Page 10

TEN

Lee

My hand trembles so badly I almost drop the piece of paper Poppy gave me. I can’t lose it now. It contains a simple spell, but it’s warded with magick that, no matter how hard I try, keeps me from remembering the words.

It took everything in me not to grab it from her and run back to Aquarius Hall. But I know I’m being watched, stalked, haunted by my father. The last thing I need is to draw more attention to myself by sprinting across campus. I’m already going to be in enough trouble for missing the Scorpio training session.

With my head down and the note close to my body, I enter Aquarius Hall as if it’s any other day, but instead of going up to my room or raiding the kitchen, I go to the back of the house. I don’t make eye contact with any of my classmates, and I brush off an invite to craft paper lanterns in honor of Sam.

Sam.

I tighten my hold on the spell. Getting answers is for Sam. It’s for her and Wren and Lily and Ruby… for all of them.

I bypass the visitors’ bathroom and an open room set up for studying and practicing magicks, and I step into the shadows beneath the stairs. It’s oddly quiet in the back of the house—a sleepy, cool cave untouched by human hands and prying eyes.

The corner of the note is crumpled and moist from my sweaty palm, and I smooth it out before facing the door I never thought I’d be standing in front of. OFFICE . The word is small and simple, carved into a gold plaque that matches the nameplate on my door and Wren’s, and every other Moonstruck whose summer home is at the Academia. But it makes my stomach clench like a fist.

I clear my throat and take a few deep breaths to center myself. With a final long exhale, I reach for the magick that rests just under my skin. My fingers dance, plucking the air in a spell all their own as my magick builds and I speak the words written in Polly’s sweeping script: “ I wish to open the door to a room held forever still, forever the same, forever all that remains of Maya Young. ”

A rush of air tears the page from my hand and carries it to the door. Flames engulf the strip of white and another gust carries the smoldering ash, throwing it against the gold nameplate. The shiny metal surface ripples, shaking away OFFICE to form two new words: MAYA YOUNG .

I stand motionless before her door. My hand hovers inches from the handle, but I’m unable to bridge the final gap that separates who I am now from the untouched past. My sister’s name stares back at me as glossy and new as it did on her first day at the Academia two years ago.

My heart beats a heavy, uneven rhythm I feel in my toes as memories of Maya rush back to me—the horrible yet somehow hilarious knock-knock jokes she’d tell whenever I was in a bad mood, the way she couldn’t watch a movie without popping popcorn, how her laugh never failed to make me smile no matter how mad I was.

Behind this door are answers, but I don’t know if I’m brave enough to get them. This summer has been leading up to this point, and if I don’t cross this threshold, no one will.

“Do it for Maya,” I whisper, and don’t allow myself another second to hesitate.

The dwindling light of late afternoon seeps between the blinds, throwing long shadows across the plush carpet. The walls are painted the same soft cream as my room and the rest of Aquarius Hall. The room holds the same expensive solid wood furniture as the rest of the dorm rooms, but the bathrobe draped over the foot of the bed, the shoes neatly lined up next to the door, the corkboard leaning against the wall above her desk and overflowing with pinned concert tickets, printed photos, and positive affirmations written in purple Sharpie are all Maya.

With a deep breath that quakes from my lungs like leaves in a storm, I step into the room trapped in time.

I’d forgotten that Maya smelled like grapefruit and vanilla. That had been the first thing to go. Maybe because my mom had slept in Maya’s bed and hugged her sweatshirts so tightly, she’d used it all up. Or maybe time doesn’t hold on to scents the same way we do. In two years I’d forgotten my sister’s scent, but being in her room, around her things preserved in magick, I can almost hear her, see her, feel her presence.

“Maya, are you here?” Part of me feels silly for speaking to a room filled with stuff but empty of life. The other part of me would die if I didn’t try.

There’s no answer, but that doesn’t stop me from talking to her like she’s here.

“I know, I know. I’m looking through your stuff without your permission. This is a special circumstance. If you were here—” Sorrow forms a dam in my throat, and I have to take a deep breath to keep it from bursting.

“But you’re not here. And I have answers to find.”

My gaze moves to her desk. At home, it was the focus of her room where she achieved every goal our parents ever set. It’s as neat and tidy as the one in Fern Valley. I run my fingers along the cover of her closed notebook before flipping it open to the first page. Maya’s neat handwriting hovers just above the lines in organized notes complete with section headings. She was the perfect student, daughter, sister.…

“How did you get caught up in this?”

