

### Spell Book & Scandal

### by Jen McConnel
SPELL BOOK & SCANDAL

By Jen McConnel

Published by Jen McConnel

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017, Jen McConnel

Cover Designed by Paper and Sage, 2017

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, locations, and events are products of the author's mind, or have been used in a fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the right of all trademark holders for products mentioned in this work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or to actual events, is purely coincidental.

License Statement:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

Copyright

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About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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CHAPTER ONE

For most people, wearing pink probably wouldn't count as a form of rebellion, but then again, most people don't come from my whacked-out family.

Christina glares at me across the breakfast table as soon as I come into the kitchen. I try to ignore her stare, smoothing my glittery pink hoodie before I grab a bowl. But when I reach across the counter for my cereal, Mom glances up from her cup of coffee, and she frowns.

"Shelby," she begins, pausing for a moment before choosing her words, "wouldn't you rather wear something else?"

Dad looks up from his laptop, and his eyebrows draw together. "It's the first day of school. Surely, you want to make the right kind of impression."

The confidence I felt when I pulled on the sparkly pink sweatshirt up in my room begins to melt, but I force a smile. "Lots of people wear pink. I mean, there's even a movie about it, _Pretty in Pink._ " I pour my cereal, but I have to work hard to keep my hands from shaking.

Christina snorts. "There's nothing pretty about that," she says, her eyes stripping away my pink armor before she flicks her dark hair over her shoulder, dismissing me entirely.

Mom tries again. "I just think it sends the wrong kind of message."

I stiffen my shoulders, shoveling cereal in my mouth even though it tastes like paper. "I like it," I say, trying to sound final and certain, but my voice lilts up on the last word, making it sound like I've asked a question.

Mom and Dad exchange another glance, but they drop it. Christina shakes her head again. "Just try not to let people know we're related," she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear, but quiet enough that Mom and Dad miss it.

At least, I think they miss it; maybe they hear and they don't punish her because, deep down, they agree with her.

Last year, I never would have dreamed of wearing pink, especially not on the first day of school. Last year, I wore black and purple, like Christina, flaunting the magic that runs in my veins. That's because last year, I'd still believed that some of my powers might be waiting to emerge.

Feeling worse than naked in my pink hoodie, I trail after Christina to our bus stop. She's old enough to drive, but Mom and Dad say they won't buy her a car until she passes her Casting Level Threes, the last magical test she has to face before college, and the one that will determine everything about her future. Christina wants a car, but she pretends not to mind, although I've seen her light on more nights than I can count, way past midnight, and I've heard her muttering spells when I stand outside her door in the hallway. She's studying day and night for her Threes, which she'll take on Halloween, and I'd almost feel bad for her if I weren't so jealous.

Christina's a caster, like my dad. He works for the Caster's Force, a pseudo-governmental organization that polices casters and scribes, which means he's a stickler for the rules. He's also one of the most powerful casters to come along in generations, due in no small part to the power of his scribe. Even the most powerful caster needs someone to write his spells, and Dad lucked out by marrying his scribe, too. I'm supposed to be a scribe, like Mom, but somewhere along the way, that message seems to have been lost. So today I'm wearing pink and trying to be something other than the broken member of the King family, at least for the hours every day when I'm at school. I snort at the thought. _Who knew I'd ever look forward to school?_

Kelsey is waiting at the bus stop, her red hair flying like a crazy wig around her face, and she slips an arm through mine without mentioning anything about the pink. Kels knows a little bit about how I feel about my family, especially Christina, and we've been best friends long enough that she doesn't fuss or try to get me to buddy up with my sister, like some bad after-school special. In fact, Kels knows enough not to mention my sister at all, just like I don't mention her grandma, who's got dementia and moved in with the family last year.

"Did you hear that Miah and Becca broke up again?" Kels says, drawing me closer to her.

I glance over my shoulder, but neither of them is at the bus stop yet. Trying to play it cool, I force myself to shrug. "They've broken up, like, fifteen times in the last year, but they always get back together."

Kels raises her eyebrows. "But maybe this time they won't, especially if Jeremiah finds somebody new before Becs get her claws back into him."

My face heats up at the thought of Jeremiah Smallwood's arm linked through mine, the way Kelsey's is now, and she grins, reading my thoughts. "I don't think he even knows who I am," I admit quietly, trying to ignore the bubble of excitement that's pulsing in my stomach.

"Shelby, come on. He kissed you in fourth grade; I don't think a person can forget a thing like that."

I snort. "One, that was _fourth grade_. This is tenth grade. People change. Two," I add quickly when I see that she wants to argue, "he's almost as good a caster as she is," I jerk my head in my sister's direction. "What would he want with a dried-up scribe like me?"

The yellow school bus pulls up to the curb before Kelsey can say anything, and I'm grateful. As much as I love Kels's optimism, there's really no way she can spin my lack of abilities that makes me look worthwhile to anyone, let alone a star caster like Miah. Shaking my arm loose from hers, I head up the steps to the bus and back to our familiar seat, three-quarters of the way down the aisle. Kelsey follows me, and we both pretend not to know Christina when she breezes by, heading for the back of the bus with her friends.

There's a mix of kids on our bus, even though our neighborhood is almost exclusively filled with magical families. One of the normies smiles at me as she takes a seat across the aisle, and I force myself to smile back. _It's a new year, and I'm ready for a new start._ If Kelsey notices, she doesn't let on, just whips out her phone and starts scrolling through pictures, showing me a crystal ball she found in a shop downtown that she really wants to get. Kels is a caster, like Christina, but she's nowhere near as powerful. Somehow, that doesn't seem to bother her; I think she's more interested in the props and trappings of magic than in the actual spells, but at least she knows she can cast if she has to; I can barely muster up enough magic to test the crappy spells I write, and even then, I rarely manage to get the results I'd hoped for. Christina won't touch my spells with a ten-foot pole, and even though Kels loves me, the couple of times she used my spells backfired so spectacularly that she never offered again. At this rate, no one will want me to scribe for them, and I'll have to get some kind of bizarre job like a normie, working in a cubicle or something. Kels is still talking, but I'm only half-listening to her; I keep looking out the window for Miah, but the bus pulls away from the curb before he shows up, and I try to fight my disappointment. Turning to Kelsey, I refocus my attention on her, trying not to think about Miah, my sister, or magic in general.

By the time the bus drops us off at school, I've almost forgotten the way my family reacted to my outfit that morning, but when I walk into homeroom and the teacher who's calling roll does a double take when I raise my hand, I feel my spirits start to sink again. Why did I think I could make a fresh start? Half my teachers have probably had my sister, and it's not like she's ever gone out of her way to hide her status as a caster. I slither down in my seat, but the teacher doesn't say anything, and although I hear a few of the normies around me whispering, I can't be sure they're talking about me. Then again, I can't be sure they _aren't_ talking about me, either, and I start picking at my cuticles under my desk. When Becca saunters in right at the end of the period, a black ribbon tied around her neck, draped in a sparkling indigo tunic, I sink even lower in my chair. She glances at me, and her lips curl up into a cruel smile. Sitting down beside me, she leans over conspiratorially.

"Shelby, I'm so glad you're finally being true to yourself. It takes a lot of courage to admit that you're worthless."

My fingers curl into fists under my desk, but whereas Christina could rub Becca's annoying little nose in something nasty with just a few words and the flick of her wrist, I can't do anything to her. As a rule, scribes aren't as strong as casters, but most scribes would have enough magic to put another scribe in her place. Not me. Based on the smirk on her face, she knows it.

The only weapon I have is my words. I smile at her sweetly, forcing myself to sound calmly disinterested. "I thought you'd appreciate it, considering."

Becca raises an eyebrow. "Considering what?"

I widen my eyes innocently. "Why, since you're not strong enough to scribe for Jeremiah. It must have taken a lot of guts to admit your failings, especially since I know you guys are...were close."

She narrows her eyes. "Who told you I can't scribe for him?"

I shrug. "I heard it around." Pushing my luck, I place my hand on her shoulder in a gesture of fake sympathy. "I'm sure he won't replace you immediately...although a caster like him can't be without a scribe for long."

Becca flushes for an instant, but then she regains her composure and shrugs away from my touch. "At least I _can_ scribe," she says, her voice raising slightly. "What a shame for your parents to have a defect like you."

My vision clouds, and I want to pummel her into the ground, but I can't do anything. I'm frozen by her words; mean as they are, she's echoing things I've thought more than once, and if Jeremiah is her weak spot, then my family is mine, and she knows it. I open my mouth, trying to think of a comeback, but Becca just smiles and stands up as the bell rings. "See you around, Shelby."

I watch her walk away, alternately fuming and fighting back tears, but then she stops at the door and glances back at me. "Oh, by the way," she says, her smile toxic, "pink is a really good color on you."

CHAPTER TWO

By the end of the day, I'm shivering in my tank top; the school always runs the air conditioning too much, and I gave up on the pink hoodie at lunch, shoving it deep in my locker where I hope I never see it again. Christina could probably change its color for me with a simple spell, but I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that it was a mistake. I sigh, slamming my locker and adjusting the shoulder strap of my bag. _Maybe it isn't the pink that's the mistake,_ a nasty voice whispers in my mind. _Maybe I'm the mistake._

Last block is science, and when I walk into the lab, it's clear that the teacher is fresh out of college. He's standing at the front of the room, looking stuffy and overdressed in a suit and tie, and he nods firmly at each student who walks by his desk, no trace of a smile on his lips. I roll my eyes and head to a lab table near the back. I set my bag on the table next to me, pull out my notebook, and start doodling aimlessly. New teachers are always the worst; not only do they try too hard to have authority, but some of them seem totally oblivious to the interplay between casters, scribes, and normies. It's not exactly a state secret that some people can do magic, but some communities are more inclusive than others. Since we live on the outskirts of Portland, home to all kinds of friendly freaks, most of the normies are happy to coexist with us during the school day, even if that vanishes once we all go home to our mostly segregated neighborhoods in the burbs. But with new teachers, you never know what kind of prejudices you're going to get.

"Young lady," a harsh voice pierces my thoughts, and I glance up from my notebook, ready to see who the new guy is about to light into, but for some reason, he's staring at me. I glance over my shoulder, but there's nothing behind me except lab equipment, and when my eyes swing back to the front of the room, his gaze is still fixed on me. He clears his throat. "That shirt isn't acceptable."

Bemused, I point to myself. "Are you talking to me?"

He glowers. "Don't take that tone with me. I'm sure you know the school's dress code, and tank tops are not allowed."

I frown, thinking about all the girls I've seen today who are wearing tube dresses and halter tops. "I'm pretty sure it's okay."

The teacher's face starts to turn red. "You will not be disrespectful to me, Miss--?"

Instead of answering, I raise one eyebrow and glare at him, doing my best to imitate Christina's angry stare that she reserves for stupid normies. The teacher sputters, and the bell rings. Instead of dropping it and starting class, the man walks toward me, looking for all the world like he's going to try to haul me out my chair in front of everybody. I cross my arms and keep my mouth shut.

The teacher pauses in front of me. "Miss--?"

There's a long pause, and then one of my normie classmates coughs. "That's Shelby King," she says, her voice subdued. "Mr. Halstead, you probably want to drop it."

His eyes swivel away from me and lock on the girl, a goody-goody whose name I can't remember. "And why would I do that?"

The girl glances at me and turns pale. "She's not one of us," she says, pitching her voice low. "There's no telling what she'll do."

I want to jump across the room and grab the girl's stupid perky ponytail, but I keep myself stone still. _Now I guess we'll find out what Mr. Halstead thinks of magic._

The man turns back to face me, but the anger that etched his features has been replaced by fear. "Go to the office, please, Miss King."

"But I didn't do anything!"

He takes a tentative step back. "You can come back when your clothes meet the dress code." With that, he hurries away from me and launches into a rambling "welcome to class" lecture. Clearly, he doesn't want to push me in case I decide to turn him into a toad or something, but if I stay, it won't take long before he realizes that I can't even give him a bad case of warts. Tears prick my eyes, but I sweep them away with my hand. I've never been treated so crappily by a normie before, even though I've heard stories about their narrow-minded prejudices. _God, I don't fit in anywhere._ There's no way Christina would have let a teacher talk to her that way or single her out like that, but I can't think of anything to say or do. For a moment, I'm frozen with indecision and frustration, but then I grab my bag and head out into the hall, letting the classroom door slam shut behind me.

In the hall, I lean against the lockers, trying to decide what to do. Will Mr. Halstead follow up, or will he just be relieved that I left his classroom? _Maybe I should try to get my schedule changed,_ I muse, remembering the teacher's cold glare laced with fear. I guess I could just go to my locker and get the pink hoodie, but now my attempts at changing what people think about me by wearing pink seem laughable. Unless I transfer schools, there's no way for me to have a fresh start. Everyone here knows about my family.

Before I can move, a door farther down the hall opens, and Jeremiah Smallwood steps into view. I tense, ready to bolt, but there's nowhere for me to hide unless I go back into Mr. Halstead's room. Miah is headed right toward me, twirling a misshapen bathroom pass, and before I can decide what to do, before I can even think, he spots me. An easy, familiar smile spreads across his face, and my chest constricts when he walks up.

"What's up, Shelby?"

"You missed the bus," I say, the words slipping out of nowhere.

Miah's grin stretches wider. "I didn't miss it. Mom and Dad finally let me buy a car."

"No way!"

He nods, his smile lighting up his eyes. "Want to see it? I'm supposed to be stopping in the office to pick up Coach's mail, but there's time for a detour. Come on!" Without warning, he reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me down the hallway toward one of the side exits. I let him tow me along, relishing the feeling of his strong fingers wrapped around mine. I've been half in love with Jeremiah since we were kids, long before he kissed me on a dare on the playground, but since he started dating Becca last year, this is the closest I've got to him in a long time. I close my eyes, trying to imprint the feeling of his hand in mine on my mind, desperate to hold onto this moment forever.

We're outside in a heartbeat, and when Miah lets go of my hand, I try not to sigh in disappointment. He's oblivious, of course. "Isn't she perfect?" He grins, pointing at a rusty old sports car that might have been red in its former life. The hubcaps are mismatched, the passenger mirror is shattered, and the trunk is held shut with a length of twine. I can't help but laugh.

"Seriously, Miah? You're, like, the best caster around. Why haven't you fixed it up?"

He frowns. "I just bought her last week, and I'm still getting to know the way she drives. I might put in a new stereo, but for now, I kind of just want to let her be exactly what she is, you know?"

His words strike me as if we're talking about me, not a stupid car, and my breath catches in my throat. "Yeah, I guess I get it," I admit, looking at the rusty car again.

Miah grins. "I knew you'd understand, Shelby. Mom and Dad gave me grief about her, and you should have heard the shit Becca said." A cloud passes over his face, but then he shakes himself and smiles at me again. "You want to check her out? Maybe go for a ride with me after school?" He slings his arm over my shoulders, and I'm acutely aware of the straps of my tank top and my bare skin against him. Face hot, I clear my throat.

"Um," I croak, searching desperately for the right words, "Okay. Why not?" Mr. Halstead and the whole awful day fade from my mind, and I grin at Miah, wondering if maybe this year really will be the year things change for me.
CHAPTER THREE

I decide to kill time in the library while Miah goes back to class. There's a big bulletin board in there, toward the back of the stacks, with all kinds of flyers and posters and stuff. The librarian, Miss Minchell, is pretty cool, and she actually lets the students put up whatever they want, so the library bulletin board is more than just posters about sports tryouts and after-school clubs; it's actually interesting.

I'm about to go wander through the stacks when the word "Magic" catches my eye on a piece of paper half-obscured by a flyer for an old summer camp. Curious, I peel away the layers and read the flyer to myself. "Wanted: Magic. If you want to make a little extra money, I am willing to pay for spells." Part of me wonders if it's a joke, but for some reason, another part of me is excited. Checking to make sure nobody's watching, I pull the flyer off the bulletin board and fold it up, tucking it into my planner. I'm pretty sure it's from last school year, considering it was underneath a poster for a summer camp, but the flyer caught my interest, and I want to think about it some more.

It doesn't mention casters or scribes, so I'm willing to bet whoever wrote the thing is a normie. Most normies don't really know how magic works; they think people like my family are witches or voodoo priests or something like that, and they tend to stay away. But clearly, someone in the school is willing to pay money for magic.

A flicker of an idea catches hold in my brain, and I stare into space, the wheels turning. What if I wrote spells for the normies? As far as I know, normies can't do magic, even with a real spell, so how would they know the difference between that and my defective ones? At least it would give me something to do while Christina studies for her Threes; I just know that the harder she works, the more disappointed my parents are going to be in me, and I'm sick of sitting around at home doing nothing. True, writing spells for normies would probably disappoint them, too, but maybe I could earn a little money with my half-assed magic. It's either that or babysitting for kids with more magical abilities than I'll ever have, since most places around here won't even consider hiring anybody who isn't sixteen yet. I like the idea of working for myself a whole lot more than sitting for casters and scribes, especially since I've never really liked playing with kids. Christina, of course, sat her way through our neighborhood and occasionally still babysits for her favorite families; they adore her. Everybody adores her.

Carefully, I tuck my planner back into my bag with the flyer concealed inside it, toying with the thought. Mom and Dad will probably disown me if I do what I'm considering, at least if they find out, but then again, it isn't like I'm their number one priority. _They're much more likely to focus their energy on their perfect daughter as she gets ready to get a perfect score on her Threes._ I glance around the library, feeling almost as devious as if I'd just stolen a book, but nobody is around and nobody has noticed me standing in front of the bulletin board for way too long.

Desperate to distract myself from the bizarre idea that's taken hold of me, I wander to the front of the library to see if Miss Minchell is around. She's usually at the circulation desk, unless she's in her office cataloging books or something; I helped her a little bit last year, and I hadn't made up my mind yet about doing it again this year, but now that I'm in the library and remember how much I like this place, it seems like a good idea to see if she wants a volunteer again. I don't know if Miss Minchell knows about my family; I mean, she'd have to be blind and deaf not to, I guess, but she's never said anything, and she's never treated me any differently from any other student who wanders through her domain. Because of that, and because of how quiet and peaceful the library is, I'm constantly drawn here, even though I've never been a big reader.

Miss Minchell isn't at the circulation desk, but when I poke my head around the door to her office, she's there, sitting in front of her computer, a pencil clamped between her teeth as she stares at the screen in concentration. Gently, I wrap my knuckles on her door, and she holds up one finger silently. A few seconds later, she looks up, and a gentle smile spreads across her face.

"Welcome back, Shelby. Did you have a good summer?"

I shrug. "I guess. What about you?"

She nods. "I did a little bit of traveling, but I'm glad to be back and getting into the swing of the new school year." She leans forward. "Did you want to help out again?"

Smiling, I nod. "If you still need somebody. I don't have a free period this semester, but I could always come and work during lunch, or in the afternoons."

She considers. "Don't you ride a bus?"

"Yes, but—" a terribly wonderful thought bursts through my head, and my pulse speeds up. "But I think I might have a ride."

"Check your options and let me know. I'm always happy to have your help, but I don't want to make things difficult for your parents."

I grimace involuntarily, and Miss Minchell tilts her head to one side. Hurrying to distract her, I point to a cart of books beside her desk. "Are those new?"

"Just unboxed them today. Want to take a look?"

I skim over the spines, but nothing catches my interest. "Neat," I say, my voice bland.

She laughs. "One of these days, Shelby, I'm going to find the book that gets you hooked."

I grin at her. "Challenge accepted."

She shakes her head and glances at the clock on the wall. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"I, uh, had to go to the bathroom."

She raises one eyebrow, and I hold up my hands.

"Okay, I'll go back. But I'll see about working after school."

"Whenever you can, I'd be happy to have the help."

I glance back at her once when I reach the library door, but Miss Minchell has resumed her work, the pencil clutched between her teeth as her fingers fly over the computer keyboard. I shake my head with a smile before I slip back into the hall, but as soon as I leave the library behind, I start to get antsy. There isn't much time left before the bell will ring, but without the sanctuary of the library, there aren't a lot of places where I can hide out without running the risk of bumping into a teacher, or worse, the principal, and having to explain why I'm out of class. I settle for the girls' restroom, even though it smells like a disgusting cocktail of perfume and, well, toilets.

Sighing, I skim the walls, reading the various pieces of old graffiti. They painted the bathrooms over the summer, but the paint went on thin in some places, so it's still easy to see the words etched underneath the layer of fresh paint. It's the usual stuff, hearts and threats and confessions that may or may not be true, but then my eyes catch a familiar pair of initials. "CK is going to fall," the inscription reads, and even though there are a million people it might be, something tells me that it's about my sister.

A slow smile stretches over my face. It looks like someone else hates Christina just as much as I do! Too bad I can't team up with whoever wrote this; it would be nice to bring Christina down a peg or two. I lift my fingers to the graffiti, and a wicked image flits through my brain. What would Mom and Dad do if Christina failed her Threes?

With a sigh, I shake my head and wipe my hand on my pants. There's no way Christina is going to fail. They might as well just give her her casting credentials already and let her pick her coven; we all know she's perfect, and that's not likely to change anytime soon.

I haven't given much thought to the different covens recently, but when I was younger, I was obsessed with them. There are four covens, kind of like sororities or clubs the normies join, but much cooler. Everyone magical belongs to a coven once they're adults, and kids usually end up in the same coven as their parents, so it's a huge network of casters and scribes from all over that becomes a second family to us. Based on their scores at their Threes, casters get invited to join one or more of the covens, and then they get to decide where they want to end up. Once a caster has picked her coven, she brings her scribe with her.

Mom and Dad are members of Henbane, the largest and most powerful coven. I'm sure Christina will be asked to join in a few months, too, and then her future will be set. Being in Henbane will give her all the right connections with all the right people, including a couple of major political big wigs in Europe, the crown prince of a small Asian country, and some of the most talented athletes of all time. I used to think I'd be part of that network, too, but now that I know there's no way Christina will bring me with her, I've started to panic a little bit.

If a scribe doesn't have a caster, she can still join a coven, but instead of just waltzing in, I'll have to pass a test of my own. Even having to take the Scribe Mastery Exam is an insult; only scribes who haven't been claimed by casters take it, and everyone knows that the only scribes who aren't claimed are defective in some way.

As much as the idea of the test freaks me out, the idea of ending up in one of the other covens is even worse. My dad's family has been members of Henbane for generations, and it would be almost like being exiled to end up in Lavender or Bittersweet. I refuse to even consider that I might be stuck in Fennel; Becca's family is rooted in that coven, and everyone I've ever heard of in Fennel is just as cruel as she is.

I wash my hands, avoiding meeting my eyes in the mirror. I've done a good job pretending that I'm not effectively screwed if Christina doesn't bring me into her coven with her, but I can't ignore reality anymore. Either I better start studying, or I better find another caster willing to work with me. If only I could actually scribe; even a weak scribe is worth something to the right caster, but so far, it seems like I'm worse than worthless. I need someone to see past all that. Jeremiah Smallwood flickers through my mind, and I pause, considering.

Now that he's not with Becca, he'll need a scribe, and fast; he's a junior, like Christina, and that means he has to take his Threes this year, too. Cautiously, I raise my eyes to the mirror. Is there any way I can convince him to bring me into whatever coven he gets in, even if I can't scribe? _Or maybe_ , I think, considering, _it won't matter that I can't scribe. Maybe I can convince him just to want me for me._
CHAPTER FOUR

Even though part of me was sure he'd forget all about me and be gone by the time school finally ends, Miah is leaning against the trunk of his disaster of a car when I walk out to the student parking lot. My heart turns over in my chest, and I struggle to keep the corny grin off my face. I almost feel like one of those girls in those ridiculous teen movies, where all it takes is a smile from the "right" guy to turn the day around. It's sad, but true; just seeing Miah always makes me feel a little more hopeful, even if it's hard to believe I'll ever really have a chance with him.

As if fate has heard my thoughts, Becca brushes past me and strides up to Miah, a confident swagger in her hips. I hang back for a minute, uncertain, but Miah doesn't look happy to see her. In fact, a pained expression flickers across his face before he gives her a polite smile. I'm too far away to hear what she says, but Becca isn't trying to be polite. She stands close enough to Miah that she could kiss him, her hand resting on his chest possessively. Miah tilts his head like he's listening to her, but then he shakes it slowly, and I see Becca's fingers curl reflexively. I'm not sure I want to get in the middle of whatever is going on between them, especially knowing how vicious Becca can be, but my feet clearly have other plans, and I walk up to them, struggling to look casual.

Miah smiles when he sees me, but Becca ignores me. I clear my throat, trying not to sound nervous. "You ready?"

Miah steps away from Becca and reaches for the drivers' side handle. "Just about."

Becca turns and studies me, her eyes narrowing as she realizes that Miah is going to give me a ride home. "I thought you took the bus," she says, her voice cold.

I force a smile. "Not today." Moving with more purpose than I feel, I head to the passenger door, glancing back at Becca to make sure she's watching. She is; her eyes are trained on me like a basilisk, but I try to ignore her poisoned stare. She studies me, her face calculating, and then she slips back into her flirty demeanor and turns to Miah.

"I'll see you later, right?" Her words are thick with meaning, and I watch Miah intently, wondering how he'll react.

"Becs, I don't think..." he clears his throat, casting a glance over his shoulder at me, and I hurriedly pretend to be looking for something in my backpack. "Let's leave it for now, okay?"

She leans toward him, pretending to whisper, but she's pitched her voice so I can hear every word. "You aren't seriously thinking of replacing me, are you? Even if we're taking a break right now, there's no one who knows you like I do. That's the kind of scribe you need if you want to win—"

Miah interrupts her quickly. "Not now, okay? We'll talk later."

Without waiting for her answer, he opens the car door and gets in. Becca smiles after him, but when the car pulls out of the lot, she glares at me, and I have a feeling that I've just given her another reason to hate me. My skin turns cold, but then I remember I'm in Miah's car, alone with him, and I focus on the caster next to me.

His light brown hair is long enough to gather in a short ponytail at his neck, but instead of looking sloppy, it just makes him look even more charming. My eyes skim the lines of his face, and I notice with a shock that he's starting to grow what looks like a goatee. It's darker than his hair, closer to black, and I wonder what he'll look like when all the stubble grows in the way he wants it.

Miah glances at me, and his expression of concentration slips into an easy smile. "How was your first day?"

"It's not really a first day when I went here last year, you know."

He chuckles. "But now you aren't a freshman, so that definitely counts for something."

My heart starts to thud. Does that mean I count for something to him? Miah's only six months older than me, but because of the birthday cut-off, he's a junior this year, an untouchable upper classman...and he's sitting here waiting for me to say something.

"What are you trying to win?" I blurt the words without thinking, but then I kick myself; whatever Becca was talking about with him, I don't want to give him a reason to think about her. _I really don't know how to flirt,_ I realize, sinking back into my seat.

Miah's hands clench on the wheel. "How are your spells coming along?"

I know he doesn't mean to be mean, but it's all I can do to fight the tears that well up in my eyes. I pick at a rip in the upholstery of my seat, not looking at him. "Coming, I guess."

"Have you been practicing this summer?"

_Not really._ "Some," I lie. I don't want to tell him that I've pretty much given up on scribing, especially after that spectacular disaster of a spell I tried for Mom's birthday. There's still soot on the kitchen ceiling; even Christina couldn't get it off, although she did manage to keep the spell from incinerating us.

Miah glances at me. "Shelby," he says, pausing as if he's considering his words carefully. "I really want you to practice. I mean," he rushes on, his cheeks turning red, "it would be good for you to get used to scribing for someone other than Christina, right?"

My heart sinks. Christina won't even test my spells anymore, let alone use them, but there's no reason to tell Miah that. "You're probably right," I say, as if I'm considering it, but all I can think about is how far out of my league Miah is. Hotness aside, he's the second-best teen caster I know, after my own stupid sister. There's no way he'll want to spend any time, magical or otherwise, with a pathetic excuse for a scribe like me.

He flashes me a smile and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. "That's cool. Maybe...maybe once you practice some more, you can show me your stuff?"

Did Jeremiah Smallwood seriously just ask to see my spells? My skin feels all cold and clammy, and for a minute, I don't think I know how to breathe. Finally, I remember what my lungs are supposed to do, and I inhale sharply, choking on the rush of air. I start coughing, hacking, really, and Jeremiah looks at me in concern.

"You okay? Do you need me to pull over or something?"

I shake my head, letting my dark hair fall in front of my face so he can't see me for a moment. When I finally get a grip, I take a careful breath in through my nose and I let the air out through my mouth. Instantly, I feel calmer, and I glance over at Jeremiah. "Why would you want to see my spells?" I ask, trying to keep my tone curious, but I'm sure he hears the hurt that lurks behind my words.

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, leaving the other draped casually over the steering wheel. "Christina has been doing really cool stuff lately," he says, sneaking a sideways look at me. "It'd be really cool if you'd show me something before you give it to her."

And just like that, the exaltation I felt at the idea that Jeremiah might finally be interested in me dissipates, replaced by deep, soul-crushing disappointment. He thinks I'm the reason Christina is so good at casting. I don't know what's worse: letting him keep believing that I'm better than I can ever be, or telling him how pathetic my spells really are. I clench my hands in my lap and look down at my shoes.

"Um," I begin, and then I pause. I may be ready for a new start, but I'm not ready to tell Miah just how wrong he is about me. "Sure," I say instead, "I'd like that."

His face lights up, and my heart gives an answering thump of excitement at his expression. "That's awesome, Shelby. I knew you were cool." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, his head cocked to one side. "Listen," he says slowly, "I know you probably have a curfew tonight, since it's the first day of school and all that, but do you want to go downtown with me?"

"What, like, now?" The idea of going anywhere with Miah is almost enough to erase my guilt over lying to him. _I didn't lie,_ I tell myself firmly. _I just didn't bother to correct his mistaken assumption. That's not lying._

He chuckles. "No. Tonight. There's a---there's something I'd like to show you."

Now my heart is thumping against my ribcage like a trapped animal, and I'm sure Miah can hear it if he listens. Is he asking me out? Oh sweet merciful magic, all my dreams are seriously about to come true. I knew this would be the year that things finally change for me. Struggling to sound casual, I look out the window and answer him. "How late are we talking?"

"I usually get home by midnight, but sometimes it goes 'til one."

My heart stops with one final heavy thud; there's no way my parents will let me stay out so late, even if it weren't a school night, but I don't want to say that to Miah. This might be my one chance to get him to see that we belong together, and I'm not going to waste it because of a silly thing like my parents' rules. "I should be okay," I say, a grin slipping onto my face. "What time will you pick me up?"

He gives me an answering smile, and my heart melts. "I won't be driving," he says as he turns into our neighborhood. "Parking's a bitch down there, but the MAXs run all night. Meet me at the station around 8:30?"

"Will you tell me where we're going?" We've pulled up in front of my house, but I don't want to get out of the car. I want an excuse to keep talking to Miah forever, even if it means everyone in the neighborhood notices the car idling at the curb.

He gives me his cheesiest wink. "It's a surprise. But trust me, you'll love it!"

Oh, god, can he tell I'm practically a puddle of goo? My lips stretch into a wide smile as I get out of the car. I look back over my shoulder to wave at Miah as I walk toward the house, and my foot catches on the drainage grate at the end of our driveway, causing me to pitch forward. My backpack swings over my head, dumping its contents into a puddle as I fall, and even though I catch my balance before I wipe out, I'm ready to die of embarrassment. _Why do you have to be so klutzy in front of him?_ I take a deep breath and glance up to see if Miah is laughing at me, but all I see are his taillights down the street at the stop sign. For a moment, I feel a flicker of annoyance that he didn't stop and offer to help, but then I comfort myself with the fact that he probably missed my spectacular display, which in the long run is better than him being chivalrous, any day.

I kneel to pick up all my books and crap that fell into the street when I tripped, and my hands brush against the stupid pink sweater. I shake my head, shoving everything into my bag as fast as I can before I hurry up the driveway to the big, rambling house my family calls home. I've always thought it was kind of stereotypical that our neighborhood is filled mostly with gingerbread trim and old Victorian houses; I mean, we're already a weird segregated neighborhood of casters and scribes. Do we really need to live in the kind of houses that show up in every movie about magic ever? Still, my parents' lavender house is kind of cool, in a haunted house kind of way. We don't have ghosts (I'm not entirely sure they exist, but every year, there are stories about some famous caster or scribe who wants to stick around after death and attempts a spell that will allow her to do it), but the wrought iron tips on the countless peaks of the roof, combined with the chimneys that aren't all standing at right angles and the sagging wrap around porch, make the house feel like it has a million secrets. When Christina and I were little, we used to play in one of the attic rooms, making believe that we were off to find a treasure or a cache of amazing ancient spells. We never found anything other than a lot of dust and an old steamer trunk full of turn-of-the-century clothes, but that didn't make the game any less fun.

See, I haven't always hated Christina. Sure, she's always been unusually talented, even considering how powerful Mom and Dad are, but when we were kids, she never used to lord it over me or act like her casting made her any different from me. It's hard for me to admit this, but I used to look up to her, and I used to imagine that I would be just like her when I grew up.

Shaking my head, I step onto the old porch, which greets me with its familiar groan. Wind chimes tinkle a discordant melody as I open the door and step into the hallway; Mom loves chimes, and the house is covered with them, inside and out. She says the bells help clear the energy for magic, but I think she just likes to hear whenever someone comes up the porch or is moving from room to room in the house. Most of her inside chimes are in doorways, and they're low enough that I have to duck.

"Shelby? Is that you?" Mom calls from the kitchen at the back of the house, and even though I want to slip upstairs unnoticed and start figuring out how I'm going to sneak out for my date with Miah, I follow her voice with a sigh. When I come around the corner of the big kitchen, Mom looks up and smiles.

She's got a pencil stuck in her hair, an ink pot in front of her, and a feather pen between her fingertips. The family spell book is open on the counter in front of her, and green mist swirls up from the pages like steam. "Just a second, honey," she says, nodding at me before she looks back at the book and makes one last deliberate mark with her feather pen. I drop my bag in the doorway and head toward the refrigerator while she finishes the spell.

I grab a tub of hummus and some carrot sticks and turn around to find Mom watching me. "Was it a good first day?"

