We walked to school on Monday, having passed the weekend helping Ashley’s parents give out candy to the trick-or-treaters in their building. Ashley didn’t want to leave home, and I didn’t want to leave her alone. As we crossed the street to Vincent Academy, I reminded Ashley again that she likely wouldn’t even see Anthony. They didn’t have any classes together—just a free period—which she could spend in an empty classroom, doing homework.
For me, it wasn’t so easy. In the cafeteria, I spent most of my time glaring at Anthony from across the room. He didn’t even notice me—I wasn’t on his radar anymore; there were younger girls to be preyed upon, after all. I was seething—angry at him, angry at myself. I knew I should have stopped her, but she was so determined to go her own way. No, no excuses, Emma. You should have looked out for her better. But you were too caught up in Brendan ignoring you to take care of Ashley.
As we were walking out of the cafeteria and heading to our next class, I turned to Cisco.
“Okay, I have to get this off my chest,” I said, my eyes narrowing.
“Emma, I’d be pissed at Anthony, too. I saw you giving him the stink eye,” Cisco admitted, giving me a sympathetic look.
“He’s a such piece of— Wait, how do you know why I’m mad at him?” I asked suspiciously. I felt an angry pit beginning to form in my stomach and began walking more slowly.
Cisco slowed his walk as well, keeping in step with me. He leaned in and whispered in a low voice, “Well, if my baby cousin slept with a creeper like Anthony and then he told the entire school, I wouldn’t be thrilled, either.”
I could feel my blood boiling. The pit in my stomach sprouted, and the anger took over all my senses.
“That’s not what happened,” I hissed, my hands clenched into fists. “Here’s what really went down.” I quickly relayed the events of Friday night—how my traumatized cousin had come over, a fountain of tears.
Cisco sighed and paused on the staircase. “You know, he’s always bragging about this girl and that girl.” Cisco adopted Anthony’s swaggering pose and mimicked his voice. “‘I banged this chick from Dominican Academy…I totally hooked up with that piece from Dalton.’ He probably either coerced them or just straight-up lied.”
“Well, this time, he’s lying,” I seethed.
“How’s Ashley?” Cisco asked, concern in his voice.
“Last time I saw her, she didn’t know Anthony was saying all this about her. I’ll see Ash at the end of the day in Latin. I swear I’ll kill him,” I fumed, turning to head downstairs to chemistry.
“If you hear anyone say anything…” I began.
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell them he’s lying,” he assured me.
At first, Angelique thought her spell had gone sour. “There’s such anger and rage around you,” she fretted. “I need to do the spell again.” She reached into my hair to yank out more strands when I stopped her, explaining what was happening.
“He said that about your little cousin?” Her eyes darted around the room. “I can’t do anything to Anthony, you see. Whatever I put into the universe comes back at me threefold. But maybe there is something we could do that isn’t too bad….” She started scanning the printouts that were tucked into the back of her notebook.
“It’s okay.” I smiled. “But thank you. You’re a good friend.” Angelique grinned, and we both grimaced when we heard Kristin make kissing noises behind us.
“Get a room, freaks,” she sneered. I just rolled my eyes and flipped her off. She was the least of my worries.
The seconds ticked by slowly, slowly, until it was time to walk into freshman Latin. I scanned the room for Ashley’s face but couldn’t see her anywhere. I wanted to give her a hug, a kind word, a dartboard with Anthony’s face on it when I noticed her friends glancing at me uncomfortably.
I slid over to her gaggle of girlfriends who were, for once, silent.
“Spill it, where is she?” I asked bluntly.
Catharine, a pretty brunette, mumbled, “She went home sick.” Her fingers made air quotes around the word sick. “She was really embarrassed.”
My eyes narrowed. “What Anthony’s saying about her isn’t true. You guys know that, right?”
“I know, I know,” she said emphatically. “But try telling her that. The entire freshman class thinks she’s easy. Three guys asked her out today—and this one guy told his friends it’s ’cause he heard she was a good time.”
I felt it again, my blood boiling. Cotton stuffed my ears, and all I could hear was my own pulse, throbbing in my head.
“Not everyone believes it!” Catharine was quick to say. “But—” she looked down “—a lot of people do.”
