Tells Read online

  “Please.”

  “First, Althea also checked victims for evidence of supernatural taint because she healed people in both mind and spirit. She suspected something wasn’t right that evening because she called in an Emergency Response squad. These responders are specialists who work for the council to clean up supernatural incursions.” Bradstreet closed up her testing kit, which held a good deal more equipment than it should have been able to.

  I steeled myself. “What kind of monster killed my mom?”

  “We don’t know. The only thing we can be sure of is that she incinerated herself near the front door of the victim’s home and burned the house down.”

  “How? Her phone was unharmed.”

  “She’d given it to her patient during the escape in case they got separated.”

  “Why would she have burned herself?” This made no sense.

  “Spontaneous combustion is a weapon of last resort that a field agent uses rather than let something dark feed upon or possess them. Since it was strangling her at the time, she permanently injured her attacker. By the time the emergency squad arrived, the fire was raging, and the monster was gone. There have been no similar attacks since, so she may have even banished it. We’ll never know what happened that night, but I’m convinced your mother gave her life to save her patient and the rest of humanity.” Bradstreet retrieved her own jacket.

  “Thank you,” I said, bowing.

  The stern woman paused at the doorway. “Isa, I sense you have a last question? You may ask it.”

  “Does the school have a photography elective?”

  “We did a few years ago, but the teacher retired.”

  “How would you like to get a Pulitzer-winning journalist at a bargain price?”

  Bradstreet smiled enigmatically. “I said one question.”

  Dad had stuffed one of his cards into the back of Mom’s iPhone in case I lost it. I pried the card out and handed it to the headmistress. “Call him. You won’t be sorry.”

  “It’s highly irregular for a child to request a scholarship for a parent, but your family has endowed the school generously. I’ll speak to him. That’s all I’ll promise.”

  “Did she pass?” My aunt trailed the headmistress into the foyer. I hung behind the doorframe eavesdropping.

  “I’ll issue my findings to the Council directly, but only an idiot would let a reckless talent like hers roam the streets. Buy her some school uniforms.”

  “What talent?” asked Audra.

  “Her actual abilities are modest, but with ten years of hard work, this girl could be a sterling Inquisitor. Whereas most girls her age are concerned about makeup or popularity, she wants to solve murder mysteries. She’s inherited her father’s resistance to mind magic and fear. Her will is the strongest I’ve ever seen. Shaping her is going to be … a challenge. Good luck.”

  5. Commute

  While Dad hauled clothes and personal items from over two hundred miles away, I spent my weekend shopping and hobnobbing. Audra bought me a new wardrobe, hairstyle, and nails. Monday at the holiday picnic, she introduced me to a bunch of catty rich women as the greatest thing since sliced bread. She wouldn’t let me take my phone because she wanted me to behave like a “proper young woman.” I also couldn’t play games with the other kids or eat much for fear that I’d ruin my new outfit.

  After the picnic, Vincenzo drove my aunt and I to several parties. As he helped me out of the car that evening, he whispered, “Your dad just texted me. He aced the interview for the school job. They just gave him a set of keys and a parking sticker.”

  “Thank you,” I said. The good news helped me to smile through another dreary event where I had to be seen and not heard.

  The old witches weren’t afraid to express their opinions. “If your mother hadn’t run off with that Arab, she’d still be alive today. She showed such promise, too. I told her that it’s okay to flirt with them to get SEC approval for a merger, but they’re beneath us.”

  Evidently, people over the age of sixty don’t have filters.

  The next chance I got to chat with Dad was our ride into school on Tuesday morning. He was waiting for me outside my aunt’s Tudor-style three-car garage.

  At seven a.m., the estate was as foggy as I felt. “Why so early?” My new backpack weighed as much as I did. The drab school colors of blue and gray made me look like a captive from the Civil War.

  “Traffic can be bad. I don’t want us to be late on our first day.”