I shrug, not wanting to get into any of it. The only good part about the day was Miah, and I don't want to risk spilling anything to Mom before the date. "What are you scribing?" I ask instead, trying to distract her.

She sighs. "Your father has been working too hard lately, and he won't listen to any of my non-magical advice about blood pressure or taking it easy. I'm hoping this spell will do what I can't."

I cross to the spell book and skim the words; it's a spell for stress relief, and it looks like Mom's written it so it can be added to any other spell. "You think he'll do it?"

She smiles at me. "I added it to the book right after the spell he's always using to get work done faster, so I'm hoping he combines them without noticing."

I laugh. "You're devious," I say, sitting down on a barstool across from her.

She winks. "Good scribes have to be a little sneaky sometimes. It isn't easy to get a caster to do your spells."

My snack suddenly tastes like sand. "Right," I say, putting the food down on the counter. "I better go do my homework."

"Shelby, I didn't mean—"

"No, it's fine," I say in a rush, standing up as fast as I've sat down. "But seriously, I have work to do."

Mom bites her lip, looking guilty. "Okay." She pauses, and I head toward the door. "Do you have any new spells you want me to take a look at?"

I bark a humorless laugh. "What's the point, Mom? Christina can't use a defective scribe and pass her Threes. Wouldn't it be better if we all stopped pretending I can write anything worthwhile?"

"Shelby," Mom begins, but I'm too embarrassed by my explosion to stick around and hear what she has to say. Hurrying from the room, I head for the stairs, hoping that she won't follow me and try to have a heart to heart.

She doesn't.
CHAPTER FIVE

Even though I told Mom there's no point for me to write spells, the way Miah asked me about my work is niggling at the back of my mind, that and the flyer I saw in the library, so when I get upstairs, I pull my spell notebook out from under the pile of crap on my desk, and I flip through some of my feeble attempts.

Mom claims she drafts her spells in pencil, but I've only ever seen her writing the finished products when she's ready to add them to the family spell book. The book is filled with her confident handwriting and various colors of ink, depending on the type of spell. The one time I tried using the feather pen Mom and Dad bought me one year for my birthday to write one of my finished spells in the family book, the pen caught fire and disintegrated in a puff of smoke and ashes before I had a chance to finish the spell. I haven't tried to scribe in the family spell book since.

Instead, I jot down my notes and ideas in a battered black and white composition book that I keep in my room. I don't have any of my old attempts at spells; after the feather pen incident, I got so mad that I threw all my old notebooks into the trash, and by the time I started to regret getting rid of everything, the garbage had already been picked up and it was too late. So now this one notebook, not even half-full, is all I have to show for fifteen years of trying to learn how to scribe.

It's pathetic, really, but then again, everything about me feels pathetic these days, from my attempt at differentiating myself from my family to my spectacular face plant when Miah dropped me off that afternoon.

_Miah._ My skin prickles just thinking about him, and a lump of excitement starts to build in my stomach. I have to have some good spells to show him tonight, or he'll never ask me out again. Even though I'm not entirely sure it's a date, I don't want to blow my one chance with him by being Shelby the pathetic scribe, and I begin to flip through my spells aimlessly. It's hard to see why they didn't work, since I can barely muster up enough magic to test them out, but it seems like nothing I've ever written has done exactly what I wanted it to do.

There's the spell from Mom's birthday that left the ceiling scorched, and my lips move as I read the spell again. It should have made her birthday cake light up with teeny tiny little fireworks, but instead, it created a fireball that shot straight up into the air before it collided with the ceiling and Christina was able to douse it. I frown, wondering idly what would have happened if we'd tried the spell outside.

Flipping the pages in the notebook, I sigh. None of these spells are worth showing to Jeremiah, and given what he said in the car, he's interested in me because he thinks I'm the scribe who's been writing the awesome spells Christina is performing. I don't actually know who's scribing for her; I've assumed that Mom might be doing it, but nobody has told me, and it's not like I'm going to ask. Absentmindedly, I pick up a green colored pencil and begin tracing a leaf in the margin of my notebook. The leaf turns into a vine, curling down the page like something out of a fairy tale, and I write the words, "once upon a time" at the top of the page.

Feeling silly, I bite the tip of the pencil. What kind of spell would be called "Once Upon a Time"? Setting the green pencil down, my hand reaches automatically for a pink pencil, and I find myself writing the words, "to conjure fairy tale love, speak these words under a full moon."

My tongue pokes against my teeth as I write, and even though I feel silly, I jot down the words that come to mind. "Amor Amo Eros now, bring me true love, I don't care how. Eros Amo Amor my friends, I dream of love that never ends." I end the last line with a little heart, and for a moment, the page shimmers with pink and green sparks, but nothing else happens.

I glance at the calendar hanging on the wall behind my desk. The moon will be full in three days, but I don't exactly know how I can test the spell. Even though I'd like nothing more than for Miah to fall for me, I don't know if I could stand it if the spell backfired in some explosive way the way my magic usually does. But even without testing it, the spell sounds pretty, and I'm kind of proud of it; even if it doesn't work, at least I found the right words for the rhyme.

_Even if it doesn't work..._ I think to myself, and then I slam my notebook shut and reach into my backpack, searching for the flyer I stole from the library. It's crumpled in the bottom of my bag, and the corner is damp from when I dumped my bag into the street, but I smooth the paper and read the want ad again. I glance at my notebook, and then back at the flyer. Even if the spell doesn't work, it sounds right, and I bet I could find people at school who'd pay good money for a love spell like that one. My fingers begin twitching, and before I can stop myself, I've picked up my colored pencils again, and I'm filling the pages of my notebook with corny rhymes that I pull out of thin air, words that promise love, good grades, and all kinds of other random things.

One spell in particular makes my pulse speed up as I write it, and I read it back to myself with a smile. It's a spell for sneaking out of the house, and I decide right then and there that I'm going to test it tonight. If I get out and meet Miah without getting in trouble, I'll take that as my sign that I should start selling these spells to normies. The lump of excitement in my stomach bursts into a thousand butterflies, and I'm grinning from ear to ear as I hop up and start digging in my closet for something to wear.

I'm not going to wear pink tonight; oh, no. If Jeremiah wants a new scribe, then I need to show him exactly how magical I can be.
CHAPTER SIX

Mom has always insisted on family dinners at least twice a week, and it's so hard to sit there across from Christina, listening to her and Mom and Dad talk about various magical happenings, all while trying to look innocent and not give away my mounting excitement. Time is moving slower than anything, and I watch the clock, hoping that I'll be able to slip away when the time comes without anyone finding out. I've never really done anything like this before, and even though I'm nervous, I'm pulsing with energy, and I kind of can't wait to test my sneaking out spell and see exactly what Miah has in store.

Luckily, dinner doesn't last very long; Dad is heading out to a coven meeting, and Mom and Christina are in a hurry to get to Christina's weekly practice group for her Threes. When the door shuts behind them, I breathe a sigh of relief and bolt upstairs to my room.

It doesn't take long for me to throw on the silver leggings and flowy black tunic I picked out earlier, and I even consider experimenting with black eyeliner, but I abandon that idea pretty fast. I've never been much of a makeup girl, and I don't want Miah to think I'm trying too hard, even if I am. Remembering the ribbon Becca was wearing in class today, I dig around in my jewelry box for something that makes me look as magical as possible without looking like I'm copying her. My fingers close on a funky necklace, one long antiqued silver chain with a collection of charms hanging off the end, including a single fluffy purple feather and a couple of crystal beads. It's weird enough to be pretty, and I slip it over my head, whispering a silent thank you to Kelsey for buying it for me for my last birthday.

Turning to face myself in the mirror on the back of my door, I scan myself critically from top to bottom and back again. My olive skin looks almost pale between my dark hair and the black top, but in a mysterious, Gothic way, not a sick, pasty way. Makeup might help, but even without it, I look...different. If I didn't know any better, I would think I was a bad-ass scribe. A wide grin splits my face, and I bend down to lace up my silver Chucks. When I straighten up, I take a deep breath, my fingers twitching. It's time. Even though I've got the house to myself, I'm not taking any chances: making sure my door is shut and the house is silent, I stand in the center of my room.

Stretching out my hands, I grab the notebook and flip to my new spell. I clear my throat and then recite the words that will, I hope, guarantee that I don't get caught tonight. There's a whiff of sulfur, followed by a quick shimmer of purple and black smoke in the air, but nothing else happens. I stand, frozen, waiting for some sign that my spell has actually worked, but there's nothing; my skin doesn't tingle, there are no clouds of glitter, and there certainly isn't the earsplitting crack of thunder that accompanies Christina's bigger spells. Warily, I eye my notebook, but then I notice the clock.

Miah told me to meet him at eight thirty, and it's already eight twenty-five. Even if I run, I won't make it to the MAX station on time. Suddenly panicked that he'll go wherever he's going without me, I shove my notebook into my backpack and burst out of my room. I'm down the stairs and out the front door in a heartbeat, and before I have time to wonder if I remembered to lock the front door, I'm already halfway down the street. It isn't completely dark yet, and I know my neighbors are probably wondering what in the world is wrong with me, but I'm too excited to care.

I hurry out of the neighborhood to the shopping center that obscures the train station, and then I slow to a walk to try and catch my breath. If this is a date, I don't think showing up panting and heaving is the sexiest thing to do, and I don't want Miah to regret inviting me. My heart won't slow down, though, even though I cross the street at a leisurely pace, and when I spot Miah standing near the edge of the platform, his hands tucked in the pockets of his black leather jacket, his eyes staring off into space, I realize there's no way my heart is going to slow down tonight. I might as well keep running; being with Miah has the same effect on me.

I hurry up to him, hoping I don't look too eager, but I can't help myself. His face lights up when he sees me, and his eyes flicker down for a moment, checking out my outfit. I resist the urge to skip up to him and start babbling, so I just give a pathetic little wave as I get closer. "I'm here," I say unnecessarily.

"Cool. I wasn't sure you'd be able to convince your folks."

I grin at him shyly. "I didn't exactly tell them," I admit.

Miah smiles even wider. "I knew you were cool, Shelby. You're going to love this."

The train rumbles up to the platform, drowning out my thoughts, and I follow Miah into the half-empty car in the middle. "Where are we going?" I ask when we've found a pair of seats under a window.

He flashes his smile at me again. "It's a surprise, but I have a feeling you're really going to like it." He eyes my bag, and then he holds out his hand eagerly. "Did you bring your spells?"

"What?" I clutch my backpack reflexively, but then I swallow. "Um, actually, I'm still working on some, and I don't know if they're ready yet."

His face falls. "I thought you were going to bring some tonight."

"Well, it's not like you gave me much warning!" I answer tartly. I do have my notebook with me, but all the confidence I felt when I got ready has gone, replaced by my usual concerns that my spells aren't worth anything, that _I'm_ not worth anything.

Oblivious to my thoughts, Miah just shrugs. "Well, I'm ready to see your spells whenever you feel like sharing," he says, nudging my foot with the tip of his shoe. My cheeks heat up, and I look away, suddenly feeling way more vulnerable than anybody has a right to feel while the sun is still up.

I clear my throat, struggling to think of something to say, and when I look up, Miah is watching me with a curious smile. "What?" I blurt.

"I'm glad you're coming tonight, even if you don't want to show me your spells just yet."

Warmth spreads through my chest. "I'm glad I'm coming, too. I just wish I knew where we were going!" I say, trying to sound flirty.

He chuckles. "Patience, Shelby. I promise it'll be like nothing you've ever seen before."
CHAPTER SEVEN

The train lets us off near the Timbers stadium, and I glance around nervously. The sun has set while we were heading into the city, and the street around us feels sort of sketchy and a little too abandoned, but I forget to be scared when Jeremiah grabs my hand. "Come on," he says, tugging me down a side street that is lined with old houses from the same era as the one I live in. Only about half the street lights on the block are lit, and the entire street has a gloomy, mysterious air. Like most parts of Portland, the street smells like a bizarre mix of food trucks, smoke, and urine; I've never been anywhere else, so I don't know if that's what cities usually smell like, or it it's just another thing that makes Portland...Portland. Miah lets go of me once we step onto the narrow sidewalk, since we have to walk single file to pick our way over cracks in the pavement and monstrous tree roots, but I keep hoping that maybe he'll reach back to me and touch my fingers again.

_Get it together, Shelby. If you keep this up, he'll think you're some romantic, clingy sap._ I stumble on a divot in the sidewalk, and Miah looks back over his shoulder.

"Sorry about the sidewalk. You'll get used to it."

My heart speeds up a little at his words; does he mean I'll get used to it because he wants me to come back to wherever it is we're going with him again? I shrug and watch my feet. "Not so bad," I say, even as I stub my toe on a tree root, and I wince.

"We're almost there," Miah says as he turns down a cross street and starts leading me up a steep hill. The houses have given way to empty lots and chain link fences, and I hurry to keep up with Miah, but he seems totally unfazed by the eerie, sketchy feeling of the street. My eyes swing back and forth, watching for cracks in the pavement, creepy people, and oncoming traffic, and I try to call up my mental map of Portland to see if I can figure out where we're going. Dad took me and Christina to a Timber's game a few years ago, but I'm about as athletic as a cabbage and Christina was more interested in flirting with the guy at the concession stand, so we haven't been back, and my mental map is pretty fuzzy. I feel like the zoo is around here somewhere, but I could be wrong; Kels usually wants to spend time at the flea market and craft stands down by the river whenever we come downtown, and we don't venture into many of the other neighborhoods that often.

We turn off the street onto a narrow footpath through the trees, and I hang back for a second. There aren't any lights ahead of us, and the woods look like a great place for all kinds of evil things to happen. "You're sure this is safe?" I ask, my voice shaking a little bit.

Jeremiah smiles at me. "I promise. I've been coming here all summer, and nobody's ever gotten hurt."

I swallow, looking at the dark path, and then I glance behind me at the deserted street. My eyes catch the corner of the moon, rising over the skyline, and something about that celestial sparkle makes me feel a little better. Turning back to Miah, I square my shoulders and try to look confident. "Then let's do this!"

Miah grins. "You're going to love it. Becca—" He trails off awkwardly, not meeting my eyes, and then he clears his throat. "Ladies first?"

I move ahead of him, watching my feet carefully to make sure I'm still walking on the dark path, but my heart has fallen into my shoes. Of course he brought Becca wherever he's taking me; they've been together forever. I try to squelch the niggling worry that he's just using me to pass the time until he and Becca get back together, since that's inevitably what happens every time they break up, and I bite my lip, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Maybe he just wants me for my spells, and when he realizes I can't scribe worth anything, he'll act like he was never interested in me in the first place.

My spirits are pretty low by the time I see a glimmer of light ahead on the trail, and I almost don't care one way or the other if we get mugged before we get to wherever we're going.

"Hurry up, Shelby," Miah prompts, his voice close to my ear. "I don't want you to miss this."

I step to one side. "You go ahead. I mean, you know these people..." I pause, trying to ignore the goosebumps that are sweeping across my skin. "We aren't out here alone, right?"

He chuckles. "You're funny, Shelby. Come on." Reaching for my hand, he pulls me the last few feet out of the woods, and my jaw almost hits the pine needles under my feet.

"Please tell me we aren't breaking into the zoo," I say, eyeing the gate with the familiar sign. Dad used to take me and Christina to the zoo all the time, but I've never been here at night, and it's pretty obvious that they aren't open for business right now; there's one lone pickup truck in the parking lot, and the gates to the zoo are pulled shut.

Letting go of my hand, Miah approaches the gate. "We aren't breaking in," he says, holding his hands up and staring at the padlock intently.

I tense, waiting for a flash or an explosion, but nothing happens to the gate, and I shift nervously on my feet. "Then what—"

"Shhh," he says, still staring at the gate. I stare at it, too, and after a minute, the metal starts to shimmer. It looks like some kind of tinsel curtain, and when it's super sparkly, Miah walks toward the gate and disappears.

"Miah?" I squeak, looking around in confusion. Did he just walk through metal? I am so in over my head with this boy.

In answer, his hand sticks through the shimmering curtain and beckons to me. Tentatively, I reach forward and take it, but before I can prepare myself to walk through the gate, Miah gives me a yank and pulls me into the zoo. Caught off guard, I stumble forward, bracing myself to hit the pavement, but instead, I land on Miah in a tangled heap just inside the gate.

Trying to ignore the way my body heats up from being pressed against him, I scramble to my feet, embarrassed. Miah grunts and stands up.

"Sorry," we both say at the same time, and Miah raises an eyebrow. I gesture to the pavement. "I'm not usually that klutzy."

"No, it's okay. I'm sorry I had to pull you through, but the spell was starting to wear off, and I didn't want you to get shishkabobed by the gate."

I swivel around to look at the gate in question, my stomach feeling queasy. "Has that ever happened before?"

"No, but better safe than sorry, right?"

I nod, trying not to show him how freaked out I am by the idea of the gate slicing through me. The zoo is dark, except for a few lone street lights scattered over the animals, and my blood is pumping from the combination of fear, danger, and excitement. I glance at Miah questioningly, and he grins.

"Promise you won't tell your sister about this?"

"Of course. But...what is 'this'?"

Miah chuckles. "You'll see."

The animals are silent around us as we follow the path deeper into the zoo, but I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched. I glance back in the direction of the exit, but I can't see the gate anymore. I clear my throat. "Aren't there security cameras here?"

Miah laughs. "That's always the first thing the champion takes care of. Don't worry, Shelby; no one knows we're here."

Before I can ask any more questions, we round a dark corner and emerge next to a humongous fake baobab tree, right into the heart of the "Wild Africa" habitats where the lions sleep in the sun on their large rock enclosure during the daytime. More than the lions waits for us, though; the large walkway is filled with people dressed in black and purple, talking and laughing quietly. Anticipation buzzes in the air, and I freeze for a moment, taking in all the other casters and scribes. I recognize some of the kids from our neighborhood, but most of the faces belong to strangers, and I take an unintentional step back.

Miah tugs on my hand. "Come on, Shelby. I want to introduce you."

I let him tow me into the crowd, my eyes skimming over everyone as a mounting sense of panic builds in my chest. What am I doing here? Whatever this is, it's something magical, and if Miah had any idea just how un-magical I am, he'd never have invited me. My fingers feel sticky inside his grasp, and I want to pull away, to turn and run and never look back, even if it means kissing my chance to impress Jeremiah Smallwood goodbye. Instead, I force a smile and step closer to him, the way I've seen Becca do a million times.

We stop in front of a tight huddle of four, three guys and one girl. One of the guys is shuffling through a stack of notebook paper, looking like he lost his homework, and he almost drops it when we walk up. Miah holds out his hand, and one by one, the guys give him a friendly fist bump, but notepaper guy looks distracted, and then Miah gestures to me. "This is Shelby. King," he adds meaningfully, and one of the guys looks impressed.

The girl raises her eyebrow. "I thought you only scribed for your sister."

I shrug, trying to act nonchalant, but I'm sure she can smell my fear...and my lies. "I'm not here to scribe," I say, hoping I sound casual. "Just wanted to check things out."

Miah drapes an arm across my shoulders. "She said she'd think about scribing for me, and I wanted to show her what it's all about."

The girl smiles and sticks out her hand. "I'm Jessica."

After I shake her hand awkwardly, Miah introduces the guys. "That's Jorge, he works with Jess, and Sampson and Manuel are a team, too." He rocks back on his heels, letting go of my shoulders to tuck his hands in his pockets. "Manuel, you got any spells you can share with me?"

Manuel raises a bushy eyebrow and holds his papers a little tighter. "You're the one who's always saying we gotta stick with our teams."

Miah pouts. "But I don't want to have to sit out. You know I love this."

I glance around at the milling crowd of casters and scribes, but before I can ask another stupid question, a bell chimes and everyone falls silent. Their eyes swivel to a bench in front of the lion enclosure, where a tall, slender girl dressed in a black leather jacket over black skinny jeans stands looking out at the crowd. She grins, a wicked glint in her eyes. "First up, Sampson and Delilah."

Sampson groans. "The names don't mean anything!" He calls, but people around us are already laughing as he and Manuel break off from our clump and move toward the girl on the bench. A petite girl with curly auburn hair is already standing there, next to a guy with more piercings than I can count in his face. I take a step closer to Jeremiah. "Are you going to tell me what this is, or do I have to guess?"

He looks down at me with surprise, like maybe he forgot I was there. "Spell battle. Totally illegal, but wicked fun."

I'm still completely confused, but Jessica slides her arm through mine and tips her head close to my ear. "You know how normies do stuff like poetry slams and rap battles?"

I nod. Our English teacher showed us a video of two poets eviscerating each other with their words at the end of last year, and it had been pretty amazing to see the power that non-magical words could hold. "This is like that? Only...with casters?"

She smiles. "Exactly. You can see why our boy here wants some of your spells; with a King on his side, Jeremiah would blast the competition to smithereens."

_Or get blasted by one of my crappy, backfiring spells._ I lick my lips, hoping she can't read my mind, and wonder why I let Jeremiah talk me into coming tonight.

While we talked, Sampson had been conferring with Manuel, their dark heads close together, shuffling through the stack of papers Manuel is holding. _They're his spells,_ I realize, and suddenly I understand his nervousness. I've never let anyone handle my notebook but me, but here he is, surrounded by people, with his spells ready to blow away in the first gust of wind. The girl, Delilah, hasn't said a word to her scribe; she's too busy examining her nails to seem like she's paying much attention to anything around her. But when the girl in black leather claps her hands again, Delilah barely acknowledges Sampson's polite nod before her lips are moving, casting the first spell.

Sampson tries to speak over her, but his spell is still half-formed when he begins to lift off the ground. It's like there's a rocket strapped to his back; he shoots into the air above us, and a few people clap and whistle, cheering for Delilah. I can't hear what Sampson says, but clearly, the spell works, because in an instant, he stops flying and hovers in place, like he's standing on a glass platform over our heads.

Delilah opens her mouth, but before she can get her next spell out, a blast of purple fire knocks her over. She summersaults and lands on her feet in an instant, but I can tell by the way she clenches her fists that she's mad. "Sampson shouldn't have done that so soon," Jess murmurs next to me, and I can tell that she's worried, too; the red-head may be small, but she's clearly a powerful caster.

Just as that thought crosses my mind, the girl flicks her hand and Sampson begins to fall through the air. He doesn't fall straight down, though; it's like he's caught by some powerful wind, and he falls sideways. With horror, I watch as he plummets into the lion enclosure. The crowd around me inhales sharply in excitement, and a few people whistle.

I grab Miah's arm. "Shouldn't we do something?"

He looks down at me quizzically. "He's got this. You don't think that girl would actually hurt him, do you? This is all just for fun, Shelby."

But somehow, I'm not sure.

Sampson staggers to his feet and shakes his head like he's trying to get rid of a bug, and over his shoulder, I notice one of the sleeping lions twitch. My heart is pounding in my throat, but Miah is right; by the time Sampson has taken stock of the situation, he's already started to cast another spell. This time, he flips through the air like a gymnast, landing in front of Delilah outside the lion enclosure. She has a smug expression on her face, but her smile turns to a grimace as Sampson lashes out with his magic, pulling her legs out from under her. She lands in a puddle, and a few people chuckle.

Sampson raises an eyebrow, like he might ask the girl if she's ready to give up, but before he can say anything, she lifts both hands and blasts him with a spell. Manuel sees it coming and hollers, "Use the counter spell! The one I wrote last week!" But Sampson is too slow. A whirlwind tears at his clothes, ripping the fabric and tossing him around in its embrace, even though there isn't so much as a breeze where I'm standing. In an instant, the wind dies down, and somehow, Sampson has been stripped down to his plaid boxers, socks, and shoes. He flushes from the tips of his Mohawk all the way down to the waistline of his underwear, and then he hangs his head in defeat.

Everyone cheers, and Delilah takes a prissy bow. Sampson immediately casts a silent spell, and he's dressed again like it never happened, except for the tell-tale blush on his face. Miah crosses to him and claps him on the shoulder, probably saying something encouraging, but I'm not listening. I glance behind me at the lion enclosure, and my eyes meet the golden gaze of a lioness. She's awake, and she's watching the people around me with a calculating expression. I almost imagine that I can hear her thoughts, sizing up the casters and deciding which ones might make the most delicious morsels, and I swallow my fear. After a moment, the lioness looks away and puts her head down on her paws, closing her eyes as if she's asleep. Before I can worry needlessly about what could have happened, Jess gives my hand a squeeze.

"Not everyone fights like Delilah," she says softly. "The next round should be fun."

And she's right; the rest of the battles are fast, furious, and frighteningly fun, and nobody else gets tossed in with any of the sleeping animals, but I stick close to Miah and his friends, knowing that I'd be toast if anyone decided to fly me in with the lions. Sure, the casters are the ones who are battling, but a little voice inside my head warns that things could turn ugly fast if anyone in that crowd had a score to settle with a caster... or a scribe.
CHAPTER EIGHT

Even though my spells are usually total crap, when I sneak back into my house around one, nothing moves and nobody comes out to yell at me. The old stairs are silent under my feet, but I don't dare breathe until I'm back in my room with the door closed softly behind me. Then I exhale slowly, sagging against the door and pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.

Jeremiah had been exhilarated on the train ride back to our neighborhood, talking about how awesome the night had been and bragging about how much he was going to dominate when I let him use some of my spells. He'd bumped my shoulder when he'd said that, and warmth had flooded my body, so instead of telling him that my spells weren't likely to do him much good, I had just smiled and scooted closer to him on the seat. He'd draped an arm casually around my shoulders, and I'd leaned into him, thrilled that I was finally, finally out with the guy I'd been dreaming about for years, even though a little voice inside my heart warned me that he might not be interested in me once he found out that I couldn't scribe to save my life.

_I can't tell him yet,_ I think wearily as I kick off my shoes and change out of my clothes. _Maybe once we spend some more time together, he won't mind so much about the spells._

I pull my pajamas on, but I don't bother going out to the bathroom to brush my teeth; it seems like a miracle that no one heard me come in, and I don't want to push my luck. When I crawl under the covers, scenes from the evening dance through my mind, but I keep circling back around to Sampson in with the lions and the lioness's hungry stare. Even though I'm dead tired, I can't sleep, and when my alarm finally rings, I've resigned myself to being a walking zombie at school today.

"Why couldn't they do the spell battle on the weekends?" I groan as I shuffle toward the bathroom to shower. I'm not usually up first, and I take advantage of the quiet by taking an extra long shower; usually, Christina beats me into the bathroom and uses up all the hot water, but today, she's the one who's going to have a chilly shower. I grin under the water, not caring when soap gets in my mouth.

By the time I turn the water off, Christina's banging on the door, and I can hear Mom and Dad moving around, too. I sigh, wiping the steam off the mirror and studying my face. I look a lot like Christina and Mom, and that used to make me happy, but now that I know I'm the defective one in the family, I wish I didn't resemble them so much; every time I look in the mirror, it's like my genetics are reminding me just how different I am from both my mom and my perfect sister. Just once I'd like to wake up and have things feel different.

Christina barges in while I'm brushing my teeth, and I glare at her in the mirror. "I'm not done," I say with a mouthful of toothpaste, gesturing down to the large towel that's still wrapped around me.

"I heard the water stop, so I figured you wouldn't mind if I got in here." She stands there with her hands on her hips as if she's waiting for me to do something. "Can you hurry up?"

Resisting the urge to ram my toothbrush down her throat, I finish up and head for the door. "All yours, your majesty."

She rolls her eyes. "You better not have used up the hot water!"

_Even though you do every day?_ "Whatever."

I slam the bathroom door behind me, but the sound of the shower starts up, and I doubt she even notices.

Back in my room, I stare at my closet for a few minutes. Given the fuss my family made about me wearing pink yesterday, I don't want to draw even more attention by decking myself out in magical colors like I did last night with Miah, but especially now that Miah's noticed me, I can't go back to my ridiculous attempt to differentiate myself from my sister by my clothes. I sigh, deciding on a lavender T-shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans. Not exactly pink, but not too obvious, either. I twist my long hair away from my face and use a clip to hold it in a messy knot at the back of my neck, and then I pause. Miah didn't seem to notice the effort I put into looking perfect last night, but the necklace I'd worn is still out on my dresser, and after a beat, I slip it over my head and check my reflection in the mirror. I grimace.

I look like I'm trying too hard to be Christina.

Digging around my room, I finally find the bubblegum flavored lip gloss that I bought on a dare. Kelsey and I used to love to provoke each other into buying the least magical things we could find whenever we went to the mall, but it stopped being funny when I realized my spells sucked. Still, I'm kind of glad I have the gloss; it'll be a way for me to keep up my pink rebellion that will really annoy Christina, but that other people might not notice. _Like Jeremiah_ , I think as I coat my lips in the goop. _Or if he notices, maybe he'll think I'm just being ironic._

I check my reflection in the mirror again, turning to the side and eyeing myself critically. I don't look like I'm trying to be a mini version of my sister anymore, but I'm not entirely sure if I look good or not. Finally, I shrug and grab my backpack.

The kitchen is strangely deserted, but then I remember that Mom is running the magical preschool program in our neighborhood again this year. She never misses our first day of school, even though Christina and I are way too old to act like that matters anymore, but by the second day, Mom is usually out the door before us, playing magical games with a bunch of little casters and scribes.

Two purple sticky notes are on the fridge, and I grab mine, reading it quickly. Mom signs her notes with x's and o's, and I pocket the sticky while I grab one of the hard-boiled eggs Mom left for us. For a minute, I'm tempted to tear up Christina's note, but then I stop myself. Just because I can't stand her doesn't mean I want to turn into a petty brat.

I grab an English muffin and smash my egg onto it, making a make-shift breakfast sandwich as I hustle out the door. It's still early, but the sun is already up, and the weather hasn't turned cold yet. I'd rather wait for a while at the bus stop than hang out in the kitchen until Christina comes down. Without Mom there, it's a safe bet that Christina will say something truly awful, rather than just her usual slightly nasty remarks that she makes when my parents are around, and I just don't need that crap this morning.

Inhaling, I close my eyes as I walk down the street, letting the smells and sounds of the morning wash over me. Our neighborhood is far enough away from downtown to have its own distinctive scent: fresh herbs and apples. I breathe deeply, a smile creeping onto my face. When I walk with my eyes closed, it's almost like I'm floating, detached from my body, and it's an easy way to let go of my anger at my sister. I learned to do this at a meditation class I took with Mom last summer; walking meditation was one of the things the instructor talked about, and he said that removing sensory stimulation was an easy way to reach a meditative state fast without having to go through all the breath work and stuff. And he's right; my thoughts clear immediately, and as I walk, a sense of calm settles over me.

_Maybe things will be like this all the time in a few years,_ I think to myself. Once Christina finishes her Level Threes this year and graduates next year, she'll go off to college or to work for the Caster's Force, like Dad, and then I'll have a little peace.

Even in my walking-induced Zen, I realize that's ridiculous. Just because Christina won't be around anymore doesn't mean my parents will stop comparing me to her. _What would it be like to be an only child?_ My eyes pop open at the thought, and a shiver runs down my spine. I glance around the street nervously, as if anyone who sees me can read the nasty thoughts floating through my head, but I'm alone on the sidewalk. I shake myself, trying not to even acknowledge the thought I've had, and I keep walking to the bus stop with my eyes open.

Mom and Dad have always been superstitious, and I guess all casters and scribes are, since we're living proof of the power of thoughts and words. They're especially firm about hexes, though, reminding us on an almost daily basis that, even though the Caster's Force doesn't forbid hexing, the King family does: harmful magic won't be tolerated, even by their favorite daughter. Christina once cast a spell that made me throw up everything I ate for a day, when she was mad at me for eating the last of her birthday cupcakes years ago, and I don't think I've ever seen Dad as angry as he was then. Christina was grounded for like, a year, and when she came out of Dad's study after his lecture, her eyes were puffy like she'd been crying. Hexes, curses, and ill-wishing is serious stuff to my family.

Even though I can't stand Christina, I wouldn't really want anything to happen to her, and that disloyal thought felt an awful lot like a spontaneous curse. _It's a good thing I suck at writing spells_ , I tell myself, trying to shake off the creepy feeling on the back of my neck.

I'm still feeling a little sick when other kids start to appear at the bus stop, and I'm kind of worried that Kels is going to ask me what's wrong when she tugs on my hand and pulls me off to one side. I tense, getting ready to make up an excuse, my mind racing as I try to think of something believable.

"Oh my God," she breathes quietly. "You will never believe what happened."

My shoulders relax. This isn't about me. "What?"

She leans closer, covering her mouth with her hand as she whispers, "I have a secret admirer."

I stare at her. "Seriously?"

She nods, her eyes sparkling. "Wicked cool, right?"

"We've only been back to school for one day; when did this happen?"

Glancing around furtively, she pulls a folded square of paper out of her purse and passes it to me. I open it and skim the note; it's short and to the point, and basically just says that somebody thinks she's special.

I roll my eyes at her. "How do you know this isn't a prank? I mean, really, who writes stuff like that? Wouldn't a normal person just text or talk to you at lunch?"

She snatches the note back. "Don't be a bitch, Shelby."

I exhale loudly. "Sorry. You're right." I force a smile, even though a tiny part of me is feeling jealous of Kels, which is not a sensation I'm used to, and I don't like it one bit. "Do you have any ideas who it is?"

She shakes her head, her eyes skimming the people who are waiting at the bus stop with us. "It wasn't there at lunch, but I found it when I opened my locker at the end of the day."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Kels rolls her eyes. "I wanted to, but _somebody_ got a ride home with Jeremiah Smallwood yesterday."

I fidget with my necklace. "Oh. That."

"Oh, that indeed. When were you going to tell _me?_ "

My cheeks flush. I hadn't even thought about telling Kels; _what is wrong with me lately?_ "Sorry. It was, um, fun."

"Fun?" She waggles her eyebrows and I swat her arm.

"Not fun like that. He showed me his car, and then he dropped me off." Should I tell her about the spell battle? I hesitate, looking around the bus stop again, and Becca locks eyes with me. The look she gives me is pure hatred served up with a side of revenge, and then she smiles a nasty smile. Involuntarily, I take a step closer to Kels. _I'll just keep the rest of it secret, for now,_ I tell myself, trying to ignore Becca glaring daggers at my back. "I doubt he'll even talk to me today," I say, and my heart sinks as I realize it's true. I'm not sure how, but I have the feeling I already screwed up any chance I might have had with him.

