A Wicked Magic Read online

  Then the road veered inland, away from the cliff, and they hit a pocket of cell coverage. Dan’s phone lit the car up white.

  Call me Dan seriously please

  She shoved it back into the pocket of her hoodie.

  “That’s the same number?” Alexa asked. “What do they want?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Dan pulled her knees in to her chest, catching the heels of her sneakers on the seat. It wasn’t comfortable, but it stopped her from checking her phone every few minutes.

  She wasn’t going to answer. Even if you were asked nicely, you didn’t have to do everything you were told.

  * * *

  —

  The Dogtown exit wasn’t marked —just a hard turn off the highway onto a narrow road. A year ago, some magazine anointed Dogtown the quintessential California coast town: a little grocery with the Free Box on the porch where Dogtowners left stuff they didn’t need for whoever wanted it, a few artists’ studios, an old nondenominational church (now decorated with a peace sign for the Winter Solstice). But Dogtowners weren’t interested in entertaining tourists. Signs marking the exit turned up in the Free Box. Now, you either knew the turn or you kept driving south to the fancy waterfront mansions of Marlena Beach, which was what you probably wanted anyway if you needed a sign.

  Alexa made a left at the old church onto a one-lane road, unlit under a dense canopy of trees. At the end of it, she turned onto Dan’s gravel driveway.

  “Whose car is that?” Alexa asked at the exact moment that Dan said, “Motherfuck.”

  A red Range Rover was parked at the end of the long driveway. In the driver’s seat, a girl with long blond hair was frantically tapping something into her phone. The screen cast her face in a blue glow.

  Dan squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. For the first time in months, Dan wished she still had anything to do with magic: she’d make the Range Rover vanish.

  “Who is that?” Alexa asked again. Dan heard the door of the Range Rover open and shut, footsteps crunching against the gravel. “Is that—”

  “You should go home, Alexa. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

  Before Alexa could protest, Dan was out of the car and slamming the door behind her.

  “What is wrong with you?” the blond girl hissed. “Don’t you ever check your phone or are you the one young person on earth who’s above that?”

  “Hello to you too, Liss.”

  “I’ve been texting you all night—I called a million times and you know I hate calling.”

  “I deleted your number,” Dan said as coldly as she could, which wasn’t very cold at all, because she couldn’t stop herself from softening the truth with a lie. “My phone kind of broke and I lost a bunch of numbers. It doesn’t matter—what do you want?”

  Liss folded her arms. One hand still clutched her phone, but with the other, she was touching the pad of each finger to her thumb, as if she were counting up to four and back again. Liss did this when she was nervous, Dan knew, which was basically all the time. “I need to talk to you. Alone,” she added, jutting her jaw toward the little white Toyota.

  Alexa was standing against her door, one arm thrown up on the roof. She was glaring at Liss with such derision that her lip practically curled. “So you’re Liss? Nice outfit.”

  It wasn’t necessary, Dan knew, and that made it mean, which made her love Alexa fiercely.

  “Kudos, you’ve correctly identified that I’m wearing a school uniform. Where did you find someone with such amazing powers of observation, Dan?”

  Dan soured. Being around Liss gave her a dizzy, nauseous feeling—the collision of how much she’d loved her before with how much she hated her now. For so long they had been almost a single unit that even now, Dan found it hard to resist Liss’s pull. Liss could ask anything of Dan—and she had—but it was another thing entirely to go after Alexa.

  Dan took a long look at Liss. She’d never seen her in her new uniform. Dan hadn’t seen her at all, in fact, since she’d started school at St. Ignatius. There was something fractured about her, a vision of the old, perfect Liss with spider cracks running through. Her hair was frizzing in the fog, and even in the dim light, Dan could see the dark circles under her eyes. Her kneecaps and cheekbones seemed sharper, as if she’d lost weight—at least her mother would be happy about that.

  Strangest of all was the dirt. The white uniform shirt was smeared with it, her hands and knees were grubby, and her tennis shoes were crusted with mud. That wasn’t like Liss at all—she hated being dirty—and it raised a lump in Dan’s throat. She forced herself to say, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  Liss’s fingers counted to four and back, but she didn’t move. She’d never taken well to people saying no to her.

  “Go home, Liss, I’m serious.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Dan. I’m telling you we need to talk.”

  “Do people usually do what you want after you insult them?” Alexa snarled.

  Liss’s mouth was half open, but Dan spoke first. “Just say whatever you came here to say.”

  Liss shook her head. “Not in front of her.”

  Dan bristled. “Her name is Alexa. And I guess you’ll be leaving, because this is the only way we’re having this conversation.”

  Dan met Liss’s eyes. She could tell Liss was burning, and she willed herself to take some pleasure in it.

  “You’re going to regret that decision,” Liss said through her teeth, then closed the space separating them in a few steps. The air between them seemed to turn staticky, crackling with energy, although Dan didn’t know if it was magic or just mutual animosity. She reminded herself that Alexa was behind her, ready to defend her if she needed to, and she schooled her features to a look of indifference.