Vanessa, Ashley’s fellow redhead, leaned in and said, “He said she was easier to get into than public school.” Wow, arrogant and cruel, what a combo.
I didn’t hear much after that. Not Mrs. Dell, the Latin teacher. Not the chalk as it scratched on the blackboard. I was only aware of the sound of the large clock hanging above the blackboard as it ticked down the seconds, and the throbbing I felt in my own head. When the bell finally rang, it sounded like a scream. I grabbed my backpack and flung it over my shoulder.
“Are you going to Ashley’s house? Will you tell her to call me?” Catharine asked, concerned. Gossipy or not, at least these girls genuinely cared about my cousin, I realized.
“Not quite yet,” I muttered. My feet couldn’t move fast enough as I sped down the flights of stairs, past the gym and through the double doors that opened onto the quad. I shoved them open with a forceful push. I glared at the end of the quad where Anthony, Frank and the rest of that crew were starting up their usual after-school basketball game. Somewhere in my head, it registered that Brendan wasn’t there.
I dropped my bag—threw it, actually, under a bench to my right—and walked right into the middle of the game, pulling my long hair back into a ponytail with the black elastic band I had on my wrist as I marched forward.
I strode in front of Frank, cutting him off. “Yo, we’re playing here,” he said curtly.
I ignored him, heading straight for Anthony.
He had his back to me. He was huge, and built like a linebacker. Anthony had to be at least six-four, the alarmed thought went off in the back of my mind.
“Anthony.” My voice was low and angry, but steady.
He ignored me, still dribbling the orange ball.
“Anthony Caruso!” I yelled.
Startled, he stepped forward and lost his handle on the ball. It sputtered on the floor, then rolled away. Anthony straightened up, turned around and faced me.
“What do you want?”
Justice? Was that a good answer?
“I want you to tell the truth about my cousin,” I said, my voice loud but calm.
“And just who the hell is your cousin?” Anthony snapped. He wasn’t so calm.
“Ashley? The girl you’re lying about? Saying you slept with? Does it ring a bell?” I shouted back. There went my calm. A small, interested crowd of about ten people started to form.
He laughed and adjusted his shirt. “Sure, I’ll say that.” He leaned in and, loudly enough so everyone could hear, sneered, “It’s not like I’m proud of it. She wasn’t any good.”
Anthony laughed—an evil little cackle that seemed to spread across my skin like flames—and spun away from me to return to his game.
“Don’t you dare turn away from me, you liar,” I screamed at his back, my face feeling hot. “Or do you only harass freshmen and girls a foot and a half shorter than you? Because that makes you a real man, right?”
I heard snickers coming from the guys gathered around us, and Anthony turned back to face me.
“You wouldn’t know what a real man is, but your cousin sure does,” he said, grinning menacingly. “Let me know if she wants another go.”
Henry’s face appeared in front of me. They were so alike—they only preyed on those who were weaker, smaller, powerless, those with no one to stand up for them. Not this time.
“You’re lying!” I yelled, my hands clenched into fists. “She rejected you, and you know it. But tell me another story, Mother Goose. You seem full of fairy tales.”
Anthony glared at me, stepping closer. I only came up to his chest, but I stared straight up, meeting his cold blue eyes. He was just a few inches from me.
“Who do you think you are, you little freak?” He shoved me, both hands hitting my shoulders hard. I definitely wasn’t expecting that. I stumbled when he made contact, losing my footing and almost falling backward. I took a few steps and maintained my balance, staring back at the monster.
“You need to watch your mouth, little girl,” Anthony snarled, his voice low and menacing as he crouched low in front of me, meeting my eyes. “You won’t like what happens to you.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I snapped. “Tell the truth about my cousin. Admit that you didn’t sleep with Ashley.”
His eyes narrowed, and I knew he was going to shove me again. I expected it this time. Like I had with Henry so many times before, I jumped back before he could make contact. He stumbled forward, and I heard the guys in the crowd laugh and jeer at Anthony, getting shown up by a girl. I didn’t think this was a good thing—with his ego, it would only make him madder, I assumed. I hadn’t been looking for a brawl in the schoolyard; all I wanted was for him to admit the truth about my cousin. I realized too late that I should have approached this with some kind of strategy.