Kels opens her mouth to say something supportive, but the bus pulls up just then, and I hurry aboard gratefully. Instead of continuing to pester me, Kels starts talking quietly about her note and her secret admirer, and the drive to school passes with us strategizing ways to figure out who it is. Part of me is worried the note might be somebody's nasty idea of a joke, but I don't want to say that again. Kels is so happy, and in all the years I've been hung up on Jeremiah, she's never once complained about me talking about him so much. I owe her this, so I feign interest in the note and make a couple of guesses about who might have sent it.

"I guess the only way we'll know for sure is if there's another one," she says thoughtfully.

"Too bad we can't rig up a security spell to watch your locker," I joke.

Kels's eyes get wide. "Shelby, that's perfect! I could cast it, I think, if you'd write one for me."

I stare at her in surprise. "What?"

"I mean, it's your idea; I bet that means you'd write a great spell, right?"

I can't tell if Kels is trying to be nice, or if the note has seriously scrambled her brain and made her forget everything she knows about me. "I don't know. Wouldn't you rather get somebody good to do it?"

She shakes her head emphatically. "I don't want to tell anybody else. This has to stay a secret, at least until I figure out who it is and what I want to do." Her big blue eyes meet mine. "I trust you, Shelby. Please do this for me?"

"What if it backfires?" The words are out before I can stop them, and I see a flicker of doubt on Kels's face before she smooths her features out into a smile.

"It won't. Besides, it's just a surveillance spell; it's not like you'd be setting fire to the hallway." Her eyebrows knit together in concern. "You won't write a spell that involves fire, right? Cause after the birthday cake mess, that would probably be a bad idea."

I snort. "Understatement of the century." Biting my lip, I study my best friend. "You really want me to do this?"

She grins. "Yes! Can you scribe something today, and I'll get it set up before we go home?"

My hands get clammy. "No pressure!"

Kels giggles. "Come on, Shelby, please?"

Shaking my head, I get ready to tell her no, but instead I hear myself saying, "if it means that much to you."

Kels throws her arms around my neck, and she's still hanging on me when we get off the bus. "You're the best, you know that, right?"

I roll my eyes. "You're just desperate, that's all."

We part in the hallway, and Kels bounces away to her locker. I watch her move through the crowd, and then I sigh. What have I gotten myself into?

I've never tried scribing at school, but because of my promise to Kelsey, I doodle a little bit in my spell book during homeroom. There aren't any words in my mind, but I hope that maybe inspiration will strike, like it did when I scribed the spells last night. It's lucky that I forgot my spell book was still in my bag; I don't usually bring it to school, but I want to do my best for Kels, and there's no way my spells would be any good if I tried to scribe on scrap paper or in one of my class notebooks or something. _Not that your spells are any good to begin with_ , a nasty voice whispers in my mind, but I try to ignore it.

I'm still doodling aimlessly when the bell rings, and as I stick my notebook into my bag, I realize with surprise that I didn't hear anybody talking or laughing the whole period. I glance around, but there's no weird apocalyptic scene; everyone is there like normal, and the room is loud. It's almost like I was meditating the whole time. I eye my bag at the thought, and I'm tempted to sit back down and try to scribe a spell for real, but the warning bell rings and I know I better move if I don't want to be late to first block.

There isn't another opportunity for me to scribe again until lunch, and after stopping by Kelsey's locker to let her know, I head to the library. There's no way I'll be able to get into a groove in the cafeteria, if that will even make a difference, but my fingers are tingling like I'm on the verge of coming up with some amazing magic, and I figure the library is my best bet for a meditative space at school.

Ms. Minchell smiles at me as I come in, and she beckons me over to the circulation desk. "Thank goodness; I got hit with returns this morning; all the books that were missing at the end of last year. It's like everyone suddenly remembered they had them. Are you here to shelve?"

My heart sinks. I'd almost forgotten about the conversation I had with her yesterday. I glance at the clock behind her, and then I nod. "I can shelve for a few minutes, but then I have something I need to work on."

She nods. "Don't let me get in the way of your school work, Ms. King."

"Oh, it's not—" I start to say, but then I pause. "Thanks. I'll get it done fast, and then I can take care of some of that mess, okay?" I gesture to the overflowing cart beside the desk.

Ms. Minchell clasps her hands together in front of her heart. "You're an angel, Shelby. I'll be in the office."

I duck my head at the compliment, but Ms. Minchell is always sincere, so I give her a quick smile before I head to my favorite deserted corner, over by the bulletin board. Glancing around to make sure I'm alone, I pull out my spell book and reach into my bag for a colored pencil. My fingers close on a sky-blue one, and even though I had planned to use purple for Kels's spell, I decide to trust to chance. Closing my eyes, I inhale through my nose, counting my breath slowly. When my lungs are full, I pause, counting to three. Then I exhale slowly, letting the air seep out of me like a deflating beach ball.

Other than closing my eyes while I walk, I've always found breathing like that to be the quickest way to get into a meditative state, and after the zone I hit in home room that morning, I want to see what it will be like to scribe that way. I've never tried it before, and it can't hurt, right?

I flip the spell book open and bring the pencil to the paper, and I keep counting my breaths. My hand begins to move, but I'm not even looking at the page, and I have no idea what I'm writing. After a few moments, I blink and look down, my eyes skimming the words of the spell. It sounds good; something about the rhythm of the words reminds me of the kind of spells Mom is famous for, and I read the spell again.

A wide grin splits my face. I still don't know if the spell will be any good, but the page shimmers faintly, and something in my gut tells me this spell will actually do what I want it to do. I can't believe I've never tried something like that before, but magic and meditation never seemed to have much to do with each other. _If it works,_ I think, packing up my spell book and standing to help with some of the shelving, _I'll have to see if Kels would be willing to test another spell for me._ I don't want to get my hopes up, though; nothing has made me able to scribe up until now, and there's no reason for me to think that my weird new combination of meditation and scribing will work. Despite myself, I'm excited as I return the books to the shelves, and by the time the bell rings at the end of lunch, I'm practically bouncing and I don't even notice that I forgot to eat my sandwich.

My good mood evaporates as I walk into science. Mr. Halstead is writing something on the board, but he glances at me and his eyes tighten. Annoyed, I head back to the seat I claimed yesterday and set my things down with a thump. Mr. Halstead flinches at the sound, but he keeps his back to the class. It's tempting to pick up my books just to drop them again to see if it makes him jump, but I resist the urge. Instead, I flip through the textbook, my eyes skimming the homework from last night. I didn't really get anything done before I met Miah, and then I was too tired to bother with homework by the time I got home.

My eyes sweep up to the board, and I feel the blood drain out of my face. In big letters, Mr. Halstead has written the words "Pop Quiz". Before I have the chance to look at the book again, the bell rings and Mr. Halstead clears his throat.

"Clear everything off your desks except a pen or pencil." A few kids groan, but surprisingly, the science teacher smiles as he hands out the quizzes. "This won't be that bad; it's mostly just the stuff we talked about in class yesterday."

I raise my hand before I can stop myself. "What if we weren't in class?"

He looks at me and swallows. "You should have asked a classmate for the notes."

I stare at him. "Seriously? It was the first day. And it wasn't even my fault that I wasn't in class!"

Mr. Halstead comes down the aisle toward me, but I notice that he keeps a few feet between us. "Miss King, you are causing a disruption," he hisses. "Either take your quiz silently, or I'll have to ask you to step out."

I'm tempted to pitch a fit and spend the rest of class in the office, but I swallow my anger and reach for the quiz he holds in his hands. "I'll give it a shot," I say, wishing the floor would open and swallow up the stupid teacher once and for all.

He hesitates like he wants to keep fighting with me, but then he hands me the quiz and retreats to the front of the room. I flip the paper over and look at the questions, and then I fight the urge to throw something.

There's no way the class covered all this crap on the first day. Chemical equations, definitions, and a rambling question about ecosystems cover the page, and I shake my head in disbelief. Glancing up, my eyes drift around the classroom, but no one else looks as panicked as I feel. In fact, some people are already done, their quizzes flipped over in front of them, leaning back in their chairs or flicking their pencils against the desks.

With a sigh, I look back at the quiz and pick up my pencil. I might as well try, but it doesn't take long before I drop my pencil in defeat. I've left most of the quiz blank, except the question about ecosystems, and shame washes over me when I realize that I've probably given Mr. Halstead one more reason to hate me. After he collects the quizzes, he pairs everybody up to read the introduction to experimental ethics in our textbooks, but there's no one sitting beside me at the lab table, so I end up working alone. My frustration builds as I listen to my classmates reading out loud and talking softly when they think Mr. Halstead isn't listening, and I stare at the same page for fifteen minutes before I realize I haven't read a word.

Finally, I slam my book shut and stand up. Everyone looks at me, and I see a few of the normies shrink back in fear, like they think I'm going to start spouting magic at them or something. Trying to ignore them, I look at Mr. Halstead. "It's too loud to work in here. Can I read in the library?"

He looks like he wants to argue, but then he nods. "Pages fifteen through twenty-seven. Make sure you write down the homework, too." He gestures to the assignment on the board.

"Thanks," I say, not bothering to write it down. I stalk out of the classroom, and when I reach the hall, I swear I hear a burst of laughter in the science lab, quickly followed by silence. Ugh. What is wrong with everybody? Usually, normie or not, it seems like most of the students would rather team up together and make fun of a teacher, especially somebody like Mr. Halstead who's so new and unsure of himself. It would be almost funny if he weren't out to get me. But somehow, after only two days, it looks like I've become the joke.

Ms. Minchell isn't around when I get to the library, and I pull out my phone and send Kels a quick text letting her know where to find me. Then I tuck myself in my favorite corner, open my textbook, and try to muddle my way through the stupid science homework. I've always kind of liked science before, but as long as Mr. Halstead is in charge, I doubt I'll find anything to like about the class this year.

The reading is slow going, and I idly take out my spell book and start doodling while I try to read the chapter. After a while, I realize that my eyes are skipping over the page much faster than I usually read, and I try to slow myself down, but I keep speeding up. Exasperated, I go back to the beginning of the chapter, but this time I finish all twenty pages in less than five minutes. I skim the questions at the end, and I'm amazed to realize that somehow, even though I was speed-reading, I know all the answers. And not just like I can guess them; I know them, with a deep-seated confidence I haven't felt at all during the new school year.

My eyes drift to the open spell book in my lap, and I pause, staring at the page. Indecipherable doodles cover the space, and in the center of the page are three words: _to study faster._ I glance back at the textbook, and then I shake my head. It has to be a coincidence. Before I can dwell on whatever just happened, the library door slams and Kelsey comes around the corner. She grins at me and sits down on the chair across from mine.

"Do you have it?" Her eyes are sparkling, and I realize that the whole secret admirer thing means even more to her than she let on this morning.

Glancing over my shoulder, I flip back to the page with the surveillance spell I came up with at lunch and hand the book to Kels. She skims it, and then she nods.

"This sounds like it should work."

I shrug, my familiar doubt creeping back in. "I don't know. I mean, it's not like I have the best track record or anything."

Kels smiles at me, and one of her dimples flashes. "At least this time there's nothing flammable. Want to come with me to cast the spell?"

I nod, suddenly itching to get my hands back on the spell book that Kels is still holding. My fingers flex, and I resist the urge to lean forward and rip the book out of her hands. What's wrong with me? She's my best friend, and besides, it's not like there's anything valuable in that book anyway...is there?

There are only five minutes left before the school day is over, and the halls are deserted. I follow Kels to her locker, and I stand behind her, shielding her from view in case any normies walk by and ask what we're doing.

Her lips move silently as she reads my spell, and then with a whisper, she casts the words that will, hopefully, give her the answer as to who her secret admirer is. As soon as she finishes, I grab the spell book and tuck it into my bag, but Kels doesn't notice how weird I'm being. She taps her locker thoughtfully.

"I wonder if he's left another note. I checked before I came to get you, but," she grins at me over her shoulder, "you never know."

She reaches for the combination, and the sound of footsteps in the hall behind us makes me jump. Trying to look casual, I glance around, but then I relax. It isn't a teacher; just a tall, skinny normie upperclassman I vaguely recognize from the cross-country team last year. I'm not exactly athletic, but the school counselor kept pushing me to develop "outside interests", so to shut her up, I'd tried running. I lasted through exactly half of the first meet before I gave it up and quit the team, and I haven't missed it.

The guy pauses, and when he sees Kels, his face turns as red as her hair. She looks up from her locker and meets his gaze with a smile, and then she opens the door, ignoring the guy. Her face falls as she digs through her stuff.

"There's nothing here," she says softly, and I can hear the hitch in her voice that means she might actually cry about the stupid note.

I'm about to say something encouraging when the guy clears his throat. He's standing closer now, right over my shoulder, but he isn't looking at me. His eyes are fixed on Kelsey.

"I, um," he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "I meant to drop this off earlier, but I couldn't get out of class." With a shaking hand, he offers a folded square of notebook paper to Kels.

She looks at the note, and then she looks up at me. _Oh my God,_ she mouths before turning back to the guy and taking a step closer.

"Did you leave the note yesterday?"

He nods, his face getting even redder. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "I'm Ryan."

Kelsey smiles. "I know. You won the cross-country championship last year, right?"

I stare at her in surprise. How does she even know that? Then my eyes swing back to the guy, and my heart sputters. A normie? Kelsey's secret admirer is a normie? Why is she even encouraging him? There's no way she can actually like someone like that...is there?

For a minute, we all stand there in an awkward triangle, and finally, I clear my throat. They both jump like I've walked in on them making out or something, and now Kels is as pink at the normie. She swings her eyes to me, and I study her face, trying to figure out what's going on. Her eyes sparkle as she ignores me and looks intently at the guy. "Did you want to go get coffee or something?"

The bell rings and my mouth hangs open, but now they're both ignoring me. The guy takes a tentative step closer and smiles. "I'd like that. Um, I can drive, unless you have a car?"

Kelsey slams her locker and tosses her hair. "You can drive," she says casually, not bothering to tell him that we're too young to drive. I stare at her hard, willing her to turn around and talk to me, but she doesn't. She gives me a big smile over her shoulder and mouths the words, "thank you!", but she doesn't stay to chat. Instead, she heads out of the school with the normie, talking and laughing like she actually knows how to flirt with an upperclassman.

I lean against the locker, totally confused. What did Kelsey mean, thank you? Thank you for letting me ditch you? Thank you for not telling my mom I'm on a date with a normie? I bang my shoulder against the locker once, frustrated, and them I slump down to the ground. Why is everything this year going so wrong?

Suddenly, I shoot to my feet, nearly knocking over a pair of nearby students in the process. Everything isn't going wrong, I realize, starting at Kelsey's locker in wonder. The spell I wrote actually worked.

I give a little shout of disbelief, and the normies move down the hall quickly, like I'm deranged or something. Before I can revel in my victory, I hear the insistent honking of a bus outside, and when I look around, I realize that the hall is mostly empty. _Crap._ I don't have time to go to my locker, but at least I already have my bag with me. I hurry out of the school and race to the curb, barely making it to the bus before the driver is about to pull into the street. She gives me a dirty look and closes the door behind me with a clang, but I'm too excited to care.

One of my spells actually worked. And if one of them works, who's to say I can't write more?
CHAPTER NINE

The second week of school is uneventful, until Miah texts me as soon as I get off the bus on Wednesday, asking me to meet him to talk. I'm pulsing with energy by the time I get to the coffee shop near the train station, right at the edge of our neighborhood. I've been here a million times with Kelsey, but I've never met a boy here, and it feels significant, somehow. _It's not a date_ , I remind myself firmly, but I can't ignore the flutter in my stomach when the chimes over the door ring and Miah looks up and waves from a table near the window.

It's a cozy table, meant for two, not one of the massive table that Kels and I usually commandeer when we come here to work on homework, and my energy spirals out of control as I think about sitting close enough to bump knees with Jeremiah.

He gestures to the funky mug in front of him as I nervously set my bag down on the floor beside the table. "I already ordered, but the line isn't too bad if you want to grab something."

A little bit of my fluttery feeling dies, but I try to squelch my disappointment. _You knew it wasn't a date_ , I remind myself. But still, I have a hard time letting go of the fantasy of Miah casually reaching for his wallet to pay for my drink, just like if we were a couple or something. Still, it has to count for something that he asked me to meet him here, and I hurry to the register and order a green tea smoothie. I'm tempted to get one of the chocolate chai brownies, too, but I'm so nervous around Miah that I'd probably smear it all over my face or something equally embarrassing, so I ignore the dessert case and carry my smoothie back to the little table.

Miah is flipping through his phone, staring intently at the screen, but he sets it down as soon as I get close to him. "Good day?"

I shrug and ease into my seat, but my legs start shaking under the table. His feet are right next to mine; if I wanted to, I could reach out and play footsie with him. Resisting the impulse, I take a sip of my smoothie. "Okay, I guess. Long."

He nods and leans back in his chair. "I can't wait until I can graduate and move on."

My heart plummets at the thought of school without Miah. "But you've still got two years, right? I mean, there's no way you could graduate early?"

He fiddles with a napkin. "I keep wondering if I should take classes online or something so I can get out faster, but that's probably not going to happen. Besides, two years should be enough time for me to teach myself what I need to know about—" He clears his throat. "Two years won't be so bad," he amends.

I'm dying of curiosity to find out what he was about to say, but before I can ask, he puts his elbows on the table and leans in close.

"I don't want to talk about me. Tell me something about you."

I bite my lip. What does he want me to say? That my spells are defective, or that I'm desperate about my chances for getting into a good coven, especially now that I'll have to take the exam on my own? I shrug, looking down at my smoothie as if it holds the answers. "You already know everything about me."

"No I don't. What do you want out of high school, Shelby? Or, more importantly," he adds, his eyes bright and teasing, "what do you want out of life?"

What do I want? _I want to stop feeling like something's wrong with me, and I don't want to let my parents down anymore. I want to get into a coven without the humiliation of taking the scribe exam, and I want Christina to move far, far away._ But more than anything, I want to kiss the boy sitting across from me.

I glance up, and his golden-hazel eyes snag me. For a moment, I'm mesmerized, like a rabbit in a snare. What would happen if I leaned forward and closed the distance between us? Would he kiss me back? My eyes slip down to his lips. _I bet he'd taste like coffee,_ I think stupidly.

Someone at the table behind us backs up, smashing his chair into mine, and the moment is lost in mumbled apologies. When I look back at Miah, the intensity I thought I saw in his eyes is gone, replaced by his usual friendly expression, and I exhale in disappointment. _It's all in your head_ , I tell myself, trying to shake loose of the fantasy my mind had started to spin about coffee flavored kisses with the hottest boy I know.

"What do I want?" I say, trying to match his light tone. "Well, I'd like to see another spell battle," I say, the words surprising me. I'd been a nervous wreck the whole time at the zoo, but as soon as I say it, part of me realizes it's true. I've never seen magic used that way before, almost as if all the rules my parents have drilled into me don't matter, and I want to see it again. What's more, I want to spend as much time with Miah as possible before he gets bored of me or gets back together with Becca, and if he's into the spell battles, then I want to be, too.

Miah grins. "I didn't think you liked it too much."

I try to figure out what to say that won't make me sound like a pathetic normie. "It was...intense. But it was also pretty cool." I pause, then add shyly, "I'd love a chance to see you win."

His smile gets even brighter, if that's possible. "Scribe for me tonight. I'll be unstoppable then!"

Can I do it? If Kels and her normie are any proof, I've finally written a spell that works. But can I scribe for Miah, with all the pressure of the competition pressing down on me? I take a long swallow of my smoothie, stalling. "It takes me a little time to scribe good stuff," I begin, watching his expression carefully to see what he thinks. "I couldn't have anything ready this fast."

His face falls, but then he shrugs. "I'd still like you to come tonight, even if you don't want me to use your spells."

"Who'll scribe for you? I mean, now that Becca..." I trail off awkwardly, kicking myself for mentioning her. Just because Miah's hanging out with me now doesn't mean I should remind him of his ex. His gorgeous, totally magical, nasty ex.

Miah grimaces. "She never came up with spells that were that great for the cast-offs, actually. If I fight tonight, I'll probably barter for spells from Manuel or Jess. Or I could always look online; I've done it before."

I stare at him, surprised. Does he have any idea what I'm thinking about doing with my spells? Cautiously, I ask, "Where do you look online?"

"Oh, there are a few sites with spells for sale. Most of them work pretty well, but it's not my first choice." His eyes meet mine. "I'd rather have a scribe I could work closely with, someone who knows me and really gets me, you know?"

I nod, spellbound by the intensity in his gaze. "That would probably be better."

"Yeah." Casually, he reaches for his cup, and his fingers brush mine on the table. For a moment, he pauses, like he's going to hold my hand or something, but then he pulls away and takes one last swallow of his coffee. "If you have time to scribe for me this week, I'd really love to use your spells. Working with you would be a nice change."

My stomach clenches. Does he just want me for the King family power, or is there something more? I study his face, but I can't find any answers. "But I can still come tonight to watch, right, even though I won't have any spells ready for you?"

He smiles again, and his face lights up. "I'd love if you were there. I really like hanging out with you, Shelby."

I find myself smiling back at him as my doubts dissolve. "I like hanging out with you, too."

"So I'll meet you at the train station again? Seven o'clock this time?"

I nod, even though I have no idea how I'm going to sneak out a second time. Still, Miah's smile has emboldened me, and I decide that I'll find a way to make it work, no matter what. _Who knows,_ I think, feeling giddy. _Maybe I can even sell my sneaking out spell if it works again!_

***

When I get home, I race right to my room, barely pausing to check and see if anyone else is home. Slamming my door shut behind me, I turn on the crappy old desktop Dad finally let me have in my room for homework. The thing is ancient, but at least it connects to the Internet. While I'm waiting for the computer to boot up, I pull my spell book out of my bag and flip back to the spells I've been doodling since the one I wrote for Kelsey worked.

I eye them critically. I had wanted to ask Kels to maybe test some of them for me, but now that I know I can actually scribe a spell that works, I don't want to wait. Besides, she's out with her normie again, and I'm still a little wounded that she would seriously pick him over hanging out with me. Pushing that thought away, I turn to the computer, and in minutes, I've created a new email address, linked it to my Pay Pal account, and started typing up a flyer.

A nasty little voice in my mind whispers that it all may be a fluke, but Kelsey didn't seem to think so. I flash back to the way she smiled when she told me thank you, and I know she believes my spell worked. I would still be doubting it if it hadn't happened so fast; the normie showed up as soon as Kelsey cast the spell, and that can't be a coincidence. Plus, now that Miah's mentioned buying spells, I can't get this idea out of my mind. Something tells me that I may have stumbled on my future.

Typing quickly, I finish the flyer. It looks boring with just my words, so I fiddle with clip art for a minute before deciding to add a corny drawing of a pointy wizard's hat covered with stars. It's totally stupid; no caster I know has ever bothered with something like that, but the normies won't know that. I skim the words on the poster:

Spells for Sale! Your wish is my command, $20 a spell. Payment due up-front. Counter-spells available for $10.

At the bottom, in super tiny print, I've included the phrase "Be careful what you wish for: magic is not guaranteed. No refunds."

It's almost ridiculous how proud of myself I feel looking at the flyer with my email address printed in little tabs along the bottom. If nobody buys any spells, I'm no worse off than I am now, but if the flyer I found in the library is any indication, _somebody_ at my school is willing to pay for magic. Heck, even Jeremiah Smallwood, the second-best caster in school next to my sister, is willing to pay for spells. I grin, emailing the poster to myself to print it out at school tomorrow, and I save the file to my computer, as well.

Now that that's all settled, I start to focus on how I'm going to get out of the house again, and more importantly, what I should wear. The pink hoodie is forgotten; in fact, I might take it to the thrift shop to donate in the morning. _From here on out,_ I tell myself, surveying my closet, _I'm going to do everything I can to be as magical as possible._ I try to tell myself it's my newfound confidence in my ability to scribe that's making me want to recommit to magic, but I know it's a lie.

It's all because a certain caster looked at me with his heart-stopping golden eyes.
CHAPTER TEN

Now that I know what to expect, I'm more or less excited when we get to the zoo and slip through the shimmering gate. But when Miah grabs my hand and doesn't let go, my heart starts doing a frantic tap dance, and any confidence I thought I'd found that afternoon dissolves into a puddle of mushy goo as we walk through the dark zoo to the spot where the other casters and scribes have gathered.

"I found a couple of really great spells today," he says as he pulls me along. "But I'm sure they're nothing as good as the ones you can write."

"What are they?" I'm curious, especially now that I know that casters don't always use spells from a scribe they personally know.

He grins mischievously. "Wait and see. I want to blow your mind tonight."

My heart speeds up and I squeeze his hand without conscious thought. "I'm sure you will."

He looks down at me for a minute, and his hand tightens on mine. Then someone calls out a greeting and the spell is broken. Miah lets go of my hand to wave to his friends, but I try not to mind. Even if he doesn't want to hold my hand all night, he still brought me here, and that fact alone is enough to bolster me up and make me want to fly.

Everyone greets me warmly, and Jess links one arm through mine. "I'm glad you came back," she says with a smile. "The testosterone was getting to be too much for me."

Manuel laughs. "Aw, you know you love us."

She rolls her eyes. "I'd love you a lot more if one of you guys wins tonight."

Miah winks at me. "I'm planning to. Can't have Shelby thinking we're a bunch of losers."

Sampson looks at me curiously. "Did you scribe for him, then?"

I shake my head, trying not to notice the way the guys are looking from Miah to me and back again. "It takes me a little while to come up with good spells," I say, sticking to the same thing I told Miah at the coffee shop. It's not really a lie, I remind myself; they just don't know how long it's taken me to scribe anything worthwhile. _That's all changing now_ , I think, my pulse speeding up as I remember Kelsey and her normie.

Miah nods. "But I'll be able to use some of her spells next week, maybe. In the meantime, I'm ready."

Manuel raises an eyebrow. "You aren't going to try to get me to share with you, are you?"

Miah punches his arm. "Nope. I'm a big boy; I can take care of myself."

Jess rolls her eyes. "Which means you found more random spells online."

"Hey, don't knock it," Miah says, sounding a little defensive. "I'm still going to clean the floor with the competition."

The guys start teasing each other good-naturedly, discussing which of the casters in our group would win if he went up against the others, and I glance at Jess. "Is there something wrong with Miah getting his spells that way?"

She shrugs. "Not really, but sometimes the spells are duds. It's hard to know who to trust when you don't actually know the scribe, you know?"

I nod slowly. I hadn't thought about that, but I'm hoping the normies won't care, since they don't know the difference between scribes and casters. A thought occurs to me, and I blanch. What if normies aren't the only ones who see my flyer? My eyes flicker to Miah. Selling spells that may or may not work to the normies is one thing, but I'm not sure if I can get away with selling spells to casters like him. Jess sees my worried look and misinterprets it.

"Don't worry," she says kindly. "Even the few times he's bought crap spells, he always manages to land on his feet. Nothing can touch that boy."

I nod, a new fear creeping in. Would it have been better for me to give Miah some of my new spells? But then if they didn't work, he'd blame me; this way, if his spells don't work, he'll just blame the Internet. _But what if he gets hurt?_

Before I can worry too much, silence descends on the crowd of casters and scribes. "First up," calls the girl who was in charge last time, glancing around with a critical expression, "Smallwood and Sanderson."

Miah grins and strides past me. His knuckles brush against my shoulders for a minute, and he winks at me as he walks by. "Ready to be impressed?"

I nod, but my heart is in my throat when I see his opponent. The guy looks more like an adult caster than a teenager, complete with five o'clock shadow, black leather boots, and a studded collar around his neck. I glance at Jess. "Isn't he a little old to be here?"

She shrugs, but there's a line of worry between her eyes. "There aren't any rules about age, but most of the people here are still in high school. Sanderson passed his Threes a couple of years ago, though, so Jeremiah's definitely at a disadvantage." She cuts her gaze to me and tries to smile. "But he wants to show off for you, so I bet he'll fight as dirty as he has to in order to win."

I bite my lip. That's not exactly a comforting thought, but before I can say anything else, Miah's lips are moving and a blast of purple flame engulfs the tall caster. Everyone gasps, but the guy walks through the fire like it's not even there, his eyes flashing. The next thing I know, Miah is sailing through the air as if he'd been launched out of a cannon. He stops himself and hovers in midair, his lips moving frantically. A piece of duct tape appears on the other guy's mouth, but he just laughs and rips it off with his hand without even flinching. "That the best you can do?" He taunts, striding toward Jeremiah with his right arm extended.

I clutch Jess's arm, and she pats my hand awkwardly. "Don't worry. Miah's bought spells online before, and they usually work." She cuts her eyes toward me for a long moment. "But I wish he'd find a scribe he could trust," she adds meaningfully. Before I can answer, Miah drops to the ground, landing in a defensive crouch. Sweat beads on his forehead, but he flings another spell at his opponent so fast that I don't even have time to wonder what he's going to do next. This time, the pavement ripples under our feet, knocking Sanderson down. Miah scrambles up, taking advantage of the momentary confusion to cast another spell, and all of a sudden, the older caster's hands are tied behind his back.

Sanderson just laughs. "Is that what they're teaching these days?" In an instant, his hands are free again, even though I didn't see him speak any kind of counter spell, and when he brings his arms back around in front of his body, he's holding a wand. The tip of it glows faintly, and we all take a few steps back, even Miah.

Dad says wands are only used by casters who want to do serious damage. Spoken spells are enough for anyone to get by in the world, but for us, wands are like guns. They aren't illegal, exactly, and Dad carries one as a member of the Caster Force, but I've never seen him use it, and I've never seen anyone else use one, either. I've heard about casters who use them, though, and every time it seems like someone ends up dead.

Miah turns pale. His lips begin to move, and even though the wand wavers in Sanderson's hand, he doesn't lose his grip. Grinning, he advances on Jeremiah, who scrambles back until he's pressed against the glass of the hippo enclosure.

I grab Jess's arm. "Shouldn't we do something?"

She looks at Sanderson, and then her eyes swivel to the girl who seems like she's in charge. "I don't know," she says uncertainly. "But he can't hurt him; it's against the rules."

Before I can argue, Sanderson's hand flicks down smoothly, and a bolt of light leaves his wand, heading right for Miah's chest. For a moment, everything freezes, and then Miah dives out of the way just as the bolt of energy smashes into the glass behind him. It shatters, exploding in a spray of violent fireworks, and everyone stares dumbly at the chaos. Miah is lying face down on the ground, covered with glass, and he hasn't moved. My body reacts on instinct, and I rush to him, even though no one has declared the spell battle over. A part of my brain realizes I might be putting myself in serious danger if Sanderson uses his wand again, but I push my fear away and grab Miah's shoulders.

His face is scraped, probably from his desperate dive on the pavement to escape the wand blast, and blood is trickling down his face from his nose, but he blinks at me and after a moment, his eyes focus and I exhale in relief. For one horrible second, I'd been sure that he was dead or unconscious. He shakes his head a couple of times, and then he grips my hand.

"Shelby—"

I don't know what he's going to say, though, because just then, there's a sound like a roaring train right behind us. Confused, I look around, and then my eyes land on the gaping mouth of a hippo. While the battle had been going on, it must have swum up to the edge of its enclosure, because now it steps through the shattered glass, its eyes angry, as it opens its mouth again and roars.

Miah grabs my hand and pulls himself to his feet. "What—" he pants, staring at the animal who looks like he's about to charge at any second.

Somebody screams, and all around us, casters and scribes start to run off in all directions. In the chaos, no one thinks to use magic to put the hippo back in his cage and rebuild the glass; instead, we scatter and take off running through the zoo. Miah jerks my hand and pulls me down a path, and I let him tow me along, adrenaline coursing through me. We skid to a stop next to the polar bear iceberg, and Miah lets go of my hand to draw his arm across his face, wiping away some of the blood that's dripping from his nose.

Then, he grins at me. "Bet you've never seen anything like that before, have you Shelby?"

I start at him, totally dumfounded. "That hippo's going to eat somebody!"

Fear flickers across his eyes, and he tenses like he's going to run again. "Listen," he finally says.

I try to slow my breathing, and then I focus, listening. The chaos around us has died down, and I stare at Miah in disbelief.

"Sanderson probably fixed it. It was his fault, after all, pulling a wand like that." Miah sounds bitter, but also sort of amused.

I swallow, even though I'm still freaking out. "You could have—we could have—"

"I know," he says, exhaling raggedly and stepping closer to me. "That could have gone poorly."

"How do you know the hippo's back in his cage?"

"One of the rules; whoever messes with any of the animals has to fix it. Although no one's ever done _that_ before."

I force a laugh. "First time for everything?"

For a moment, the air crackles with energy, and suddenly I realize Miah's standing close enough that I can smell the tang of his blood. He looks down at me, his eyes intense, and my breath hitches in my throat. "Shelby—" he begins, reaching one hand toward my face.

His fingertips have just grazed my cheek when I hear a sound that's even more terrifying than the roar the hippopotamus made. A shrill whistle pierces the night, like a supersonic bird of prey, and I jerk away from Miah, looking around frantically. The whistle sounds again, and Miah grabs my hand as he understands the same thing that I've just realized.

"Caster Force," he says, his fingers tightening on mine. "We need to get out of here now."

I nod, my stomach turning inside out when I think of what will happen if the Force catches us. _If my dad catches us._ We take off running again, and I try not to listen to the whistles that fill the night. Somehow, we manage to hop the fence near the elephant enclosure without being seen, and Miah leads us through the woods faster than should be humanly possible. When we make it back to the train station and collapse on the plastic chairs, I breathe a sigh of relief, but Miah's shoulders are still tense.

He looks at me, his eyes pleading. "You can't tell your dad about tonight."

"What, do I look like I've got a death wish? Of course not."

"Even if he acts like he knows?"

I shake my head. "He won't have any reason to think I would know anything about all this."

Miah exhales, but his face doesn't relax. "It's just...your dad sort of scares me."

I look at him for a moment, and then a fractured smile creeps onto my face. "You just faced down a scribe with a wand and a crazy hippo, and _my dad_ is the thing you're afraid of?"

He pauses, but then he begins to smile. "When you put it _that_ way..."

