Under a Spell uda-5 Page 8

  I wanted to get out of Mercy. There was no coven, no witchcraft, no secret portal to hell on this campus and Will and I had now wasted the last two days—possibly the last two days of Alyssa’s life—looking for paranormal activity when there clearly wasn’t any. This was a normal school with normal school problems—girls crying in the restroom, cafeteria food that was as unrecognizable as it was awful, and queen bees who reigned with sneers and snarky one-liners.

  I wanted to go back to work at the UDA. I missed my tiny, underground office with my perfect line-up of Post-it notes and pens. I missed Nina and Sampson and Vlad and even the hobgoblins with their constant fountain of oozy slobber.

  And yeah, I even missed Steve.

  “Underworld Detection Agency, this is Kale. What can I do you for?”

  “Hi, Kale. It’s Sophie. Can you put me through to Sampson, please?”

  Kale smacked her lips and paused. I could practically see her mind working, weighing whether or not to ask me about Vlad.

  “I don’t know where Vlad is,” I added.

  The next thing I heard was a series of beeps while Kale put me through.

  “Sophie! Tell me you’ve got something,” Sampson said.

  I blew out a sigh and caught myself, coughing so Sampson might miss my complete and utter dejection. “I was hoping you were going to tell me something.”

  Now it was Sampson’s turn to sigh. “Everyone is coming up empty. The police force is stumped, there are no new clues, no fingerprints, no nothing. I was really hoping you’d find something, Sophie. I feel like you and Will are the only chance Alyssa has.”

  I dug my teeth into my lower lip so hard I could feel the skin start to split. I didn’t want to fail Alyssa. I couldn’t fail her.

  “I’ll get ahold of Lowe and have him pull you out tomorrow.”

  “I’m really sorry, Sampson.”

  “Hey, if there was nothing there, then there’s nothing there. We’ll try and follow another lead.”

  I brightened. “There’s another lead?”

  “No.”

  The word hit me like a fist to the gut. “Um, can I call you back later?”

  I didn’t stay on the line long enough to hear Sampson’s response because I heard the one sound that I would forever recognize since the first day it was burned into my own brain: a body slamming into a locker.

  Chapter Five

  Just down the hall from where I stood I saw the crowd and briefly wished for kick-ass leather and some kind of sword as I raced toward the students.

  “Girls, girls!”

  They scattered like billiard balls from a crack and left at their center was Miranda, eyes wide and terrified, and Fallon, lips pressed in a hard line, eyes sharp and accusing.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Fallon snaked her arms in front of her chest but didn’t take her eyes off Miranda. “Nothing, Ms. L.”

  “Nothing? Miranda?”

  Miranda cleared her throat and pushed a fuzzy lock of hair behind her ear. “She’s right, Ms. L. It was nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing, Ms. L. I saw the whole thing.” Kayleigh blazed down the hall, pointing. “Miranda shoved Fallon. I saw it. That girl is crazy—she needs to be expelled. And look, look, she ripped Fallon’s shirt!”

  There was a small tear at the collar of Fallon’s shirt. She looked embarrassed or guilty—I couldn’t tell which—and began pulling her long hair over her shoulder to cover it. “That happened a long time ago.”

  “So neither of you are going to tell me what was going on?”

  Miranda and Fallon looked up at me and blinked. I watched the bright pink edge of Fallon’s tongue poke out from between her pursed lips and slide across her bottom lip, leaving a glossy trail. “We told you,” she said slowly.

  My forehead started to pound and I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay, fine. Move on. You, too, Kayleigh. Go.”

  Kayleigh threaded her arm through Fallon’s and tugged her away, throwing sinister glances over her shoulder and muttering to Fallon. Miranda’s eyes were glued to Fallon’s back and I could see her cheeks burn, her teeth clench. I put a hand softly on her shoulder.

  “Ignore her, Miranda. Girls like that—”

  “Only grow up to be bigger girls like that.”

