Moon Magic Page 10
After the exorcism, he was so sweet, even better to me than he had been in the brief time we were together once I arrived in this timeline—nicer than he should be after the way I ended things with him. It was clear he wanted to get back together, but I couldn’t. He was just starting to get a handle on the psychic abilities he manifested when the binding spell was cast. It was too hard for me to be around him after all I lost. Somehow the idea that the two of them are friends is comforting.
Krissa offers the briefest twitch of the corners of her mouth as she crosses the threshold. She shrugs the backpack on her shoulder. “Sorry I’m late. I had to pick up some supplies.”
I don’t bother telling her that whatever she has I’ve probably got stored in my bedroom already. With as many things as Dana and I have picked up from Hannah’s herbs in the last few months, I’m pretty sure we can rival the store’s inventory. Still, I take it as a good sign that she’s come so prepared. Maybe she really can accomplish something Dana and I haven’t been able to yet.
Dana visibly tenses as Krissa enters the living room, but Krissa doesn’t seem to notice. She zeros in on the coffee table and kneels beside it, tipping the contents of her bag out on the smooth glass top. I do my best to identify elements as she arranges them. A variety of quartz, a handful of different herbs, and a heavy leather-bound tome that looks similar to my family’s grimoire. Keeping her head down, she opens the book and flips through a few pages until she finds the one she’s looking for. “Okay, I found something that might allow the two of you to cast some simple spells. It seems to have some roots in the vessel spell my dad used.”
It sounds like she wants to go on explaining what the spell was used for, but she holds back. Since I don’t remember much about the night the circle and Krissa’s dad confronted Seth in his warehouse, I’m not entirely sure what went into the vessel spell, but I don’t need a history lesson. I don’t care about the origin of this particular bit of magic or who crafted it, I just want it to work. I’m about to ask what needs to happen before we can see if it does when a knock sounds at the front door. I glance at Dana. “Is Fox here already?”
Dana watches Krissa, looking for some reaction to the mention of Fox’s name, but Krissa’s eyes remain on the grimoire as if she didn’t hear me. “No, he’s not supposed to be here for another hour,” Dana says after a beat, glaring like she’s considering committing an act of violence against me.
A knock sounds again and I press my lips together. Who could it be? Neither of my parents are home, so it’s probably not one of their friends. Could it be Lexie again? I hope not. “I’ll be back.”
Krissa barely nods as I jog toward the front door. I open it, prepared to tell whoever is on my porch to shove off, but the words die in my throat. There’s something striking about the man who greets my eyes, something about the way he holds himself. He looks like he could be a grad student—young, dressed like a casual professional in a crisp black button-down and expensive jeans. But there’s something about him that oozes authority. His dark chocolate eyes pin me in place and it takes a moment to find my voice. “Can I help you?”
He smiles, flashing dazzling white teeth. “I certainly hope so,” he says, his tone easy and smooth. “Are you Crystal Jamison?”
I’m too surprised to respond. Why would someone be looking for me? Could this be some kind of college recruitment thing? No—that doesn’t make any sense. Universities don’t routinely send people unannounced to a high school junior’s house. Especially not one like me, with my not-so-stellar GPA and decided lack of sports abilities. Could he be from the high school? An intervention about my grades? Again, no—not only would I probably recognize anyone from the school, it’s not as if they’d send a guy over when my parents weren’t home. But I can’t think of any other logical reason for him to be here.
His head tips gently to the side and I realize I haven’t responded yet. “Um—yes. I’m Crystal.” What could he want? “Look,” I begin, trying to make my voice as adult as possible, “I’m not sure what you’re here for, but now’s really not a good time.”
The man’s smile returns, but this time there’s almost a predatory edge in the flash of his teeth. As if my words had been an invitation instead of the exact opposite of one, he steps over the threshold, his body passing so close I can feel the heat radiating off him.
When I turn, Krissa and Dana are both staring at me, eyes wide more with concern than curiosity. The fact that I’m not alone in the house right now provides little comfort. Part of me thinks maybe I’m safe because they’re here, but another part is concerned that their presence only puts us all in danger.
He walks purposefully into the living room, taking a seat at the end of the couch Dana is perched on. She visibly blanches but doesn’t move. Eyes never leaving my face, he unbuttons the sleeves of his dress shirt and takes his time rolling them up to expose his forearms. I’m surprised as he bares the skin of his right arm: There’s a tattoo there. From the rest of his appearance, I wouldn’t have taken him for a body art kind of guy. The ink is bright red, but I can’t make out its shape. “You have company, so I’ll be brief,” he says once he’s adjusted the sleeves to his liking. He looks comfortable, as if he’s sat in that very spot on my couch every day of his life, as if we’re in his house instead of mine. “You have information that I need.”
In my periphery, Krissa turns her attention in my direction. I don’t meet her eyes. I have no answers for her. At this point, I know what she knows. “Information?” I cringe as my voice creaks. I swallow before trying again. “What information could I have? I don’t even know you.”
He motions to the ottoman in its place below the window opposite him. An icy chunk of dread settles in my stomach as I cross to it, sliding it over the plush carpet so I’m even with Krissa at the coffee table. “My name is Brody, and I represent a group with a singular interest.”