I giggle, and in a few minutes, we're both laughing frantically, gulping for air and doubling over. Finally, the hysterics pass, and Miah takes my hand again. "Our secret?"

I nod, feeling a delicious warmth steal through my body that has nothing to do with adrenaline or the fact that I was just running for my life. "Always."
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Somebody knocks at my bedroom door the next afternoon, and I almost jump out of my skin.

"Come in," I answer, trying not to sound guilty.

Dad pokes his head around the door, and I quickly force a smile. _Does he know?_

He glances at my desk. "Homework?"

I nod, hoping he doesn't mention the zoo. I'm not sure I could lie to him, no matter what I said to Miah last night. "I've got a lot for only the second week."

He chuckles. "Nothing wrong with a little work. I just wanted to let you know that we're going out to the buffet in half an hour. Will you be ready?"

I don't really want to sit across the table from my parents while they gush about Christina, but at least our conversations don't revolve around magic when we eat out. Mom and Dad are super conscientious of the prejudices most normies seem to have about our kind of people, and they have an unspoken rule that we don't discuss magic in public unless there's an emergency. _And the buffet has those awesome dumplings._ I nod, relaxing slightly. "I can be ready."

Dad grins and closes my door. I listen for his feet receding down the hallway, and I exhale in relief as I turn back to the computer. Maybe it's better that we're going out to eat; I'm bursting with excitement after last night, and I'm on pins and needles at the same time, wondering if Dad was part of the Caster Force that showed up at the zoo, but I know better than to say anything about anything around Christina. For now, I guess I'll just try to keep my secrets, which means I better come up with something else to say at dinner. I glance back at my open science book on my desk and make a face. I guess I can always complain about school.

***

I didn't need to worry. Dinner is dominated by Mom and Dad swapping stories about their days, punctuated by Christina sighing heavily and reminding us that she really needs to get home to study. Christina doesn't like the buffet, but it's one of my favorite restaurants, and I'm eating as slowly as possible just to piss her off. Thankfully, nobody has said anything about what happened at the zoo, but a part of me wonders if Dad would even bring it up if he had been there; he never goes too much into detail about his work on the Force, and even though it's not exactly a secret what he does, part of me wonders if maybe he isn't supposed to talk about his job. _Or maybe he just doesn't want to think about work when he's home for the day._

We're almost done with the meal when Dad clears his throat meaningfully, and I glance up. He and Mom exchange a loaded look, and I swallow a mouthful of rice. My first impulse is to look at Christina, since she used to be my ally when it came to Mom and Dad, but lately, she's made it clear I'm on my own, so I just stare straight ahead. I inhale slowly through my nose, trying not to look nervous. Do they know I snuck out? Or worse, do they know about the spell business I'm about to start?

Mom sets her fork down. "We thought it might be a good time to establish some new house rules."

This time I can't help it; my eyes swing to Christina, and for a flicker of an instant, she looks back at me. But then she faces Mom so fast I wonder if I imagined that brief sense of partnership. "Such as?" Her voice is calm, collected, and mature, and I start. When did my obnoxious sister begin to sound so much like an adult?

Dad looks at a spot on the wall above my shoulder. "For starters," he begins, "no dating."

Mom gives him a look and hurries to add, "We know you're both smart, sensible girls, but right now isn't the time to be worried about impressing boys." She pauses thoughtfully. "Or girls, I suppose."

Dad chokes but recovers quickly. "You both need to focus on your studies, and dating is just a distraction."

As far as I know, neither of us has even been on a date, not counting whatever is going on with me and Miah, and when Christina opens her mouth, it's like we're sharing a brain. "I've never dated anybody," she says, staring directly at Mom and Dad, "and neither has Shelby, so why are we even having this conversation?"

Dad steeples his fingers and raises an eyebrow, and I resist the urge to squirm in my seat. That's his "I know you're lying and I can prove it" face, one I've seen him use when confronting issues of magical rule breaking for his job. Christina and I learned pretty fast that there was no point lying to our parents; whether it's magic, intuition, or something else, Mom and Dad can always see right through us. I breathe shallowly, crossing my fingers that they don't know about the secrets I'm keeping.

Mom looks at me gently. "I noticed that you didn't ride the bus home the other day."

_Crap_. "Yeah." My voice sounds strangled, so I try again. "I got a ride home with a friend."

"And that friend wouldn't happen to be Jeremiah Smallwood, would it?"

Christina looks at me incredulously. " _He_ gave you a ride?"

I nod, trying to ignore her tone. "He was being nice because I told him his crappy car was cool."

My dad looks like he wants to say something, but Mom cuts him off. "Jeremiah is a nice boy, Shelby, but your father is right; now is the time to focus on your craft, and on school. There will be plenty of time for dating later."

Anger bubbles up inside me. "I'm not dating Jeremiah. He's just a friend. And it's not like I have to pass the casting tests or anything, and maybe I'll find a caster who wants to work with me before the scribe exam even becomes an issue; what do I need to waste my time studying for?"

Christina snorts. "For once I agree with her. I'm the one with all the pressure of the test coming up, but it's like you can't even see that. Why are we here, in this stupid restaurant, when I should be home studying?"

I turn on her. "Just because you're a caster doesn't mean you get to call all the shots. I happen to like this restaurant."

"Who cares what you like? You're about as worthless as a normie."

The words hang in the air between us, and I will myself not to cry. Christina has been nasty to me before, but she's never, ever said anything like that. _If you knew about my new spells,_ I think, clenching my fists, but then I stop the thought. If she knew about my spells, if _anyone_ in my family knew, I'd be in deep trouble. Selling magic to normies isn't exactly against the laws or anything, but I know my parents look down on casters and scribes who mix magic with mundane life, sharing bits of their talents with the normies around them. And even though I haven't started selling my spells yet, just the fact that I'm planning to could land me in extremely hot water.

I swallow my tears and let my anger do the talking. "And you're the most worthless sister, normie or magical."

Christina stands up, tossing her napkin on the table. "Are we done here? I really need to get back to work."

Mom glances at Dad. "We can finish this conversation at home."

Christina flounces away without a word, and I glare after her. Then I swivel my gaze to Mom and Dad. "Are you seriously going to let her talk to me that way?"

Mom sighs. "Shelby, your sister is under a lot of pressure right now. With the Threes coming up..." she trails off, and then she leans forward. "We all need to be patient with her."

"And you weren't exactly going for sister of the year, either," my dad says, leveling me with his stare.

I stand up. "Fine. Whatever. Can we just leave?"

All the way home, I seethe in the back seat of the mini-van, thankful that Christina is sitting in the middle row, leaving me alone in the back. How could Mom and Dad take her side? Why didn't they punish her for saying that to me? _I'm not worthless_ , I try to remind myself. _And soon, I'll prove it._

***

I'm still fuming by the time I get to school the next morning, but neither Mom nor Dad has apologized, and of course Christina is acting like I don't exist. Ms. Minchell raises an eyebrow when I burst into the library, but she doesn't say anything, and I'm grateful. I don't want to talk about it; I just want to do something.

Even though I'm eager to put up my flyer, I feel bad walking by Ms. Minchell without helping out, so I silently grab the cart of books waiting to go back on the shelves and start working. The work is soothing and repetitive, and soon, I'm breathing normally again, finally letting go of the anger that has followed me since last night. When the warning bell rings, I almost think about forgetting the poster and just going to class to have a normal day, but then I shake my head. I'm sick of the way things are, and I'm ready for a change.

I use the library computer to print it out in a hurry, and then, borrowing a pushpin from the corner of another poster, I stick the flyer I made in the lower left corner of the bulletin board. Carefully, I cover part of it with another flyer, my heart racing. Will anybody even see it? I'm too scared to put it front and center, though, so I leave it where it is and rush to the library door.

Ms. Minchell stops me with a pink slip of paper. "You're going to be late to homeroom. Here."

I take the pass and smile at her, my stomach suddenly turning over. What would she think if she knew I was trying to sell spells? I've never asked Ms. Minchell what she thinks of casters and scribes, but it's not like my family is subtle; she has to know what we are. But if she has any thoughts, she's always kept them to herself, which is probably one of the reasons the library became one of my favorite spots at school last year. I wave as I head into the hall, and I try not to feel guilty as she nods kindly back.

Even though I have the pass, I don't want to dawdle, so I skip going to my locker before homeroom. Luckily, most of the teachers don't care if you bring your bag to class. I usually don't, but as soon as I slide into my seat and start looking through my bag for my science book so I can try to catch up on my homework, I'm suddenly glad that I didn't go to my locker. My spell book is still tucked into my bag, wedged between my planner and a spare folder. I'd meant to leave it at home, but I was so mad last night that I clearly forgot about it.

I glance around the room, but nobody is looking at me, and I sigh in relief. I guess I'll be carrying my bag around all day again; there's no way I want to stash the spell book in my locker.

Becca saunters by, interrupting my thoughts with the click of her too-high heels. She pauses at the corner of my desk and picks at an invisible scrap of lint on her shirt. Her eyes never look in my direction, but when she speaks, I know her words are meant for me. "Don't pretend that you can give Miah what he wants," she mutters under her breath. "Everyone knows you're not worth the clothes on your back."

My face turns crimson, and I clench my pencil so hard I'm afraid I might break it. "What are you talking about?"

She chuckles meanly. "My mom is one of the tutors for the Level Threes, and she happened to tell me that your own sister doesn't let you scribe for her." Becca shakes her head in mock sympathy, looking around the room to see if anyone is listening to us. "It must be hard for your family to know they've got a defective daughter."

The pencil snaps and I'm on my feet before I can stop myself. "It was my choice to stop scribing for Christina," I lie, glaring at Becca. "I've got better things to do."

She flexes her fingers, but she doesn't do anything. "I doubt that. And remember, Shelby, Miah is mine. It's only a matter of time before he remembers that, and then you'll be alone again, only this time, you'll be some sad, pathetic, used-up slut."

I want to yank her hair and slap that smug expression off her nasty face, but the teacher has finally noticed us, and he saunters over with his hands in his pockets. "Ladies, this doesn't look like homework." He raises an eyebrow pointedly, staring at me first and then Becca, and after a beat, she flashes him her brilliant, fake smile and moves down the aisle to her seat.

I sink back into my chair and resist the urge to scream or throw something. How dare she? Glancing over my shoulder, I make a promise to myself then and there that I will find a way to put Becca McClure in her place. _Getting Miah to kiss me would be a good place to start_ , I think. Surreptitiously, I pull out my phone and send a quick text, hiding my hands under my desk in case the teacher thinks to look up. My phone pings almost immediately, but Miah's message isn't the mushy one was I was hoping for.

"Heard Sanderson was arrested. Illegal use of a wand. Did your dad say anything?"

I swallow and glance around the room. Becca is too busy talking with her friends to notice me, and nobody else seems to be paying attention, but for a minute, I feel like I've got a neon sign hanging over my head telling people how many rules I've been breaking lately. I text Miah back quickly, and then I shut my phone off before I can be tempted to keep talking to him. For a few minutes, I stare at my desk, my thoughts bouncing all over. Dad hadn't mentioned anything about what happened at the zoo, but I can't shake the feeling that his no dating rule is about more than just me getting rides home with Miah.

Then Miah's words sink in, and I shudder. It was bad enough watching that guy pull a wand, but now to know that he'd gotten it illegally is just plain scary. I glance around the room, my eyes resting on Becca and her small clique of casters and scribes. _Any one of them could have a wand,_ I think, a shiver of fear creeping up my spine. _And then what would I do?_ As if she can hear my thoughts, Becca glances up and makes eye contact with me. For a moment, she just stares, but then she smiles meanly and lifts her pencil like she's holding a switchblade...or a wand. After a moment, she flicks it at me, and I flinch. I can hear Becca and her friends laughing from the back of the room, but I try not to care.

The bell rings, and I scoop up my things, shoving my books back in my bag and hurrying into the hall before Becca has a chance to say anything else, but instead of going to my next class, I head to the junior hallway.

Christina is talking with one of her friends, their heads bent close together, and her friend notices me first. She elbows Christina who stops talking the minute she sees me. Ignoring the looks I'm getting from the other upperclassmen, I march right up to my sister. Anger propels me forward, and I glare at her.

"What are you telling people about me?" My words sound sharp, and I drop my voice, a sliver of self-consciousness creeping in.

Christina waves her friend away and faces me. "Nothing that isn't true."

"You have no right—"

"I'm going to be late. Can we finish this later?"

I stare at her, stunned. Is she seriously trying to brush me off? "You know, you aren't even that good of a caster. Jeremiah Smallwood already knows more than you ever will, and I can't wait to watch you crash and burn during your Threes."

I almost think I see a flicker of something in her face, but then she turns away, her dark hair hanging like a curtain between us. "It's too bad you have to take the scribe exam. You're going to choke."

My mouth drops, and I stare after her as she moves down the hallway. I mean, it's no secret that Christina and I don't get along, but part of me can't believe she'd really be that much of a witch. "Keep it in the family," Dad's always saying when one of us is mad at another (even when he and Mom are fighting). Sure, I vent to Kelsey, but it's not like I would ever say anything to anybody who actually hates my sister. But clearly, Christina is playing by a different set of rules.

Someone bumps into me, snapping my out of my angry stupor, and I realize that I'm going to be late for class. I hurry out of the junior hall, but it doesn't matter; I'm late, and I get written up for lunch detention.

And that's about the best moment of my day.
CHAPTER TWELVE

Jeremiah is waiting for me when I walk out of school at the end of the day, but he takes one look at my expression and frowns.

"What's going on?"

I glare at him, and he takes a step back. Feeling guilty for projecting my bad mood at him, I shrug. "Sorry. Rough week."

A smile stretches across his face. "Want to take a ride with me? It's a pretty day for a drive, and I promise I'll go fast enough that your stress won't be able to keep up."

I hesitate, Becca's nasty words warring with my parent's new dating rule and snarling together in my mind, but then I start to smile. "I don't care where we go, but you better not go the speed limit."

"Perfect. Let's go!"

I toss my bag into his back seat and open the rusty passenger door. The windows open manually, so I crank the handle a few times while Miah starts the engine and pulls out of the school parking lot on two wheels.

For a few minutes, I let go of everything and stick my hand out the window, my fingers dancing over the air currents as we drive down mostly deserted backroads. It feels surreal to be there beside Miah, but at the same time, something about it feels so right, too. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, thinking about what Becca had said. Is he just using me for spells? What would he say if I told him I couldn't scribe? _But all that's changed,_ I remind myself. _I CAN scribe now._

Miah glances over and catches me watching him. He raises an eyebrow. "Want to talk about it?"

I frown, remembering everything that's going wrong, but then I shake my head. "Not really. But thank you."

He nods. "Sophomore year really sucked for me."

I'm surprised; it's not like I stalk him, but I've always paid attention to Miah, and it seems like things come effortlessly to him. "How come?"

His grip tightens on the wheel. "My dad."

I think back, searching my memory. Miah's folks have been separated since we were in elementary school, but I don't really know Mr. Smallwood. He lives out near the coast, and Miah goes out there to spend vacations with him, so I haven't seen them together. Miah's mom works with my dad, though, plus I'm used to seeing her around the neighborhood walking their dog, a huge black mastiff. "What happened?" Suddenly, I wonder if his dad is sick or something, and I feel awful for asking.

Miah glances at me and releases his grip on the steering wheel. "We had a big fight last year is all. He doesn't agree with what I want for my future." He pauses, as if he wants to say more, but then he closes his mouth and silence settles on the car.

Even though I'm usually a pretty quiet person, I'm too nervous around Miah to keep my mouth shut, so I start babbling. "I haven't got a clue what I want to do after high school, and I honestly don't think Mom or Dad will care. They're too fixated on Christina and her Threes."

Miah winces. "Don't remind me. I'm dreading that exam."

For a moment, I'd forgotten that he's the same age as my sister, and I pat his leg sympathetically. "It can't be that bad, right?"

He snorts. "Sure. It only determines everything about my magical future." There's an edge to his voice, and I pull my hand away, suddenly uncertain.

"What _do_ you want to do? I mean, after school and stuff."

He glances at me. "You promise you won't laugh?"

I nod, wondering what could possibly be weird enough that Miah sounds more like a shy little boy than the charismatic, confident caster I'm used to.

He takes a deep breath. "I'd really like to go into business."

I frown, thinking about his words. "Like, a magical business? You want to sell tarot cards or something?"

He looks away, staring hard through the windshield. "Never mind. Let's drop it, okay?"

But I can't let it go. "But what's wrong with going into business? Plenty of people do that." For a heartbeat, I almost tell him that I've gone into business, sort of, but I bite my tongue and keep the words inside.

Miah exhales sharply. "Not magical business, Shelby."

It takes a minute to dawn on me, and then I stare at him in surprise. "You want to work with normies?"

He shrugs, his shoulders tense. "Normies, casters, scribes, anybody who wants to use my services."

"But what would your services be that normies could use?"

He glances at me, his mouth tight, but then he relaxes slightly and smiles. "I'd really like to sell cars."

"Seriously? That's like, the most normie thing ever." His expression darkens, and I hurry to add, "but you'd be great at it!"

He snorts. "You're a terrible liar, Shelby. Why don't you just tell me what you really think, that I'd be wasting my talent and my life."

I paused, studying his face. "Is that what your dad said?"

He nods once, and a muscle near his eye twitches. I wince.

"That's a pretty shitty thing to say."

Jeremiah glances at me. "But you agree with him."

"No, I don't! You just surprised me is all." I take a breath, choosing my words carefully. "I don't really know anyone like us who doesn't use magic for work, so I wasn't sure how to react. Why do you want to sell cars?"

Miah relaxes, pressing his foot down on the brake and bringing the car back to an almost legal speed. "I love them. Especially classic cars; they each have their own personality, and it's not just like buying or selling something boring and cookie-cutter. Even though cars are made on an assembly line, every single one is different. The make, the model, hell, even which factory did the assembly, they all play a part in making the car unique."

"So you like cars because they're different?"

He can hear the skepticism in my voice, but he ignores it. "People love cars, and I love cars. I think it would be really cool to buy and sell classic cars. I'd have to learn how to fix them up, or at the very least, how to tell if a car is in good condition or not, and I'd get to travel a lot. There are awesome classic cars for sale all over on Craigslist, and usually for pretty cheap."

I can hear the enthusiasm in his voice even though I still can't wrap my mind around someone like Jeremiah Smallwood doing something as non-magical as being a car salesman, and I smile. "Would you, um, want a dealership one day?"

His eyes sparkle. "Maybe, once I make enough money. It would be pretty cool to have people working for me."

I think about it for a minute. "What about your coven? I mean," I add hurriedly, "will you still join one?"

He shrugs. "I guess. Everyone's in one or another, but I don't see how it will help me much with what I want to do. The normies know more than us about stuff like this."

I've never thought of a coven as being optional; in fact, the very thought of _not_ being chosen for a coven is enough to make me break out in hives. "At least you'll have that sorted after the Threes."

He nods, his expression grim. "I don't really care where I end up. I figure the coven is just one more thing I have to do to make my parents happy, before I can get on the road to doing what I really want."

"I've never imagined not being in a coven. I mean, Mom and Dad are both really proud to be part of Henbane, so I just kind of figured I'd join them."

He nods. "A coven's not a bad thing. It's good for us to have the support, I guess." he cuts his eyes at me. "Although I doubt anyone in your family has ever had to worry about support."

I bristle. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He hesitates. "Nothing. Just, you've got it pretty easy, you know? Most people would kill to be a King."

I snort. "Most people don't know what it's like to live with my sister."

He chuckles. "Fair point. But you guys are powerhouses; I can't imagine you've ever worried at all about where you'll end up, have you?"

_You have no idea,_ I think sourly. Instead, I shrug and look out the window. Uneasy silence descends on us, but I finally look back over my shoulder at Miah and clear my throat. "So. Cars. Would you need to get a business degree?"

He glances at me, and a wide smile stretches over his face. "That's the plan. And maybe an MBA, but first, I want to try it out a couple of times and see if I can really do it."

I look down at the rusty floorboards under my feet. "Is that what you're doing with this car? Are you going to fix it up to sell?"

He hesitates. "At first, that's what I wanted to do when I bought it. But I didn't expect to get so attached so fast. Maybe it would be better if I buy another car for my test drive."

"Where are you going to get the money to do that, if your dad doesn't approve?"

Miah slows down, easing the car through a traffic circle before heading back toward our neighborhood. "I'm working on it." Abruptly, he changes the subject. "What did you think of the other night?"

"You mean the spell battle?" My thoughts are a jumbled snarl, but I try to sift through them to keep up with his change of topic. "It was really intense. I was afraid somebody was going to get hurt." _I was afraid you were going to get hurt._

He breaks into a wide grin, his single dimple flashing in his cheek. "That's part of the fun! What's the point of magic without a little danger?"

"I guess." I pause. "Did that guy really get arrested?"

He nods, his face suddenly grim. "Yeah. I'm glad we were gone by the time the Force showed up. Rumor is, the next battle is going to take place somewhere else, but I haven't heard where we're going yet." He glances at me. "Are you still in?"

I hesitate. "I don't know if I could scribe anything good enough," I finally say.

Miah slows the car down and pulls over to the side of the road. Carefully, he shifts into park, and then he leans toward me. "Shelby, listen to me."

I stare at him, spellbound by his amber eyes. Nervously, I lick my lips, leaning toward him unconsciously as I do. _Oh my gosh, is he going to kiss me?_ "Um, okay." My voice sounds strangled, and I clear my throat, keeping my eyes on Miah.

His head tips down, and gently, he brings his forehead to mine, never breaking eye contact. "I really want to do magic with you," he says, his voice quiet. "I know you've got some amazing spells, but you have to believe in yourself."

His golden eyes bore into mine, and I'm frozen, wishing this moment would last forever. _Seriously, he's about to kiss me. Why doesn't he kiss me?_

Miah lowers his voice to a whisper. "Will you scribe for me the next time we go?"

I swallow. Can I? Even though it looks like I can finally scribe, I'm still too uncertain of my powers to risk hurting him or letting him down. I pull back a little bit and then I look away. "I want to, Miah, but the thing about my spells is—"

Before I can finish, before I can tell him the truth, his phone jangles insistently in the cup holder, and we both jump as if we've been caught making out. Miah recovers first, reaching for the phone and reading the text before he frowns and starts the ignition again. He glances at me, his face unreadable. "I need to get you home."

"Um, okay." _What? Wasn't he just about to kiss me?_ "Who is it?"

Silently, he hands me the phone. The message is still filling the screen, and my heart drops into my stomach.

"Bring Shelby home right now, and please tell her she is grounded." It's from my Dad.

***

Furious, I storm up the porch, not caring about the cacophony of wind chimes announcing my arrival. For once, I don't want to slip up to my room unnoticed; I'm ready for a fight.

Christina walks out of the living room and smirks. "Where have you been?"

I glare at her. "What did you say to Mom and Dad?"

She shrugs, her expression innocent. "Just that you didn't ride the bus home, and that I saw you get in a car with a boy."

I stare at her, open-mouthed. "Seriously? Why would you even do that?"

"It's true, isn't it? You were out with Jeremiah Smallwood again?"

I roll my eyes, even though my pulse speeds up at the mention of his name. "We went for a drive. That hardly counts as 'out with'." _Even though he almost kissed me,_ I remind myself, a delicious shiver pulsing over my skin at the memory of Miah's face close to mine.

Christina shrugs and turns toward the stairs. "Maybe you can explain that to Mom and Dad."

I watch her retreating back, anger simmering inside me, and the words slip past my lips unbidden. "You are seriously the worst sister ever. I'd be better off with anybody else but you."

She pauses, but she doesn't turn around. "At least I'm not a total failure," she finally offers, proceeding up the stairs and quietly shutting her bedroom door. My fists close reflexively, and energy pulses through my body. _If I were a caster,_ I think fiercely, _she'd have a lot to answer for._ I want to race after her and hit something, preferably her smug expression, but I take a deep breath. _I can deal with her later_ , I remind myself, turning toward the kitchen instead. _For now, I need to get out of this. And maybe Miah can turn her into a toad or something,_ I think with a grin.

Even though it's still afternoon, Dad is standing in the kitchen next to Mom. He's usually not home until dinner, and the sight of both of them ready to face me is disconcerting, but I try not to let them rattle me. They both turn to look at me as I slam my backpack on the counter and cross my arms. "What was that text about?"

Dad raises an eyebrow. "We just talked about this. No dating; that's final."

I glare at him. "It wasn't a date."

Mom hesitates. "You were out with a boy, without telling us. That sounds like a date, Shelby."

Inspiration strikes. "He was just giving me a ride home. Ms. Minchell asked if I could keep working in the library this year, and since I don't have a free period, I figured I would stay after. Miah offered to bring me home," I add, crossing my fingers behind my back and hoping that I can get him to agree to chauffeur me around after school. _As long as he thinks I can scribe like a King, he'll probably agree,_ I realize. _And if I am going to scribe for him at the next battle, it makes sense for us to spend as much time together as possible. After all, he'll want to make sure I have a good sense of him before he uses my spells._ I drag my mind back to the present and stare at my parents, hoping I don't look guilty.

Dad looks at Mom, and they have a silent conversation with their eyes. Finally, Dad sighs. "You need to check with us if you're going to do something like that."

"But can I keep volunteering? I wouldn't want to let Ms. Minchell down."

Mom frowns. "Wouldn't it be better to volunteer with me, teaching the little casters and scribes? At least then you'd be using your talents."

I resist the urge to point out the fact that as far as they know, I don't have talents. "But I like her. And even if it's not magical work, it's still going to look good on a resume when I go to college. It's not like Christina is going to bring me into her coven, anyway, so it doesn't matter what I do." I swallow the familiar prickle of fear that accompanies that thought, the fear that I'll end up stranded without a caster and have to take the scribe exam myself, but I push the thought away. _I've got Miah now. Well, almost_ , I reason.

Dad clears his throat. "That's a defeatist attitude, and I won't have that kind of talk in this house. Regardless of which coven you end up with, you're a King, and King's don't give up."

"Fine," I huff. "Which is why I don't want to give up on the library. I already promised," I add, my voice slipping into a whine. "You wouldn't want me to break my word, right?"

Dad shakes his head. "Of course not. But I don't think letting that boy drive you home is such a good idea."

I'm tempted to tell them that if they let Christina get a car, then she could drive me home, but after she ratted me out about Jeremiah, I don't want to do her any favors. "You've known his family forever, Dad. It's not like he's some stranger. Besides," I add, even though it kills me to say it, "you know he always ends up back together with Becca. There's no way Miah's interested in me like that." _I really hope that's not true_ , I think, swallowing nervously. If the whole thing with Miah is in my head, I'm going to be crushed. _Plus, I might lose my shot at getting into a good coven._

I hold my breath, watching my parents think about what I've said. Finally, Mom gives Dad a subtle nod, and he sighs. "You can volunteer at the library one day a week," he says firmly. "But you have to be home no later than four. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it," I say quickly, relieved that I'm not actually grounded. But my heart sinks as I remember Miah's stony silence after my dad texted him. "Um, do you think you could apologize to Miah? Your text really freaked him out."

Dad looks amused. "He didn't like hearing from a Force official?"

"Well, would you want to get a random text on your phone like that? I mean, come on, Dad, it was kind of Big Brother."

He chuckles. "One of the benefits of being on the Force. Not a bad lesson for a young caster to learn; we're always watching." His tone isn't threatening, but his words make my skin crawl. Always? Does that mean he could find out about the spell battles...or my new business?

I swallow, trying to look annoyed. "Fine. Whatever, you have the power and we are not worthy. Just...can I text him and let him know it was a misunderstanding?"

Mom nods. "Of course."

"And I'm not grounded, right?"

Dad frowns. "You still went for a drive with a boy without permission. That warrants some kind of punishment."

I purse my lips. "Seriously? Just because I didn't tell you guys first? What did you want me to do, call from school?"

Mom nods thoughtfully. "That's a good idea. Next time you want to change the schedule at the last minute, give me or Dad a text or a call."

I exhale, annoyed. "I'm fifteen. It's not like I'm a baby or anything."

Dad levels me with his stare. "Then you should have no problem checking in like a responsible young adult."

"Fine." I pause, wondering if I should push it. "What's my punishment?"

Mom considers. "How 'bout you help me make study guides for the kids?"

I groan, but inwardly, I'm celebrating. That's not too bad at all; at least she didn't say I can't see Miah again or something stupid like that. "Okay," I say, dragging out the word. "If I have to. I'll help after I finish my homework, okay?"

They both nod, and I grab my bag and escape up to my room. I can't believe I was able to talk my way out of that. _Lie my way out, more like it_. I brush away the prick of conscience and shoot Miah a quick text to apologize. It doesn't matter why my parents are letting me spend time with Miah; all that matters is that I can still ride with him, as long as he doesn't mind waiting for me to work in the library. Being with Miah has been the best thing that's happened to me so far this school year, and I'm not ready to give it up just because my parents are paranoid and controlling. _And besides,_ I remind myself, _he wants you to scribe for him at the next battle. It's good for a scribe to get to know her caster._ I chuckle as I open the door to my room. My excuses don't even sound real to me; I know that I'm head over heels for Miah, and that all this doesn't have anything to do with casters, scribes, or even covens. Yeah, I mean, I want to get into a good coven without having to make a fool of myself with a scribe exam, but spending time with Miah is about so much more than that. I've been half in love with him since elementary school, but I never thought he'd actually notice me, and now that he has, I'm willing to do anything to keep his attention. I gulp and open my spell book. _Even if that means finding out once and for all if I can scribe any spell that's worthwhile._

***

Luckily, the study guides don't take that long, and when I tell Mom I've still got homework to finish, she lets me retreat to my bedroom once more. My punishment was way easier than I deserved, especially considering the lies I've been telling lately, but I try not to feel guilty as I run up the stairs two at a time. I do have homework, but my brain feels like mush, so I decide to focus on more important things for now. I check my phone, but Miah hasn't texted me back, and I bite back my disappointment.

Trying to distract myself, I log in to my new email account, the one I set up to see if I could sell any spells, and my eyes bug out of my head. Even though I just posted the flyer this morning, there are already three requests for spells. I click the first email, wondering if it will be a prank, but it seems totally legit. Somebody wants a spell to ace a test this Friday. Eagerly, I click the next email: a request for a love spell. The third person wants a hex, something to destroy an enemy, and I almost laugh out loud at that request; sure, you can use magic that way, but the Caster Force frowns upon it, so most people use smaller, sneakier ways to punish their enemies, like zit spells and chipped teeth. But normies wouldn't know that, and I'll write whatever spells they'll pay for.

People actually want to pay for my spells. For a minute, I can't believe it; I've spent so long believing Christina whenever she mutters about me being worthless, but my success with Kelsey's spell has given me new confidence. Besides, even if these spells don't work, at least I'll have a little extra money. _And if they do work, I'll know I can have something to offer Miah the next time we go out._

Carefully, I lock my door. I don't want to have to explain what I'm doing if Mom or Dad decides to check on me, and even though they usually knock, I'm not taking any chances. Then I grab my spell book and flip through it. The fairy tale spell I doodled the other day will probably be good for the person who wants a love spell, but I need to write the other two from scratch. Picking up my colored pencils, I start doodling on a blank page, thinking about school and tests and good scores and knowing all the answers. My mind wanders, and my hand keeps moving across the page. It's easier to get into the zone now that I've done it a couple of times, and when I finally look down, the words "I will ace in every place" are written across my scribbles in my familiar handwriting. I don't question the spell, just turn to the next page and try to think about how I'd want to hex an enemy. Becca's face fills my mind, but firmly I push her away. I don't want to risk writing a spell that will only work on her.

If it works at all. Suddenly, my stomach feels tight. Am I just fooling myself? I've never been able to scribe before now; why should this year be any different? It's not like I've been practicing all summer or something; in fact, I had pretty much given up on scribing halfway through the last school year. _But something is different_ , I remind myself, taking a shuddering breath and looking at my notebook. "I can do this," I say out loud to my empty room, trying to give myself the confidence I felt when I printed the flyer at school this morning.

I work on the third spell for hours. It doesn't come as easily as the other ones, and it's nearing eleven thirty when I finally finish. I glance at the clock and exhale in relief. Mom and Dad have a house rule: no magic after the witching hour, the old-fashioned term normies use to describe midnight. My parents inherited some weird superstitions from their families, and that's one of them; supposedly, any magic done after midnight will carry dire consequences. No one has bothered to tell me what those consequences are, and I've always wondered if it's just a myth, since other people don't seem to have the same superstition. I mean, Jeremiah and everybody wouldn't have those spell battles if anything could go wrong, right?

Still, some of the superstition has crept into me, and I'm relieved that I finished working before twelve. It's sort of bizarre that my parents would believe something like that, and even stranger that they would use the normie term "witching hour"; normies may call us witches, but to casters and scribes, that's like the worst slur we can call each other. Witches are figments of the normies's imaginations, creatures for fairy tales and Halloween. Even so, my parents insist on a magical lights-out policy after the so-called witching hour, and given Dad's willingness to use his Force powers to spy on me earlier, I don't want to do anything to push it tonight.

Quickly, I email the spells to the three people, and then I shoot them each a request for payment from PayPal. I'm wondering if I should have insisted on the money up-front, but before I can worry too much about it, my phone buzzes in my bag. I glance at the clock again, wondering who on earth could be texting me now, but my heart accelerates when I see Jeremiah's name.

"Saturday night. Scribe for me?"

It's going to be even harder to sneak out on a weekend than a weeknight; my parents stay up watching movies and stuff on Fridays and Saturdays, and I swallow nervously. _But my spell worked last time_ , I remind myself, and my fingers fly across the screen. My heart is pounding as I type, "we'll see", followed by a flirting, winking emoji, and after I hit send, I hold my breath for what feels like forever before my phone buzzes again. Miah's replied with a big, dopey smiley face, and I laugh out loud when I see it. Still feeling giddy, I bring my phone into bed with me after I turn out the lights, and I feel a delicious sense of anticipation when I think about seeing Miah tomorrow at school.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Shelby! What are you still doing here?"