  I smiled, despite my attempt to be adult and full of after-school-special wisdom. “Yeah, a lot of them do. Believe me: I know better than anyone what being bullied feels like. Especially because you don’t fit in with the pretty girls or the popular girls or the smart girls.”

  I looked at Miranda hopefully and saw the crestfallen look on her face.

  “Oh, no, not that I meant that you’re not all of those things—pretty, popular, smart—it’s just that, well, I was bullied in high school. Right here, in these halls.” I pointed to the scuffed tile underneath us as though my tortured footprints would still be there as proof. “It was torturous and everyone hated me because I was different. And I stayed different. But when I became an adult, being different is what got me my job, my best friend, even my boyfrie—” I choked on the word, and the need to check my cell phone for a call I didn’t hear or a text I hadn’t read burned up my arms.

  “You were a student here?”

  I nodded quickly. “Yep.”

  “And your being different got you a job as a substitute teacher.”

  My mouth dropped open. My “being different” got me a job thirty floors underground and got me into a hell of a lot of scrapes. “Um, in a way, yes. You should probably get going.”

  Miranda nodded and stepped away.

  “Oh, wait!” I swiped the book that had been laid flat on the floor, just behind Miranda’s left foot. “You dropped this.”

  I held it out to her and Miranda’s eyes shot over it as though she’d never seen it, then up at me. I glanced down at the cover and my heart lurched.

  “Protection spells?” I remembered my own desperation. I would have done anything to make myself invisible, to grant myself a few hours free from the demons in my high school hallways.

  Miranda reached for the book and I eyed her. “If you need help, you need to tell someone. A silly book of spells isn’t going to protect anyone.”

  She snatched the book out of my hand and shoved it in her bag. “I know,” she said to her shoes.

  I watched Miranda walk alone down the hall, trying my best to swallow the enormous lump that had formed in my throat.

  “Everything okay, love?”

  I jumped and grabbed at my thundering heart. “Oh! You scared the crap out of me. Someone should get you a bell.”

  “So you could ring every time you need your bell rung?” Will’s grin was familiarly salacious, his hazel-flecked eyes slipping from my lips to my naked collarbone, to the cleave of my Nina-scaffolded breasts. I covered my chest and narrowed my eyes.

  “No, that would mean that I would have a bell. And thanks, by the way, for ruining a very touching moment here. Have you dismissed your fan club?”

  Will leaned against the bank of lockers, tossing a handful of peanut M&Ms into his mouth. “Can I help it if these girls are fascinated by history?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “And your ‘moment’? Saw it,” he said, chewing. “Wasn’t that touching? Nice with the ‘I was bullied, too’ stuff.”

  “I was bullied,” I muttered, still staring down the hall.

  “Anyway, ready to go? Oh.” Will kicked at the ground. “Dropped this.”

  He handed me a receipt and I took it cautiously as though it were a snake about to bite. “This is a receipt.”

  “And this is a man, walking toward the door.”

  “It’s from Simply Charming out in Marin.”

  Will shook another handful of candies into his mouth. “And I pegged you more as a Crate and Barrel kind of bird.”

  “Simply Charming is a shop for potions, spell books, candles. And this receipt isn’t mine.”

  Will stopped then and turned, eyebrows raised. “S
o we have a witchcraft type killer and a receipt from a witchcraft type store.”

  “Yeah, but this must have fallen out of Miranda’s book. She dropped a book of protection spells when she got in a scuffle with Fallon just a few minutes ago.”

  “So Miranda is dabbling in the dark arts?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “No, Miranda was buying a book of protection spells because Fallon keeps bullying her and knocking her around.”

  Will came toward me, crushing the M&M bag in his hand. “And you don’t find it the least bit coinky-dink that she went directly to a spell book rather than, say, the principal? Or her parents? Or a bodyguard?”

  “We don’t know that she went ‘directly’ to magic. She’s probably tried everything else to get Fallon off her case and she knew if she went to the principal it would only get worse. She was probably too humiliated to go to her parents.”