I warily glanced at the growing crowd to see who was watching. Oh, everyone. Past them, I saw Brendan pushing open the main doors to the quad. He had his headphones on and was looking down at his cell phone, completely oblivious to the spectacle before him.
Anthony had regained his footing and was advancing, his hulking form filling most of my view. I whirled my head around for an exit strategy and spied the nearest door. If things get really ugly, I can just make a run for it.
“If I slept with your skanky cousin that’s none of your business, Emma,” Anthony yelled in my face. I was surprised that he remembered my name. “What’s your problem, huh? You want a piece? Sorry, you’re not my type.”
“Right, ’cause I’m not afraid of you, remember?” I glared back.
I heard someone yell at Anthony to calm down.
“Back off, man, she’s a girl,” Frank called timidly. He had a black eye and bruised nose from his last encounter with Anthony. But the monster just ignored him.
“You’re going to regret this,” Anthony fumed, pure hate in his eyes. I knew that look—things were definitely about to get ugly. I took a few quick steps back—right into the side door, ready to make a run for it. My hands fumbled behind me on the doorknob, frantically twisting it to no avail. Anthony’s chest was practically touching me. I’d cornered myself.
“No one makes me look stupid and gets away with it,” he hissed.
I couldn’t let him see that I was scared—especially now that I was trapped. People like him fed off other people’s fear.
“Move,” I demanded. I heard someone else yell for him to back off.
“No, you got what you wanted,” he snarled. “Well, you have my attention now.”
“Move, I said!” I screamed, and pressed my palms to his huge chest, trying to push him back.
“I told you, keep your hands to yourself, skank,” Anthony hissed, his eyes narrow.
“Oh, what are you gonna do if I don’t?” I asked—and then I regretted my question immediately.
I got an answer pretty quickly. Anthony pulled his meaty right hand back. It was clenched into a grapefruit-size fist.
I was frozen against the door. I didn’t flinch. I’d taken a hit from Henry before. In my mind, all I could think was, Go ahead. Hit me, and then you’ll get expelled.
He never had the chance. Within seconds, Brendan had pinned him on the ground, his knee pressed into Anthony’s chest as his fingers gripped him by the throat, forcing him onto the cold concrete.
“Don’t touch her.” Brendan’s voice was almost a growl as it shook with rage. “Don’t you ever touch her.” His green eyes flashed as if they were filled with flames.
Dazed, Anthony lay on the ground. Realization dawned on him, and Anthony saw that he was no longer standing and facing off with me, but pinned down by his teammate.
“What do you think you’re doing, Brendan?” Anthony shouted, clawing at the hand around his throat. Brendan’s other hand was clenched tightly into a fist, cocked back and ready. He dug his knee farther into Anthony’s chest, and the blond gasped for air as his legs kicked out, trying to find some purchase against Brendan’s iron grasp.
“You don’t touch her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t look at her. Ever,” Brendan ordered again, keeping his green eyes locked on Anthony’s face.
“What’s your problem, bro? She started with me!” Anthony yelled, whipping his head sideways to glare at me.
“Oh, really? Something Emma did deserves you trying to punch her?” Brendan’s voice was calmer this time, which made it startlingly more threatening.
“I wasn’t gonna punch her, bro,” Anthony whined, still kicking. “She started with me!”
“It seems to me that you started everything, as usual,” Brendan said. “You running your fat mouth again?”
“Whatever, man, get off me.” Anthony squirmed, his efforts useless against the viselike grip Brendan had on him. Anthony was bulkier than Brendan but it was obvious that Brendan was much stronger. I saw the tendons in his forearm flex as he held Anthony immobile.
“Nope.” Brendan’s voice was almost playful underneath the malice. “Can’t do that, buddy. If what you’ve been saying about her cousin isn’t true, admit it. Or—” Brendan lowered his face closer to Anthony’s, his voice frighteningly cruel “—you’ll regret it. I promise you that, Ant.”
I stood there in shock. I scanned the crowd and saw Kristin, eyes narrowed, filming the whole thing with her cell phone. Clearly, this would be available on YouTube later.
“Fine, whatever, I didn’t bang Ashley.” Anthony darted his eyes in my direction. He wasn’t just shooting out daggers—his eyes were shooting out missiles, bullets, weapons of mass destruction. “But I could have hit it if I wanted to.”