I open the first of three desk drawers and pause before opening the next and then the next. I expected another level of organization and perfection. Instead, the inside of each drawer is a stark contrast to the tidy exterior. Papers are haphazardly strewn about, mixed with pens, loose change, a random bouncy ball, hair ties, and empty gum wrappers. I pick up the papers and skim them, squinting to make out some of the words scrawled in a loose and fluid version of her usually tight and compact script. I drop the papers back where I found them and paw through the clutter in the other drawers. I don’t find anything helpful. It’s more of the same class supplies mixed with random trash.

“You were too smart to leave anything important in some place so obvious,” I say to her memory. “Think, Lee. Think like Maya.”

I go to her closet and take a step back when a pile of clothes falls out when I open the door. Few things are hung. Most of her clothes are on the floor around my feet or stuffed back into the corners of the closet. I sift through the shirts and pants, but the only thing here is more mess.

Our dorm rooms are nice, but there aren’t a lot of hiding places. And, from the way the sun slides down the blinds, I don’t have much time. I’ve already missed most of the training session if not all of it, and my father will come looking. Plus, I don’t know how long is the too long Poppy warned about.

I drop to my knees next to the four-poster bed and lower myself to the floor. Under Maya’s bed is another collection of random stuff. Every neat and tidy space in this room hides a pocket of chaos. I sift through the books, papers, empty bags and shoeboxes, and even more clothes before I find her backpack.

It’s the one she used from middle school through high school. The denim is soft from hundreds of washes and the small pocket on the front is missing its zipper. My fingers trace the stained and frayed iron-on patches she used to cover the parts of the backpack that were worn and holey from the corners of binders and textbooks. No matter how many designer bags our mom bought her, Maya never went to school without this one. It was the only part of her polished and perfected exterior that showed any wear.

Inside is a glass bowl that’s just the right size for the amount of cereal I eat in one sitting, a pack of sandalwood incense, a baggie of pine needles and dried flowers, and a box of matches. I move the bowl to the side and dig around a bit more to find a clear glass vial filled with salt and an airline-sized bottle of Tito’s vodka.

With a sigh, I stuff the contents back into the bag, zip it up, and return it to its place under her bed the same way I would have if she were still alive and I didn’t want her to catch me snooping.

I sag down onto her bed, the realization that I didn’t really know her settling over me like a burial shroud. Maya had mastered the art of hiding in plain sight. “What else did you keep hidden?”

A small stack of novels sits on the corner of her nightstand, a laminated bookmark sticking out from between the pages of the top book—an unfinished journey she’ll never complete. If only she’d stuck to reading from that stack instead of from that ugly old book, maybe she’d still be alive.

“I wish I could have gotten to know you. The real you.”

My fingers find her fluffy bathrobe and bring it to my nose. I inhale, and before I can stop it, the dam breaks. Tears wash down my face. Grief threatens to pull me under, keep me here in this living memory, but I can’t let it. I won’t let it. There are too many questions left unanswered, too many people depending on me whether they realize it or not.

“Keep it together,” I scold myself. “Keep it together, Lee.” I pound my fist against the wooden bed frame, and it rattles. Not the entire bed, just a small part. I grab the nearest column and shake. The large decorative knob perched on top of the post wobbles. It’s off-balance—not completely in the right place.

Curiosity replaces my sadness, and I kick off my shoes before standing on top of Maya’s comforter. I shake the post again, and the wooden orb teeters. With a gentle tug, the top of the post comes off. Wood splinters from the bottom of the orb where there was once a wooden dowel made to fit into the smooth top of the column. I peer into the hole where the peg should have been. A tightly rolled coil of paper rests inside. My heart races as I pull it out and unroll it.

Maya’s handwriting starts out tight and controlled and gets freer and more wild as I read what she wrote:

So, what the moonlight revealed tonight is basically this:

The Elementals gave the women the liquid moonlight. They created it because they knew that’s how to draw down the moon’s power. The maiden got the liquid moonlight first. From the moment she grabbed it, she was like—why should I share this? This is so much power!! Selene, the maiden, killed the mother, and the elder escaped into the forest of the Realm of the Elementals .

Selene. I recognize that name from the book, from the pages I read when Wren gave it to me.

“Wren was right,” I say, a surge of energy lifting me onto my toes. “Maya, Wren knew you were connected to this, and she was right.” My heartbeat speeds up, and my pulse whooshes between my ears as I go over the rest of the note.

