“I’ll help you find them,” I said.
“Good,” was the last thing he said before retreating up his front walk. He didn’t look back as I got in my car and drove away.
5. Forces
Morgan lost it last night. I don’t know if she went crazy or if her powers short-circuited or something, but things started flying around the room and exploding, and it scared the holy crap out of me.
Now I don’t know what to do. The circle started off really well. I don’t know much about Wicca, but there’s something about it that feels almost like a tune I only half remember from childhood. The words are long forgotten, but if I try hard enough, I’ll remember the melody, and everything will fall into place.
That’s what the way I felt last night… for a while.
Morgan’s magick feels like something else. I’m afraid of it in the way I used to be afraid of leaving my closet door open when I was five years old.
I wish she’d just leave the coven. Then Mary K. would feel better and I wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.
— Alisa
Mr. Powell waited until the last five minutes of class to pass back the graded exams.
The class buzzed as he made his way around the room, placing papers facedown on desks. “Well done,” he whispered to Claire Kennedy, and, “Great job,” to Andy Nasewell. Hope fluttered in my chest. Andy wasn’t a great student. Maybe I hadn’t done as badly as I thought.
Mr. Powell slapped a paper on my desk. His hand was still a moment as he looked down at me. “See me after class,” he said. Crap. I turned the paper over, my heart thumping. At the top there was a big red number. Sixty-three.
The bell rang and everyone streamed out of the classroom, comparing papers and chatting. Quickly I shoved my exam inside my binder and shuffled up to Mr. Powell’s desk. I could hardly even look at him.
“Morgan,” he said, folding his arms on his desk, “we’ve spoken about this before. Your grade in this class has dropped significantly since first semester, and I’d hoped to see more improvement.” Mr. Powell looked up at me. He was a good teacher—the kind who really seemed to care about his students—and he looked concerned.
“I know I messed up,” I replied. “I’ve just been a little. . overwhelmed lately.”
“This was the second of four major exams for this marking period,” Mr. Powell said. “The exams are what determine your final grade.”
I did a quick mental calculation. Even if I got a hundred on each of the other two exams, my final average would be a seventy-eight. Seventy-eight. That was pretty far from my usual honor roll standards.
“You do realize, Morgan, that junior-year grades are what most colleges look at when they are determining admissions, ” Mr. Powell went on. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to let your parents know about this.”
Oh, no. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked. “Some extra credit or something?”
Mr. Powell thought for a moment. “I don’t like to give one person a shot at extra credit without giving the whole class the same chance,” he said slowly.
“I’m sure other people would like to bring up their grades,” I suggested.
Mr. Powell sighed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll announce it to the class tomorrow. Write a five- to eight-page paper on any historical subject for a maximum of twenty extra points on the next exam.”
I stifled a groan. Twenty points. That didn’t sound like much. But when I did the average in my head along with two other perfect exams, I realized I could end up with an eighty-three average for the marking period—a B. It would be tough, but I could do it. “Thanks, Mr. Powell,” I said quickly, and turned toward the door.
“Morgan,” he called after me.
“Yes?” I paused in the doorway.
He looked at me over the tops of his bifocals. “Make it good,” he said.
“Did you talk to Robbie?” I asked Bree as we walked out of English. It was our last class. I hadn’t seen her or Robbie all day, except from a distance—neither one of them was at the usual spot in the morning or at lunch, either.
Bree hugged her notebooks to her chest. “No,” she admitted. She was wearing a long black leather skirt and a woolly black sweater with a plunging neckline, and it made her look mysterious and a little sad.
I wasn’t all that surprised. Bree hated “relationship” talks. “Why not?”
“To be honest, Robbie was pretty freaked out by the circle on Saturday,” Bree said. “Yesterday didn’t really seem like the best time for a chat, you know?”
“Bree, you need to talk to him,” I said.
“I know, I know.” Bree hesitated, her dark eyes clouding over. “Actually,” she said finally, “I think maybe you should talk to Robbie. That scene at the circle scared the crap out of him. God, Morgan, it scared the crap out of everyone. Me too.”
“But that wasn’t me,” I insisted. “It scared me, too.”
We stood there in the hall for a moment, just staring at each other as students streamed past us. I had no idea what to say. Finally Bree reached out and grabbed my hand. “Look, Morgan. If you say it wasn’t you, then I believe it. I’ll talk to Robbie for you. But you should know that he’s worried about you, and so am I.” To my dismay, her eyes filled with tears. Bree wasn’t a big weeper. “We’re friends, right?”
I swallowed hard. “Right.”
“Okay.” Bree gave me a watery smile. “I’ll talk to him. About both things.”
She dropped my hand and turned toward her locker. I trudged to mine, silently cursing these strange things that kept happening. I was as afraid of them as everyone else. Yet everyone thought I was behind them.
Standing in front of my locker, I felt a faint, icy breeze blow past me. The small hairs at the back of my neck rose. Had anyone else felt it? To my right, I saw Cindy Halpern struggling with her locker combination. Maybe it was just my imagination.
I spun the lock and yanked on my locker door. It swung open with a bang. I jumped back to avoid the avalanche of books and papers that cascaded out.
“God, Morgan,” Cindy said, rolling her eyes at the mess, “get a Trapper Keeper.”
I ignored her. My instincts were clamoring. It was true that my locker was a royal disaster, but the way my stuff had shot out of it. . I peered down the hall to see if other strange things were happening, but all I saw was students shoving books into backpacks and pulling on jackets. I cast my senses, but I didn’t sense any sort of sinister presence. Frowning, I eyed the mess on the floor. Maybe it really was just the result of a locker that hadn’t been cleaned out in a while. I bent and started gathering papers.
“Need some help?” asked a voice behind me.
I glanced up as Alisa crouched and began stacking my books. “This looks like the bottom of my dad’s closet,” she said. Her voice was heavy, and she seemed tired.
I stopped gathering my papers and looked at her. “Are you okay?” I asked.
Alisa frowned. “Actually, no,” she said. “I–I wanted to tell you. . I’m leaving the coven.”
I was so surprised, I sat down on the floor. “You are?” I asked. The image of Bree with tears in her eyes, telling me that Robbie was worried about me, clicked into my brain. “Why?” I asked carefully.
Alisa ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her oval face. “Things are just going too far for me.” She looked down at the floor, then up at me. “The magick I’ve seen lately. . it scares me. These are powerful forces, Morgan.” She leaned toward me until I could see myself reflected in her eyes. “They’re dangerous.”