  The rest of the school day passed uneventfully. After I scarfed the granola bar Nina had tossed in a paper lunch bag for me, I started topping each empty desk with the single-page pop quiz Heddy had delivered that morning. I paused when I got to the end of the room, brushing my finger over the carving on one of the last desks.

  “Hello,” I said, dropping the test papers and sliding into the desk. I bit my lip, still tracing the little round carving. I recognized it, but I wasn’t sure from where.

  After wracking my brain, I joined the twenty-first century and snapped a picture, sending it to Lorraine—my own personal witchcraft Wikipe-dian. As I waited for her response, Will poked his head into my classroom, did a quick sweep—obviously not seeing me in the back of the class—and sauntered in, snagging my cup of dry erase pens.

  “Ahem.”

  Will made the exact same high-pitched yip that ChaCha made the time I had accidentally stepped on her paw. I broke down laughing, watching my collection of pens—cup and all—rain down on Will’s head.

  “Holy God, Sophie! There’s a killer in our midst and you’re trying your sodden best to add to the body count.”

  I sat back against the attached-chair’s backrest and shot Will my best cop look. “Looks like murder might not be the only crime afoot. Why were you stealing my pens?”

  Will strode toward me. “I think the real question is why weren’t you protecting your pens?”

  “You know that makes no sense, right?”

  “Subject changed. What are you doing back here?”

  I grabbed a few strands of my frazzled red hair and twisted them around my finger. “I’m waiting for Lorraine to call me back. See what I found?”

  I pointed out the carving and Will craned his neck to look at it. “Looks like a circle.”

  “Look closer.”

  Will squinted, but obliged. “A circle with stuff in the middle.”

  “Really, you should share your brilliant powers of deduction with the world.”

  Will opened his mouth to respond, but my phone exploded into an annoying series of chirps. I glanced at the text.

  “Circle with stuff in the middle my butt! According to Lorraine, that’s a symbol of protection. It’s usually found on talismans. The pattern is called Luaithrindi, and these”—I drew my finger over each of the crossed lines—“are swords. The eight Ciphers of the Angels. This part where they interlock forms a—and I quote—powerful shield of protection.”

  Will crossed his arms in front of his chest. “So a girl goes missing a year ago. She turns up with carvings all over her body.” He gestured toward the desk. “Do we know if this symbol showed up?”

  I bit my lip and shook my head. “Not that I remember.” My stomach roiled. “Not that I want to remember.”

  “One year to the day another girl goes missing. Her clothes are dumped and lit on fire. Same thing with Cathy?”

  “No. I don’t think Cathy’s clothes were ever found.”

  Will pressed his lips together, using his index finger to tap his clean-shaven (a rarity) chin. “So, how do we know that this”—he mashed his finger against the symbol—“has anything to do with our case?”

  I could feel the adrenaline beginning to well. “Sampson suspected witchcraft. We find a symbol of protection carved into the desk, and earlier today . . .” I raised my eyebrows, assuming he’d finish my thought.

  “Earlier today what?”

  Of course not.

  “The book—Miranda’s book of protection spells. She’s afraid of something—or someone.”

  “So Miranda settles into her seat here in the back and carves herself some protection.”

  I stopped cold, clamping my mouth shut. Then, “This isn’t Miranda’s desk.” I swallowed. “Up until last week, it was Alyssa’s. Now its Fallon’s.”

  Will cocked a smug grin. “Well, then I guess we know the school’s not evil—just the students.”

  I blanched, thinking how any girl—especially one not even old enough to vote—could be warped enough to kidnap, murder, and maim, whether or not she thought she was a powerful witch or just wanted to be.

  I rested my head in my hands and massaged my scalp. “At least, for the first time in years, I’m not the one they’re aiming to kill.”

  “And now it’s done.” He threw up his hands.

  I looked up at him; he stood with arms widespread, a look of clear disappointment marring his hazel eyes.

  “What’s done?”