“That’s not what I want to hear,” Brendan growled, tightening his grip on Anthony’s neck as he pressed his knee farther into his chest.
“Fine, fine, what she said!” Anthony cried, wheezing. “Just get off me.”
Brendan shook his head, a bitter look on his face. He got off Anthony, shifting his grasp to grab him by his collar. He deftly pulled Anthony off the concrete, but kept a steel grip on him.
“Get out of here,” Brendan said plainly, shoving him back with both hands. Stunned, Anthony stumbled backward. He paused to smooth out the front of his shirt and pop his collar—then Anthony’s eyes locked on mine. They narrowed, and he took a step toward me. Brendan mirrored his movements, blocking Anthony’s view of me.
“You try to hurt another girl again—and if you so much as think Emma’s name—you’re done.”
“Oh, is that another promise, Brendan?” Anthony scoffed.
“It’s a guarantee,” Brendan answered, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were straining against his skin.
“This ain’t over, Brendan. You picked the wrong guy to mess with, bro,” Anthony sneered, gesturing wildly. Anthony stormed away, kicking my backpack on his way out of the quad. Thankfully, there was nothing breakable in it. Unlike my reputation, which looked very fragile at the moment.
After the door slammed behind Anthony, Brendan turned to me, still immobile and shocked in the same spot against the door. My jaw had literally dropped. Brendan leaned down so he was eye-level with me. He tucked the tips of his fingers under my chin and shut my agape mouth, his eyes searching my face.
“Emma, are you all right?”
I nodded, then reached up and touched the back of his hand with just the tips of my fingers.
We stood there for what could only have been a second, but the warm feel of his hand under mine burned its way into my memory. He slowly slid his hand along the side of my face, cupping my jaw, and my hand tightened around his.
“Thank you,” I whispered, staring up into his eyes as his thumb stroked my cheek. I heard someone yell, “Yo, I think they’re gonna do it!” The sound of laughter made its way through my pounding head.
Suddenly aware of his audience, Brendan straightened up and we both dropped our hands.
“No problem,” he said, cocking his head to the side. He surveyed the crowd the altercation had attracted and scratched his black hair, making it even messier.
He dropped back down to my eye level, crossing his arms.
“Are you going home now?” he asked me softly.
“I’m going to my cousin’s,” I said. “I should at least tell Ash that her good name has been restored. And that she literally gets guys fighting over her.”
He smiled, then turned those intense green eyes on me. “I wasn’t fighting for her.”
I just stared back, confused and thrilled by what Brendan had just said.
Then a look I couldn’t quite identify flickered across his face. Slowly, he reached out his hand and picked up my charm, turning it over.
Brendan dropped it suddenly and, nodding curtly at me, whirled around on his heel and headed back inside the school.
Everyone in the quad was whispering and staring at me—the only one of the three left. I grabbed my backpack from under the bench and raced out of the quad, onto Park Avenue, and I didn’t stop until I made it to Ashley’s house.
She had already heard the news. Catharine and Vanessa were also in the quad, filming the whole thing and texting a play-by-play to my cousin. Between exuberant hugs that were wet with tears—this time, of joy—she kept returning to her laptop, where she was replaying one of several videos which had already been uploaded to Facebook.
“You have to watch this!” Ashley giggled, her eyes, puffy from crying, crinkled up in the corners.
“No thanks,” I said, not able to relive it; if I saw how close I came to having my face smashed in, I might lose all composure.
“I cannot believe you did that!” she marveled, shaking her head at me. I picked, absentmindedly, at the hem of my plaid skirt.
“I’m just tired of people like him,” I said, suddenly exhausted. “People who take advantage. I wanted the right person to win. For once.”
She grinned and I added, “At least your reputation is restored.”
The status of my reputation, on the other hand, was debatable. I was the girl who hung out with witches and picked fights with boys. I didn’t care so much about what everyone at school thought of me. I only cared about what Brendan thought…and I couldn’t wait to get to school the next day, in spite of the certainty that I would be the number one topic of conversation.
“I’m nervous,” Ashley confessed, looking at me cautiously as we walked the final stretch of blocks to school the next day. I knew how she felt—she didn’t want to be the subject of discussion, the focus of hundreds of eyes. Why is it always when someone is wronged, they’re suddenly more interesting?
