24

I held Cyrus in my trembling hands. I didn’t even try to fight back my tears. He was weak and was wearing one of those cone-like contraptions to keep him from picking at his bandage. He still managed to lift his pointy little snout and stare at me, his amber eyes sad and helpless.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his velvety ear. “I am so sorry.”

He tried to growl in typical Cyrus-style, but not much sound came out.

“I know,” I said. “You were right. You were right about everything.” Satisfied that he’d finally won the argument, Cyrus laid his head in my lap and closed his eyes to rest.

I sat cradling him in my lap for over an hour. I had been so horribly mean to him and I was completely responsible for his terrible condition. Never for a second did I think he’d go and eat the darn knotted string.

My mother actually brought the disgusting thing home in a little plastic baggie. It was the most vile thing I’d ever seen, all covered in wet mucus-y gunk. But it was definitely recognizable. It was mine all right. No mistaking it.

“Do you know anything about this, Claire?” asked my mother, holding the baggie up for me to see.

With downcast eyes, puffy and red from crying, I told my parents the whole story. They were really good about it, I have to say, since they actually let me tell the entire story without interrupting me even once. I think they thought I’d lost my mind because when I was done, my mother shook her head.

“Claire,” she said. “Even if you could do magic, you can’t go around trying to hex everyone who you don’t get along with.”

“I know that now, Mom,” I said. “Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. And I know this is going to sound really nuts, but I wish I had hexed Hollis. I mean, at least then I’d be able to de-hex her. She’s really sick, you know.”

I’d tried calling Hollis several times since I got home, but there was no answer at her house. I couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that was growing in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know how I knew it, but I knew something was really wrong.

My father, who had sat silently throughout my bizarre explanation, finally spoke. I braced myself as he opened his mouth. I was ready for it. I knew what was coming. At least I thought I did.

“I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson, Claire. I’m also glad you’re taking responsibility for your actions. I hope you realize now that when people don’t get along it’s never one hundred percent one person’s fault.” He put his arm around me. “Hollis is going to be just fine,” he said. “You have to believe it. Sometimes believing goes a long way.”

Wham! I couldn’t believe it. His words hit me square in the jaw. Those were the exact words the White Witch — I mean, Wayne White — had told me! This was weird. Really weird. He and my father both wanted me to believe. But how was my believing going to help Hollis? I hadn’t quite figured that out yet.

Though I was technically grounded, my parents let me continue to call Hollis until it was really late. There was no way I was going to sleep until I knew she was okay. It was almost ten o’clock, when Hollis’s father finally answered the phone. What he told me made my blood run cold. I listened, barely hearing his words. I felt paper-thin, like everything that had happened — everything that was happening — was happening in some sort of parallel two-dimension reality.

Cyrus wasn’t the only one who had to have emergency surgery. According to her father, when Hollis got home from her city trek with me, her headache was excruciating. Her parents found her writhing in pain. They rushed her to the Hospital for Sick Kids,where she had to have an emergency MRI. It was the last test she was scheduled for the next day. The doctors discovered she had a lump in the lining of her brain and had to remove it immediately.

His words ran me over like a freight train. I couldn’t breathe. It was like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the whole world to fill even half my lungs. I gasped, struggling for air, but ended up coughing and choking on it. I had to say something. I had to force my lips to move. Force the words out of my mouth. The sound was scratchy and high-pitched — a voice that wasn’t my own.

“I-is sh-she going to b-be ok-kay?”

“Time will tell,” said her father. “Tonight is critical. I just came home to get Hollis’s mother a few things and then I’m heading back to the hospital.”

For the first time in my life I was at a complete loss for words. Things that usually came shooting out of my mouth like lightning were blocked behind the boulder-sized lump in my throat. I tried to swallow, but I couldn’t manage enough spit.

“She knew you would call,” said Mr. Van Horn suddenly.

My stomach did back flips as my mind struggled to keep up with what he was saying.

“Hollis knew you would call, Claire,” repeated her father. “She kept muttering, ‘Tell Claire it’s okay. Tell Claire it’s not her fault.’ I don’t know what she meant, but I’m guessing you do.”

For the second time that day, tears spilled down my cheeks. I don’t know how I managed to get the words out, but I asked if I could visit her. Her father said he’d let me know in the morning. Before he hung up, I said, “Tell Hollis … tell Hollis …” but I couldn’t finish my sentence.

“I’ll tell her,” he said. And then he hung up.

I hadn’t even noticed, but my parents and Jordan had gathered round me while I was on the phone. Between gulping sobs, I managed to tell them about Hollis’s surgery. Jordan was the first to reach over and give me a hug.

It was almost midnight when I finally went up to bed. I laid my head on my pillow and tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. There was something that was bothering me. Something niggling at the back of my brain, struggling to break free. It was like a word you can’t come up with, a word you know perfectly well, yet it’s hiding in the shadows of your mind.

When the clock in the hall began to strike midnight, it was like the fog in my brain suddenly cleared and I knew exactly what I had to do.

Sometimes, believing goes a long way …

“Of course!” I said, sitting bolt-upright in my bed. I thumped the side of my mattress. “Why didn’t I think of it sooner?”

I scrambled out of my bed and raced down the stairs. I opened the door to the garage and rummaged through the trash for the little baggie containing the disgusting shoelace. Locating it, I raced back to my bedroom with the plastic bag in my hands and searched the floor for my jeans. I dug out my little green book and then turned on my bedside lamp. I flipped frantically though the pages until I found the Binding Hex. Wrinkling my nose and holding my breath, I opened the baggie and took out the nasty shoelace. I shuddered as I held the gross thing in my hands. But nothing was going to stop me from what I now knew I needed to do. I took a deep breath, and, digging my fingernails into each of the seven knots, I began to untie them, one by one, all the while chanting:

Un-shut the mouth,

Un-seal the eyes,

Un-clasp the limbs,

Un-tie the ties

Un-block the ears,

Un-twist the toe,

Un-hold the heart,

Un-bind my foe.

No longer hast thou caused me harm,

By notion, word, or deed,

Now thought, word, and deed with kindness has been done,

Now you and I are free.