Offering:

Matches

Living fire (Fire)

* equal parts Epsom salts and alcohol

Dried flowers, etc. (Earth)

Incense (Air)

Ocean (Water)

Ask each Elemental to join the magick to create the liquid moonlight and set the balance right. (Remember to thank each Elemental!)

Checklist:

Gather the offering ingredients

Perform the offering and get the liquid moonlight. (THE BEACH!!!)

Find the maiden.

Find the elder.

Finish the ritual with the liquid moonlight.

Set it all free!!!!!!!

As soon as I finish reading what she wrote, I’m off the bed and groping under it for Maya’s backpack. It wasn’t full of random stuff. It was full of this stuff—for the offering. To get the liquid moonlight. To set it all free. The only thing missing is ocean water.

I lift the bowl from the backpack and understand it’s to hold offerings, not cereal, and then another truth hits me and I feel dizzy. “That’s why you were out on the beach that night. You were gathering the last spell-work ingredient, ocean water, and then you were going to complete the offering to create liquid moonlight.”

Light drains from the room as the sun sets. I replace the top of the post, loop Maya’s backpack over my arm, and slide into my shoes. I’m not as careful coming out of Maya’s room as I was going in. I might not know the reason behind it, but I have a clear purpose—to get the liquid moonlight—and I haven’t felt this push to reach a goal since arriving at Moon Isle.

I leave my sister’s room and glance over my shoulder as the magick disperses and the room under the stairs turns back into the office.

Our parents want me to follow in Maya’s footsteps. Looks like I won’t disappoint them.

I’m out of Aquarius Hall and charging toward the path that leads to the beach when someone grabs my arm and swings me around.

“Where have you been?” My father’s eyes reflect the faint moonlight overhead, and I swallow. His grip on my arm tightens when I don’t answer, his gaze narrowing, boring into me. “I ran the session with Luke. He’s half the spellcaster you are, but he was the only one there. Where were you?”

Spittle peppers my face, and I wipe my cheek on my shoulder as I clutch the strap of the backpack. “Careful, you don’t want to make a scene.”

“I see.” My father’s laugh is a deep rumble that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand tall. “You don’t care about what Rottingham or Celeste think of you—what I think of you. You haven’t changed. You’re the same loser you’ve always been. It was my hope that made you more. My hope that you loved your sister and our family name enough to finish what she started, but you’re nothing but a second son.”

Rage boils hot within my stomach, sending flames to scorch my cheeks. The fact that I know Maya better than anyone and have a spell to bring Wren back to me is the only thing keeping my fists from flying.

“If being a Young means I end up like you, I’d rather be with Maya.” I rip my arm away and elbow him as I walk past. I adjust Maya’s backpack on my shoulder and resume my trek down to the beach to fight for my chosen family.

Under the cloak of night, Moon Isle seems to hold its breath. The boundary of the Academia’s magickal dome is marked by a kaleidoscope of shimmering colors that cast an ethereal glow on the sand at my feet. Beyond it, the waves are painted with the blues, pinks, and purples of the skin of the dome. I reach out and press against the magick. It’s soft and cold, like my nose during winter. Under my touch it ripples, unyielding. I’m not getting through the dome, but I don’t have to. I’m on the beach. That’s good enough.

I leave the barrier and move to a clump of tall sea grass situated perfectly to shield me from anyone who might be looking out from Moon Hall or the lawn in front of it. Even though it’s dark enough that I’ll be tough to spot sitting here beside the sea grass, I try not to think about what might happen if one of the Elementals patrols overhead and sees me.

I open Maya’s backpack, pulling out the bowl and the rest of the spell-work items along with the sheet of paper where she’s written the instructions.

The first thing I do is easy, and it’s also the only time I’ve been glad my parents forced me to take those advanced chem classes in high school. During the times I was actually listening and not drafting poems in my notebook, I learned that mixing equal parts Epsom salts and alcohol creates fire. I pour the salt in the bowl and add the Tito’s. Before I light the match, I draw in a deep breath. As I release it, I call the first element to my offering magick.

“Fire, with appreciation for your warmth and protection, I call to you. As you blaze with life and accept these offerings I make tonight, aid me in the creation of liquid moonlight!” I light the match and drop it into the bowl. Instantly a blue flame fills the bowl, dancing over the liquid.