  “You. You are. You’ve essentially double-dog-dared every Vessel baddie in the known world to come take a swing at you.” He shook his head, clucking his tongue. “I really didn’t want to get these shoes scuffed.”

  “Fine. Change into your defensive shoes while I go to the bathroom. Then we’re going to Cathy’s house.”

  Will looked surprised. “On a bombardment mission?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Her mother knows we’re coming. I called her between classes and got her address.” I produced the scrap piece of paper I had written the Ledwiths’ address on. “There was no answer at Alyssa’s, so we’ll have to search her place another time.”

  Will left on a sigh.

  My phone chirped just as I exited the classroom.

  “Hey, Neens, what’s up?”

  “I have great news,” she said, breathless.

  “Really? Awesome. I could use some good news right now.”

  “Well, first things first, I dumped UDA: The Musical .”

  A little starburst of joy shot across my heart.

  “Aw,” I said in my best that’s-too-bad-voice. “What made you decide that?”

  “I suck at writing music. And you know what rhymes with Underworld Detection Agency? Nothing.”

  “So . . .”

  “So I have a new plan. And this one is legitimate. I am going to be writing, casting, and directing UDA: The Documentary.”

  “Do you cast a documentary?”

  “Sampson was muttering something about our need to drum up more business, so I thought what better way to do that than to advertise? And what better way to advertise than to make a commercial?”

  I bit my thumbnail. “And the documentary comes in where?”

  “See, that’s the great thing. I’ll have the camera people following me while I make the commercial. Isn’t that going to be incredible?”

  I knew better then to remind Nina of all the enormous loopholes in her new project—she couldn’t be seen on film; the clients, and existence, of the Underworld were supposed to be kept under non-major-media wraps—so I just gave her my most enthusiastic, “That sounds amazing!”

  She paused for a beat, and I knew that she was biting her lip on the other side of the phone line. “Just one totally little teensy thing.”

  My hackles were going up and my tolerance was going down. “What?”

  “I just may need to use the apartment for some non-apartment-related things.”

  I was imagining hobgoblin slobber soaking the carpet and blood spattering every wall—Nina was nothing if not incredibly theatrical and the documentary would be that times a thous
and. “Like what?”

  “Writing, storyboarding, meeting with the crew, casting.”

  A whoosh of relief went through me. “As long as I don’t walk in on you on the casting couch with some hot little actor, that’s totally fine with me.”

  “You’re the best, Soph.”

  I clicked my phone off and put a little hop in my step. Things would work out. We were going to find Alyssa and solve this case and my alma mater would be no worse for the wear. High school was terrifying enough without adding a cache of teen witches—and Mercy didn’t have any, anyway. I smiled to myself. By this time tomorrow I could be peeing in the comfort of the Underworld Detection Agency, right next to the tiny pixie stall, with Nina giving me advice from her perch on the sink where she stared at her non-reflection.

  I was disgusted—yet slightly comforted—to see that the girls’ room in the Junior Hall hadn’t changed since my years of hiding from my tormenters there. The tile was still that same horrid, milky pink with once-white grout that had endured years of pens and fingernails being driven into it. I tried not to breathe in, lest the stench of canned potpourri and industrial-strength cleanser stick in my lungs.

  I flushed, and was mentally picking out tomorrow’s outfit when the overhead light started humming. It crackled, and my heart stopped beating while the light did one of those horror-movie flashes before going back to normal. I laughed at myself and yanked on the stall door, and nothing happened.

  I jiggled the handle. I jiggled the lock. I yanked. I pushed. I pulled.

  “Hello?” I called in the universal come-kill-me-now fashion.

  The lights buzzed and flashed again, and heat zipped up the back of my neck. I started to panic, clawing at the cold metal door, kicking it, throwing my full weight against the chintzy lock. It gave at the same moment the lights went out. I stumbled over my own feet and barrel rolled onto the cold tile floor, gagging at the thought of bathroom floor touching skin and whimpering at the all-encompassing darkness. The room was pitch black and deadly silent, the only sound the heavy beating of my heart and my own open-mouthed panting.