Krissa’s fingers, which have been knotting and unknotting themselves over her grimoire, still. “Wait—you represent a group?” When Dana’s eyes go wide, a clear warning not to anger the possibly dangerous stranger, Krissa presses on. “It’s just… you don’t look very old.”
Although I wish she hadn’t brought it up, she does have a point. What kind of group could he represent?
Brody doesn’t appear offended or even flustered by Krissa’s observation. “I’m older than I look.” As he says it, the fingers of his left hand absently stroke the tattoo on his right forearm. From my new angle, I make out the shape. It’s a flower with broad red petals and black veins running through it. But it’s not the shape of the mark that transfixes me, it’s the colors. They seem to glow faintly and undulate on his skin, the hues vibrant against his dark flesh.
I blink heavily and fix my gaze on his face. “Okay, so you’re here for some group. I don’t know why you think I have any information.”
The corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Bess Taylor.”
The air rushes from my lungs. How does he know? It’s not as if we exactly broadcast the fact that I was possessed. When Anya sat down to try to explain everything I missed in the weeks I wasn’t myself, she described how the Devoted sensed Seth’s return once he was able to get some of his power back. Is the same true for this guy? I dismiss the idea immediately. If that were the case, why has it taken him so long to show up? Besides, Anya never mentioned a group who revered Bess the way the Devoted did Seth.
Maybe he doesn’t know anything. Maybe he’s just here because I’m a distant relative and he thinks something of hers was passed down to me. With that thought, my heartbeat slows down again. My throat is dry as I try to swallow. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
He narrows his gaze. “I think you know more than you’re letting on. I’ll cut to the chase: I know her consciousness shared your body for a period. It’s the most contact that anyone’s had with her since she died. We have reason to believe she knew something—information my people have been in search of for lifetimes. And now you’r
e going to give me that information.”
Krissa tenses like a coil ready to spring, but she says nothing. For the first time since Brody’s arrival, I’m glad for her presence. If he tries something, I have no doubt she would try to protect me. Although he’s done nothing to suggest he’s got powers, the fact that he’s talking about Bess is enough for me to infer he’s probably a witch. Dana and I are simply no match for him, a thought that turns my muscles to jelly. All this time I’ve been trying to get my magic back it’s been so I could get back to being myself, so I could use my abilities in everyday life like I’ve grown accustomed to doing. I’ve never considered having them as providing a measure of safety I’m currently without.
Having Krissa beside me affords a measure of boldness I know I wouldn’t have without her. “Whatever information you think I have, you’re mistaken. Bess is gone and I don’t remember anything from the time she was here. Sorry to disappoint.” I stand, sweeping a hand toward the door. “Can I show you out?”
Brody stands, too, and for a second I’m convinced that’s going to be it, that he’ll just walk out. But instead of striding to the door, he approaches me, standing so close I can see the strands of honey and amber weaving around the dark brown pools of his irises and can feel the warmth of his breath tickling my face. Krissa is on her feet in a second, and while she does nothing more, her proximity is the only thing keeping me from flinching.
“I want to make something as clear as possible: We have been waiting too long for an opportunity like this.” Brody’s eyes bore into mine. “You will give me the information I want. She’s not with you anymore, but you have a connection to Bess. I don’t care what you have to do, but you’re going to tell me what I need to know.”
It takes everything in me not to shrink back under the intensity of his gaze. My fingers tremble and I fist my hands to keep the traitorous weakness from showing. “I don’t even know what you want me to tell you.”
He trails a finger down my cheek and I hold my breath. The sharp taste of fear stabs the back of my throat. “Her greatest desire is ours. That should give you all you need to go on.” He scrapes his nail across my chin before removing his touch. After a beat, he starts toward the door. “Do whatever you have to, but get that information—and get it fast. We’ve been searching for generations and our great patience is beginning to wear thin.”
I try twice to speak before the words make it past the lump in my throat. “What if I can’t?”
Brody stops, turning slowly to face me again. “Then I guarantee you’ll watch everyone you care about suffer before we kill you.”
Krissa steps between us so quickly I almost jump. “You’re not going to do a thing to hurt her. And if you even think about hurting any of her family or friends, I will end you.”
Brody surveys her for the first time. He tilts his head like he’s not sure what to make of her before a smile slowly creeps across his face. “Oh. So you’re the one who killed Seth. I bet that’s making you feel all tough and dangerous right now. But I can see in your eyes you’re no threat.” That predatory smile crosses his face again, and I’m thankful it’s not directed at me. “I know evil, and you’re not it.”
Moments later, he’s let himself out of the house and I take in my first deep breath in what feels like minutes. On the couch, Dana is clutching her chest like she’s afraid her heart’s going to burst out of it. Krissa’s body remains rigid, her eyes on the door. Seconds tick by before she relaxes and turns to face me.
“Do you know what he’s talking about—what information he wants?”
I shake my head. “No. No idea. I wasn’t lying.”
She blows out a breath. “Okay, then. Looks like my mission’s changed a bit.” She runs her hands over her pale blonde hair, gathering it at the base of her neck before releasing it. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to help you get that information. He’s not going to hurt anyone. I promise.”
