I hovered on the landing, one hand wrapped around my necklace, while Charlie and Ransom went through the books in the hidden room in Charlie’s attic. Sunlight streamed through the tiny window that faced the woods. It sparkled over the dusty, broken glass that littered the floor, glass I hadn’t noticed the last time we’d been up here. An ancient lamp lay smashed on the ground beside the bed, its oil long since soaked into the floorboards. The papers tacked to the wall rustled with every step the boys took, making it sound like the room was alive. Like it was breathing.
I shivered. Part of me wished that Leah was here, just because she’d make me look brave by comparison. But she had to work a double shift today, leaving me alone with the boys.
“Are you just going to stand there all day?” Ransom called from inside the room. “We could use your help.”
Charlie turned to look at me, his blue eyes serious behind his glasses. “You can stay out there if you want to,” he said. “We’ll manage.”
“We’ll manage faster if she’s in here,” Ransom said. He stared at the books strewn over the floor, his arms crossed over his chest. “Three sets of eyes are better than two.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “It’s up to you, Amelia.”
“It’s fine,” I said. I pasted on a smile and tried to hide the deep breath I took as I stepped over the threshold. The ring stayed cool against my chest, thankfully.
I pushed aside an open book with my toe. Its pages swelled with humidity, the ink smeared. Shards of glass from the lamp hit the floor with a tiny clink. “What are we looking for?” I asked.
“Anything we can actually read,” Ransom said. He paged through one of the books on the desk. “One of these books has to have some sort of useful information in it.”
I picked up another book and flipped it open. The paper was thick and cloth-like under my fingers, and page after page was covered in the same carefully slanted script. I picked a page near the middle at random.
To ensuyre the dezire of a suitor, it read. I snapped the book shut and blushed. At least I didn’t need that.
“Something called ‘Magic for Beginners’ might be useful,” Charlie said. “Think that’s tucked away in here?”
Ransom held up his hands, palms out. “Dude, I’m just trying to help you out here. There’s no need for that.”
Charlie snorted. He tossed another book onto the pile he’d started on the bed. “I don’t know how this is going to help. Magic isn’t real.”
“Ghosts aren’t either, remember? I don’t see you questioning that.”
Charlie shrugged. “It’s just all seems a little too convenient, doesn’t it? The ghost, the Ouija board, this room… I have a bad feeling about this.”
I laid my hand on Charlie’s arm. “We have to try,” I said. “She needs our help. If it works…”
I left the rest of the sentence unsaid. If this worked, if we could help Marin find peace, then maybe, just maybe, I could find Mark.
And then he could forgive me.
***
In the end, we’d carried six grimoires downstairs. I settled myself cross-legged on Charlie’s bed, and Ransom took the desk chair. Charlie closed the door for a moment before he sat on the bed beside me, resting his hand on my knee. “Okay, Mr. Historian,” I said to Ransom, “what now?”
Ransom picked up the book on the top of the pile and tossed it to me. I caught it and coughed at the cloud of dust that rose from its pages. “Now we read.”
We spent the next few hours that way, poring over the old books until our hands turned black. The sun sank lower and lower in the sky. Somehow, Charlie ended up sprawled over the bed, his head in my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair absently, and his eyes fluttered closed, the way they had right before he kissed me. For the millionth time that afternoon, I wished that Ransom would take the hint and leave us alone. Charlie and I hadn’t spent any time together—alone time together—in the three days since we had made out in his car.
Ransom, however, stayed put in the desk chair, occasionally mumbling under his breath and scrawling notes in the notepad he’d found in the mess spread across Charlie’s desk.
Focus, I reminded myself. I forced my eyes back to the page in front of me. The cramped handwriting had faded over the years to a light brown, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep my mind on the letters in front of me. Page after page was filled with either recipes for potions or complex instructions for spells, but there wasn’t a single clue as to how any of it actually worked or how any of this would help our ghost. I was just about to throw the book in my hands across the room when Ransom stiffened at the desk.
“I think I’ve found something,” he said. He twirled the chair around to face us. “From what I can tell, a spell needs three things to work: intent, focus, and power.” He tapped the edge of his pen against the open book on his desk.
Charlie sat up and smoothed down his hair. “Explain.”
“Well, intent is simple, right? You have to have a goal in mind. So, I want to levitate this pen. That’s my intent,” he said. He set it down on the desk, then leaned over the book. “The words act to focus my intent, and the power is the energy I put into it. I think.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, resting my chin in my hands. I couldn’t help feeling a bit skeptical. “So you’re just going to levitate that pen, just like that?”
“Not me. You’re going first, Amelia.” He tossed the pen at me. It bounced off my open hand and onto the quilt beside me.
“What? Why me?”