Mom's voice is fuzzy, and I blink myself awake. Sunlight pours into my room, and the clock beside my bed says it's after nine o'clock. I shake myself and sit up, confused. "I guess my alarm didn't go off?" It was late when I finally stopped texting Miah, and I'm still tired, even though I know I better get moving; I've already missed the bus, homeroom, and the start of first block.

Mom stands in my doorway, shaking her head. "You've never been late before. Thank goodness I came in here to drop this off." She holds up my favorite T-shirt. "I found it in with the sheets."

"Thanks. You can drive me to school, right?"

She glances at the clock. "If you hurry. I have an appointment at ten, and I don't want to be late.

Before I can ask her what kind of appointment would be enough to make her miss work, she closes my door behind her and moves back down the hall. With an angry glare at the clock, I get out of bed and throw on my skinny jeans and the black T-shirt Mom just returned. My hair is a ratty mess, but luckily, it doesn't take much effort to tie it up in a knot that looks intentionally messy, rather than like I just rolled out of bed. _It's a good thing I don't mess with makeup; if I needed to do everything Christina does in the mornings, I'd never make it to school before noon!_

Mom is waiting for me by the front door, jingling her keys and shifting her purse on her shoulder. I veer into the kitchen and grab a Pop-Tart, and then I run back to Mom. "Ready," I say, taking a big bite of my breakfast as we step onto the porch.

"Are you feeling okay? You never oversleep."

I nod, not wanting to tell her that I was up late talking to the boy I'm not supposed to be dating. "What's your appointment?" I ask, hoping to change the subject.

"Oh, just something with a specialist." She waves her hand dismissively, and before I can ask anything else, she's slipped into the driver's seat of the car and closed her door. I get in, too, and Mom glances at me as she pulls into the street. "I'm worried about you, sweetheart. You haven't seemed like yourself this school year."

I snort. "Mom, it's only been a couple of weeks."

She lifts one shoulder in a gentle shrug. "I know, but you've been...distant. Is everything okay?"

"You mean other than the fact that my sister hates me and is trying to ruin my life?"

Mom sighs. "She doesn't hate you, Shelby. She's under a lot of pressure with the Threes coming up, that's all."

"Mom, she told Becca McClure that I'm not good enough to scribe for her!" My voice breaks, and I shove the last of my Pop-Tart in my mouth, determined not to cry.

"I'm sure she didn't say that."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Becca seemed pretty sure that she did."

Mom is quiet for a moment, and I wonder if she's going to deny it again. Finally, she glances at me out of the corner of her eye. "I'm sorry you aren't going to scribe for her."

My anger wells up. "Are you kidding? It's not like this is my choice. I didn't ask to be broken."

"You aren't broken." She hesitates. "Are you sure you haven't noticed anything...unexpected with your magic lately?"

I think of the spell I wrote for Kelsey, and my growing hope that maybe I can scribe, after all, but something holds me back. "If by 'unexpected' you mean have I suddenly become a world-famous scribe, then no, the answer is no."

"Some people's talents take a while to develop. I'm sure if you keep practicing—"

"Maybe I don't want to practice anymore." I cut her off sulkily. "It's not like it would make a difference anyway; Christina is going to take her test without me."

Mom nods thoughtfully. "She hasn't found a new scribe yet, but I know she's looking." There's a pause, and then she says, "Maybe we were mistaken in throwing the two of you together so much."

"But you scribe for Dad," I argue. "You guys are together all the time."

"That's different. Sure, being married to your scribe is great for your Dad, but it also makes our relationship more complicated." She smiles ruefully. "Sisters are already complicated enough without magic thrown into the mix."

I snort. "You can say that again. Was it ever like this with you and Aunt Jan?"

Mom shrugs, keeping her eyes on the road. "That's a little different. One, we're both scribes, so we never had to work together like I tried to force you and Christina to do."

I'm silent, surprised to hear my mother admitting that something she and Dad did might have been wrong. "But did you guys ever fight?"

"Oh, all the time. But our fights were different; there was a lot of jealousy between us."

I nod. "I bet she was jealous of you."

Mom laughs. "Actually, it was the other way around."

I look at her, surprised. "What?"

She nods. "Oh, yes. I wanted whatever Jan had."

"But you're a better scribe!"

"True, but she was the oldest, my parents' spoiled favorite. I always felt like I had to work twice as hard, while Jan just got rewarded for being herself." Mom shoots me another sideways glance. "That's one of the reasons I've tried hard to make both you girls work hard; I don't want to play favorites the way my parents did."

I bite my tongue to keep from calling her on it and pointing out that she and Dad both favor Christina. I mean, it's obvious, right? She gets whatever she wants, and everyone looks down on me. "When did it change? For you and Aunt Jan, I mean."

Mom tightens her grip on the steering wheel. "I stopped being jealous when I met your father, but Jan and I have never been close. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if she hadn't moved away, but then again, I guess we'll never know."

I've only met my aunt a few times; she moved to Europe when I was six, and she doesn't come back to Oregon very often, especially not now that both my grandparents are gone. It never occurred to me to imagine that she and Mom might not have the best relationship; I'd always assumed Aunt Jan stayed away because her life was too exciting to bother coming back to the place where she'd grown up. Shyly, I look at Mom. "That sort of sucks."

She nods. "It does. But I can't change the past. Hopefully, you and Christina will find a way to be closer when you're grown."

_Don't count on it._ I make a noncommittal sound. "Maybe it will be better once she passes her Threes."

Mom smiles. "I'm sure it will. Have you started thinking about studying yet?"

I sink back into my seat. The idea of having to sit for the scribe exam makes my stomach churn, even with my newfound abilities. "I haven't thought about it. I mean, I've still got time. Another caster might pick me before next year."

Mom tips her head to one side. "Is that one of the reasons you want Jeremiah Smallwood to drive you home from school?"

I roll my eyes, even though she's totally hit the nail on the head. "Have you ever just thought that maybe I like spending time with him?"

"I know you do, sweetie. That's what worries me."

I toy with the zipper on the front of my backpack. "Would it be such a bad thing, to find somebody to date and scribe for all at the same time? I mean, it's what you did."

She smiles wanly. "It was a different world back then. Besides, I knew your father was the one the first time we met."

Mom and Dad have never been all that mushy, so I haven't grown up hearing all about their meet-cute. Or maybe they've never said anything because Christina and I have never asked. I'm about to ask, to see if she'll finally tell me, when Mom turns the car into the school parking lot. "Here you are. I've already called the office to make sure you're excused for your morning classes."

I glance at the clock on the dashboard. "Will you have time to make it to your appointment?"

She nods, not meeting my eyes. "I should be okay. Have a good day, sweetie."

"You, too." Grabbing my bag, I reach for the door, but then I pause and look over my shoulder at Mom. "Sorry I overslept."

"It's no problem. I'm glad we had a chance to chat, just the two of us."

_Even though it feels like you weren't really listening._ I nod and wave before turning into the school. Something about the conversation with Mom niggles in my mind, buzzing like a mosquito I can't get rid of, but I'm not sure what she said that is making me uncomfortable, and I shrug it off as I go into school and check in at the front office. _I'm probably just tired_ , I reason, hurrying to my locker and trying to forget my worries.

The best thing about sleeping in is I don't have to deal with Becca in homeroom, since second block is just about to start when I finally get to school. The worst part is I missed out on catching up with Kelsey on the bus this morning; she hasn't been riding it lately, and her texts have been short or filled with meaningless emojis. When I see her walking down the hallway today, hand-in-hand with that tall normie boy, my jaw drops.

Other people seem to have a similar reaction to me; the normies look at the guy like he's on his way to his funeral, and the handful of casters and scribes that I recognize give Kelsey hard looks, ranging from total disbelief to pure hatred. But my best friend doesn't seem to notice any of it, and she bounces up to me, dragging the poor boy along with her.

"I missed you this morning! I thought you were sick."

I shake my head, looking past her at the guy. "No. Just slept in."

He leans against the locker beside mine, smiling down at Kels. "At least this means I had you all to myself."

She gives him a fake pout. "You aren't going to get all territorial, are you?"

He shakes his head, smiling sappily at her, and I force myself not to gag. How can they be this mushy at school? He must notice something in my expression, because he lets go of her hand. "I think we're annoying Shelby."

I'm surprised he remembers my name; I still can't remember his. Kelsey looks at my face, and her smile starts to slip. "Shelby, you remember Ryan, right? He said you guys were on the team together." She entwines her arm through his firmly, like she isn't going to let him go, not even for me.

I force a laugh. "If you can call my brief stint running through mud as being 'on the team'."

Ryan grins. "You weren't too bad for a beginner. Why'd you stop?"

I shut my locker and tip my head down the hall, and they fall into step beside me. "Running's not really my thing, I guess."

Kelsey laughs. "I'll say! You told me to kill you if you ever went out for another team!"

I glare at her, annoyed that she's already dropping my secrets to this guy like they don't mean anything. _Like I don't mean anything._ "Well, at least I tried once, right?"

Thankfully, the warning bell rings, cutting short whatever nice thing the normie was going to say. I look at Kels. "I'll see you later? At lunch?"

She looks up at Ryan and bites her lip. "We were going to go off campus for lunch today. Ryan has a car," she adds almost worshipfully, and I sigh.

"Okay. Fine. But I'll see you on the bus, right?"

She looks at him before answering, and he quickly says, "I've got practice. Otherwise, I'd be happy to take you both home."

Kelsey turns back to me, but her smile doesn't look as bright as a moment ago. "Of course." She lowers her voice. "I've got lots to tell you!"

I want to feel excited for her, I really do, but the thought of Kelsey falling for a normie is foreign, and I feel a little pull of guilt when I realize that maybe it's all my fault; maybe, without my spell, she wouldn't even have noticed this guy.

Since Kelsey won't be around, I decide to swing by the library at lunch. Ms. Minchell isn't around, but there's a sticky note on a cart of books with my name on it, so I get busy. A cluster of upperclassmen girls is gossiping by the magazines, and I try to ignore them as I walk by, but the words "like magic" catch my attention, and I slow down, listening to them while I rearrange the books on my cart.

"Seriously, that must be what it is."

One of the girls frowns. "I don't know. Maybe she just got tired of doing what everyone expects?"

The first girl snorts. "She's the captain of the dance team. Getting tired of doing what everyone expects would be like getting tired of living; you know how she is."

A third girl chimes in. "It _is_ really sudden. I mean, she only broke up with Kevin first thing this morning, and she's already going out with him?"

"Magic," the first girl says grimly. "That's the only explanation."

I feel her eyes on me, and I finish straightening the cart and push it toward the back of the library, but my heart is racing. They couldn't be talking about one of my spells; I just emailed them out last night. There's no way anyone has even checked his email already...right?

But my curiosity is up, and even though I don't usually pay attention to gossip, today I tune in when I'm in the halls between classes. Lots of people are whispering about the bizarre break-up of the two seniors who were probably going to be homecoming king and queen, and even stranger, everyone knows that Carla Ray, the girl, is already dating somebody new. But that isn't the weirdest part; it's who she's dating that is making everyone talk. It turns out that Seamus Osborne, the braces-wearing, calculator carrying captain of the quiz bowl team, showed up at Carla's locker this morning moments after she'd dumped Kevin, and before anyone knew what was happening, she'd thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him in front of half the school.

I don't know these people, and normally I wouldn't care about their drama, but the way everyone seems to think magic played a part has me wondering. I don't want to risk having my phone confiscated if a teacher sees me with it in class, but I'm dying to check my email and see if I've been paid for any of the spells I sent last night.

As much as I wanted to talk to Kelsey this morning, by the end of the day I'm wishing she were going somewhere with her normie so I could check my email on the bus, but I spot Kels's red hair through one of the bus windows as I walk out of the school, and I tuck my phone back in my pocket with a sigh.

She grins at me as I climb the stairs, and she slides over to make room for me on the bench seat. I sit down beside her, trying to figure out what to say, but I didn't need to worry. Kelsey opens her mouth and I swear she doesn't even stop to take a breath the whole drive home.

"I really like him," she says, blushing when she realizes she's already said that three times.

"But Kels, do you even know him? I mean, you never mentioned him before this," I say, waving my fingers like I'm casting a spell.

She pouts at me. "Why does that matter?"

I lower my voice. "Doesn't it seem a little...strange?"

"What's strange about it?"

"I mean, he's a normie. Won't that get boring after a while?"

She pulls back. "I didn't realize you were such a bigot."

"I'm not!" I hurry to assure her. "I just, I mean, you're a caster. Do you know anyone like us who's ever been friends with a normie, let alone dated one?"

She tosses her hair defiantly. "All that doesn't matter when you're in love."

I roll my eyes. "You're not in love."

"Oh no? What gives you the right to decide that, Shelby?" Her voice gets louder, and I can feel people turning around to watch us. "You've made a pathetic fool of yourself over Jeremiah for years, and have I ever once told you that you weren't actually in love with him? No. Because that's not what friends do."

I flap my hand at her ineffectually, wishing she would lower her voice. "You're right. I'm sorry; this just happened all of a sudden. I'm surprised is all."

"Surprised that somebody likes me, is that it?"

"No!" I stare at her, wishing I hadn't said anything. "Just...surprised," I finish lamely.

Kelsey sniffs and pulls out her phone. I watch her for a moment, but she ignores me.

I try again. "I'm excited for you, and he seems like a nice guy."

She snorts, but she doesn't say anything. Before I can figure out how to make things right with her, the bus stops in our neighborhood, and Kelsey stands up. "Will you move, please?"

Stunned, I step into the aisle and she brushes past me like I'm nobody. I follow her off the bus, anger and frustration warring in my mind, but I can't find any words. Once we're on the street, Kels takes off for her house, walking fast, and I stand there and let her go. _Maybe she just needs to cool off_ , I think miserably as I turn and walk toward my own house. But I have a sinking sensation in my stomach that my best friend isn't going to cool off anytime soon.

When I check my email a few minutes later, I can hardly get excited about the fact that all three people have paid me for the spells I wrote yesterday, and there are already requests for four more spells. I flop across my bed and press my face into a pillow, replaying the fight with Kels over and over in my mind.

***

Even though I have a rough night, I'm actually excited for school, and even Christina's sour expression isn't enough to rattle me. I've decided I'm going to talk to Kels and smooth things over first thing, and I spend all of breakfast mentally rehearsing what I want to say to her. Despite my preparations, though, she isn't at the bus stop, and I scribble down some thoughts in my spell book.

Mom never uses the family spell book for anything other than magic, but I've gotten used to treating my notebook more like a journal, as well as a sketch book and spell book. Maybe it's just because my spells weren't worth anything for so long, and I wonder idly if I should get a separate notebook for my rambly thoughts, now that it seems like I can actually scribe spells that are worthwhile, but for now, this notebook is all I have. By the time the bus gets to school, I've filled three pages about Kelsey, but everything I've written can be boiled down to one idea: she's my best friend and I don't want anything to come between us. If that means I have to keep my mouth shut and watch her date a normie, then so be it.

I don't see Kels in the hallway before homeroom, but Miah saunters by, and when he notices me watching him, he gives me a smile that makes the soles of my feet start to dissolve. It's totally out of character for me, but I follow him to his locker, trying not to worry about the upper classmen staring at me.

Miah swirls the combination lazily, and I lean against the lockers beside him, hoping I look like I belong there. He glances at me, and his grin stretches wider. "I was thinking about you last night," he says, bringing his face closer to mine and lowering his voice. His words pulse with suggestion, and I feel my heart speed up at the thought of Jeremiah Smallwood thinking of me before he went to sleep.

"Yeah?" I ask, trying to sound casual. I study his face, memorizing the single dimple in his cheek and his deep caramel eyes.

"Yeah. Have you given any thought to what you'll scribe for me at the next battle?"

I want to tell him that he can have me lock stock and barrel, me and all my spells, too, but instead I frown. Is he only paying attention to me because he thinks I'm as good a scribe as my sister is a caster? I bite my lip, and Miah's eyes swivel to my mouth, lingering like he's thinking of a lot more than magic.

Heat creeps up my face, and finally I manage to croak, "I've been considering it."

He pauses, studying me, and I don't know what my expression says, but whatever it tells him, he must be satisfied, because he puts one hand on the locker above my head and leans closer. "What would it take to convince you to throw in with me, Shelby?"

His breath tickles my face, and for one spellbinding moment, I think he's going to kiss me. Reflexively, I squeeze my eyes tight, but then they pop open again. I've never been kissed before, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. Should I open my mouth? Lean forward? Would it be total suicide to just close the miniscule distance between us and be the one to kiss him first? My breath hitches in my throat, but before I can decide what action to take, someone knocks into Miah, and he pulls his eyes away from mine long enough that I regain my sense. No matter how much I want to kiss Jeremiah Smallwood, it would be ridiculous to jump him in the middle of the hallway like some desperate freak. _That's something Becca would do,_ I tell myself firmly, trying to ignore the way my face is flaming and my heart is racing.

Miah slams his locker and gives me an easy smile. "I want to be with you, Shelby. Just think about it, okay?"

Speechless, I nod. Does he mean he wants to be with me, like a caster and a scribe, or does he want me to be his girlfriend? _What if it's both?_ A curious voice whispers in my mind. _Could I date him and lie to him about my abilities?_

As I make my way across the school to my homeroom, I'm torn. On the one hand, I'd do just about anything to make Miah look at me like that again, but on the other hand, I can't shake the fear that he's only interested in my magic. Even though my spells might be turning around, I can't be sure that I can actually scribe for someone like Miah. All of Christina's harsh words and my parents' audible disappointment has stacked up inside my brain, and now I'm inclined to think of the successes I've had as flukes. I desperately want to talk everything over with Kelsey, but I haven't seen her yet this morning, and as the day drags on, I don't spot her familiar red hair at all, not even at lunch.

I check my phone about a million times, but there are no messages from her, and when I text to ask if she's okay, she doesn't respond, and my heart sinks. I'm pretty sure she's still mad, and if she's going to avoid me like this, then I don't have any ideas about how to fix it. How can I apologize to her if she won't even talk to me?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The rest of the next two weeks Mom and Dad suddenly get all family-focused, and I can't sneak out once to meet Miah because of the ridiculous bonding experiences. They think up everything from movies to hiking to spending a weekend all the way out at the coast; every minute I'm not at school, it seems like I'm with them. Christina sulks through it all, leaving Mom and Dad free to focus their attention on me. I feel like I'm suffocating.

To make it worse, Kelsey acts like we're strangers, and she stops riding the bus, too. I guess Ryan must be carting her around, but I haven't had the guts to text her and ask. I don't get a chance to talk to Miah again, even though I crane my neck whenever I'm in the hall in between classes, and I've almost convinced myself that our almost-kiss in the hall was all in my head. My spell business is picking up, but even the proof of my success as a scribe doesn't excite me the way I thought it would; just because I can scribe spells for normies doesn't mean I'm suddenly worthy of being a member of the King family, and my mood is dismal by the time the weekend rolls around again.

I've managed to mostly avoid Christina, even with the forced bonding time, but on Saturday morning when I come down for breakfast, she's sitting alone in the kitchen, staring at her phone. She doesn't look up as I brush past her to search the fridge, but I hear her mutter something that sounds like "loser."

I slam the door to the refrigerator. "Why do you have to be so mean?"

She glances up at me innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You. You're always picking at me, and now you've started telling other people I'm worthless, too?" To my surprise, my voice starts to wobble, and I grit my teeth and take a deep breath.

Before I can go on, she cuts me off. "Do you think it's easy for me to have to make excuses for you all the time? If you weren't so lazy, it wouldn't matter, but you don't scribe because you don't want to. It's not fair."

I stare at her, stunned. "Trust me, I want to scribe." I almost tell her that it seems like I've suddenly started to have success, but I bite my tongue. There's no reason to start confiding in Christina now, not after all this time.

She tosses her hair and goes back to her phone. "You've got it easy, Shelby. You have no idea the kind of pressure..." She breaks off, exhaling slowly. "You have no idea what it's like to be me." The air around her starts to shimmer, and I wonder for a minute if she's going to lash out at me with magic.

I leave her sitting alone in the kitchen, but I pause in the doorway before I retreat to my room. "I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat," I mutter softly, "but you wouldn't survive a day like me." Sparks dance in front of my eyes, and even though I'm woozy with hunger, I don't turn around.

As I rush back up the stairs to the safety of my bedroom, my stomach growls in protest, but I tell myself I can wait to eat. There's no way I want to spend a minute more with my stuck-up sister than I already have to this weekend. _At least I get to see Miah tonight_ , I remind myself, re-reading the text he sent when I was already asleep. I've finally decided to go all the way and scribe for him tonight, something I texted last night before I lost my nerve, and he invited me to the battle tonight. I sit down at my desk with my notebook and try to think of some good spells that I can give him, but I can't let go of the boiling frustration I feel toward my sister, and I zone out, scribbling angry words across the page.

After what feels like hours, I finally hear the front door slam and the sound of wind chimes on the porch, and I peek out my window. Dad and Christina are walking to the car, and I heave a sigh of relief. They've probably gone to practice for her Threes, and if their past training sessions are any indication, they won't be back for hours. I shut my notebook and slip out of my room, glad for a chance to finally have some breakfast.

This time, the kitchen is empty, but there's a note on the counter in my mom's handwriting, telling me that she'll be up at the school prepping some lessons for next week, and that I can come help her if I want to. I crumple the note up and grab a bagel, but while it's toasting, I seriously consider helping Mom out. She used to take Christina and me along with her to get her classroom ready in the summers, but other than the help I was forced to give her earlier this month, I haven't done anything in her school in a long time. I wonder if Christina has kept helping, or if her Threes have pulled her away from Mom as she practices to become more like Dad.

I glance at my phone. There's still a whole afternoon before I need to get ready to meet Miah, and I decide I can spare the time to help Mom. Maybe she'll be in a chatty mood again, like she was in the car the other day; I'd never heard her talk about her sister that way before, and I would like to hear how she and Dad met. I grab my house key and hurry to the door, suddenly excited to get Mom alone.

The school where Mom teaches magical preschool and after school camps is on the outskirts of our neighborhood, but it's not a bad walk. There are sidewalks most of the way, and even though the sun is hidden by rainclouds, the storm hasn't started by the time I get to the long, narrow building. The sign out front says it's an office park, but there are no businesses listed, and even though there are a couple of vacant suites in the front of the building, the majority of the space is devoted to training little casters and scribes. Christina and I didn't go to preschool here; it wasn't even built until I was in second grade, but both my parents played a major role in getting the space constructed.

You'd think it would be easy to ask for a purpose-built building like this in our neighborhood, where there are no normies and everyone grows up with varying degrees of magical power, but some of our neighbors argued that building a school for casters and scribes would make us even more segregated. They were in favor of opening the neighborhood up to anyone who wanted to live there, even though the old houses had been mostly built by their grandparents and great-grandparents, who would never have considered inviting normies into their homes. I was too little to really pay attention to what was happening, but I do remember my parents campaigning for the school, finally compromising that it would only be a preschool, and agreeing to let the kids of the neighborhood go to public school like all the normies and the other casters and scribes in the area. _How different would my life be if I'd never had to go to school with normie teachers?_ Christina probably would have been even more of a super star, but I didn't know if more magical training would have made a difference in my own abilities. _And besides, without the normies, who would buy my spells?_

I tap in the security code and open the front door. The hall smells musty, like old art projects and sweat, with just a hint of magic lingering in the air. As I get closer to Mom's classroom, I hear music coming through the closed door, but I can't make it out until I open the door. I grin. Mom is blasting Queen as she sits on the floor, sorting piles of craft supplies.

She glances up when I open the door, and she smiles. "You can turn it down," she calls, gesturing to the old turntable in the corner, but I shake my head.

"I like it." I cross to her and sit down next to her. I do like the music, but it will be hard to get her to talk with it playing. Still, it's fun to just rock out for a minute; Dad doesn't care much for classic rock, and he's deathly opposed to loud music in general, so the house is usually pretty quiet.

Mom chuckles. "That's my girl." She hands me a pile of multi-colored cotton balls. "Sort those for me, okay?"

I nod, my fingers digging through the fluff. We don't talk as we work, but when the record ends, everything is still for a minute. My head rings in the silence, and I work my jaw, trying to pop my ears.

"Did you want to talk to me about something?"

I look up, surprised. Mom is studying my face thoughtfully, almost like she can read my thoughts. "What?" I stammer, trying to look innocent. "What do you mean?"

She gives me an easy smile. "Shelby, you haven't come down here voluntarily in years. I just thought you might have something on your mind."

I start putting the cotton puffs in baggies, but I'm careful not to look at Mom. It would be so easy to tell her everything, about Kelsey and my spell business, about Christina's nastiness and Miah's smile, but I'm holding onto my secrets for now. "How did you and Dad meet?" I risk a glance at her, and I'm just in time to see one of her eyebrows quirk up.

"That's what you wanted to ask me about?"

I nod, even though I can tell she's skeptical. Finally, she turns back to the mess she's sorting, and she begins to talk.

"You know I grew up here, too."

I nod. This part of the story is familiar. "You lived down the street from us, and when Gram and Gramp moved to Arizona, you couldn't get our house on the market in time to buy theirs." Becca and her family live in the house my mom grew up in, but as nasty as she always is to me, that's not something she's mentioned. I wonder fleetingly if she even knows.

Mom purses her lips. "Yes. I was upset. But your father convinced me that it was okay to let the past go, and I've done my best to do as he suggested."

I pause. "Does that mean you don't want to tell me how you and Dad met?"

Mom looks up, her eyes unfocused as if she is looking into the past. "No," she says slowly. "I guess you're old enough to know."

I wait impatiently, the piles of craft supplies forgotten in front of me. Finally, after what feels like forever, Mom clears her throat.

"Your dad was Aunt Jan's fiancé."

I stare at her, my jaw hanging open. "What?" I practically shriek, and then I lower my voice, trying not to sound so surprised. "I mean, um, you've never said that before." I'm dying to ask if that's why Aunt Jan and my mom aren't close anymore, but I don't. I just eye my mom, wondering why she stole her sister's fiancé. _Could I ever do something like that to Christina?_ I shudder. As much as I hate her sometimes, I can't imagine ever taking something so big away from her.

Mom's cheeks are pink and she looks down at her hands. "Aunt Jan was home for winter break after her first semester in college, and she told us she had a surprise. She hadn't said what the surprise was yet, just that we'd have to wait, and then the wind chimes started talking." She looks up at me with a small smile. "Your grandma is the one who taught me to hang wind chimes everywhere."

I nod, snatching at a vague memory from the last time we visited Gram and Gramps in their condo. Even though it was a tiny space, Gram had wind chimes hanging off of every window. She couldn't put them on the porch anymore, though, because the neighborhood association had complained about the noisy clutter, so she'd given some of her old chimes to Mom and kept the rest inside. With effort, I pull my thoughts back to the present.

Mom is watching me carefully. "I ran to open the door before Jan could say anything else, and your dad was standing on the porch."

"Was it love at first sight?" The question sounds childish as soon as I say it, but Mom doesn't laugh.

Instead, she tips her head, considering. "For me, maybe. I'd spent a lot of time trying to imagine what kind of man I would marry, back when I was too young to even worry about such things, and your dad looked like every daydream I'd ever had. But I'm sure when he saw me, he just thought I was Jan's kid sister, still in high school and not even worth a second glance."

"But then how—"

She lifts her hand to stop me. "I wrote a spell," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I scribed my wish for a man like my sister had found, and over the next two weeks while he was staying with us before they went back to college, Jan and your dad began to fight." Mom looks up at my face, trying to gauge my reaction to what she's telling me.

"So you took him away from Aunt Jan?"

"No! I never meant for that to happen; I just wrote a spell that would bring me happiness like hers." She chews on the inside of her cheek. "Sometimes, Shelby, magic can take on a life of its own."

"But you're a scribe," I argue. "Just writing the spell wouldn't have made it come true. Maybe it's all a coincidence."

Mom opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but then she clicks her teeth together and shakes her head. "Either way, Jan broke it off with your dad on New Year's Eve, and by Valentine's Day, he had started spending time with me. It was all little things, at first; a cup of coffee, a walk around town, a drive out to the campus," she raises an eyebrow at me when she says that, but I keep my face neutral, trying not to think of my drives with Miah. "Eventually, though, we were really dating, and by the next fall when I headed off to college, your dad was ready to transfer schools to be with me."

I knew Mom and Dad had gone to college together, and I knew Aunt Jan had graduated from a different university, but I had never wondered if there was more at play than just fate. I look at Mom, a twinge of worry starting somewhere deep in my belly. "But it wasn't your fault; you're just a scribe. Dad must have decided he liked you better."

Mom sighs, and suddenly she looks old, older than I've ever seen her. "Either way, Shelby, it didn't make me your aunt's favorite person."

"That's why she doesn't come around much?"

Mom nods. "I think, on some level, she blames me."

_But magic doesn't work that way._ I frown, trying to sift through my thoughts. "Do you love him?"

Mom laughs, surprising me. "Oh, sweetie, yes. I loved him from the first moment I saw him. You don't have to worry about that."

"But what about Aunt Jan?" I press. "Did she love him, too?"

Mom shrugs, and a cloud comes across her face. "She thought she did."

I help Mom sort her classroom for a few more hours, but when she stops for lunch, I walk home instead of going out to eat with her. My brain keeps turning over the story she told me, and I don't know why I feel so uneasy. I don't have time to dwell on my thoughts for long, though; Miah texts me to meet him at the train station by six, and I spend the afternoon trying on and discarding nearly everything in my closet. I know I should probably worry about how I'm going to get out of the house again, but I'm more concerned with making sure I look good.

Finally, I settle on a long black tank top and short denim shorts, and then I grab my spell book. Taking a deep breath, I try to clear my mind, but my thoughts are jumping around like circus performers, and after an hour of staring at the notebook, I still haven't written anything for Miah to use tonight.

Exhaling, I close my eyes, trying to conjure up memories of the last spell battle. What kind of things can I scribe that will help Miah win if he has a chance to duel tonight? I remember how that girl, Delilah, threw Samson through the air into the lion enclosure, and I shudder. I don't want to come up with spells like that, even though Miah assured me that nobody ever gets hurt at the spell battles. _Defensive spells_ , I think to myself, opening my eyes and picking up a pencil. Miah needs to be able to protect himself from whatever tricks the other caster throws at him, especially if a wand is involved again, and I fill a page with words that will, if the spell works, act like armor for him.

I bite the tip of my pencil. It's not enough to keep him safe; if I know Miah, he'll want to win, not just survive. I think back to last two times at the zoo. How did the other casters win? For the most part, I seem to remember the winner was declared once one caster put the other in a dangerous position he couldn't get out of. Most of the time, the caster himself surrendered, but sometimes, the decision came from the girl who was the leader, almost like a referee calling a time out. Hmm. What could make a caster admit defeat?

Jeremiah hasn't told me if there are any rule to the kind of spells people could use, and I send him a quick text to ask. He responds almost immediately; "no death, disfigurement, or dismemberment, but otherwise anything goes." His next text comes before I have a chance to respond, asking me if I'm writing spells for him to use tonight. I hesitate for just a moment, but then I text "yes". A few seconds later, my phone buzzes, and my heart leaps into my throat when I realize that Jeremiah is actually calling me.

"Christina did this really cool thing at our last Threes practice," he says without preamble, and my chest clenches.

"Which one?" I ask, trying to act like I don't mind that the first words out of his my mouth on the very first time he's calling me are about my sister.

"She spun up in the air and threw beams of light that turned into throwing stars before they boomeranged back to her hands. I know you probably can't give me the same spell, but I was thinking something like that."

My heart sinks. I've never seen Christina do such a flashy spell, and I have no idea how I would even begin to scribe something like that. "Um," I hedge, flipping back through my notebook, "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Shelby. You're spectacular."

Before he hangs up, I suck up my courage. "Could you do me a favor?"

"Of course!" He sounds surprised.

"Whatever spell you use for sneaking out and not getting in trouble, could you cast it over my house, too?"

There's silence on the line for a moment, and I wonder if I've given myself away. He's got to wonder why I don't just ask Christina to do it for me, but he doesn't ask. Finally, after a beat, he says, "I can try. I don't know if I can cast from so far away, though."

"If you walk by our house on your way to the train, couldn't you do it then?"

"That might work. But Shelby, just in case, you might want to ask Christina to help."

I don't tell him that hell is more likely to freeze over. "Okay. Doesn't hurt to be prepared."

He laughs. "I'll see you in a bit."

I hang up the phone, trying to ignore the sick sensation spreading through my body. How long can I keep pretending that I'm Christina's scribe? _Maybe it won't matter anymore, if I write good spells for him tonight._ Nervous, I pick up my pencil and try to write a spell like the one Miah described, but the words won't come, and finally, I resort to drawing a picture of a stick figure caught in a whirlwind of colored spirals. I know I need to put words on the page so Miah has something to read, but it's like all my words have dried up.

Frustrated, I set the spell book down and check my email. I'm surprised to see fifty new messages, and even more stunned when I begin opening them and realize that they're all spell requests. Clearly, the normies think I can make magic. Even if they're just normies, my confidence surges at the thought. I take a deep breath and pick up my notebook again, determined to have something to show for my hours of effort. I'll deal with the spell emails later, I decide; right now, I want to focus on scribing something worthwhile for Jeremiah Smallwood.

***

Sneaking out is going to be even harder than I thought. I can hear my parents in the kitchen when I creep down the stairs, but I cross my fingers and hope that Miah's spell is enough to keep them from noticing me. I step around the wind chimes in the living room, and when I reach the door I exhale sharply. Just a few more steps and I'll be outside.

"Where are you going?"

I whirl around. Christina is sitting in the living room, a book open on her lap, her eyes trained on me. "Um," I begin, not sure what to say.

A slow smile spreads across her face. "Hey, Dad!" She calls, her eyes never leaving my face, even though I'm shaking my head at her frantically.

My heart sinks when Dad appears in the hallway. "You bellowed?" He glances from Christina to me, and his brows furrow. "Where are you headed, Shelby?"

"Kelsey asked me to sleep over," I say, the lie tumbling out before I can stop myself.

Dad raises an eyebrow. "That's the first I've heard of it."

I shrug, trying to look nonchalant, even though I can feel Christina watching me like a viper. "I don't have to go," I say, deciding not to beg. "It's just that she's got a new boyfriend, and I haven't seen much of her."

Christina snorts. "It's only the first month of school. You guys were joined at the hip all summer."