“You’ll be fine,” I said, trying my best to reassure her. “You’re not the one who picks fights after school.”
“What are you going to do if you see Anthony?” she asked, worried.
“I’m avoiding him,” I said sheepishly. “Angelique already agreed to go outside for lunch with me indefinitely—as long as the weather cooperates.” I figured if I was out of the lunchroom—and left school through the annex—I could avoid any unnecessary Anthony encounters.
We crossed the street, and I noticed a familiar-looking figure leaning against the mailbox a few feet from the front entrance of the school. At first I didn’t recognize Brendan, since he had his mop of hair tucked under a wool cap.
Ashley gave me a big grin. At that moment, a classmate ran up to her, squealing.
“Oh, my God, Anthony totally had his butt handed to him! I can’t believe that cutie Brendan defended you!” Her giddy friend giggled, and I knew Ashley would be okay. She’d be the center of some good attention, for once. She gave me the thumbs-up, ran to the door—then whirled around and yelled, practically at the top of her lungs, “See you after school, Emma!”
Brendan heard my name and turned in my direction, lifting his chin in a nod as he had that first day in the quad. Nervously, I played with my necklace, dragging the charm back and forth on the chain. Finally I decided to take the first step.
I walked calmly toward him, feeling those green eyes pulling me in. I couldn’t figure out the expression on his face. He looked relieved—happy, even. But he also looked troubled. No, troubled isn’t quite right. Melancholic? I figured I should say thanks, again, for stepping in.
“I wanted to thank you again,” I said, staring up into his eyes, for once unobstructed by his dark locks, which were pulled back under his wool cap. Brendan’s eyebrows were black, with just enough arch that they were dramatic. His green eyes were like glittering emeralds, fringed by those enviable black lashes. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the chilly weather, two spots of color in his otherwise pale face.
“You don’t have to thank me again, Emma,” he said, shaking his head with that same puzzling expression on his face.
“Well, I want to.” I don’t know how you could have described the expression on my face. Hopeful? Pathetic? Falling in…something?
“I’m just glad I was there. I wish I had gotten there sooner.” I suddenly felt very shy, breaking his gaze to stare at my black Mary Janes. He tucked his finger under my chin and lifted my face so we were eye to eye again.
“Emma, is there anything else you want to tell me?”
His tone wasn’t nasty or rude, but I still felt like I’d been punched. “Should there be?” I asked, confused.
“I guess not.” Brendan sighed, shaking his head. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Turning away from me, he pulled open the door to the school and walked inside. I stood there dumbfounded. Wasn’t he the one who had been ignoring me for the past week and a half?
I followed him into the building—but of course, I had to go to my dungeon, to the row of lockers reserved for unlucky freshmen and transfer students. And bridge trolls, which is what I felt like at this moment.
I was heading to class when I heard someone running behind me, furiously and quickly. I whipped around, fists up instinctively. Not that I had any idea what to do with them, but what if it was Anthony, coming for retribution?
“Emma, you didn’t call me! I have to see it on Facebook? What the hell, dude?” It was Cisco, looking worried and happy and excited all at once.
“I’m sorry—I’m a terrible friend.” I gave him a weak little frown.
“But a great older cousin. Holy crap, that was amazing. I can’t believe that you just went up there to him and called him out like that,” he said, breaking out in a short round of applause.
“Thank you.” I bowed, giving a toothy grin. “But I had help.”
“I know,” he replied, giving me a suspicious smile. “What was that whole Brendan thing about? Is there something going on that you haven’t told me?”
“Cisco, until that moment, he hadn’t spoken to me in a week and a half,” I said, raising my right hand. “I swear.”
“I don’t know if I believe you,” he replied, continuing to walk up the stairs to class. “That boy flew across the yard. Flew! And knocked Anthony straight down. That’s not just chivalry.”
I shrugged, thankful that I had to leave and go into history. I waited in the hallway until about a second before the bell rang, racing to my seat behind Jenn. She turned around and mouthed to me, “Oh. My. God. We. Have. To. Talk.”
I just nodded and put my head down on my desk. I didn’t want to talk about the fight. I couldn’t even think about something so…inconsequential. What was all that about this morning? What did Brendan want me to say? What did I do wrong?