“Because I’m a gentleman.” He handed me the book, and I looked down at it, then at the pen, before looking back up at him. “Just relax and say the words.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath, then squinted down at the spell. It was simple, only one word, repeated three times: Tðflíete, tðflíete, tðflíete. They weren’t in English—at least not any English that I recognized. There were too many vowels. “How do I even pronounce that?”
He wheeled close, leaning over the page. “It’s Old English. See the accent marks? I’ve only taken one course that used it, but I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced like to-flea-tuh.”
I straightened my back and stared at the pen, feeling slightly ridiculous. “To-flea-tah,” I said, my mouth struggling to form the unfamiliar word.
Ransom held up a hand. “It’s to-flea-tuh, he said. “Not tah. Tuh.”
“Do you like sounding like Hermione Granger?” Charlie asked, half-smiling.
Ransom’s face was blank. “Who?”
“Harry Potter? Boy wizard? Seriously?” Charlie’s voice rose with each question. He shot me a wide-eyed look. “Dude, how did you survive childhood?”
“I don’t really read fiction,” Ransom said, completely serious. “There are enough fascinating stories that actually happened. I don’t need to bother with made-up ones.”
“They’re movies too,” I said. “I know you watch movies.”
Ransom pressed his lips into a firm line and gestured to the pen and book in my hands. “Can we just get on with this, please?”
“Fine.” I straightened my shoulders, trying to get serious. “To-flea-tuh. Tðflíete, tðflíete.”
Nothing. Not so much as a twitch. I sighed, surprising myself by feeling disappointed. I held the book out to Charlie. “Your turn.”
“It’s not going to work,” he said.
“Just try it.” Ransom leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, eyes bright. “Just one try.”
“Fine.” Charlie stood up, set the book down on the bed next to the pen, and stretched his hand out, like a priest performing a benediction. He breathed in. Out. He closed his eyes and frowned, concentration settling over his face.
I drew my knees to my chest and watched, hardly daring to breathe.
It wasn’t going to work. It didn’t work for me.
It couldn’t work. Why would he be any different?
I wanted it to work.
Charlie took a deep breath. His eyes snapped open, and he said, “Tðflíete. Tðflíete. Tðflíete.” The tone in his voice changed, deepened, grew more commanding with every repetition.
The pen didn’t move.
But the book twitched once, so quickly that I thought I’d imagined it. “Again,” I whispered, barely able to find my voice. “Charlie, do it again.”
He stretched his other hand out over the book. He looked fiercer in that moment than I’d ever seen him, his brows furrowed, his stare intent on the book, like he could force it to move through sheer force of will. “Tðflíete. Tðflíete. Tðflíete,” he repeated.
The book flew all right.
It lifted right off the bed and crashed through Charlie’s window, shattering it, before soaring out into the yard. I shrieked and covered my head to protect myself from the glass flying in every direction. Ransom leapt from his chair with a shout, his fist pumping in the air.
Charlie sank down to the floor, staring at the broken window. I lifted my head, sending shards of glass tinkling to the bed. I stood up gingerly, trying to avoid slicing myself. If I hadn’t seen it, hadn’t heard it, hadn’t felt it, I didn’t think I would have believed what had just happened.
Charlie had done magic. It had worked.
I crouched down next to him. “Charlie,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” His skin was cold to the touch, and he looked like he was ready to faint. He glanced up at me, then back to the window, and burst out laughing.
He laughed until tears spilled down his face. He wiped them away, his shoulders shaking. “It worked,” he said, and the awe in his voice echoed the feelings rushing through me. I threw my arms around him, and he hugged me tightly. I burrowed my face along the curve of his neck, breathing in his scent. “How did that work?” he asked, his voice muffled against my hair.
“Now we just have to figure out how to explain that,” Ransom said. He sounded amused. “Shall we blame it on the idiots at the party who tried to get you arrested for murder?”
Charlie hesitated for a moment. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”
Ransom shrugged. “They already keyed your car. It’s a logical escalation.”
“It sounds like something Ben would do,” I added.
Charlie looked down at me. His fingers came away red, and he winced. “You’re bleeding.”
I hadn’t even noticed. I lifted my own hand to my forehead, which hadn’t hurt until I’d known that I was cut. Now, though, it stung under my touch. “Shit,” I said, looking at Charlie. Blood, my blood, was smeared down Charlie’s neck too, where my face had been. “It’s all over you too.”
“How did it feel?” Ransom asked. He leaned forward on his toes, bouncing, like he couldn’t contain himself. “Do you feel different?”
“I don’t know.” Charlie didn’t take his eyes off my face. “Does that hurt?” he asked me. He climbed to his feet and held out his hand. I took it and let him pull me to my feet.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Ransom asked. I stiffened at his tone—it wasn’t triumphant anymore, or celebratory. It was cold and impatient.