I ignore her, focusing on my dad. He frowns, tapping his jaw. "I thought we'd have game night tonight."

My heart sinks, and I know I'm screwed. Christina groans and gets off the sofa. "In that case, I better go practice for my Threes now while I've got the chance." She gives me a meaningful look before she heads upstairs, but I try not to see it.

"You better call Kelsey and tell her you're not coming," Dad says before he turns and walks back into the kitchen.

Defeated, I nod after him, my shoulders slumping. "Right. I'm sure she'll understand."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I text Miah as soon as my dad walks away, but he doesn't respond, and my heart sinks. What if he thinks I was just stringing him along? I'm tempted to text him a couple of the spells I wrote for him, but I'm not confident they'll work, so I hold back. I would text his friends if I knew any of their numbers, but as it is, Miah is my only connection to the group, and I just have to hope he isn't too angry with me. Surely, he can't blame me for my dad catching me on my way out the door?

Upset, I head out to the back yard and climb up the old swing set platform. Even though Christina and I are way too old for something like this, Mom says she can't quite bring herself to get rid of it, and right now, I'm secretly glad. There's something comforting about sitting on top of the platform, where I spent so many hours as a kid playing make-believe and watching Christina pump her legs on the swing set below me.

I stretch out on my belly on the smooth wooden boards and fold my hands under my chin. The sky is still bright; even though fall is here, sunset is hours off, and if I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the warm air, I can almost convince myself it's still summer. I roll over onto my back and look up at the leaves of the tree above me, counting them and squinting against the bright sky.

My brain slows down as some of the tension unwinds from my shoulders, and I feel myself start to slip into a meditative state. I deepen my breathing without meaning to, and my eyes droop until they're half-closed and I'm staring up at the sky, focused on nothing. Words flicker through my mind, but I don't try to think. I don't want to know what kind of spells I would scribe right now if I wanted to; my frustration has been replaced by a kind of numb hopelessness, and despite the fresh air and the clouds above me, I feel heavy, weighted down to the platform.

"You weren't going to go to Kelsey's, were you?"

I squint up at the clouds, wondering if my sister is really standing on the ground beside the swing set, or if I'm just so used to hearing her pick at me that I'm making up her voice in my head. "You don't know that."

She snorts, and the swing creaks beneath me. I twist my head, and I see her sitting there kicking her feet aimlessly, and I'm glad I didn't say more. "What are you doing out here?"

She shrugs without looking up at me, and for a moment, the angle makes it look like her shoulders are hunched, like she's carrying some heavy burden or something. "The house was getting too stuffy, you know?"

I nod, but I'm puzzled. Why is Christina being nice to me now? She hasn't been nice to me in...actually, I can't remember how long it's been. I sit up, pulling my knees into my chest. "We used to pretend this was our castle, remember?"

Christina drags a toe through the dirt and the swing sways lazily. "And a fort. But I always liked it best when it was a pirate ship."

I laugh. "You just liked to make me walk the plank."

She tips her head back to look at me, and she's almost smiling. "Well, that's what pirates do!"

I pause, but then I gesture to the ladder. "You can come up, if you want. It's a good spot to watch the sunset."

For a second, I think she might take me up on it, but then she shakes her head, her face shuttering itself again, and the sister I can laugh with is gone. "I've got work to do."

Even though I should let her go, I can't shake the feeling that we were almost friends again for a moment, the way we were before. "You've been studying a lot," I say.

She nods, staring off in the distance for a moment. "Yeah."

"It seems like hard work."

Christina glances up at me, and a cruel smirk slips across her face. "Yeah, it is. But at least _I_ can do magic. Your exams are going to destroy you."

And just like that, we're back to fighting. My shoulders drop, but I toss my hair and pretend not to care. "You worry about yourself. Have you thought about Fennel lately? I think you'll be perfect for them."

Anger flashes in her eyes. "At least I'll have a coven. I doubt if even Bittersweet would take a reject like you."

She whirls and heads toward the house before I can brag, before I can tell her that I'm not a worthless reject any longer, and I take a deep, shuddering breath as she stalks across the yard. It's stupid of me to hope that Christina and I could ever be friends again. Blood doesn't mean much in the magical world. _Just look at Mom and Aunt Jan_ , I think as I climb down from the platform and follow Christina's path into the house.

***

Miah still hasn't texted me back by the time I decide to go to bed, and I finally send him the protection spell I'd written that afternoon. There's no guarantee he'll even look at his phone tonight, let alone that he'd go up for a spell battle without a scribe there, but if he does, I want him to know I didn't leave him stranded on purpose. _Next time he asks me, I'll move heaven and earth to get out,_ I promise myself.

But Miah doesn't text all weekend, and the first thing I hear Monday morning when I walk into school is the whisper that he and Becca got back together.

***

School settles into a miserable rhythm. With Kelsey still refusing to talk to me, I'm alone most of the time, and Becca doesn't miss an opportunity to flaunt the fact that she and Jeremiah are back together. She talks about him all through homeroom, and she even starts wearing his leather jacket to class, even though it's still too warm for a coat. I haven't seen Miah, mostly because I duck into the bathroom every time I notice him standing in the hall nearby, and he hasn't texted me or tried to say anything since I stood him up on Saturday night. Ms. Minchell is still willing to let me hide in the library during lunch, but using her as my excuse to catch rides with Miah fell through before I even had a chance to try it, and seeing the librarian reminds me of how stupid I was to think that I could ever have a chance with Jeremiah Smallwood.

The only good thing is my spell business; I average five requests a day, and so far, everyone has paid promptly as soon as I've sent the spells to them. A few people have had similar requests, so I've started recycling spells. It's not like they're going to know, and besides, a caster can repeat the same spell and still get results, so why should I assume the normies will be any different? Other than what I heard that first day about the quiz bowl captain and the queen bee, I haven't heard any gossip that I can directly trace to any of my spells, but as long as the orders keep coming and the money keeps getting paid, I don't really care if they work or if I'm selling snake oil. Without Miah, it's not like I have any reason to prove to anybody that I _can_ scribe.

Still, it's nice to have the extra cash, although I'd rather have the cash _and_ my best friend; shopping alone might as well be one of the circles of hell. Since I don't feel like going downtown on my own, I leave the money in my PayPal account for now. At least I'll be able to buy great presents for Mom and Dad this Christmas. _I should just give Christina coal, but I bet she'd figure out a spell to turn it into diamonds,_ I think sourly.

Other than Becca's taunts, nobody at school pays much attention to me. Mr. Halstead hasn't singled me out since the first week, and I'm managing to stay afloat in his class, just barely, so there's no reason for him to pretend to care and schedule a parent-teacher conference or anything stupid like that. I'm passing all of my classes, actually, even though I spend more time scribing than doing homework these days. So far, no one has complained, but as the weather changes and leaves fall off of the trees, I realize with a start that report cards will be going home soon, and I turn in a bunch of extra credit. Mom and Dad have always cared more about Christina's performance rather than mine, but I don't want to find out what they'd do if they saw all my Cs and Ds. By the time the quarter ends the week before Halloween, I've managed to pull my grades up to a healthy mix of Bs and Cs, so I figure I'm safe from any parental inquiry.

When the speaker crackles to life in Mr. Halstead's class and the secretary asks me to come to the office, my first thought is that report cards have already gone home, even though I thought they weren't due to be mailed out until this Friday. But then when the secretary points to the dean of student's door with a sympathetic expression on her face, my heart starts to hammer in my ears. I knock, wishing I could turn and run back to science, but the door opens before I can think too much about escaping, and Mrs. Stetter, the dean of students, looks at me.

"Miss King, please take a seat," she says, gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk. I swallow and almost freeze on the spot; there's only one chair left for me to sit in. The other two are holding my parents. Mom looks down at her lap, but Dad crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at me, like he wants to know what this is all about. I shrug and try to smile, but the expression dies on my lips when I notice what Mom is holding in her lap.

It's my flyer.

The blood flows out of my head, and for a minute, I wonder if I'm about to faint. Feeling dizzy, I cross to the chair in between my parents and sit down. I'm careful not to look at either of my parents, keeping my eyes focused instead on the diploma hanging over Mrs. Stetter's chair. I perch on the edge of my chair as if somehow being more uncomfortable will make whatever is coming over more quickly, but I can practically feel the anger radiating off of Dad, and I realize that whatever is coming is going to be worse than I can imagine.

Mrs. Stetter sits down and folds her hands on the desk in front of her, staring steadily at me. "Miss King, why don't you tell us what this is all about."

Even though I saw the flyer, I decide to play dumb. I shrug, not looking at my parents. "I'm not sure. My grades?" I ask hopefully. "I haven't had a very good quarter, but I'm working on getting them up."

I feel Dad's eyes on me. "How bad are your grades?"

I risk a glance at him. "Didn't you see my report card?" I don't know if I sound innocent or just plain stupid, but there's no way I'm going to confess to anything yet. Besides, I'm not even sure why they would think I'm the one who put up that flyer, and even if they do, why would I be in trouble for selling spells? My eyes dart to Mrs. Stetter, and she frowns.

"Shelby, this isn't about your grades." She gestures to my mom, and hesitantly, Mom sets the crumpled flyer on the desk. "Do you know anything about this?" Mrs. Stetter asks, tapping the paper and studying my face.

I wonder if I can lie my way out of it, but then I remember my parents sitting on either side of me. Even if Mrs. Stetter believes me, Dad has all the magic and training of the Caster Force behind him; there's no way to lie to his face. I lean forward and look at the flyer, and then I nod, trying to look casual. "Yes. I wrote it."

The office is silent for a moment, the same kind of stillness that sometimes hits right before a major thunderstorm, and I brace myself, waiting for the explosion.

Dad erupts first. "What would have possessed you to do something like this? You don't—" He breaks off, almost like he's remembered we have a normie for an audience, but I wince at the unspoken words. I'm sure he was about to say something about how I don't even have enough magic to scribe simple spells, let alone sell them.

I look back at the flyer, avoiding his gaze. "I saw a want ad that inspired me," I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I figured this was a good way to help my classmates." It's a total lie, but hopefully, no one will call me on it. I wasn't thinking of the normies when I started my business; I was thinking about getting some quick cash and practicing my spells, whether they worked or not.

The look Dad shoots me tells me he doesn't believe me, but Mrs. Stetter leans forward with an earnest expression on her face. "Have people already contacted you, Shelby?"

I hesitate. Does she already know? If I tell her yes, will they make me give back the money? But what if they already know, and lying only gets me in deeper trouble? Slowly, I shake my head and hold my breath, waiting to see how they will react.

Mom raises an eyebrow, but Dad and Mrs. Stetter exhale simultaneously, then give each other a mutually uncomfortable look. "Then there's no harm done." Mrs. Stetter says, pulling the flyer back toward her and folding it into a neat square. "You don't have any other advertisements up, do you?"

Mutely, I shake my head. I hadn't thought to print up more posters, but now I almost wish I'd papered the school with them.

Mrs. Stetter sighs in relief. "That's good. For a moment, I'd thought that we might not be able to keep all this quiet."

Dad raises an eyebrow. "And why would you need to keep it quiet?"

The dean pauses, choosing her words carefully. "As I'm sure you're both aware, magic isn't something that's present in the public schools."

Dad gives her a tight smile. "There are plenty of anti-discrimination laws on the books. I'm sure you aren't implying that your school would ever treat my daughters differently because of our background, are you?"

Mrs. Stetter turns pale at the word "discrimination." "No, of course not," she says hurriedly, not looking at me. "I just want to make sure that everybody is safe and their educations continue without interruption."

I want to point out to her that my spells don't have anything to do with safety or school, but then with a twinge I remember the hex I wrote, and the spells I've drafted for acing tests and passing classes, and I bite my tongue.

"But there's no harm done," Mom says smoothly, "especially since Shelby says no one has emailed her yet."

Mrs. Stetter looks down at her desk. "The idea of any of my students paying for spells..." she trails off, and then she clears her throat. "Shelby, you are an enterprising young lady, but in the future, I'd like to see you focusing more on your school work and less on...extra-curricular activities."

Dad snorts. "Except for the fact that those so-called extra-curricular activities are a vital part of our day to day lives. Surely, you wouldn't expect a student to suppress her culture merely to fit in with her classmates?"

It's kind of funny that he's defending me, since I'm sure the idea of selling spells makes his skin crawl, but Mrs. Stetter has pushed all the wrong buttons so far, and I can tell she knows it. She stammers for a moment, and then she meekly says, "Of course not."

Dad leans forward. "I'm curious why you assumed the poster was Shelby's doing in the first place. Oh, I know she's admitted," he adds, cutting the dean off, "but what made you single her out?"

Mrs. Stetter opens and closes her mouth for a moment, saying nothing. Finally, she clears her throat. "A student brought the flyer to my attention, and suggested that Miss King might be behind it."

_Becca_. I can't imagine anyone else, caster, scribe, or normie, who would want to get me in trouble. I bet Becca thought she was going to make me take the blame for somebody else; she never would have thought somebody like me would try to sell spells to the normies. I cross my arms. "Who told you?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential. And since you've confessed, it seems that the student was correct when she brought it to my attention."

Dad raises an eyebrow, anger pulsing off him. "Confessed? You make it sound like she's a criminal."

Mrs. Stetter shakes her head quickly. "No, not at all. That was a poor choice of words on my part."

Mom nods sympathetically, shooting Dad a look that warns him to be quiet. "I'm sorry for any confusion this has caused."

Dad's got a vein bulging out of the side of his head, but he keeps his mouth shut, letting Mom try to handle Mrs. Stetter. The dean of students shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

"Of course, you know that the nature of Shelby's...business makes this situation even more sensitive. But since no one has responded to her ad yet, well, then I suppose there's no harm done."

Dad and Mom share a look over my head, and I realize with a sinking heart that even if Mrs. Stetter isn't going to punish me, they won't let me off so easy. "Of course not," Mom answers smoothly. "And I'm sure you won't hold it against her in the future."

Mrs. Stetter hurries to assure my parents that she is open-minded, but the more she protests, the more it sounds like she's actually saying she's a prejudiced bigot, and she falls silent, frowning. Finally, she looks directly at me. "This will stay between us, right Shelby?"

I nod, and then I pause, considering. Mrs. Stetter is nervous; Mom and Dad have both reminded her that they won't allow any magical discrimination, and I wonder if I should push my luck. I take a deep breath. "Since you're working so hard to make sure this school is a fair place," I finally say, "I thought I should tell you that my science teacher has been treating me different ever since he found out I can do magic."

Mrs. Stetter flinches at the word, but then she frowns. "I'll look into it." She glances between Mom and Dad, and then she looks back at me. "I know you don't want to do anything to single yourself out. You were a model student last year, Shelby, and I'm sure that once you get in the swing of things, sophomore year will be another chance for you to shine."

I smile at her without meaning it, intensely aware of my parents on either side of me. "I'm sure everything will be great." My jaw clenches at the lie, and I fight the urge to slump back in my chair. _Nothing is going to be great now._
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mom and Dad insist on taking me home with them, even though I weakly suggest that I could just ride the bus and save them the trouble. Surprisingly, they are silent the entire drive home, and I hunch against the window in the back seat, wondering what kind of punishment they're cooking up for me.

When we pull into the driveway, Dad clenches the steering wheel for a moment before his fingers relax. He and Mom exchange a meaningful look, and then he nods slightly and gets out of the car. Mom doesn't say anything as she follows him up the porch, and I'm perplexed as I climb out of the car behind her. The wind chimes sound discordant as I follow my parents into the house. Without a word, Dad heads for his home office, and Mom glances at me over her shoulder before she walks into the kitchen.

I pause in the foyer, weighing my options. Are they trying to give me the silent treatment? I bite my lip, wondering if I should just drop it and pretend the whole mess never happened, but the back of my neck prickles at that idea. If I drop it, what if Mom and Dad bring it up again and ground me when I least expect it? I heave a sigh and then I decide to talk to Mom. She's usually less strict than Dad, and I'm sort of hoping that the heart to heart we had the other day at her school will stand in my favor when it comes time for her to think of a punishment.

Taking a deep breath, I move into the kitchen. Mom is leaning over her spell book, studying the pages intently. I shift on my feet for a moment, and then I cough, but she still doesn't look up. Confused, I cross to stand beside her and glance at the page she's looking at.

"Grandma's spell for healing soup?" I ask skeptically. "But nobody's sick."

Mom shrugs. "I haven't made it in a while, and sometimes, healing is about more than just having a cold."

I'm not sure what she's saying, but her voice is laced with meaning, reeling me in. "What needs healing?"

Her gold eyes meet mine, and I'm surprised at the sadness I see reflected in them. I swallow nervously as she studies me. Finally, she says, "Will you show me some of your spells?"

I stare at her, stunned. This so wasn't what I expected, and I stutter, "What?"

Calmly, she repeats herself. "I know you said you hadn't sold any yet, but I imagine you wrote a few to see if they were any good. Can I see them?"

I feel a twinge of guilt at her words, and I wonder if I should just confess that I lied, that I have been selling my spells, and that, by all accounts of the gossip chain at school, at least one of them has worked. But I swallow the words and shake my head. "I don't know if they're any good," I say, although the real reason I don't want to show her my spells is that I don't want her to see the hateful things I've written about Christina, or the spells I wrote for Miah that I didn't get to give him. I have no way to explain either of those things to her that won't get me in more trouble, so I figure it's better to keep it all to myself.

Mom studies my face. "I think you know they work," she says softly, "and I wish you'd let me see."

Resolutely, I shake my head, and she sighs.

"Shelby," she begins, tapping the book in front of her, "you know that your father and I love you for who you are, right?"

The change of topic throws me for a minute, and I just stare at her. Finally, I manage to make some kind of noncommittal sound in the back of my throat, and she smiles wryly.

"I know we push, Dad especially, but we will always be proud of you."

"Because you think I can finally scribe?"

"Because you're our daughter. I hope you realize that there's nothing you could do, no trouble you could get in, that will change that."

A lump swells up in my throat and I look away, trying not to cry. "That's hard to believe, considering."

"Considering what?"

The words spill out now, even though I know I should keep them inside. "Considering how much fuss you make about Christina. It's like magical ability is all anybody cares about in this family, and given my history with spells, I doubt you or Dad think I'm very good in that department."

"Shelby, we—"

The front door bangs shut and a cacophony of wind chimes fills the house. "Where is everyone?" Christina yells as she walks around the corner. She stops when she sees me and Mom bent over the spell book. "Tell me it isn't true!"

Mom glances at me and then we both look at Christina. "What isn't true?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "I heard on the bus that you were trying to scam the normies by selling spells."

My jaw drops. "How did you even hear about that?"

"So it is true! God, do you have to be so embarrassing?"

"Christina, that's enough," Mom says, her voice holding a note of warning. "Your sister thought about it, but she hasn't sold any spells."

Christina looks at me, her eyes boring into my soul, and I try not to squirm. "Then why did Carla Ray say yes when Seamus Osborne asked her out?"

I suck in my breath through my teeth. Seamus is the quiz captain; Christina has named the only couple I know for sure exists because of one of my spells. "Maybe she decided she likes brains instead of beef?" My words are flippant, but my voice has a telltale quaver in it, and I know Christina hears it.

"You are pathetic, you know that? First, it's not bad enough that I'm stuck with a dud of a sister who can't even scribe for me, but then you go and embarrass the family with a stunt like this? What is wrong with you?"

The tears I was holding back earlier overflow. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? We're sisters, or did you forget that fact? What gives you the right to treat me like garbage?"

"That's enough, you two." Mom's voice is quiet, but it has a lethal edge to it. I look at her, nervous, and beside me, Christina tenses. Mom eyes us for a moment, but then she directs her gaze to my sister. "Go upstairs. I don't want to hear you speak to your sister that way again, is that clear?"

Christina nods once and whirls on her heel, and I exhale, wiping the tears that are still on my cheeks. Mom turns her gaze to me, and her expression is sharp. I swallow nervously.

"Is this true?"

I wince. I could kill Christina for spoiling everything; Mom and Dad were ready to believe me about the spells, and this whole thing was about to blow over, but now it looks like Mom might boil over instead. I hang my head. "I did sell a couple of spells," I begin, but then I hurry to add, "I have no idea if any of them worked."

Mom presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Shelby, this is bad. How could you?"

"I didn't think anyone would care," I say, my words brittle. _Because you never care about what I do; the only way you'd care is if I were Christina._

Mom shakes her head. "I need to speak with your father, and I need you to show me every spell you sold. Every single one of them," she repeats, her words like a death sentence.

"I can forward you the emails," I offer, feeling small.

She just nods and turns to leave the kitchen. "That's a good place to start. And Shelby," she says, turning to look at me over her shoulder in the doorway, "you're grounded."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I've barely closed the door to my room before Christina opens it and barges in, her hands on her hips. "Did you seriously think you could get away with something like that? With your shitty spells? It's a wonder you didn't blow somebody up."

All my rage, frustration, and feelings of not-good-enough bubble to the surface, and I grab my spell book. It falls open to the page of angry scribbles about my sister, and I thrust it in front of her face. "I don't care what you say," I tell her, almost screaming. "This is what I really think of you. You're wicked, and worthless, and maybe I can't scribe, but at least I'm not a nasty witch like you!"

Christina's eyes flicker over the page, and then she laughs. "I'm not afraid of your words. Seriously, Shelby, you couldn't scribe a spell to light the candles on Mom's birthday cake. What are you going to do to me?"

Furious, I take the book back from her and flip to a new page. "Anything I can," I say, picking up a red pencil and starting to scribble. I'm writing nonsense words, just a stream of thoughts and feelings, but I am gratified by the mildly worried expression on Christina's face. And when the page under my hand begins to shimmer, Christina turns pale and leaves, slamming my door behind her without another word.

_I wish I could teach her a lesson,_ I think, dragging my pencil across the page in jagged lines. _Turn her into a toad or something nasty. Or better yet, find a way to make her see what it's like to be me._

My chest feels tight when I look back down at the spell book. Across the page in bleeding red letters, I've scrawled the words "walk a mile in my shoes and see what it's like to be me." The words shimmer and blur before my eyes, and I slam the book shut when I realize I'm crying again.

"It's not fair," I say to my empty room, the tears flowing freely down my face. "I never did anything to her. I've never done anything to anybody; why is it always like this?" Obviously, nobody answers me, and I sniffle, grabbing a tissue and blowing my nose. I force myself to inhale slowly through my stuffy nose, trying to calm myself down, but I can't stop the tears now, and I finally decide that there's no reason for me to get myself under control. Everything is falling apart; I might as well break, too.

Sobbing, I set my spell book on top of my desk and kick off my shoes. I don't bother changing out of my school clothes, just flop down across my bed and bury my face in the pillows. It feels pathetic to be melting down like this, but I'm too frustrated and exhausted to really care. My chest constricts painfully with each breath, like my skin can't contain me anymore, and I slide under the comforter, pulling the sheets up to my nose and burrowing down in the blankets like I'm a little girl again. Only this time, there's no nightmare to escape from, other than the miserable moments of my plain, boring life.

I must fall asleep, because the room is dark when I open my eyes again. Tears are dried on my cheeks in salty trails, and my skin feels strange and tight. Groggily, I sit up in bed. A hot shower will at least make me feel sort of human, even if the water can't wash away the hurt. I shuffle toward the door of my room, but I bump into the wall once I get to the hallway.

Shaking my head, I try to orient myself. There never used to be a wall there before. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I see the faint blue glow of the LED nightlight in the bathroom. It looks farther away than I remember, and the angle of the door seems weird, but my brain is too foggy to figure out what's wrong. Nobody comes out to check on me, and from the stillness in the house, I would guess that it's well past midnight. _I cried myself to sleep and missed dinner?_ My stomach clenches at the thought, and I wonder why Mom didn't come up and get me. _Maybe she's too mad about the whole spell thing_ , I think, and this time the pain in my stomach has nothing to do with hunger.

Guilt, shame, and misery follow me into the bathroom, fogging up the glass as soon as I step into the shower. I run the water hot, as hot as I can stand, and then I step under the spray with my head tipped back, letting water run into my eyes to wash away my tears. Idly, I run my hands through my wet hair, but I don't grab the shampoo or anything; I just fiddle. It feels longer than it should, and I pause for a moment, tugging a strand around to look at the ends of it. It's impossible to tell since I'm soaking wet, but I would almost swear my hair is darker than it was when I washed it yesterday.

Puzzled, I turn off the water and reach for a towel. Wrapping it around my body, I step out of the shower, shaking the moisture out of my hair. When I flip my head back up, I glance at myself in the mirror, and I freeze.

A familiar face looks back at me, a face that I know as well as I know my own. But it's not me I'm seeing in the mirror.

It's Christina.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A soundless scream burns in my throat, but I can't force any sound past my—Christina's—lips. I scrub the steam off the mirror, I pinch myself, and I run cold water across my wrists, but the face in the mirror doesn't change. Opening the towel, I glance down at a totally unfamiliar body, and I yank the towel around me again like it can protect me from whatever has just happened.

Soon, everyone will wake up. Will they discover two versions of Christina, or, a horrible thought dawns on me, did Christina and I somehow switch places?

I lean against the wall, the towel bar pressing into my back. What in the world happened? Before I can collect my thoughts, someone pounds on the door.

"Shelby, get out of there. I need to get ready." The words are my sister's, but the voice is mine, like listening to myself on old home movies, and I cringe. Do I really sound that whiny? Suddenly, I'm terrified about what Mom or Dad will say if they find out, and I open the door and pull Christina into the bathroom in one swift motion.

She glares at me. "I don't have time for this. I heard the water turn off ten minutes ago; why are you still in here?"

I gulp, waiting for her eyes to catch up with reality. Christina glares at me, but suddenly her brow puckers, and she leans forward. "Shelby?" she asks uncertainly.

Wordless, I point to our reflections in the mirror. Christina turns her face to the glass and gasps.

"What did you do?"

"What did I do?" I ask incredulously. "How could this be my fault?"

She narrows her eyes, and her—my—nostrils flare. _I didn't know they did that._ I shake my head, trying to focus on what she's saying. "You've always been jealous," she says, gesturing at the body I'm now wearing. "However you did this, whoever you paid to do this trick, reverse it. Now."

"Look," I say, suddenly angry, "I'm not out to get you, contrary to whatever you may think. I didn't pay somebody to do this, and I'm just as pissed as you. You think I want to walk around like a prissy know it all witch all day?"

"Better than being stuck as a worthless scribe who can't even write a spell to get rid of her own acne!" She gestures angrily to her face.

I narrow my eyes. "At least I'd never stoop so low as using a spell for bigger boobs. You did, didn't you? These are totally bigger than you were last summer," I say, slapping my chest under the towel.

She flushes, but she doesn't deny my accusation. "This isn't funny."

"For once, I agree with you. You're the caster; can't you change us back?"

She rolls her eyes, and I notice how vapid I look when my face does that. I make a mental note never to roll my eyes again if I can help it. "I need a spell, stupid. Magic doesn't come out of thin air."

I bite my lip. She's right. "I could try to write something," I offer, thinking of the luck I've had with spells so far this school year, but she shakes her head emphatically.

"What, and blow us up in the process? No way."

"Look, what else are we supposed to do? I can't go to school like this!"

She nods. "You'd have to get dressed first."

For a moment, we just glare at each other, but then one corner of her mouth quirks up in a smirk, and I start to giggle. Soon, we're both laughing at the absurdity, and for a moment, my heart constricts with a forgotten feeling of warmth. _So this is what it's like to have a sister who's also a friend,_ I think to myself. Feeling awkward, I stop laughing and lower my eyes, and Christina gets quiet.

"What are we going to do?" I ask in a small voice.

She taps the side of her—my—face thoughtful. "We have to figure out what happened first. Who did this to us, what spell they used, all that stuff. We can't reverse it otherwise."

My heart starts to pound. "So, what, we're stuck like this?"

She grimaces. "Believe me, I'm not any happier about it than you are. But if you're sure _you_ don't know what caused this—"

I shake my head. "No clue."

She nods. "Then we have to find out who did. Once we know that, we can see about getting a counter spell."

I pause, but the weirdness makes me bold enough to ask her a question I've been wondering for a while. "Who's scribing for you now?"

She shifts her gaze. "You don't need to know right now. But I'm not going to ask for a spell until we know what we're dealing with."

I nod, even though the fact that she won't trust me even when she's wearing my skin stings more than I care to admit. "Fine. But seriously, I can't go to school like this."

"You think I want to repeat sophomore year? Those classes sucked."

Footsteps pad down the hall, and we both freeze. Mom and Dad are up, and I have no idea what they're going to do when Christina and I tell them what's going on. "Let's not tell them," I say in a hurried whisper.

She hesitates, but then she nods. "Dad might be able to figure out what's going on."

"Yeah, but," I pause, struggling with how to put my thoughts into words. "Don't you think they might blame you? After all, you are the caster." _Or they might blame me, since they're mad about me selling spells._ I push that thought aside; there's no way this could be my fault. Still, I don't want to piss Mom and Dad off any more than I already have, and I think telling them that I'd switched places with their perfect oldest daughter would qualify as pissing them off.

Christina frowns. "I hadn't thought of that." She pauses. "You know I didn't do this, right?"

I exhale slowly, and then I nod. There's no way, right? "Yeah. Like you said, why would you want to be stuck as me?"

***

When we get on the bus, my heart skips a beat. Kelsey is there, sitting in our old seat. She hasn't ridden the bus since she started dating Ryan, and I've barely seen her since our fight. I head toward her, but when she glances up at me, her eyes slide through me like ice. Somebody jabs me in the back, and I glance over my shoulder. Christina glares at me, and then she smoothly slips into the seat beside Kelsey. My best friend turns to her with a tentative smile, and they both ignore me as I make my way to the back of the bus. When I'm not looking in the mirror, it's easy to forget that I look like Christina, and I try to remind myself that nobody knows the truth, but still, Kelsey's snub cuts deeper than it should.

A tall girl with ebony skin slides into the seat next to me and starts talking without preamble. "I've got the notes for Calc, but I forgot to bring you back your sweater."

I frown, trying to think if I know her name, but I don't know any of Christina's friends anymore, and even though this girl lives in our neighborhood, I can't place her. "That's fine?"

She looks at me sharply. "You threatened to make me spit frogs if I didn't bring it back today."

"Oh, um, I was just kidding." I smile, hoping I can convince her, and the girl laughs.

"You're losing your edge, King."

I shrug, trying to figure out what to say. "Haven't had my coffee."

Her nose crinkles. "When did you start drinking that again?"

Oh, God, has Christina switched to tea? Or is she totally off caffeine altogether? I try to sound casual. "Since I started putting in so many hours, um, studying for the Threes."

The black girl leans back against the seat. "I hear that. If this test doesn't kill me, nothing will."

_She's a caster_ , I think, trying to see if that information helps me place her, but it's like my memory is a big brick wall. "Um, about those notes..." I flail.

She pulls a notebook out of her bag and hands it to me. I take it from her and flip it open, but she keeps staring at me intently.

I cough. "What?"

"Where are your English notes?"

"Oh!" They must trade homework. I dig through my bag, frantically wondering why I didn't ask Christina which notebook goes to which class, but luckily, the other girl is looking in my bag, too, and she plucks a green notebook out of it. _I didn't know Christina needed help with math,_ I think, glancing at her mostly blank homework before I swing my eyes back to the notebook from the girl. We pass the rest of the bus ride in silence, copying each other's work, but my eyes keep flickering to the middle of the bus where Christina is sitting with Kelsey, and my stomach tightens. What kind of things is she learning about me? What kind of ammunition will she have later on?

I start to head down the sophomore hall when we get to school, but the girl from the bus gives me a weird look, and I turn around just in time. _This is going to be even harder than I thought,_ I realize. Christina and I went over our schedules together before we left the house this morning, but that doesn't mean I memorized it or anything. And I have no idea if I have class with the bus girl; sooner or later she's going to notice that I'm acting strange. _I just have to think like Christina,_ I tell myself.

"Aren't you going to your locker?" The girl asks as I stand there in the hall, thinking.

I feel like such an idiot; I never thought to ask Christina for her locker number and combination. "Not today," I hedge. "I'll just bring my bag."

The girl frowns. "Okay. I guess I'll see you at lunch."

I nod, resisting the urge to exhale in relief; at least I don't have any morning classes with her. Turning away, I feign confidence as I walk down the hall, but my eyes scan the room numbers, and I'm walking slow enough that a couple of people bump into me. One guy mutters something under his breath, but I ignore him and keep looking at the classrooms. Finally, I find Christina's English class, and shouldering my bag, I take a deep breath and cross the threshold.

Nobody looks up when I walk in, and my shoulders drop in relief. I scan the desks, arranged in a wide circle around the room, facing the center, and I pause. Are the seats assigned? My eyes flicker around, looking for a familiar face, but I don't recognize anyone in this class, and I doubt Christina would bother making friends with normies. _Think like Christina_. Considering that English is the class she helps her friend in, I'm guessing she's good at it, and when my sister is good at something, she doesn't hide or pretend otherwise.

I walk to a desk in the center of the circle, near the back. It faces the board head on, plus it has a good view of the door. Even if all seats in a circle are more or less equal, this seat looks like the one my arrogant sister would choose if she wanted to show off. The bell rings as I drop my bag, and everyone shuffles to their seats. I hold my breath, but no one looks at me funny or tells me to get out of his seat, and I begin to relax. _I can do this. Just think like Christina._

But when the teacher strides into the room and claps her hands, my heart starts to sink. "Okay, everyone. Let's pick up where we left off yesterday. Christina, I believe you were going to start us off today?"

My mouth opens and closes like a fish for a moment, and then I shake myself and reach for the green notebook, but I can't find it. I riffle through my bag, trying to cover my embarrassment, and then I realize with a flash that I forgot to get it back from the girl on the bus. I lick my lips and cross my ankles under the desk. "I can't find my notes."

A couple of people snicker, but the teacher doesn't let up. "That's fine. This isn't a formal discussion; just tell us what you think, what you remember."

My eyes dart around the room, looking for some clue on what the class is discussing. There. On the white board at the front of the classroom, I spot the word "Agenda", and underneath that, "A Tale of Two Cities". No wonder my sister is doing well in English! Dickens is Mom's favorite author, and Christina and I have both read _A Tale of Two Cities_ more times than I can count. I take a deep breath. If the class is discussing the novel, does that mean they're done, or just starting? Carefully, I sift through my thoughts, and finally I settle on the right thing to say. "I don't like Charles Darnay."

