysterious because it’s visiting the grieving narrator in the middle of the night. In most parts of the world and for the better part of history, ravens have been considered omens of bad news.”

  I rubbed my temples. Ravens were omens of bad news. Typical. So a nightmare filled with hundreds of red-eyed ravens attacking you couldn’t be good, right? Of course not. My dreams were telling me what I already knew - I had a whole lot of bad coming my way.

  “Very good, Logan,” Mr. Eubanks said. “Now to get a clear understanding, let’s read the poem aloud in class. Let’s see, Alexandria, will you do the honors?”

  Of course, I would be picked to read the poem.

  I sighed, but turned to the page where The Raven began. I ran my finger over the drawing of the large bird. It was exactly like the ravens from my dream, except for the eyes. In the book, the raven’s eyes were black and nondescript; not vivid blood red, like the flock of deadly ravens from my nightmare.

  Definitely a bad omen.

  I cleared my throat. “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary; Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore; While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door-- Only this and nothing more.’”

  Mr. Eubanks held up his finger. “In the opening paragraph, Poe sets the stage. We can feel the atmosphere. The draft from the cold. The eeriness of the midnight hour. And now the young man hears a knock. Who could it possibly be at such a late hour? We sense his nervousness. Please continue Alexandria, you are doing a fantastic job.”

  Sadie threw me an encouraging smile.

  I found my place in the poem. “Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its…”

  I froze over the next word. I didn’t want to say it. It was stupid, I know. But the idea of Grandma Claudia conjuring those spirits….

  Mr. Eubanks politely nodded. “Continue, Alexandria.”

  Lucas turned around in his desk. I gave him a weak smile. It was a stupid poem. Only words. Read it.

  “Sorry, Mr. Eubanks.” I took a deep breath. “And each separate dying ember wrought it’s…” I hesitated again, but closed my eyes and finished the sentence. “And each separate dying ember wrought its…ghost upon the floor.”

  I read without difficulty until I came to the fifth paragraph. “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing; Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token;”

  The words were conjuring up the images I couldn’t shake. Images that haunted me nightly. It was as if the poem was written about my grandmother’s last night.

  I could see Grandma Claudia staring into that silver mirror. Peering, wondering, fearing what was in that darkness. Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before.

  Don’t think about it. Not now. Not in a room full of people. Don’t lose your cool.

  I focused on Poe’s words and tried to recite them without meaning, without feeling, without thought. Just read the words.

  Last paragraph. Almost there. “And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting; On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a….”

  Breathe. Breathe.

  A few more lines. “…demon's that is dreaming; And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor; Shall be lifted--nevermore.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I couldn’t concentrate on the spell book. I only had a limited amount of time, but it didn’t matter. All the words blurred together. I’d read the same line five times. Eve
n the words written in clear English (as opposed to Latin) were incomprehensible to me. I glanced out the window, past the snow covered deck and out to the roaring ocean. The waves relentlessly crashed onto the beach - almost angrily - one right after another.

  The sea mirrored my mood.

  “Did you find any?” Vanessa poked her head into my grandmother’s sunroom. Her hair was tied back with a handkerchief.

  “Not really.”

  Vanessa frowned. “The realtor is picking up the keys this afternoon because I told him we’d be finished. And I have a flight to catch in five hours. Time is running out.”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Are you sure you don’t want me to help clean?”

  “No, I’m almost done. Your job is to see if there’s anything in that book that you want me to explain before I go.”

  Vanessa was right. This was my last chance to receive hands-on training. Once Vanessa boarded the plane for Louisiana, I’d be the only witch in the vicinity.

  Unfortunately, learning new spells was the last thing on my mind. I was no closer to figuring out what happened to my grandmother. I’d read her journal several times with no luck. There were no clues. Why on Earth would Grandma Claudia draw a conjuring circle? What was she doing? After Vanessa’s reaction, I’d been hesitant to bring the symbol back up. But the reality was that Vanessa was my only link to the supernatural world.

  I also had no idea where Jonah’s journal was hidden. James was avoiding me like the plague. I’d even made it easy on him by making excuses to the others about why I wasn’t at lunch. And now that school was out for Christmas break, I was home with Emma who sulked around the house day and night.

  “You seem out of it today,” Vanessa said.

  “Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.”

  “I can imagine.” Vanessa leaned the broom against the wall. She held out her hand for the spell book. “You know I miss her, too. Very much.”

  I lowered my eyes. “I know.”

  I didn’t want to talk about Grandma Claudia. Not now. Not here in this house that I would never see again. Not so close to the front room.