  “That won’t happen,” said a tall, pale girl standing beside the open stall. “Not the way Papa drives.” She had straight, black hair that had been shaved close to her scalp by the left ear. The look was crafted to seem like careless Emo, but I knew from my recent trip to the City that the cut cost almost as much as an 8x10 glamor-shot package. She could have been a poster girl from the salon. The stud in her left nostril completed the image. What confused me was that she wore the same uniform as I did.

  “Hi, Lucretia!” Dad said. He knew everybody’s name. When I looked puzzled, he said, “She and Vincenzo live over the garage. She’s a senior this year, taking classes in defense and combat driving. Going to kick butt and take names.”

  The Emo chick actually smiled. “What did you mean by ‘our’ first day?”

  I replied, “Dad has a new job as a teacher.”

  “Sucks to be you, girl,” said Lucretia.

  “Why?”

  “The students are going to hate you because they think you’re getting preferential treatment, while the teachers will be harder on you to prove you aren’t special.”

  “Great.” I tossed my gear into the rear of the Lexus SUV along with a couple of Dad’s camera cases and Lucretia’s backpack and gym bag.

  Dad nodded, passing a bag of doughnuts to a man in uniform who sported a graying crew cut.

  “Gratzi,” said my aunt’s chauffeur as he handed Dad a mug of strong-smelling coffee. The guy had a bump on his nose that indicated a poorly set break in his youth. From the condition of his skin, he had grown up with acne and rarely used sunscreen.

  Lucretia opened the back door in the driver’s side. “I’ll sit in back so you and Papa can chat, Mr. Morris.”

  “Thanks.” Dad opened a back door for me. “We’re taking the SUV because it gets better gas mileage.”

  “No armor plating,” said Lucretia as she climbed into the Lexus.

  I followed suit. Inside, the car was quiet. I couldn’t hear a thing, even when we were moving. Lucretia cleaned dirt from under her fingernails with a pocketknife.

  “How was the family picnic?” asked Dad as he sipped his coffee.

  I struggled to put the odd experience into words. “A little like visiting the tigers at the zoo when I was three. The witches were beautiful, but I could tell they resented me and thought about eating me. I worried about that Hansel and Gretel story a lot.”

  Emo girl snorted. “I think I’m going to like you, despite the cat posters in your room.”

  “You’ve seen my house? How?”

  “The Benedettos helped us move, poppet.”

  “You let strangers see my things?”

  “They’re not strangers. We’re guests on the same estate.”

  Lucretia said, “That string art your father brought from his bedroom was amazing.” Mom had made it for him for their tenth anniversary—a heart nested inside a seashell. Over the past nine months, he would sit on his bed and stare at it for hours at a time.

  I turned to Lucretia. “If someone rummaged through your underwear drawer without permission, what would you do?”

  She folded her knife blade with a snick. “Stab them, but your dad handled all that. Then, he treated us to dinner at this great Middle-Eastern place. I haven’t eaten so much since the last wedding in Italia.”

  She seemed sincere, if freaky. I made a split-second decision to trust her. “Any advice for my first visit to the school?”

  “Introduce yourself as a Morris. The Hutchinson name co
mes with a lot of baggage. Let people get to know you before you bring that elephant to the party.”

  “Thanks.” I had always used my father’s last name anyway.

  Dad continued his interview. He always did this with clients. He’d find out their whole life story to put them at ease and learn how to take their portrait in a way that told a deeper truth. “Meet any distant cousins your own age?”

  “One who hasn’t manifested, so she’s still humble—Blaise. I thought it was a boy’s name.”

  Vincenzo nodded. “Very popular with both in our circles. He was the scribe of Merlin, the one who the great wizard dictated prophecies to.”

  “So the stories about Merlin were real?” I asked.

  “About the same as the tales about Washington and the cherry tree,” Dad replied. “The man existed, but don’t believe ninety percent of what you hear.”

  Vincenzo drove over a bridge, and below us, I could see bumper-to-bumper traffic crawling along at under school-zone speeds. We stuck to the scenic route, so we could go forty-five. The driver made an off-handed comment about soccer and sucked Dad into a private conversation.