There's a beat, and then someone across the circle leans forward. "He's the hero. Why don't you like him?"

I shake my head, forgetting for a moment that I'm wearing Christina's body. "He's not the hero. Just because he's the protagonist doesn't mean he's the hero." I pause. "Actually, he may not even be the protagonist."

The teacher smiles. "An interesting idea. Can you expand on it?"

And just like that, we're off and running. Even though I'm usually quiet in class, I get into the thick of the debate this morning, trading opinions and trying not to get too mad at my classmates, and I'm gratified by the end of the block that I've made a few of the other students agree with me. I'm actually having fun, but when the bell rings and we all pack up, the teacher singles me out as I'm heading into the hall.

"Great job today, Christina."

And just like that, my heart sinks and I feel worthless. I'm not me anymore, and it doesn't matter how good I felt about the conversation; everyone just thought I was my already perfect sister.

I muddle through the rest of the day, and even though it's gratifying for me that Christina's math class doesn't seem that difficult (and the teacher seems surprised when I raise my hand to answer his questions), I'm feeling pretty miserable by the time I get on the bus. When Christina gets on after me and cocks her head, I forget to worry about what our friends will think if they see us sitting together, and I move toward the center of the bus and slide into the seat beside her.

"You didn't tell me Kelsey is dating a normie," she hisses as soon as I sit down.

I shrug, frustration bubbling just under my skin. "You didn't tell me you cheat on Calculus."

"It's not cheating; it's called friends helping each other out."

I glance around the bus. "Speaking of friends, where is Kels? And the girl I sat with this morning."

Christina glances toward the sparsely populate back of the bus. "Jada? She has cheer practice after schools."

I can't hide the surprise in my voice. "You're friends with a _cheerleader_?"

She snorts, her—my—nostrils flaring again, and I cringe. "You're one to talk. Kels and that little boyfriend of hers? Seriously?"

"It's not like I'm friends with Ryan."

"She seemed to think you were the reason they were dating." Christina pauses, studying me. "Did you introduce them?"

I feel heat building in face, but I try to act nonchalant. "Something like that."

Her eyes narrow. "Something like that?" She stops, considering. "Please tell me you didn't try to write some kind of love spell."

"Kels wanted to know who her secret admirer was! I was just trying to help," I say defensively. The words linger in the air before I have a chance to think about their implications, but Christina's eyes go wide.

"So you _can_ scribe! Has the suckiness just been an act, all these years?" Her voice pitches up slightly, and I feel eyes shift toward us.

I shake my head, shushing her. "This really isn't a conversation we should have here."

I expect her to keep arguing, but to my surprise, she sits back against her seat and looks away. "Fine," she mutters. "But don't think this conversation is over."

"Fine," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

We ride the rest of the way in silence, and I can tell Christina is dying to interrogate me, but I walk fast when we get off the bus in the neighborhood, and thanks to her long legs, I'm able to pull ahead of her. She has to either jog to catch up to me, or let me go for now, and just like I hoped, she falls back. I shake my head and smile to myself. Sometimes, my sister is so predictable. If our positions had been reversed, I would have chased her to the moon and back, but Christina has always been too careful not to look silly, and running after me through our neighborhood would definitely count as silly.

Still, once I get back to the house, I steel myself for the conversation I know is coming. What should I tell her? Since she's already guessed the truth, part of me wonders if I should confide everything to her; my sudden success, the thing with Kels, and the fact that none of this started happening until Miah began paying attention to me. A lump forms in my throat at the thought; I haven't heard from him since I flaked out on him for the last spell battle, and now that he and Becca are back together, I know I'm not likely to.

I drop my bag with a thump and close my eyes, wishing I could wave a magic wand and start the whole school year over.

"Shelby?" Mom's voice comes from the back of the house, and without thinking, I answer.

"In here!"

She comes around the corner and glances at me. "Is your sister home yet, sweetie?"

It hits me like a freight train. _Even Mom can't tell the difference!_ I swallow back the sudden urge to burst into tears. "She was behind me, I think. She'll be home soon."

Mom frowns. "I really wanted to talk to her, but you and I need to go or we'll be late. I guess I'll leave a note."

"What did you want to talk to her about?"

Mom shakes her head. "Never mind. Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

She stares at me. "It's Tuesday."

I wrack my brain, trying to figure out what Mom is talking about, but the truth is, I've never paid much attention to Christina's schedule. "Right, Tuesday," I say, hoping she won't notice the tension in my voice.

She gives me an odd look, and then she disappears into the kitchen—to leave me a note, I guess. Then she reappears, holding her purse. "You want to drive?" She dangles the keys in front of me, and I swallow.

Christina is close to finishing her supervised driving hours, and she'll probably have her full license by the end of the year. But I haven't even started driver's ed yet, and the idea of driving Mom's car makes my panicky. "No, that's okay."

She raises an eyebrow. "Are you feeling all right?"

I nod impatiently, wondering what will happen if we aren't out the door before Christina gets home. "Aren't we going to be late?"

Slowly, she nods and opens the door. We walk to the car in silence, and I spot Christina at the end of the street. I can't see her face, but I imagine she's furious that she won't be able to pry any answers out of me right now. When we drive past her, though, I realize her expression isn't angry.

She's terrified, like she's seen a ghost.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It doesn't take long for me to realize why Christina looked so freaked. Mom switches the radio off and glances at me. "Do you have any new spells for tonight?"

For a minute, I forget I'm wearing Christina's body. "I've been working on some," I say, wondering if she'd even believe me that it seems like I can actually scribe all of a sudden, but then I catch sight of my perfectly manicured hands, hands that are not my own, and I clench my fists, remembering. I'm not Shelby right now; I'm Christina.

Mom nods once. "I wish you'd let me scribe for you, at least until you get through your Threes."

I feel cold and hot at the same time. Her words click in my brain, and I realize where we're going. It's Tuesday, which means Mom and I are headed to one of Christina's practice sessions for her big casting exam. _And I've never cast a spell in my life!_ Beneath my panic, I also feel a sliver of curiosity. I'd assumed Mom was scribing for Christina when it became clear that I wouldn't be able to, but that's not what it sounds like. _Why didn't she tell me about this?_ True, we'd only had the morning to try to fill each other in on our swapped identities, but I can't help feeling totally blindsided by just about everything that's happened to me today. _If Mom isn't her scribe, who is?_

Trying to look nonchalant, I shrug. "If you've got a spell in mind, I guess I could use it tonight."

Mom's face brightens. "I know just the thing. It's short, but impressive. You should be able to memorize it before we get there." She reaches for her purse with one hand. "I think my notepad should be open to it."

I hesitate, but then I dig through the purse. My fingers close on Mom's palm sized notepad, where she keeps the grocery lists and a few random spells. When I was younger, Mom had made a big deal out of buying me my own mini notebook, since she said a scribe should always have a way to write her spells, no matter where she was. I never used it, though; at first, I wanted to wait and save it for a spell that would impress everybody, and then later, when I realized my spells were a mess, I didn't see the point. For a moment, I almost open my mouth and tell Mom everything, but then I click my teeth shut. _Christina and I will figure it out. For now, I just have to play my part._

Flipping through the notebook, my eyes land on a page that says "spell for stunned silence." I glance at Mom. "Is it the silence spell?"

She nods. "I thought something like that would be a good way to show your strength in a subtle way; if you can make everyone in the room fall silent, whether they want to or not, you'll stand out more than if you use another flashy explosion."

Her tone is gently critical, and even though I have no idea what she's talking about, I bristle. "There's nothing wrong with being flashy," I say, not sure if I'm defending me or Christina.

Mom sighs. "I know, but there's also nothing wrong with subtle power. Sometimes, silence is a better defense than fireworks."

Fireworks? Oh, God, what kind of stuff has Christina been doing? I remember what Jeremiah said about throwing stars, and I swallow, trying to clamp down on my nerves. "I'll give it a try tonight, if it seems like it'll fit."

Mom nods, but her shoulders relax. "Thank you." She pauses. "I'm glad you're willing to take my advice."

I want to tell her that I've always listened to her, but that's me, Shelby. I guess I'm not the only one Christina has tried to ignore. I chew on the inside of my lip, wondering if I can ask a question without making Mom suspicious. "Do you think I'll have to cast tonight? I mean, could I just, you know, watch?"

She looks at me, worried. "Are you feeling all right?"

I nod hurriedly, but she keeps looking at me for a long moment before she turns her attention back to the road.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," she finally says. "But you know that Halloween is only a week away. If you don't practice tonight, you'll fall behind."

I slump against my seat. I'd forgotten that the tests are so soon; casters test at Halloween, in a big public ceremony that draws an audience from all the magical families in the state. We've gone into Portland for the event a few times, when Christina and I were younger, and it was a bigger deal than a professional sporting event. For the first time, I feel a twinge of sympathy for my sister, wondering if she's stressed out at all about the big show she'll have to put on. _Unless we don't switch back before then,_ a panicky voice whispers in my mind.

Frantic, I shake my head, trying to clear my horrified thoughts. I won't have to take Christina's place at the Threes; there's no way this curse or whatever it is will last that long. Mom turns the car into the lot of an old strip mall, and she glances at me again.

"We don't have to do this tonight. You seem...preoccupied."

I square my shoulders and try to force myself to stop thinking like Shelby and start thinking like Christina. "I'm fine," I lie, hoping my voice sounds as sure of myself as Christina usually does. "Let's go."

Once the car has stopped, I'm out on the sidewalk before Mom even has a chance to take off her seatbelt. I'm desperate to get away from her, to get through this evening without giving anything away, but then I realize I don't know which storefront we're going to, and I hang back for a moment, waiting for Mom to lead the way. She pauses and stares at me, her brow furrowed, but then she shakes her head and locks the car. "Come on," she says, heading toward a tinted door at the end of the building. "We're late."

I follow her inside, not sure what to expect behind the tinted glass. The room is large, with mirrors lining the wall opposite the door. The floors are honey colored wood, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think it was a dance studio or a martial arts dojo or something like that. Folding chairs are lined up in front of the mirrored wall, facing into the room, and a few adults are sitting down, talking to each other quietly or looking at their phones. My eyes land on Mrs. McClure, Becca's mom, and I grimace, remembering what Becca said her mom had told her about me.

Thankfully, Becca isn't here, but a group of girls I recognize from the neighborhood are clustered in one corner, and when I make eye contact with them, they shoot me the dirtiest looks imaginable. Involuntarily, I draw closer to Mom.

"What's their problem?" I mutter, jerking my head at the girls.

She glances up, and then looks back at me. "Probably still mad about the way you beat them last week."

My mouth feels dry. "Yeah?"

She nods. "I know you like to show off," she begins softly, studying my face, "but maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to use slightly less controversial tactics."

It takes a minute for her words to sink in. "Are you saying I fight dirty?" I have no trouble imagining Christina breaking whatever rules casters have to follow, especially if it means showing everyone how powerful she is, and I'd put money on the fact that no one is likely to call her out for breaking any rules, big or small. No one but Mom, that is. I smile up at her. "I'll play by the rules tonight," I promise, frantically wondering what, exactly, the rules are.

Before she can respond, Mrs. McClure moves to the center of the room and claps her hands. Instantly, the room hushes as all eyes turn toward her. I study her curiously. She's a taller version of Becca, from the highlights in her hair to the designer shoes on her feet, but her smile doesn't look quite as cruel as her daughter's. That is, until her eyes flicker to mine.

She gives me a nasty look, but then she smooths her features and begins to speak. "Since we're getting close to the time when the Caster Level Threes will occur, tonight we thought we'd do something a little different. There will be no sparing this evening," she pauses, and a couple of the mean girls in the corner mutter something that sounds angry, but they shut up as soon as Mrs. McClure looks at them. She clears her throat. "There will be no sparing tonight; instead, we'll be giving the young people a chance to perform, one by one, exhibition style."

A few people look at each other nervously, but many of the parents nod and smile. I glance at Mom, but her eyes are fixed on Becca's mother.

"Since the Caster Level Threes will include an exhibition component, this is a good opportunity for you all to see what it will be like. We'll begin with..." she pauses, and then her eyes land on me, and she gives me a fake smile. "Christina King."

My feet turn to lead, and for a moment, I'm frozen in the room with all eyes on me. Then Mom nudges me and tips her head toward the center of the space, the spot Mrs. McClure just vacated, and slowly, like I'm wading through Jell-O, I make my way to the middle of the room. Everyone moves to sit down, and I notice that Becca's mom and a couple of the other adults have clipboards, like they're going to take notes or something. I flex my fingers slowly, stretching out each joint one at a time before curling them back and clenching my nails into my palms.

I'm stalling for time. Christina's never told me what her Threes practice is like, and I doubt that she would have mentioned exhibition style, whatever that is, even if she had. Hesitantly, I clear my throat, and one of the mean girls giggles. "I—" I begin, my voice small. I take a deep breath, and try again. "I'm Christina King, but, um, I guess you know that already." Another laugh that sounds more like a snort comes from one corner, and I feel my face heating up. What are the rules? Can I look at a spell book? Even if I can, I realize with a jolt that I don't have my notebook anymore; Christina has it.

My eyes dart around the room, and after a moment, they land on Mom. She nods at me encouragingly, and I remember the spell she showed me in the car. It was pretty simple, just three words, and I open my mouth to speak them. But then I click my teeth shut again. What if nothing happens when I cast the spell? _Of course nothing will happen, stupid. You're a scribe, not a caster._

Suddenly, it's too much. My stomach heaves, and I double over, clutching my sides. Before I can warn anybody or even try to move, I throw up on my feet.
CHAPTER TWENTY

Mom is quiet on the drive home, and I ride in the back seat, stretched out across the upholstery like a corpse. My head is spinning, but my body has calmed down. My brain, however, is reeling, and I feel equal parts humiliated and horrified. What will Christina say when I tell her I barfed in front of all those people?

There was stunned silence right as I was sick, but after a moment, lots of people laughed. I heard the means girls making gagging noises, and a couple of the adults turned green, but the worst was Becca's mom. Mrs. McClure looked like she'd won the lottery, despite the sheen of sweat on her forehead when she caught a whiff of the mess. It was like she was glad to see my sister fail so spectacularly.

I press my head against the cool glass of the car window and squeeze my eyes shut, but the awful scene keeps replaying in my brain. I need to get back in my own body now, before I make an even bigger fool of myself. _If I'm such a mess, what if Christina is even worse as me?_ A shudder passes through me at the idea, and Mom's voice cuts into my misery.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I groan softly. "I'm sick, Mom."

"Are you sick, or stressed?"

I keep my face turned away she won't see the tears that are suddenly threatening to fall. "Both, I guess."

She exhales slowly. "I know it feels like your father and I are putting an awful lot of pressure on you, Christina, but the Threes are important. You only get one chance to prove yourself to your future coven."

Since my own test is still a couple of years away, I haven't really given the coven selection much thought, but I'm curious. I lift my head off the window and glance at Mom, trying to make out her features in the dark car. "What will it be like?"

"The test?"

I shake my head. "The coven. How will I choose?"

Her lips purse together, and for a minute, I'm afraid I've asked the wrong question. Have she and Christina already talked about all this? But Mom doesn't seem suspicious, just like she's choosing her words carefully. "Based on your performance for your Threes, you'll receive one or more invitations for a coven." She glances at me and smiles. "I'm actually sure you'll be invited to join all four."

My heart thumps, but then I remind myself it's Christina she thinks she's talking to, not me. I'll never be in that high of a demand, even if I am starting to be able to scribe. Just the fact that I'll be taking the test on my own, instead of scribing for my sister at hers, means I'm already a verified reject. The only scribes who have to take their own exam are the ones no caster wants, and even though I've never heard of anyone, scribe or caster, not making it into one of the covens, I can't help the fear that I may be the one to make history, rejected by everyone. I swallow these feelings and try to keep my expression neutral. "So how do I pick?"

"You've always talked about Henbane. Are you having second thoughts now?"

Slowly, I shake my head. "You and Dad are happy there, right?"

Once again, Mom looks troubled, but her expression relaxes so fast I'm sure I imagined it. "It's the best coven for us," she says, looking at me before she turns the car onto our street. "But you need to make your own decisions."

I draw in a deep breath. "What's it like, in the coven? Is it like a sorority?"

Mom chuckles. "Sometimes. I did live with some other members when I was in college. In some ways, it's like having a huge extended family, with all the good and bad that comes with it. There are always people who love you and who will accept you for whoever you are, but there are also always plenty of people who know more about you than you might want them to know, and the only thing that makes you feel like they won't share your secrets is the fact that you know some of theirs, too."

A shiver passes over my spine. What secrets will people learn about me before I even take my exam? What will Christina tell them? Will she even let me join the same coven as her? "It sounds awful," I say, the words slipping out before I can think. Christina wouldn't be intimidated by the coven politics. In fact, I have a feeling that she's looking forward to it.

If Mom thinks my response is out of character, she doesn't let on. She just shrugs gently and turns of the ignition. "It's the way our world works," she says simply.

"Does anybody...has anybody ever not joined a coven?"

A shadow flickers across Mom's face, and her eyes look dark and haunted for a moment. "Nobody would choose to be cut off like that."

"But has it ever happened before?"

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Sweetie, you were just nervous tonight. You've still got a week to prepare before your Threes, and I know you're going to have representative from all the covens beating a path to our door. There's nothing to worry about."

I try to smile, but her words aren't comforting. _If I'm still stuck in Christina's body by then, we're both so, so screwed._ As we walk up the driveway together, I realize that Mom never actually answered my last question.

***

I open the door to my room, ready to be done with this whole rotten day, but then I freeze. The bed isn't where it should be; it's standing where my desk was, and the desk is now wedged under my window. My dresser is nowhere in sight, and for a moment, I pause on the threshold of my room, not understanding. Then I spot the girl draped across my bed, and I grit my teeth.

"What are you doing in my room? And why'd you move the furniture?"

Christina sits up, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a gesture that makes my body look like a stranger's. "It's my room, unless you've figured out how to fix this mess."

I press my back against the door and slide down to the floor. "I haven't had time. Why didn't you tell me you had Threes practice tonight?"

She frowns. "I forgot. But you didn't tell _me_ that you've been sneaking out to meet Jeremiah Smallwood."

I stare at her, my mouth open. "I'm not," I say, hoping that my telltale blush doesn't give me away. Christina stares at me steadily, and it's like looking in a skeptical mirror. I swallow. "At least, not anymore."

"He seemed to think otherwise when I ran into him at school today."

It takes me a minute to digest what she's said. "I thought he got back together with Becca."

She shrugs. "I guess they're off again." There's a pause. "He's cute, Shelby, but I think he's just using you."

My anger flares up. "How would you know anything about it? You've never paid any attention to me until now, so don't act like you know me."

She nods, conceding the point. "But until we get this mess straightened out, I'm stuck acting like you, so just so you know, I'm not going to do anything to let you get hurt. Miah isn't right for you."

"That's for me to decide, isn't it?"

We stare at each other for a long moment, and finally Christina holds up her—my—hands in surrender. "What have you been doing with him? I mean, I don't want any of _those_ details," she shudders distastefully, "but if you aren't going to drop him, I need to know what to do that won't make him suspicious."

I pause. Should I tell her about the spell battles, and the fact that I'd promised to scribe for him last time, before she busted me from sneaking out? Even though she's living in my skin, I realize I don't want to share everything about myself with her; Miah was my perfect secret for the first few weeks of school, and I want to keep it that way as long as I can. I take a deep breath. "He took me for rides in his new car. I like it, and Becca teased him for it. I think he just likes to talk to me."

Christina narrows her eyes. "That's it? He hasn't tried to get any information from you about me?"

"About you? Why would he care about you?"

She exhales. "He's the only real competition I have for the Threes. When he came up to talk to me today, I wondered if maybe he was trying to use you to figure out how to beat me on the test."

I shake my head. I keep forgetting that Miah and Christina are in the same grade, and my stomach churns at the thought of facing him the next time I go back to the practice group. Thank goodness he wasn't there tonight. Slowly, I stand up. "He's asked me about the spells I scribe for you, but that's it. Clearly, he hasn't figured out that I haven't scribed for you in a long time."

Christina flinches. "What did you tell him?"

"How could I tell him anything? I don't even know who's scribing for you now. Although," I say, realization dawning on me, "I guess it isn't Mom. So who is it?"

She looks away. "That doesn't matter. We won't be stuck like this long enough for you to need to know."

Tentatively, I cross the room, and when she doesn't sneer at me, I sit down beside her on my bed. "Have you had any ideas?"

Christina picks at a speck of lint on my comforter. "We can't break the spell till we know who did this to us. So no, I don't have any ideas."

"What about Becca McClure? Did she seem weird today?"

Christina snorts. "No weirder than usual."

"But if she and Miah broke up again, maybe she wanted to get revenge on me. Putting me in your body would be the kind of nasty thing she'd think of."

"She'd need a caster to do it, and I don't think she works with anybody except Jeremiah," Christina argues.

"I still think she's our most likely suspect, unless you can think of anyone who's out to get you."

Christina scrunches up her face for a moment, but then her eyes get wide. "What if it isn't just about you or me?"

"I don't follow."

"What if someone is out to get us not because of anything you or I've done, but just because of who we are."

I stare at her, starting to understand. "You mean because of Dad's work?"

She waves her hand. "Dad's work, or just the fact that we're Kings. People always hate the most powerful, and other than you, we've got power in spades."

She doesn't say it meanly, but the words still sting just the same. "That's a possibility, I guess. But if that's the case, I've got no idea who it might be." I hesitate. "Should we tell Mom and Dad and see if they have any ideas?"

Christina shakes her head. "I still think we can figure this out on our own," she says stubbornly. "There's no need to worry them about it; they have enough right now without this mess."

I raise my eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Mom—" she pauses, then clicks her mouth shut. "Don't worry about it."

"How can I not worry about it? Is something wrong with one of them?" I pause, remembering Mom needing to hurry to get to an appointment the other day when I slept in, and my voice pitches lower. "Is Mom sick?"

Christina shakes her head. "Seriously, don't worry about it, but I'd rather we resolve this between us."

"But the Threes are coming up; we need to be back in our own bodies before the exam."

She nods. "I agree. But we still have a week; why don't we try to keep figuring it out, and if we aren't back where we belong by, I don't know, Sunday, then we tell them." She pauses. "Deal?"

I glance at the calendar over my desk. That seems like an awfully long time to be stuck as my sister, but finally, I nod. "Deal. But we need to come up with a plan to make sure this is over and done way before that."

"I agree." She frowns. "What happened at the Threes practice tonight?"

My cheeks heat up. "Oh. That. I threw up."

"What?" Her voice screeches, and I wave my hand at her to shush her. Mom and Dad don't usually bother us once we're in our rooms for the night, but I don't want to give them any reason to check on us now. Who knows _what_ they'd think if they saw both of us sitting in my room, like we're friends or something.

"Sorry. But Mrs. McClure wanted me to go first, and I had no idea what was going on, and, well, I guess my nerves caught up to me."

She presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "Shelby, you can't make me look like a fool."

"What was I supposed to do? It's not like I can cast, and she said something about exhibition style. What does that even mean?"

She exhales, and I can tell she's resisting the urge to yell at me. "It's how the Threes will be run, at least partly. Exhibition style means the casters have a certain amount of time to perform any spells they want. It's a chance to show off, to show how powerful we can be before the rest of the exam."

I lean forward, curious. "How long is the exam total?"

"Three hours. The exhibition is ten minutes per caster, and then we get a five-minute break. Then each of the covens holds their own private exams."

I swallow. "What are the private exams?"

She looks tired when she admits, "Anything the coven wants. There's really no way to prepare, other than memorizing all the spells I can and being ready to cast anything at the drop of a hat."

_That sounds awful_. "Are there rules? Like, you can't get hurt during the test, can you?"

Christina's eyes darken. "The only rule is no death or permanent self-harm. Otherwise, anything goes."

"So the tests could hurt you, even for a minute?"

She nods slowly. "Or I could have to hurt somebody else."

Silence falls, and we both look down. Finally, I lift my head. "Will you do it? Will you do whatever they tell you to, even if you have to hurt somebody?"

Christina's mouth is drawn in a grim line, but she nods, and her eyes flash. "This is my future. I'm not going to screw it up. Besides, no one can be hurt forever; that's one of the rules."

"Do you think," I say, an idea beginning to take shape, "that whoever did this to us is...practicing for the Threes?"

Her eyes get wide. "I hadn't thought of that." She chews on her lower lip for a minute, and when she looks back at me, I see a flicker of fear in her eyes. "Maybe. Or maybe whoever it is did this _because_ of the Threes."

Horror and realization collide in my brain, and I stare at her. "What, so you wouldn't be able to compete? Could you, like, ask for a rain check? Has that ever even happened before?"

She drops her voice. "It's happened. And no, the Threes can't be rescheduled. I only get one shot."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I lay awake for most of the night. Christina's bed is too soft and her room is unfamiliar, but the real reason I can't sleep is the way my thoughts are racing. Who could hate my sister enough to ruin her chances at the Threes? _If that's even what this is about_ , I remind myself, rolling over for the millionth time and trying to get comfortable.

If this were just about me, I'd say Becca is the most likely suspect. She's really the only person who openly hates me, and the feeling is pretty much mutual. But Christina's questions about someone attacking her or, even worse, our whole family, are circling around in my brain, and I can't figure out what's really going on.

Christina and I talked way past midnight, but she had finally yawned and suggested we sleep and try to figure things out in the morning. I wish I'd have insisted that we should sleep in our right rooms, but she said that we should swap, on the off chance that Mom or Dad decide to check on us and get confused.

I roll over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. Christina's got posters of rock groups and famous casters all over her ceiling, and the light from the street filtering through the window is enough for me to make out some of the images. I stare into the semi-darkness, trying to will my brain to come up with the solution, but nothing happens. Finally, somewhere just before dawn, I fall asleep, but the alarm is ringing before I can even dream, and I wake up groggy and disoriented. For just the first moment when I open my eyes, I don't know where I am, and then realization rushes in. I almost wish I could go back to groggy oblivion.

I lean over to the nightstand and grab my spell book. Before I'd left Christina in my room last night, I'd fished it out of my bag, and having the familiar notebook in my hands is surprisingly comforting. Flipping open to a blank page, I start writing. I'm not trying to scribe right now; I'm just journaling, writing down all the mess of everything that's happened, and somehow, by the time I've filled three pages, I feel a little bit better.

I close the notebook and set it down on the nightstand, but I must put it too close to the edge, because it falls to the ground. With a sigh, I get out of bed and bend down to pick it up. The spell book has landed face down and open, and I glance at the page it's opened to before I close it. As I do, the skin on the back of my neck prickles, and I bring the book closer to my face, skimming the words.

The page it fell open to has my angry rant about Christina, the one I wrote after my spell business blew up in my face and she'd gotten into it with me in the kitchen. I knew I'd been mad, angrier than I've ever felt toward her, which is saying something considering how crappy our relationship has been lately, but I hadn't remembered exactly what I'd written. Now, re-reading the words, I feel a sick, unbelievable certainty settle over me. I read the words again and again, but despite my desperate wishing, they stay the same.

Swallowing, I mark the page and take my notebook with me into the hall. I knock on the door to my bedroom, hoping that Mom or Dad don't come into the hall and ask me what I'm doing, and when I hear my own voice say, "Come in," I take a deep breath and slip inside the room, shutting the door firmly behind me.

Christina is digging through my closet and doesn't look up. "We've got to get you some new clothes; seriously, Shelby, did your fashion sense shrivel up and die this summer? How am I supposed to wear any of this?"

I don't say anything, and she must feel the tension in my silence because she glances at me over her shoulder. She pauses, one hand holding my Chucks, and the other hand halfway toward a purple sundress. "What is it?"

"I think I figured out who did this to us."

Instantly, she drops the shoes and straightens, her face a mask of furry. "Then let's undo it and make them pay."

I swallow, and then I hand her the spell book. It falls open to the page I'd marked, and Christina's eyes get big as she reads the angry words. I can see the wheels in her head turning, but I clear my throat and say it before she can make any accusations.

"It's me. I don't know how, but somehow, I think I'm responsible for this."

Christina stares at me for a moment, but then she begins to laugh. "You can't be serious."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Didn't you read what it says? 'Walk a mile in my shoes and see what it's like to be me.'"

"So? Shelby, even if you managed to scribe something that works, you'd have to find a caster to cast the spell for any of this to matter, and that didn't happen." She tilts her head to one side, considering. "Unless you got Jeremiah to do it."

I shake my head, trying to make her understand. "I didn't get anyone to do it. But come on, Christina, this is the only explanation. I wrote that the night before all this happened, and then bam, I wake up and I'm you and you're me. That's more than a coincidence; I did it."

"But how? You're a scribe," she says stubbornly. "And scribes can't cast, even if you were any good."

All my rage and frustration bubbles over, threatening to explode. I grit my teeth. "Actually, I _can_ scribe. I wrote the spell that brought Kelsey her boyfriend, and the spells I've been selling have actually been working, even though normies have been using them. So maybe you don't have to be a caster to make magic." My voice has gotten louder, and I'm practically shouting at her now.

She shakes her head. "I don't believe you. Besides, if you did this, why haven't you fixed it?"

I hold out my hand for my spell book. "Let me try right now."

Skeptically, she gives me the notebook. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll come up with another spell to reverse this." I breathe evenly, trying to still my mind and slip into the pseudo-meditative state I've been using to write spells, but my thoughts are jangling around too loudly, and I can feel Christina's eyes on me, making it impossible to concentrate. I close my eyes, but instead of calming down, the cacophony in my head just gets worse.

When I open my eyes, Christina is looking at me with a mixture of triumph and pity. "Give it up, Shelby. I know you want to believe you're powerful, but there's no way you did this to us."

Before I can retort, someone knocks on the door, and I just about jump out of my skin. Christina rolls her eyes. "Yeah?" she says in my voice.

Dad opens the door, his eyes taking in both of us in an instant, and I see a flicker of confusion on his face before he smooths his features. "You girls are going to be late," he says, tapping his watch.

Christina nods, dismissing him, but I just stand there, clenching my fists around my notebook. Dad notices, and he frowns.

"Isn't that Shelby's?"

For a minute, I don't know what he's talking about. Of course it's mine; I'm holding it, aren't I? But then I glance at my sister and I remember that she looks like me, so Dad must think Christina has grabbed my notebook and maybe that's what we're fighting about. I glance at Christina, hoping she'll tell him something believable, but she just raises one eyebrow and glares at me.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Right, yeah, I was just looking at it." I hand the notebook to Christina, even though it makes me feel sick to see it in her hands. She takes it with a smile, but there's a flicker of calculation in her eyes that makes me shiver.

Dad is still standing in the doorway staring at me, and I shake myself. "Guess I'd better go get dressed," I say, walking past him like I haven't just left the biggest part of my soul in my sister's hands. I glance back over my shoulder once, and my stomach twists.

Christina is standing in the center of my room, flipping through the spell book with a hungry expression, her lips moving silently.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

School is fairly normal the next day, at least as normal as it can be when I'm stuck in junior classes, trapped in my sister's body. Despite Christina's biting words, I'm sure that my spell is what caused us to switch bodies. I want to start working on a spell to get us back where we belong, but without my spell book, I feel totally powerless. I guess I could try to scribe on a loose sheet of paper or something, but considering that I've only just started to feel any confidence in my spells at all, I'm afraid that if I do anything out of the ordinary, whatever I come up with won't work.

Besides, it's really hard to meditate and find my Zen headspace in Christina's classes; it's not like I'm totally comfortable in my own skin, but now I'm hyper-aware of the fact that I'm not who I look like, and I second and third guess every thought that comes into my head, trying to make sure I don't do anything that lets anyone around me realize that I'm an imposter. Christina gave me a better briefing on things like classes and friends and stuff after the first day, so I don't feel quite as lost, but it's still like walking across eggshells.

The worst part of the day has nothing to do with pretending to be Christina. In the halls on the way to the bus after school, I catch a glimpse of Miah, and my heart speeds up. He's leaning against a locker, totally at ease, talking to someone, and at first, I'm sure it's Becca. But then the crowd parts and I realize he's talking to me.

Not me, me. But Christina in my body. And she's batting her eyelashes at him and leaning forward, almost like she's waiting for him to kiss her...and Miah looks like he might be considering it. I freeze, watching them.

Christina twirls a piece of my hair around her finger, a move that looks totally vapid to me, but Miah's eyes follow the movement, and he leans even closer to her. _There is no way I'm getting my first kiss when I'm not even in my body!_ I want to scream, to stomp my feet, anything to break their concentration from each other, but then Becca elbows through the hallway, her backpack swinging deliberately into Christina, and my sister stumbles, breaking eye contact with Jeremiah. Becca doesn't apologize or stop, but I feel like I can breathe again, because in the pause, Miah's taken a step back like he just remembered he's standing in the middle of a crowded school rather than out somewhere in a romantic, moonlit location.

Still, my blood is boiling when I get on the bus, and I'm ready to break all the rules and sit with Christina just so I can find out what, exactly, she was doing talking to the boy I'm obsessed with, but the bus fills and there's no sign of my sister. When we finally pull away from the curb, I feel the sick certainty in my gut that Miah took me driving again...but this time, it's Christina riding shotgun.

Mom takes one look at my face as I stomp through the house and pauses. "Honey, are you okay?"

I freeze, remembering that as far as she's concerned, I'm my sister. Have I ever seen Christina stomp around like that? I can't remember. I try to look unconcerned, but I can still feel the way anger is twisting my features, and Mom takes a long look at me.

"All this studying is getting to be too much," she finally declares, setting down the towel she carried out of the kitchen. She must have been unloading the dishwasher, and the part of me that's still Shelby wants to offer to help, but then I realize that Christina never, ever volunteers to do chores anymore, and I grit my teeth.

"It's not that," I finally say, and Mom quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Whatever it is, you've been wound up lately. I'm declaring this afternoon an official day off.

"Seriously?" _But the test is so soon,_ I want to remind her. Christina wouldn't take a day off; I know that for sure, but Mom's right. I need to get away from everything. "What did you have in mind instead?"