Anger flashed in Charlie’s eyes, letting me know that I wasn’t the only one who had noticed the change in Ransom’s voice. He tugged me toward the door. “What I mean is, my girlfriend is bleeding, so let me help her. I’ll figure out how I feel later.”
Ransom opened his mouth to reply, but his phone chirped, interrupting whatever he was going to say. He pulled it from his pocket and scowled down at the screen. After a long moment, he pushed past us and headed for the stairs. “I’ll get going, then,” he said, his voice even chillier than before. “I’ll let you two have some alone time.”
And then he was gone, the front door slamming behind him.
Beside me, Charlie let out his breath. “What the hell is his problem?” he asked. He led me down the hall to the tiny bathroom. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “I’ll live,” I said.
I hopped up on the vanity, letting my feet swing, while Charlie dug in the linen closet for a first aid kit. He set it on the counter next to me and pulled out a bandage, antibacterial cream, and a packet containing a small alcohol wipe. Behind his glasses, his blue eyes were serious as he tore open the packet and stepped close to me.
Gently, he cupped my chin with one hand and tilted my face up to his. My heart pounded in my chest as his gaze dropped to my mouth, and it was all I could do not to lean up and kiss him. He pressed his lips firmly together before bringing his eyes back to mine. “This is going to sting,” he said.
He was right. The minute the wipe touched my forehead, tears sprung into my eyes, and I jerked back involuntarily.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft with worry. His hands moved surely, cleaning out the cut. “There doesn’t seem to be any glass in it, at least.”
“It’s okay, I’m tough,” I joked, trying to ignore the pain and break the tension between us. “I mean, you should see the other girl.”
He laughed. “That’s why I like you. You’re so badass.”
He tossed the wipe into the trash can and gently dabbed the antibacterial cream over my forehead with his fingers. With one hand, he cradled the back of my head, holding me still while he smoothed the bandage against my skin with the other. His fingertips trailed down the side of my face, sending fire shooting under my skin.
“Is that the only reason?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and instead of answering, he bent down and pressed his lips to mine. I wound my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.
Downstairs, the front door slammed, and we broke apart slowly.
He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed. Our noses brushed together, and I couldn’t help smiling. I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of kissing Charlie.
I leaned back in to kiss him again, but suddenly Minion was wiggling between us, trying to lick at my face, his paws on the counter. I threw my hands up and laughed.
“Minion!” Charlie grabbed him by his collar and hauled him off me. The dog flopped to his back at Charlie’s feet, showing his belly. I hopped off the counter and knelt down, happy to oblige.
“Charlie? Is that you up there?” The stairs creaked as Ms. MacAllister made her way upstairs.
She found us all in the bathroom. “Should I even ask?” Her eyes roamed over us. Minion’s tongue lolled out of his mouth. He let out a happy sigh as I rubbed his belly, and Charlie looked down at us with one hand in his hair, all smiles. Then she noticed the blood from my cut that was still smeared down the side of his neck, and she narrowed her eyes. “What happened to you?”
My free hand flew to the bandage, but before I could answer, Charlie had grabbed her elbow and led her out into the hall. “We had a bit of a problem. I think someone threw a rock through my bedroom window.” The lie spilled effortlessly from his lips. “There’s glass everywhere.”
“And Amelia was in your room when that happened?” she asked, glancing back at me. Her blue eyes, so much like Charlie’s, met mine, and I felt the blood rush to my face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
“Mmhmm.” She rubbed her hand across her own forehead. “There are some boxes and tape in the basement, Charlie. Run on down and grab them so we can at least get the window covered.”
Once he was out of earshot, she turned to me. She kept her voice low, but urgent. “Your uncle stopped by my shop today and warned me that something like this might happen. People in town are angry about those girls that drowned. They’re looking for someone to blame.”
I caught my bottom lip between my teeth. “And he makes an easy target,” I said. “It’s not fair. He didn’t do anything.”
“He’s a MacAllister,” she said simply. “It’s our curse.”
“It isn’t fair,” I repeated.
Her expression softened into something like sympathy. “You’re a good girl, Amelia. He’s lucky to have you on his side.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just shrugged and looked down at the toes of my scuffed-up sneakers. Of course I was on his side. There wasn’t anywhere else I could imagine being.
But it wasn’t like I could say that to her.
She cleared her throat, breaking the silence that stretched between us. “I need some help down at the shop,” she said suddenly. “Nothing major, just a few hours a week. Would you be interested?”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“You did such a nice job with the attic,” she said. “Your mother said you didn’t have a summer job, so I thought…” she trailed off and spread her hands wide. “What do you say?”
“I…” She’d rendered me speechless twice in the course of two minutes. A job. And more than that, it would be a public show of my support for the MacAllisters. For Charlie.
“Just think about it,” she said. “And let me know what you decide.”