Jenn peppered me with a barrage of questions as we walked to English class.
“Were you scared?”
“No, I wasn’t thinking, I just reacted. I was angry.”
“Did you tell Brendan what you were going to do?”
“No, I just reacted, Jenn.”
“Anthony admitted he was lying! I can’t believe it. How did you know you could get him to admit it?”
“I didn’t know. I just reacted.” I sounded a little exasperated on that last one.
“Oh,” Jenn said, it finally sinking in that I didn’t have some master plan cooked up. “So, you and Brendan, huh?” She gave me a thumbs-up and raised her eyebrows up and down.
I sighed. I wished there was a “me and Brendan.” I even liked the sound of our names together. Brendan and Emma. Emma and Brendan. If we were a celebrity couple, we’d be Bremma. Or Emden. No, Bremma. That sounded better. Too bad it was impossible since I’d apparently offended him this morning.
“No, Jenn. There’s no me and Brendan.” I tried to hide my mopey tone.
Once at my seat in English, I dropped my backpack and rifled through it for my notebook, trying to keep my eyes from staying glued to the door for when Brendan walked in.
He sauntered in a few minutes later. My eyes followed him, and they weren’t alone. The entire class followed his movements, eager to see what our interaction would be. They hadn’t seen our little tête-à-tête in front of the school. My classmates needed hobbies. Jeez, learn to knit or bowl or something.
He walked to his desk and faced it, his eyes down. Brendan dropped his backpack and slid into his seat, sitting sideways. I could feel such a pull to him, and unconsciously, my hand slid up across my desk, closer to him, where I brushed the back of his chair with my fingertips.
Brendan turned to me, taking note of the attentive audience of juniors. Seriously, people, CityVille, even!
“Look, Emma,” he started, his voice full of the same soft tone he had used in front of the school.
“Class, class, let’s get started,” Mr. Emerson cut in, clapping his hands and walking in. I actually jumped a few inches in my seat, and then forced my eyes to stare at my textbook. At the end of class, Brendan bolted out of the room.
I desperately wished I had my iPod with me so I could muffle the voices of my gossipy classmates as I walked down the halls. Thankfully Angelique could care less about the fight—all she could talk about during lunch was that her mom had just returned from giving a lecture at Georgetown and promised to bring me some books on ancient medieval symbols that she was borrowing from a colleague. Angelique had talked to her mom, and Dr. Evelyn Tedt was positive that my necklace somehow factored into the whole supernatural shebang. Like I could even focus on exploding streetlights. How could I worry about spirits when I couldn’t even seem to manage to get along on this normal plane?
Wednesday morning arrived—and I was a tired mess. My eyes didn’t just have bags—they had five-piece luggage sets. I tossed and turned all night. I dreamed I was walking through New York, the way I had seen it in movies about the early 1900s. I swished through the dirty streets in a shirtwaist dress, my hair neatly pulled back under a wide brimmed, feathered hat. Oddly, my hair was blond. I was in a wrap-style wool coat, lavishly trimmed with braid, and I carried a large dress box. The twine on the package caught on the oversize silver brooch pinned to my coat, ripping the pin from the fabric. I tried to chase the brooch as it rolled down the street, but I was weighed down by the large box. I didn’t know what exactly was in it—I just knew it was precious and I couldn’t put it down.
In a flash, I found myself in front of a grand white house. The Hudson River was reflected in the home’s spacious front windows—windows which crackled and buckled as orange-and-red flames danced behind the glass. The windows shattered—the force of the explosion blowing my hat off as molten shards danced around my feet. I didn’t flinch at the blazing heat, keeping my vigil in front of the inferno.
“It’s not safe with him. Can you stay away?” I whirled around and saw my brother Ethan standing there. He grabbed my left hand and tried to whisk me away, gripping my hand so tightly, it hurt—and I realized I was wearing a diamond ring. The stone pressed painfully into my skin as he clutched my hand in both of his.
“I have to go,” I yelled, running into the house and feeling the heat from the fire assault my skin as the flames ravaged the home, charring everything in its path. The flames licked at my skirt, clawing their way up my white dress, setting my coat on fire. And then the fire crawled into my hair.