  Then Liss took a breath and said, “I talked to Johnny.”

  Liss

  Liss didn’t expect to feel as gratified as she did to see Dan speechless, but she also hadn’t expected her to put up such a fight. And she hadn’t expected to get this other girl—Alexa—involved. Dan’s new best friend was still leaning against her dingy little car like an emo James Dean in a thrift-store sweater. It was funny that Alexa thought she could protect Dan from Liss.

  As if Liss was the danger Dan needed protection from.

  “That’s impossible,” Dan finally said in a small voice. “Johnny’s gone.”

  “Who’s Johnny?” Alexa asked.

  “A guy we used to know,” Dan answered.

  Liss held out a flat hand. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  Dan darkened. “Don’t be pathetic. You don’t get to call him your boyfriend after all this.”

  “You can’t still be jealous.”

  “I was never jealous of you, and you aren’t dating Johnny. Johnny is—he’s gone.”

  There was something frantic in Dan’s dark brown eyes. Liss wondered if she thought Johnny was dead, if she thought he died right away or if it was drawn out, long and slow. She wondered if Dan thought Johnny might make it back without her help—their help.

  She wondered if Dan still thought about Johnny at all.

  “Let me get this straight,” Alexa cut in. “Johnny is some guy you used to know—past tense—and your present-tense boyfriend, and no one knows where he is?”

  Dan bit her lip, her shoulders curled in. It was no surprise that Dan didn’t talk about Johnny to Alexa, but everyone had heard what happened to him. Had this girl been living under a rock?

  “Johnny Su,” Dan said carefully. “He went missing at the end of February. Before you moved here,” she added for Liss’s benefit. “No one’s heard from him since.”

  “I have,” Liss said emphatically. “Understand what I mean? I can tell you what he said, but we should be having this conversation in private, don’t you think?” Liss glared at Dan, trying to convey the significan
ce Dan was obviously missing. Dan should have at least been happy that Johnny was alive, even if she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm over reuniting with her old best friend. Instead Dan looked like she wanted to hide under her bed.

  “She said she didn’t,” Alexa snapped.

  Liss ignored that. “Dan, you promised.”

  Dan’s eyes went glossy and wet, like she was getting ready to cry, which would be a very Dan thing to do. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, then opened it again and finally said, “You talked to him? How?”

  Just like that, Liss had burned through her patience. “That’s what you want to know? How?” Liss exploded. “I called him on the fucking phone, Dan. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? He’s at some guy named Kasyan’s house and he needs a ride home. But don’t worry, I can manage it myself.”

  Dan recoiled as though she’d been slapped, but Liss didn’t wait for her to pull herself together. Her blood was on fire as she stalked back to her car. How dare Dan be so ungrateful for everything Liss had done to make this right for both of them? Liss let the force of her anger and exhaustion crush the mislaid faith she’d put in Dan’s help. She would not let herself be disappointed. True, her fingers practically curled for the Black Book, but she’d been getting by without it, hadn’t she? Liss gritted her teeth and reached for the Range Rover’s door.

  “Kasyan? Like Lord Kasyan?”

  Liss and Dan both trained their eyes on Alexa.

  Liss kicked herself. The last thing she needed was this aspiring art school dropout on her case. She chose her words delicately. “That’s what I said. Kasyan. What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing. My aunt Lorelei told me a few scary stories about him when I was a kid. You know, the Lord of Last Resort.” Liss narrowed her eyes at Alexa—her choppy bob, the bitchy slant to her mouth. Alexa held her gaze. “They’re fairy tales.”

  “Thanks for that incredible insight.” Liss yanked open the door to the Range Rover. “Dan, if your phone gets fixed, undelete my number and let me know if you want to help.”

  As Liss pulled out of Dan’s drive, she looked back. Dan was standing in the feeble yellow glow of the porch light. Even from this distance, Liss could see her huddled posture, as if she were steeling herself against some pain that hadn’t yet come.

  Liss set her mouth in a firm line. Dan would text her if she knew what was good for her—which she almost never did without Liss telling her.

  “See you soon, bestie,” she whispered as she left Dogtown behind her.

  * * *

  —

  Liss took Highway 1’s switchbacks on the drive from Dogtown down to Marlena Beach with the same mechanical precision with which she punched in the security code at her house’s gate and guided the red Range Rover into its parking place beside the two white BMWs (one sedan, one SUV).

  Liss did not get out of the car.

  She checked her phone for texts she might have missed in the spotty coverage between Dogtown and Marlena, but there was nothing from Dan. So she spent a few minutes checking her social accounts, not even concentrating enough to register what was going on in the little videos she was liking, then checked her texts again, as if the little videos had been a ritual that would make new texts appear.

  No new texts appeared, specifically no new texts from Dan, which was mainly annoying because it was only a matter of time until Dan texted her, because Dan was Dan and she was Liss and it was the natural order of things that Dan would text her back.

  Especially about this. Dan had promised.

  Liss went to rub her eyes, then remembered how filthy her hands were and stopped herself.

  She was so, so tired.