  I turned to Lucretia. “So what are your talents?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s considered rude to ask.”

  “Sorry. I just found out that I’m a witch a couple days ago.”

  “Sensitive,” she corrected.

  “Whatever. I’m good at multiple-choice tests and poker.” I decided not to mention the term “Inquisitor” around witches for right now.

  That earned me another smile. “You’re going to love Junior Math. They emphasize probability and take a field trip to an Indian casino.”

  “Awesome. I want to practice Blackjack now that I have abilities.”

  Suddenly, the car swerved and slowed. We had just missed a deer that galloped across the road. Dad’s coffee hadn’t even spilled.

  “Vincenzo’s good,” I said, eyes wide.

  “He can sense things unpleasant that are likely to happen in the next few seconds and avoid them. Made him a decent racer and a great bodyguard but a bad husband. He never had a fight with Mama until the big one. I can sense hostile emotions at a distance in addition to his bodily harm intuition.”

  I blinked. “That’s where I heard his name before. He raced Grand Prix. Holy cow.”

  “Yeah. He came in fourth his last race.”

  “What’s he doing working for my aunt?”

  “Racers have no retirement fund. The pay’s just okay, but he gets custody of me with a steady job and apartment.”

  “Why choose my aunt? I mean, do they have a thing going?”

  Her eyes bugged. “God, no. She’s way too high maintenance.”

  “Then?”

  “Miss Audra manages his finances. She’s really good at making money with investments. Plus she arranged my scholarship at Colony Prep.”

  “How did you impress Bradstreet?” I asked.

  “For a normal entrance exam, they have a guard at the door. During the tuning fork test, I knocked her out and got my hand on the doorknob before I collapsed.”

  “Impressive reflexes.” With my immunity, I could do better than her—if only I knew how to fight. “Did you inherit anything from your mom other than her looks?”

  “Just her Book.” I could hear the emphasis. “Because she passed it to me, I have to spend some holidays and summers with her. Except she’s so busy with her movies and boyfriends that she no longer has time for me or the Craft. She can control crowds of men but not her own drug habit. I’m sure you know what it’s like to have a famous mother who’s never around.”

  “Actually, Mom snuggled me awake every morning.”

  Lucretia looked shocked and then a little jealous. “Yeah. Don’t mention that to the other girls, or they’ll tear you to pieces.”

  “Oh, okay. So if your dad has skills, too, why isn’t Prep co-ed?”

  “The boys have a school over the hill, but it’s a little smaller. They don’t tend to tap their talents as much. It makes the dating pool pretty sparse. How’d your mother get to be with a nice normal guy like Mr. Morris?”

  “Special dispensation. He’s immune to HIV and some other stuff.”

  “Handy. Is he fertile?”

  “Ew.”

  “Hey. I told you my whole family’s talents.”

  I thought about my recent potential sibling. “Definitely. Why?”

  “If he has council approval, some of those spinster teachers are going to be swarming over him.”

  I covered my ears.

  “Hey. Papa behaves himself when I’m around, but he has all kinds of offers.”

  “Just stop. That’s gross.”

  We slowed to a stop in front of an ivy-covered building. Vincenzo laughed. “Is my little hellion telling you stories about her combat class? They have them slaughter pigs at a local farm so they know what it can be like against a real human being. Half the girls wash out. My Luca finished the ones that the others botched.”

  “It’s not right to leave them wounded and suffering,” said Lucretia. “They have feelings, too.”

  Vincenzo must’ve seen the horror on my face. “Don’t worry. They only do that field trip once. I hear that the gym class takes dodge ball to a whole new level.” He opened Lucretia’s door as Dad had opened mine. “Have a good first day.”

  6. Noel and No Decorum

  I stared at the cluster of buildings like a tourist. “The bell tower and the arched windows are gorgeous. Is that a cathedral?”

  Lucretia replied, “This campus used to be a Catholic mission. Ironic, huh?”