I woke up, screaming and scratching at my own face. Suffice to say, it was not a good dream, with images of it playing in my head as I walked to school. Why the hell I would run into a burning building in my dreams, I had no idea. Once I arrived at Vincent Academy, I was dealt another crushing blow. There was no Brendan in English class. For a brief moment, I hoped that maybe he was home sick, and then felt like the worst person in the world. Really, Emma, you’re wishing illness on him now? Shame on you!
My mood perked up in chemistry, when Angelique told me to meet her by her locker—330, on the sunlit third floor, that lucky witch—after school. My eyes bugged out when she produced a leather tote bag stuffed with two thick, antique-looking books and one brand-new one.
“I don’t have to tell you, be very careful with these,” she said, going through them. “Here’s Ancient Symbols and Myths, and Hadrian’s Medieval Legends. That one is super old. It’s missing pages, so be careful. The binding is cracked. And this one—” she pointed to the shiny red paperback “—is Spells for the New Witch. You know, in case you’re interested.”
I thanked her a thousand times for the books, and staggered home with them, wishing Ashley hadn’t made plans after school. I could have used some help with the heavy tomes. Once home, I made myself some coffee and took the mug to my room, telling Aunt Christine that I had a ton of homework and needed to focus.
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I laid out the three books in front of me. I started with Ancient Symbols and Myths, which looked like an old, dusty college textbook. I opened it and, unsure where to start, just began turning pages. I took off my necklace and placed it on the purple comforter next to the book, looking back and forth between the symbols on the worn pages and the charm I’d had for so long. I’d think I found it, then look more closely and see some kind of difference. My crest was a simple shield, with a faint outline of a unicorn in the center. A sword and a rose were crossed behind the shield, and the bloom was wilted, a detail I’d never noticed before. A petal fell from the rose—it looked like the flower was crying. Under the sword, a crescent moon with a small star appeared where the petal was on the opposite side of the medallion. The back of the crest was plain, save for three large scratches and a few nicks and dings that came with age. I lovingly stroked the face of the pendant. How could I think this was from a mall?
I turned the pages painstakingly, and then, I felt my breath stop. There, on page 307, was an artist’s rendering of my necklace.
The Crest of Aglaeon
My hands were surprisingly steady as I read through the basic description of the crest. Yep, a crossed sword and wilting rose behind a unicorn. That was my necklace.
The Crest of Aglaeon dates back to the 12th century—approximately 1150, and belonged to Lord Archer, Earl of Aglaeon. An update to the original family crest of two swords crossed behind a unicorn, Lord Archer him self designed the revised crest, following the murder of his wife, Lady Gloriana. The wilting rose, beautiful in its fragility, was added to honor his late wife. As Lord Archer himself wrote after her death (translated from the original Middle English):
“And whilst my beloved has left me alone
She is still as fair as the loveliest rose
Tears may fall, but they are not alone
Every rose will weep petals as she goes.”
I was moved by the unrestrained beauty of Lord Archer’s words; even flowers would cry at her loss. At least I knew what my necklace meant: it symbolized love—a true love—lost brutally.
I continued reading.
The change to the family crest was not well received—and Lord Archer’s father, Lord Alistair, the Earl of Aglaeon, refused to accept the revised crest, as Archer had married a peasant instead of proceeding with the marriage his father had arranged to secure their lands.
There was no more information on my crest in the book, so I carefully placed it back in the leather tote bag and, after a mug of fresh coffee, turned to the Hadrian’s Medieval Legends book, curious if there was anything on the sad tale of Lord Archer and Lady Gloriana.
I ran my hand over the ancient leather cover, which was peeling with age. It was still beautiful, though, with embossed scrollwork that ran along one side. The threadbare binding cracked and flaked under my fingertips, and many pages were loose or starting to slip. Lacking a table of contents, I turned the pages of the tome gingerly as the sun started to fade out side of my window. The prose was lovely—if a bit flowery at times—and I found myself getting lost in the romantic legends of dragons, demons and sorcery. Sometimes I’d get drawn into a story, only to find that the last few pages were missing, having fallen out from the fragile binding. I got quite lost in a story about witches using the blood of lovers in a sinister spell, only to find the next few pages were gone. Finally, at page 502, I saw it. I took a nervous sip of coffee and began reading.