  She tipped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Liss took a heavy breath and let it out, using her diaphragm the way a therapist had taught her once as a holistic anxiety management technique. But focusing on her breathing made all the other stuff that wasn’t her breathing—all the stuff that focusing on her breathing was meant to quiet—even louder and hotter and brighter. They were the fires that caught in the dark, burning your retinas so you saw them even in the blackness.

  That afternoon, the sun had already been low as she half slid down the bank of a creek in Digger’s Gulch State Park, which meant her spell had been done nearly in the dark. She had laid her mirror on the leaves at the bottom of the crevasse and carefully pooled water like mercury on the mirror’s surface. Then she dug her hands into the mud on either side, locked eyes with her own harried reflection, and whispered the words of the spell. She fought against the chill in the December air, the worsening ache in her back, the ever-more-intrusive voice in her head calling this a lost cause.

  Then the water began to change. Something milky white bled into it. Similar things had happened before—oily shimmers or puke orange; once ice crystals had formed. Soon Liss’s reflection was obscured, and all at once she knew this time was different. The energy of a correctly executed spell had an inexpressible feeling of alignment that melded profound perfection with absolute relief. If Liss hadn’t forced herself to focus on the words of the spell, she would have stopped breathing entirely.

  When she felt the connection, it was like a phone that had been answered before anyone spoke. Liss had expected Johnny’s face to appear in the fluid on the mirror, but it wasn’t that at all. He was in her mind, his face so gaunt and gray she barely recognized him.

  Liss? Oh my god, Liss, get me out of here.

  Liss didn’t know if he was speaking aloud or just thinking to her, but his words sounded reedy and thin.

  Out of where? she’d pleaded. Where did she take you? Who was she?

  Her name is Mora. We’re underground, I think, I don’t know where. But she’s not the one keeping me here. He had been trembling then, his heart racing, mouth dry—she had felt his fear in her own body.

  Who?

  Kasyan—he’s a demon or something. He’s trapped here too. It’s some kind of prison. Help me, Liss. It’s a fucking nightmare down here. The words stumbled out of him like they’d had nowhere to go all these months. I don’t want to die here . . .

  The spell had fractured then, before she’d been able to promise him she was coming, and she’d been left gasping and shaking and alone.

  A fucking nightmare.

  A fucking nightmare.

  A fucking nightmare.

  A fucking nightmare.

  Liss made herself count to four and back, to four and back, to four and back, tapping out the familiar rhythm that helped her feel still even when she couldn’t stop moving, stop working, stop thinking.

  Liss opened her eyes. Some of the dirt caked under her nails had loosened and fallen onto her already mud-streaked skirt.

  She grabbed her backpack and got out of the car.

  * * *

  —

  Liss was toweling her hair dry, bathrobe cinched around her waist, when her mother opened the door to her room.

  “You promised to knock!”

  “You think I care about seeing you in a towel?” Her mother tapped a manicured nail against the bulb of her wine glass.

  “I care.”

  “Where were you tonight? It’s a school night.”

  “At Dan’s again.” Although tonight it was true, this was a lie Liss had been telling for months. Thankfully their parents weren’t close.

  “There are so many good connections at St. Ignatius. Would it kill you to make some new friends?”

  “It might.”

  Her mother seemed to be considering whether Liss’s possible death was worth good connections. Liss suspected she’d decided that it was, but she hadn’t had enough wine to admit it. She always drank less when Liss’s father was home. “That’s charming, Elisabeth. Now, I heard from the college consultant today. He had a cancellation, so he’s fitting you in for a session to go over the f
inal draft of your essay next Monday.”

  “Amazing,” Liss said. “Now, can I change?”

  Liss closed the door behind her mother and listened for the door of her parents’ bedroom to close too, and then a few more minutes to be safe, before she opened her laptop and pulled up a password-protected file: “AP Chem Notes Winter Final.”

  It was not notes for her upcoming chemistry final.

  She scrolled to the bottom of the document and entered the date, December 8. Johnny had been gone nearly ten months. She typed out the word success, then modified it (success?), then deleted it altogether and wrote instead made contact and entered the necessary details: coordinates of the creek bed where the spell finally worked, atmospheric conditions, time, the birds she’d observed.

  Liss had long since memorized the spell, but still she scrolled back to the top of the document to her first entry from early August, where it was transcribed. Not for the first time, Liss congratulated herself for having the foresight to take meticulous notes on anything the Black Book gave them. Obviously, she hadn’t predicted that Dan would hold the Book hostage, but the Book was unreliable. It was almost impossible to find the same page twice, so when it gave you something good, you copied it down.

  Liss had meant to review the spell’s steps, but instead her gaze snagged on the text at the top of the page: The Araxes Process for. A knot tightened deep in her stomach. She’d deleted the second half of the spell’s name months ago. Every time she’d seen it, it had taunted her—reminding her of all the things she’d done that couldn’t be reversed, things that would probably disqualify her from using the spell altogether.

  But today it had worked. At the top of the page, Liss typed in the missing words: The Araxes Process for Speaking to Lost Love.