I check Maya’s list and pick up the little baggie of dried flowers, pine needles, and herbs. As I sprinkle them into the fire, I call Earth. “Earth, thank you for being our home, for providing us with shelter and sustenance. Please accept this offering I give you tonight and aid me in the creation of liquid moonlight!” The plants sizzle and pop in the flames as they change to yellow and orange.

Magick builds within me. It tingles under my skin and fills me with a familiar warmth. I open myself to it and to Her, the moon that isn’t quite visible yet but is always there.

I remove a long stick of incense from its box and call my element. “Air, I appreciate that you’re the first element to welcome us as we’re born, and the last to leave us when we die. Please accept this offering I send to you tonight, and aid me in the creation of liquid moonlight!” I touch the end of the incense stick to the flames, and they turn red as it lights. The sweet scent of sandalwood perfumes the air around me as I drop the stick into the bowl.

Power surges along my skin and I take a moment to bask in the magick alive within me and around me.

This is for you, Maya. And for Wren. For me. For all of us!

I turn back to the list, and my heart seizes in my chest. The last spell-work item is ocean water. There, just a few paces in front of me, is an ocean filled with water. I lunge forward and beat on the skin of the dome. The water is so close I can smell it, the salt so thick I can almost taste it as angry waves crash against the edge of the protective bubble. But it’s on the other side of the dome. It might as well be on the other side of the world.

My shoulders drop and I slump forward, trudging back to the unfinished spell work and my hidden place in the sea grass. I can’t finish the offering. I can’t draw down liquid moonlight. I can’t fix anything or save Wren or honor Maya.

I lean over the bowl, and the warmth of the flames caresses my face.

How did I screw this up?

The question only has one answer. I let my father get inside my head. I only thought about getting away from him so I could complete Maya’s offering.

No, I didn’t think at all.

I just ran.

How am I supposed to finish what my sister started and what Wren is out there fighting for when I’m still running from my father like a child?

The spell-work bowl sizzles, and my gaze drops to the fire beneath me. Tears I didn’t realize I was crying drop into the flames. They shoot out, and I scramble backward as they turn from red to the pure silver-white light of the moon. Power floods me, squeezing my lungs, and I suck in a gasp of air.

Ocean water is salt water. Salt water is also tears.

Before the flames burn through the magick, I call to the last element. “Water, I appreciate you. You cleanse us and make us like new. Please accept the offering of my tears for this night—for the creation of liquid moonlight to set the balance of magick right!”

The fire blazes high, and I hold up my arm to shield myself from the flames. Air whips around me, bringing with it the scents of cut grass and a summer day. It whirls over the bowl and extinguishes the fire. A cloud of midnight-blue smoke rises up, and I tilt my head back as it surges to the top of the dome. The billow of smoke pierces the magickal barrier. It roils and grows into swollen clouds that quake with thunder and release flashes of lightning that whip the sky like barbed wire.

Ropes of rain begin to fall, and I shove the paper into Maya’s backpack before hooking it over my shoulder. I struggle to get to my feet, fighting to stand against the wind. Before I can dig my heels into the sand, the gale forces me backward. I stumble over the sea grass and stagger back, yards away from the glass bowl.

“ What do I do now? ” I shout into the thunder, the wind, and the rain.

There are no more instructions, and I don’t even know what liquid moonlight is.

“ Is it the rain? ” I yell to the memory of my sister who led me here and whose body was found in this sea.

Should I collect the rain? Is that liquid moonlight?

Before I can fight my way back to retrieve the bowl, thunder claps and a spear of silver lightning splits the sky and strikes Maya’s bowl. There’s a sound like glass breaking and a jolt of power spreads through the sand. Beneath my feet, the ground shudders. I stumble, my arms reaching out for something to grab on to. There’s only wind and rain, and I crash onto my back against the sand. Air rushes out of my lungs, and I gasp to refill them as I squint against the rain and the silver-white streak staining my vision. I’m shaking and drenched when I finally blink my sight back and push myself up.

The wind has calmed, and the rain no longer falls in cold ropes but has tamed to a Pacific Northwest drizzle. Above, thunder grumbles instead of roars and the lightning moves harmlessly out to sea.

And there, where Maya’s bowl used to be, is a slender shard of silver.

I hurry through the grass to reach it. It’s sticking out of the sand, glowing softly, a unicorn horn of moonlight—liquid moonlight drawn down from the moon and made solid by the four elements—for Maya, for Wren, for me.