Without waiting for a response, Krissa steps to the coffee table and drops down in front of her grimoire again. I have no reason to doubt her words, and I’m thankful for her help. But as she gingerly turns a few pages in the ancient book, I can’t help the shiver that courses through me. What exactly does she intend to do if Brody does try to hurt me? He said she killed Seth, and the way he said it makes me question my assumptions about that night. Of course I know he’s dead, but I figured the circle enacted whatever spell Anya and Mr. Barnette had planned. Is it possible I’ve had the wrong impression all these months? Did Krissa kill Seth on her own? And if so, is she really capable of doing something like that again?
Chapter Seventeen
Krissa
I stand outside the apartment building, but I don’t alert anyone to my presence. The warm spring day is turning cooler now that the sun is going down, but the chill on my skin isn’t enough to make me bring my finger up to the button. This is closer than I’ve ever been to the place where she lives. I only know it’s the right building because I was in the car once when my dad dropped her off. I never really thought I’d have occasion to come here, but after what happened at Crystal’s house this afternoon, things have changed.
Not allowing myself to hesitate any longer, I press my fingertip to the off-white button, cringing at the buzz it creates. It’s only with effort that I don’t turn around and head back to my car. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to talk to her. But I promised Crystal I would help, and understanding who we’re up against is a step in the right direction.
Seconds tick by and there’s no response through the intercom. Maybe she’s not here. Maybe I can put off this conversation until another day. I rock back on my heels, ready to step off the small landing, but just before I do a voice crackles through the speaker.
“Hello?” The voice is garbled, but I can still tell it’s her.
I swallow. “Anya? It’s Krissa. Can I come in?”
I expect her to ask what I’m doing here. In the last four months, I’ve done my best to not have to interact with her at all. But another buzz, this one lower than before, sounds from the door to my left. Anya’s immediate, unquestioning response burns in a way I can’t quite identify.
I open the door and walk down the hall. This place looks much nicer than the building Griffin lives in, but it’s still obvious it hasn’t been updated in several years. The wallpaper is decked with sprawling, garish roses that appear to have a coating of dust over them. I walk until I find the door that matches the number beside Anya’s name on the intercom. I raise my fist to knock, but before I can, the door opens. Anya’s smile is broad, but I can see a measure of concern in her eyes. She’s not stupid. She knows the only reason I would be here is if something’s wrong.
“Come in,” she says, stepping out of the doorway to allow me entry. I can’t remember the last time I saw her up close. I sometimes catch a glimpse of her on her days at the shop—shifts I refuse to work. If Griffin or Tucker need something while she’s there, I’ll hang outside, occasionally glancing through the window. She’s about my height, with dark hair and a slight build. She looks a lot like her sister, but physical traits seem to be the beginning and the end of their similarities. Her apartment is light on furniture, but she has several decorative touches that make the place feel homey. A half dozen small mirrors adorn one wall, catching the light and winking it back at us. Two large vases filled with feathers and paper flowers flank a long black table. The only pictures on the walls are of scenery. No people. For the first time, I wonder if she has anything to remind her of the family she left behind when she walked away from the Devoted.
“How can I help you?” Anya asks as she closes the door behind me. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”
I don’t bother confirming her suspicion. I know she’s aware I don’t much care for her. When she first arrived in Clearwater, I didn’t know what to make of her. She’s the one who convinced my dad he had to leave my mom and me. He was with her for five years, and their familiarity with each other ma
de me wonder exactly how close they became in that time. My parents are back together now, attempting to make up for the time apart. If anything happened between the two of them while Dad was away, Mom has decided to keep it in the past. It’s no longer her relationship with my dad that makes me stay away from Anya. She took him away because she saw in a vision of the future that Seth would be defeated and that Dad had a role to play in it. But she didn’t see everything. She didn’t see that the vessel spell wouldn’t be enough for Dad to trap Seth once more. She didn’t see my hand in his eventual defeat. If only she’d been able to see the vessel spell wouldn’t work, maybe we could’ve done something else. Maybe things wouldn’t have ended up the way they are now.
I push away all those thoughts. No use having them swirl around in my mind. That’s not why I’m here. “I was just at Crystal Jamison’s house.”
Anya nods. “How’s she doing? I’ve tried to talk to her a couple of times, but I think after I told her I didn’t know a way to get her magic back, she kind of wrote me off.”
“That’s why I was there. Jodi wanted me to talk to her, to help her come to terms with the way things are now. But she had a visitor.” From the moment Brody started talking about what he wanted, I knew Anya would be the one to ask about him. She knows more about Seth’s history, more about magic than anyone I know—including my dad and Jodi.
Before I can describe what happened, movement from down the hall catches my attention. I suck in a breath as Elliot emerges from the hallway. Did Anya have him hide when I showed up? Or was he just in the bathroom? Either way, I don’t continue. Elliot and Sasha came to Clearwater to spy on me and the rest of the circle for Seth. They were loyal members of the Devoted, and even though Seth and the rest of their clan is dead, I don’t trust either of them.