  A few other cars sat in the parking lot with their engines running. We climbed the three stairs to the thick wooden doors, admiring the stone columns on either side and the carving on the archway. The figure had arms outstretched in welcome, with something chiseled below him in Latin. After Dad opened the school door for us, girls followed us in, eager to start the new year. The stone floors had been buffed to a shine, and all the wood was a dark mahogany. Signs directed us left past the office to the auditorium to sign up for electives. My dad led the way while Lucretia continued to play tour guide. “We have chapel during seventh period every Wednesday. The beginning of the day is reserved for core classes like Math, English, History, and Science. The later periods are filled by optional courses we get to pick.”

  “I’ll be teaching two,” said Dad. “Yearbook and one of my choosing—if I get enough signatures on my sheet.” The gym was obviously a modern add-on, with state-of-the-art LED lights, bleachers, and scoreboards.

  “What happens if you don’t get enough signatures?” I asked.

  “Think positive,” he replied, patting me on the shoulder.

  Uh-oh. He’s worried but trying to hide it. Would he lose the job? I tried to follow him into the gym, but Herr Headmistress stopped me at the registration table. “Form a line by the first letter of your last name to receive your scheduling card. When the clock strikes eight, students may proceed inside, beginning with the seniors. Five minutes later, the juniors may follow.”

  I stood in front of the dumpy lady in the H-M line. Dad could dodge this spinster.

  “Name?” she asked.

  “Morris comma Isa. Like Lisa with no L.”

  “I’m not finding a Noel Morris.”

  My left eye twitched. Why wasn’t Dad ever around for the fallout of this naming decision? Since his first name was Ishmael, maybe he wanted to share the misery.

  “I have hers,” said the headmistress, passing over a handwritten piece of golden tagboard.

  I snatched it from her and scanned over it while the line behind me grew longer. My science class was Chemistry. They’d probably have a potions segment. Awesome! History was subtitled, “Overcoming in a Male-Dominated World.” This semester was going to kick butt. PE had a note requiring the purchase of martial-arts uniforms. Yes!

  “Um… there must be a mistake. I don’t have college composition class.” When
I lived in Massachusetts, the state paid for high-school students to take college courses. I didn’t mind skipping the advanced math in favor of gambling, but I didn’t want to take… I squinted. “You put me in remedial literature and religion.” They were both in a place called Detention Hall.

  “Step aside,” said the clerk. Leaning her head around, she shouted to the girl behind me, “Name?”

  I shuffled to the end of the table so I could address Headmistress Bradstreet in a hushed voice. “Remedial?”

  “You’re lacking in the basic Colonial context and religious instruction that all the other girls have received.” She handed me a stack of books: the journal of a teenage girl during the Salem trials, a treatise on angels, common herbs of New York, and the annotated Book of Enoch. “A passing competency on each of these is required by the board before you can begin magic training. That means: don’t bring your Book to school yet. We have a fingerprint safe for it bolted to the bottom of each locker, but we don’t want to risk anything happening to an heirloom until you’re active.”

  What book is she talking about? I was drinking from a fire hose. “Am I the only one who can’t bring a family Book?”

  She actually put a hand on mine as consolation. “You won’t be alone in Remedial Studies. I believe your cousin Blaise failed basic Spiritual Listening. Don’t fall asleep during the exam like she did.”

  “If I can pass these, can I go on to my college English class?” The first week online was usually attendance and basic syllabus information. I could catch up if I hurried.

  “No. Colony Prep doesn’t use the Internet for instruction. We don’t need it. Our English classes are already advanced placement.”

  “But—”

  “Our standards are impeccable. Vassar recruits from our school. Please move to the junior line. Next!”

  The hall was filling up as the first bell went off. The polished metal dome was mounted in the hall over the front doors of the school, like an old alarm clock ringer.

  This schedule sucks!

  Dazed, I stood behind a scarecrow of a girl with painfully short hair. I assumed the hairdo was a statement on African pride. Her ethnic background shouldn’t have surprised me. Women of any color could have intuition.