"If we leave now, there's still enough daylight for a hike at the falls. Or we can go downtown for a little retail therapy. Whichever you'd like."

Multnomah Falls is one of my favorite spots; it's this series of fairy tale waterfalls with walking trails and a big bridge that goes right in front of the water, and even though it's a tourist spot, it's always peaceful, no matter how busy it is. I answer without thinking about what Christina would say. "The falls."

Mom studies my face, and after a moment, I cringe. Christina never wants to spend more time outdoors than she has to, and I know that she would have jumped at the chance to go into Portland and go shopping, but I don't want to make Mom even more suspicious by changing my mind. _Besides,_ I tell myself, _just because I'm stuck in her body for now doesn't mean I'm not allowed to still be me._ I hold my breath, waiting for Mom to ask me something that will give me away, but she just smiles.

"Go get changed. I think I have a pair of hiking boots that will fit you."

I nod and turn for the stairs, but before I go up, I glance back at Mom. "Can we not talk about it? Can we just go and be there and forget everything for a while?"

Mom's face softens, and for one hopeless moment, it looks like she's about to cry. Before I can wonder what's wrong, she nods and hurries back into the kitchen, leaving me alone on the stairs.

***

Mom doesn't talk on the drive out to the falls, and she doesn't say anything when I take control of the car radio and blast a classic rock station. I can't worry about whether or not Christina likes the same music as Mom and me; right now, I just need to clear my head.

When we pull off the highway, the big lot by the falls is barely half full, and Mom smiles as she gets out of the car. "Doesn't look too busy," she says offhandedly, and I grin in response.

"I don't care how busy it is. I just needed to get away."

We head toward the meandering trail, and I can feel Mom's eyes on me from behind. What in the world is she thinking? I clear my throat, wondering if I should say something, but then I give up. I'm tired of lying, and even if it means Mom suspects something, I don't have the energy to be anybody but me out here.

The path is covered with fallen leaves, and our feet crunch through the fall foliage, even though there's still a layer of gold on the trees around us. Somewhere in the last month, autumn has come and almost gone, and I inhale deeply, enjoying the earthy smells of the forest and the sharp, clear scent of the falls. The trail twists and turns, and even though I can hear the subtle roar of the falls, I know we won't come out to a view of the water until the trail rounds the bend by the big curved tree up ahead. Sunlight dapples through the leaves, but the air is cold, and with a shiver, it really hits me that Halloween is next week. I have less than five days to get back in my body, or else Christina's going to fail her Threes in the most spectacular way.

_I wonder if I can just scribe a spell and reverse this without Christina,_ I think, my eyes drifting around the woods but not really focusing on anything. _Even if Christina doesn't believe it's my fault, I know it is. But I'm not sure what I did when I wrote the spell in the first place,_ I remind myself, _and if I don't know what I did, how can I undo it?_

My feet slow at the first overlook, and Mom comes to stand beside me for a moment, watching the steady stream of water crashing straight down, spraying the people on the bridge who've stopped with their cameras.

"Forces of nature," Mom says softly from beside me, "have always reminded me of your girls."

I swivel my head to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"Sisters always have a volatile relationship, but there's an added depth to you and your sister that isn't always there." She pauses, not looking at me. "It reminds me of me and your Aunt Jan."

I turn to face her. "Did you ever do anything to Aunt Jan that you regretted? I mean beyond taking Dad away from her," I add when she raises her eyebrow.

She studies my face. "Isn't that enough?"

I hesitate, thinking of Christina riding around in Miah's car in my body, maybe even getting my first kiss as we speak, and I clench my fists. "Yeah. It is."

"I don't want to see you make the same mistakes I made, Shelby."

It takes a minute for her words to penetrate, and when they finally do, I'm too confused to even argue. I stare at her, my mouth hanging open, and finally, I shake my head. "What—"

She sighs. "Don't lie to me. If you can't tell me what's going on, fine, but don't lie to me."

I click my teeth shut. "How did you know?"

Mom smiles, but her eyes look tired. "I haven't told Christina about your dad and Aunt Jan; just you."

The idea that my mom would have shared something with me that she hadn't told Christina makes me feel warm, but the fuzzy feeling is quickly replaced by guilt and fear. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Christina...we thought we could fix it before anyone needed to know."

Mom quirks an eyebrow. "When did it happen?"

I swallow. "A few days ago." I pause, debating whether or not to tell her that I'm to blame, but before I can decide, she surprises me by wrapping her arms around me in a tight embrace.

"You will always be my Shelby, no matter whose skin you're wearing. I'm only sorry I didn't realize sooner."

I laugh, but the sound is strangled and I realize I've choked up. "It's only been a couple of days, Mom. It's not like you had a lot of time to make comparisons."

"Still," she says, releasing me and studying my face. "A mother should be able to tell her girls apart."

I shrug, feeling bitter. "No one else has noticed," I admit, feeling my stomach turn sour when I think of Christina out with Miah, Christina reconciling with Kelsey, and just generally living my life better than I was.

Mom tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. "Can I help you girls sort it out?"

I pause. Now's my chance to tell her, to show her that I can actually scribe, and to ask her to help me undo this spell that I didn't even mean to write in the first place. But the words die on my lips. Would she even believe me? It's not like I've got a particularly glowing track record when it comes to scribing; if I were her, I don't think I'd believe that I could have come up with a spell like this, let alone mustered up enough energy to not only scribe, but to cast it, too. Our world doesn't work that way; either you're a scribe or a caster, but nobody can do both.

I shake my head, trying to ignore the way my heart sinks. "We're working on it. But thanks."

She studies my face. "I don't want to pressure you," she begins cautiously, "but the Threes are awfully soon."

I glare at her. "You think I don't know that?" Anger bubbles up, and I'm glad I didn't tell her everything. Even now, alone at Multnomah Falls, her biggest concern is for my precious sister. I whirl away and stride down the path before she can say anything, away from the falls. We haven't even hiked halfway, but suddenly, I can't bear to be out here anymore, and I lead the way back to the car in angry silence. Part of me wishes Mom would try to apologize, but she doesn't, and another part of me isn't surprised.

***

The light is on in my room when Mom and I get home, and ignoring her, I bolt up the stairs. I open the door to my room without knocking, wondering for one ridiculous moment if I'm about to walk in on my sister making out with Miah or something equally awful, but Christina is alone in my room, sitting at my desk reading. She glances up and gestures to the door.

"Close the door and come here."

She sounds excited, and I'm immediately suspicious. "What were you doing with Miah today?"

Her eyes are sparkling when she looks up at me. "I patched things up for you guys; I heard that Becca dumped him again at lunch, and I knew you wouldn't want to waste this time, so I figured I should talk to him."

I lower myself to the edge of the bed and stare at her skeptically. "That was...nice of you."

She shrugs. "Not really. I wanted to know where you'd been sneaking off when you hung out with him." She narrows her eyes at me. "Has he kissed you yet?"

I flush. "Not unless he kissed you today."

She shakes her head, and I exhale in relief. "He asked me if I was still willing to scribe for him, though," she says, watching my face carefully. "I didn't know what he was talking about, so I said yes."

I clench my fingers reflexively. "You shouldn't have done that."

She raises an eyebrow. "Would you rather let him run back to that nasty little witch?"

I hesitate, but then I shake my head. "But how are you going to scribe for him? You're a caster, not a scribe."

She grins, and with a sinking sensation, I remember the sight of my notebook in her hands the other night. "You've already come up with the spells, right?"

I nod. "But you can't go into my notebook like that. It's not right."

"Chill out, Shelby. I didn't just hand them to him. I told him we'd meet him tonight."

I stare at her. "Wait, what?"

She tosses her hair. "You certainly didn't think I was going to risk my neck sneaking out with him just so your little romance could get some traction, did you? We're going together. Mom and Dad are less likely to punish us if we both get caught, right?"

I shrug. It's been a long time since Christina and I teamed up against Mom and Dad, so I'm actually not sure what they would do. "I guess," I say slowly, considering.

Christina stands up, excitement oozing from her. "This way, if he needs more spells, you'll be on hand to scribe them, and I'll get a chance to see how some of the other casters do things."

My heart sinks. "So you know where we're going?"

"He didn't say where, just that it was a surprise in case the Caster Force showed up again, but yeah, I figured from what he was saying that it's some kind of underground spell battle." She laughs. "I'd heard of those, but I didn't realize there were any around here."

My brain races around, trying to think of an excuse to keep Christina away. "But you won't cast tonight, right? I mean, you're me; if you tried to join in, everyone would figure out there's something wrong with us pretty fast."

Christina smiles at me innocently. "I won't. But maybe you can."

I stare at her. "What?"

"It's perfect, really, a chance for us to practice before the Threes. You'll pretend to cast, but I'll be the one actually throwing the spells around."

I gape at her, my mouth open. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

She narrows her eyes. "Have you had any luck reversing this spell that you claim to have cast?"

I frown. "No, but—"

"Then it's time we come up with a contingency plan. I'm not about to let you ruin my chances at getting into a good coven. So," she takes a deep breath, steadying herself like she's not as sure of the idea as she sounds, "it makes sense. If we're stuck in each other's bodies, the least we can do it help each other."

I cross my arms and glare at her. "How does any of this help me?"

She looks at me for a moment. "If you're me, and I'm you," she begins finally, "we both have to be at the Threes."

"So?"

She exhales and stares at me, waiting for me to get it, but I'm still confused. "So," she finally huffs, "it will look like I'm using you. As my scribe."

Realization dawns on me, and for a minute I can't speak. "You'd pretend to do that for me?"

She turns away and starts rummaging through my closet. "Whatever. You're in my body right now, and I need to get into a coven. It's not like you can cast, so I have to be there, too, and it just makes the most sense to do it this way."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. Is this the same Christina who's made my life miserable for longer than I can remember? Suddenly wary, I pause. "What's in it for you?"

She glances up and glares at me. "I already told you. I need to pass my Threes, and if I'm stuck in your body, I can't let you throw away my one chance at my future." She shrugs. "It's an unlooked-for complication that you'll ride along to greatness with me, but whatever. As long as I get into Henbane, I guess I don't care if I give you a free ride, too."

I clench my fists. "So I won't actually be scribing for you?"

She grins nastily. "Let's see if your spells are any good tonight before I decide."

"You'd let Miah be the Guinea pig?" I stare at her incredulously. "The last spell battle almost killed him." I know that's not exactly true, but still, if he hadn't dived out of the way, Sanderson was ready to blast him with his wand, I'm sure.

Christina shrugs. "Better him than me. Consider this your audition; if your spells are any good tonight, then I'll think about using them at the Threes. It shouldn't matter either way," she points out, her tone dismissive. "Regardless, you'll still get into Henbane without having to take the scribe exam; why does it matter if I actually use your spells or not?"

Can she seriously not understand that as much as I want to get into a good coven, I don't want it to be rooted in a lie? I open my mouth to explain, but then I shut it and shake my hand. "It matters to me," I finally say, hating how lame my answer sounds.

Christina shrugs. "Then you better hope your spells work tonight." She hands me my notebook, and I have to restrain myself from snatching it out of her hands like a kid with a coveted toy. "You might want to make any changes now; I told Miah we'd meet him in half an hour."

My fingers wrap around the familiar spell book, but for a moment, it doesn't feel like it belongs to me anymore; it's like Christina has rubbed off on it in the days she's had it in her possession. "How are we going to get around Mom and Dad?"

She waves her hand dismissively. "I'll handle that. You just worry about scribing something that won't get your boyfriend killed. Unless it doesn't really matter to you," she adds meanly. "I mean, either way, you'll get in Henbane, so I guess there's no sweat."

I glare at her. "You are such a witch."

She lifts one shoulder, and it's weird to see such an angry look on my own familiar features. "Takes one to know one," she says. "Now leave. I need to get ready." She points to the door, and even though I want to grab her by the hair and drag her out of my room, I don't.

I look back over my shoulder before I leave, and I decide that to see if there's anything I can say that will shatter her commanding demeanor. "By the way, Mom knows."

Christina looks at me, pursing her lips, but then she shakes her head. "So what? It's not like she can fix this. You claim to be the only one who can do that, but now," she adds with a nasty smile, "I doubt you'll want to. Why give up a free ride, right, Shelby?"

My anger bubbles over, and I clench the spell book to my chest. _If I were a caster, I'd make her pay._ I whirl on my heel and slam the door behind me, too angry to speak. _Maybe I can still make her pay_ , I think, a dangerous plan forming in my mind. _After all, I'll be the one everyone thinks is her during the exam._
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When we walk up to the MAX station, I start to move toward Miah, but Christina holds me back.

"You're me, stupid," she hisses under her breath. "Try to act like it."

I clench my teeth and hang back, but it's harder than I thought it would be to watch Miah's eyes light up when my sister goes up to him. _Does she have to stand so close?_ He glances up at me and smiles, but there's a tightness around his eyes that wasn't there when he looked at Christina.

"Did you guys have any trouble sneaking out?"

I shake my head. "It was pretty easy. Thanks for letting me tag along."

He nods, glancing at my sister. "I suppose Shelby told you what this is all about?"

"Yeah, but don't worry; I don't want to cast tonight. I'm just here to watch."

His expression brightens, and he slides an arm around Christina's shoulder. "Hopefully, there will be a lot to see." He grins down at her, and my fingers clench reflexively. "Did you bring any spells, or am I on my own again?"

She smiles up at him, giving him an overly sappy expression that looks stupid on my face. "I've got a few," she says flirtatiously. "If you still want them."

I force myself not to gag, and I push past them to the waiting train. "Come on. You two can talk shop on the way there."

"Where are we going, anyway?" Christina asks, threading her fingers through Miah's as we board the train.

He winks. "It's a secret. I don't want to tell you until we get there, in case your dad decides to use his mind woojey powers to figure out what's going on."

I force a laugh. "He doesn't read our minds," I say with more confidence than I feel.

Christina glares at me. "But it's probably a good idea to be cautious about the Caster Force."

The train is full, so we lean against the poles in the middle as we pull out of the station. "You can say that again," Miah says, reaching up to grab the pole that my sister is leaning against, so it's almost like he's got an arm around her. I look away, trying to fight back the jealousy that's curling in my stomach. "After last time, I just don't want to take any chances."

Christina's eyes flicker to me, and I realize with satisfaction that I didn't tell her about the Caster Force showing up the last time I was there, or about Sanderson's arrest. I stare back at her innocently, and she fakes a smile. "Right. I'm glad you're being more careful tonight."

Miah leans toward her, surprisingly steady despite the swaying train. "So, what spells do you have for me?"

It nearly killed me to give Christina my notebook again, but she'd pointed out that it would look pretty weird if I were the one carrying it around, so she reaches into her bag and pulls out my spell book. She doesn't even glance at me as she flips the pages, and I try not to care. I tune them out, staring out the window at the fast-moving darkness around us, trying not to think about the guy I'm crazy about plotting strategy with my sister who looks like me. I shake my head. _Someday,_ I think, _I'll tell him about this mess, and maybe we'll laugh about it._ My stomach clenches as soon as the thought flickers through my mind, and I cross my fingers with the desperate hope that Miah and I will have a _someday_ that will matter.

***

We change trains once, and finally we get off near the river, at the same stop Kelsey and I take whenever we go down to the flea markets and vendors that set up every weekend for Saturday Market. It's disorienting to be there in the dark, however; instead of bright tables overflowing with cool products and bustling people, the riverbank is dark and gloomy, looking more like something out of a murder mystery novel than the cheerful flea market I'm used to. For a minute, it almost feels like the shadows are growing, and I shake my head, trying to stop worrying about the creepy sensation that's crawling across my spine.

Miah grabs my sister's hand, and my own fingers feel cold as I clench my fists and follow the two of them under one of Portland's many bridges. The huddle of casters and scribes is smaller than the last two times at the zoo, and I wonder if the Caster Force showing up last time scared off more people than Miah wants to admit. Even though I know he's been arrested, my eyes can't help searching the crowd for Sanderson, and I exhale in relief when I don't spot his tall, imposing form.

Manuel and Sampson are nowhere to be seen, but Jess and Jorge are talking quietly underneath one of the large bridge supports. They stop talking when we approach, and Jess flicks her eyes over me distrustfully. I cross my arms and try not to care.

Miah lets go of Christina's hand long enough to greet Jorge and Jess, but my relief is short lived; she inches closer to him, and he puts an arm around her shoulder as if it's the most natural thing ever. "Shelby's got some spells for me," he says with a smile. "Tonight's going to be my best battle yet."

Jess rolls her eyes and looks past him to me. "You always say that." Her eyes narrow. "You'd let your scribe work for somebody else?"

It takes me a minute to realize she's talking to me, and I force myself to shrug. "It's her choice. Besides, I'm not here to cast. I just want to watch."

Jess studies me for a long moment, and then she looks away and mutters something under her breath to Jorge. I can't hear what she says, but Christina stiffens before she glances at me and forces a laugh, and I bite back a smile. I'm guessing Jess isn't my sister's biggest fan, and given Christina's flashing expression, she heard something she didn't like. I grin at her, some of my anxiety drifting away in the face of my sister's discomfort, but she recovers quickly, turning to Miah with a saccharine smile.

"Should we go over the spells?" She says, tipping her head toward an even darker corner under the bridge. "I mean, don't you want to...practice?" Her eyes flicker to mine, issuing a challenge, but I grit my teeth and don't say anything, even when Jorge lets out a ridiculous whistle.

Miah nods at her, placing a hand on the small of her back, and they step deeper into the gloom under the bridge. I try not to stare after them, but I can't help it; a territorial sense of jealousy threatens to overwhelm me, worse than I feel when I see Becca with him, but finally, I drag my eyes away.

Jess is watching me. "Why are you really here?"

I shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. "Shelby talked about this, and I told her I'd help her sneak out if I could come watch."

"You're not thinking about stealing your sister back from him to be your scribe again, are you?" Jess asks, narrowing her eyes. "You know, with the Threes all that."

I look at her, and I force myself to give her the glare I've seen Christina use on people she thinks are particularly stupid. "She's my sister," I say, as if Jess is an idiot. "Of course she'll scribe for me at the Threes. What, did he seriously plan to take the exam with a brand-new scribe?"

Jess holds my gaze for a moment, but then she shrugs. "I don't know what he was planning, but I've got a feeling there's a lot more between them than just the relationship between a caster and his scribe."

"I guess we'll see, won't we?" I say meanly, feeling all my insecurity and fear well up. "I mean, just because she's going to scribe for him tonight doesn't mean she'll be his scribe. At least not at the exam," I say, trying to sound sure of myself, but inside, my heart feels like it's breaking. What if Miah was expecting me to scribe for the Threes for him? That thought hadn't occurred to me when Christina and I were making our plan, but now I'm torn. I can't let her down and ruin her future, but if Miah was counting on me, too, is it fair to destroy his plans just to help my sister?

Jess shrugs, looking bored. "You're probably right. He probably wouldn't risk using a new scribe for something as important as the Threes. He's probably got a bunch of old spells from Becca that he can use."

_Or he'll just go online again_ , I think to myself, but I bite the words back when I realize that Christina has no reason to know where Miah's spells come from. I glance into the gloom under the bridge, but my sister and Miah have moved out of sight, and my stomach turns over at the thought of them alone in the darkness. Are they discussing strategy, I wonder, or something else? I feel totally alone, even though Jess and Jorge are still standing nearby, and for one desperate moment, I wish I'd tried harder to come up with a spell that would get me back in my body where I belong. Even getting into Henbane isn't worth this.

Before I can ask Jess if I can borrow a scrap of paper and start scribbling, however, someone lets out a shrill whistle that echoes under the bridge, and the energy shifts as everyone turns to look at the girl who's always in charge. Tonight, her hair is held away from her face by a black bandana, and she almost looks like she's getting ready to go on some kind of covert spy mission. She puts her hands on her hips and surveys the crowd with a calculating smile, and I suppress a shiver of fear.

"All right," she announces. "Let's get this party started.

***

The first two spell battles go by in a blur, and even though I applaud when Jess does, I don't have the first idea what's happening. I'm too worried about what will happen if they call Miah's name and he goes out there with nothing but my spells to defend himself. Surreptitiously, I look over my shoulder where he and Christina are standing, hand in hand, quietly watching the action and occasionally whispering to each other. I try to tell myself that it will be okay, that the spells I wrote for Miah are just as good as the ones I was selling to the normies, but I can't fight back the frightening sensation that his life is in my hands. _If he goes up against someone like Sanderson again,_ I realize with a chill, _no spells will be enough._

Nobody else has pulled a wand all night, but I'm jittery. The memory of Miah lying still beneath the shattered glass as the hippo charged into the crowd isn't something I'm likely to forget, and my palms are slick with sweat by the time the girl calls out, "Smallwood and Valencia."

Jorge groans good-naturedly and smiles at Miah. "No cheating, bro."

Miah laughs and squeezes Christina's hand. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The crowd steps back, and they take their places, facing each other. Somehow, I've ended up standing next to Christina, and when she glances up at me, I'm surprised to see a flicker of worry in her eyes. I lean down and whisper, "Which spells is he going to use?"

"He seemed set on that ridiculous spell with the swirls and fireworks, but I tried to steer him toward a couple of the simpler defensive spells, too." She pauses. "If they work, they look like pretty good spells, except that showy one."

I shrug, lowering my voice in case anyone is paying attention to us. "He asked for that one; he said he wanted something like what he'd seen you do at a Threes practice."

She looks puzzled for a minute, but then she grins. "Your spell is nothing like that."

I want to ask her where she's been getting her spells, but before I can say anything else, there's a clap of thunder and Jorge is sailing through the air. Christina nods in approval. "Good one to start off with."

I hate it, but I agree with her. Miah's taken his friend by surprise, and I can see Jorge's eyes frantically asking Jess how he should counter attack. She mouths something I don't understand, and Jorge smiles, suddenly confident again. He raises his left hand and flourishes it, his lips barely moving.

Miah freezes in his tracks, as if his feet are glued to the ground. He looks down and tries to lift his shoes, and then he looks at me. No, not at me; at Christina. There's a pause, and then she realizes what he's asking her, and she starts flipping through my spell book before holding up three fingers. I glance over her shoulder, surprised to see the page open to the all-purpose hex I'd written when I was selling my spells to normies.

"But shouldn't he—" I begin to ask, but my words are cut off by the collective gasp from the crowd around us. Miah's knocked Jorge back all the way to the river bank, and for one moment, he teeters on the edge, as if he's about to flip over the railing and into the cold water, but he regains his balance and retaliates with a sloppy blast of purple fire.

Miah dodges the fireball and winks at Christina. He lifts both hands, and all of a sudden, he lights up like a Roman candle. Sparks sail out of his fingers in all directions, and Miah swings his arms like a windmill, launching the fireworks at Jorge. Jess is shouting something beside me, but I'm too fixated on Miah to listen to her words. Jorge ducks as one of the fireworks sails over his head and lands with a sizzling splash in the river behind him, and when he pops back up, he's already casting another spell.

The fire in Miah's hands fizzles and dies, and all of a sudden, he's holding a pair of purple pom-poms. Everyone laughs, and he throws them to one side. Jorge advances on him, and they both lift their hands at the same moment. When their different spells collide, there's a sound like a sonic boom, and then a huge gust of wind sweeps through the space, threatening to knock everyone off their feet. In the center of it all, Jorge and Miah are laughing and clasping each other's hands. "It's a tie," Miah calls out, slapping his friend on the back.

The tension around us dissipates, and everyone starts talking and laughing. Miah picks up the pom-poms and shakes them in Jorge's face, but he doesn't look angry that he didn't win. In fact, he looks exhilarated, and his eyes meet mine in the crowd before skimming down to my sister. He reaches his arms out to her, and she runs up to him, letting him pick her up exuberantly. "Those were some of the best spells I've used!" He declares, and I feel like I'm about to explode with pride. But then, without warning, he lowers his face and kisses Christina, and I feel like I've been turned to stone.

***

"You can't seriously still be mad, can you?" Christina stands in the doorway of her bedroom, hands on her hips, glaring at me as I rip the posters off her ceiling the next day.

I pause in my work to glare at her, but I don't answer. The poster makes a satisfying sound as it comes off the ceiling, and I crumple it up before throwing it to the floor and reaching for another.

Christina shuts the door and crosses to pick up the discarded poster. "Okay, fine, I get it, you're pissed, but you have to stop trashing my room."

"It's my room right now, so I really don't think you've got any say."

She narrows her eyes. "Shelby, I'm not trying to take your boyfriend. Remember, _he_ kissed _me,_ not the other way around."

"You didn't have to act so happy about it!"

"What did you want me to do? Push him off and tell him his breath smells bad? Then you'd never have a shot with him once all this is straightened out and we're back in our bodies." She picks up another crumpled poster and tries to smooth it out. "Really, I did you a favor."

I jump down off the bed. "Well, don't do me any more favors."

Her eyes narrow. "Fine. Fine, then. Let's switch bodies right now, and I'll do my Threes by myself and you'll have to make do with whatever coven you can get into on your own."

I stomp past her and yank open the door. "You think I haven't been trying? I can't figure out how to undo this spell."

She snorts. "I find that hard to believe. Your spells for Miah worked pretty well last night."

"Do you seriously think I'm making this up? Believe me, I'm so sick of being you that I could scream."

We glare at each other for a minute, and Christina finally backs down. "Okay, fine, you can't figure anything out. You said Mom knew; do you think we should maybe ask her for help?"

I exhale, watching my dreams of getting into a good coven go up in smoke. "It's worth a shot. I want this to end, now."

"Okay." Christina nods. "Let's go talk to her."

But when we go downstairs, Mom isn't in the kitchen. I glance at the calendar on the wall and frown. "She doesn't have anything written down for this afternoon. Do you think she's still up at the school?"

"Maybe." Christina pulls out her phone and punches the speed dial. After a minute, she lowers the phone, frowning. "It went straight to voicemail."

Mom's usually pretty easy to get a hold of, especially where we're concerned, and even though she sometimes stays late at work, she usually leaves a note or something. Unbidden, a prickle of fear works its way across the back of my neck. "You don't think something's wrong, do you?"

Christina starts to shake her head, but then she pauses. "She has looked tired lately," she begins slowly.

In a rush, I remember what Mom said when she drove me to school all those weeks ago. "She's seeing a specialist." The words pop out.

"What for?"

I shift uncomfortably. "I don't know, but she had a doctor appointment the day I slept in, and I didn't get a chance to ask about it."

We stare at each other for a minute, and I can almost read my own frightened thoughts in Christina's eyes. Before we can voice anything, however, Christina's phone beeps insistently, and we both jump.

She glances at the screen, and her face turns ashen. I swallow, and finally manage to ask, "What is it?"

Wordlessly, she flashes me the screen. The text from Dad is short, but that doesn't diffuse the impact his words have on both of us. "At the hospital. Mom says don't worry."

We stare at each other for a minute, and then Christina reaches for the car keys hanging on the hook by the door. "Come on," she says, heading for the garage.

I rush after her, my heart pounding. "Can you seriously drive? I mean, aren't you supposed to have an adult in the car?"

"Seriously, Shelby? This is an emergency."

I slide into the passenger seat and she slams the driver's door behind her. "I know," I say, not sure why I'm even pressing the issue. "But couldn't you get in a lot of trouble?"

She rolls her eyes. "We'll just have to hope we don't get pulled over."

***

We make it to the hospital in one piece, but my heart is hammering in my chest as we walk through the automatic doors. I hesitate, glancing around at the busy waiting room, searching for Dad, but Christina marches straight up to the reception desk, and I hurry after her.

A friendly looking normie in aqua scrubs is standing behind the desk, glancing at a file folder in his hands, but he looks up when we approach and he smiles. "Can I help you girls?"

Christina nods. "We're looking for our mom. Elena King."

The man nods and turns to a computer monitor. He clicks through a few screens, his eyes skimming, and then he glances back at us. His expression makes me want to scream; where he seemed friendly before, now his eyes look like concerned. "You can't see her right now," he begins, looking at me. For a moment, I wonder why, but then I remember that I'm in Christina's body; he must think I'm the older one of us, so he's talking to me.

"Why not?"

"She's in surgery."

Christina and I gape at him. "Surgery?" I finally manage to sputter. "What kind of surgery?"

"Your father is in the waiting room on the 7th floor; he can tell you better than I can."

I glare at him, but Christina speaks first. "Why won't you tell us what's wrong?"

The nurse shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but we can't give out information about patients. But like I said, there's a note here that a Marshal King is waiting upstairs, and I assume that's your dad. I can tell you how to find him, but I can't do more than that." He pauses, then smiles gently. "I'm sorry. But you'll have to ask your dad for more details."

I inhale sharply, getting ready to yell at the stupid normie, but Christina grips my arm tight, digging her fingernails into my skin. "We'll go find him," she says, giving me a tug. "7th floor?"

He nods. "Turn left off the elevators and follow the blue line on the wall."

Christina barely acknowledges his words as she pulls me toward the elevator. Once the silver doors close behind us, I look at her, feeling totally helpless. "Surgery?"

She shrugs, but her jaw is tense. "It could be nothing. I hope it's nothing."

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. Despite Christina's brave words, I have this horrible sinking feeling in my stomach that tells me this isn't nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When we get upstairs, I see what the nurse meant about the blue line; there are three stripes painted along the wall, one blue, one green, and one red, and as we walk down the hallway, the colors occasionally veer off at corners. I guess that's an easy enough way to give directions in a hospital, and my pulse picks up as we round the corner and the blue line ends at a large waiting area.

"There," Christina says, pointing to Dad's imposing frame. He's standing near a magazine rack, staring at the titles as if he can't see them, and we hurry to him. Christina slips an arm around him and he starts, looking at both of us in surprise.

"What are you girls doing here?"

"We got your text. How is...where is Mom?" Christina clears her throat.

Dad looks down at her, and then his gaze shifts to me. "There's nothing to worry about."

My throat tightens. "The guy downstairs said she was in surgery. What happened?"

Just then, a doctor in a crisp white coat comes around the corner, and when Dad spots him, he hurries to meet the man. Christina and I exchange a quick look before we follow him.

The doctor is smiling as he shakes Dad's hand. "She's out of surgery, and the prognosis looks good. With proper recovery time, I have no reason to think her sight will be permanently impaired."

"Her sight?" I blurt out, not understanding. The doctor looks at me, and then glances back at Dad before answering.

"Your mother has been experiencing symptoms of severe retinal detachment, but the surgery she underwent today has a ninety-five percent success rate, so I'm optimistic."

I look at Christina, and my shoulders sag in relief. "So it's not serious?"

"Oh, on the contrary, if we had let it go much longer without surgery, it could have been very serious. Without treatment, blindness is often the result of retinal detachment like your mother was experiencing. But," he adds cheerfully, "I believe we caught it in time."

_Blindness_? I stare at him, processing his words. _Could Mom still scribe if she was blind?_ I swallow, trying to draw my thoughts away from what ifs and back to the present. "Can we see her?"

He glances at Dad, who nods, and the doctor smiles again. "Of course. I'll take you back there."

I'm bursting with questions I don't want to ask in front of the doctor, but to my surprise, Christina doesn't seem to have any hesitations. "How long have you guys known about this?" She asks Dad, keeping her voice low.

He shrugs, but he doesn't look at her. "Your mother didn't want to worry you girls. She's been consulting with a specialist to try to figure out what was going on with her vision for a month."

"And she...she won't have any problems now?" I venture, my thoughts still swirling.

Dad nods. "That's what the doctor said." He drops his voice so low I have to strain to hear. "Although I doubt she'll be up to scribing any time soon." He looks apologetically at me. "You're on your own for your Threes."

I shake my head automatically. "Shelby's going to help me," I say, feigning confidence I don't even come close to feeling. "Right?"

Christina looks at me, and we have a silent conversation; if Mom's recovering from eye surgery, there's no way we can ask her to help us before the exam. After a moment, she nods slightly. "Right."

Dad glances at the two of us skeptically, but then he smiles. "I'm glad you girls are pulling together for a change."

Christina rolls her eyes, but before either of us can retort, the doctor stops and gestures to a door. "I'll give you a few minutes alone to talk. I'm sure Elena will be happy to see you."

Suddenly, my nerves return, even though eye surgery is nowhere near as awful as I'd started to imagine, and I glance at Christina. Her eyes are glassy, but she rolls her shoulders back and gives me a slight nod before we follow Dad into the hospital room.

Mom is propped up in the weird bed that looks like an angled stretcher, and her left eye is covered with a thick wedge of gauze held onto her head with medical tape. There are wires connecting her body to various monitors, but otherwise, we could be in a hotel, with the neutral walls, white bedding, and windows letting in the afternoon sunlight. It's a small room, and mom has it to herself, even though there's another bed in the corner, waiting for its next patient.

Mom's good eye darts to my face, and then to Christina, searching. I wonder if she's trying to figure out if we've changed places yet, and when she looks at me again, I shake my head slightly. Her lips tighten for a moment, like she's worried, but she smooths her expression and lifts her face up for Dad to kiss her gently.

"I wasn't expecting a party!" She says, her tone light.

Dad pulls up a chair and sits down next to her. "I texted the girls, and I guess they didn't want to wait." He pauses, as if finally processing the fact that we showed up at the hospital thirty minutes from our house, and he gives me a hard look. "Did you drive?"

I almost tell him that Christina drove, but I bite back my words, remembering that Dad doesn't know about the body swap. _Let's hope he never finds out_ , I think, remembering with a shiver his no tolerance policy for magical rule breakers. I swallow nervously. "Yeah. I was really careful, though."

He frowns. "We'll talk about you breaking the law later. But I'll drive you both home in a few."

I nod, glancing at my sister, and I'm surprised that she looks just as worried as I do. _I guess Dad scares both of us_ , I think, and for some reason, that's almost comforting.

We make awkward small talk, but Mom looks tired, and it isn't long before the doctor returns and gently sends us on our way. Before we leave, I lean over and hug Mom, and she squeezes me tightly. "Good luck on your Threes," she says, looking into my eyes as if trying to tell me something without words.

I glance at Christina, and she nods. "I'm going to scribe for her," she says. "So we'll both be there."

Mom's uncovered eye looks at me first, then at my sister, and she looks like she wants to ask a question, but then she just shakes her head and smiles. "I think that's a good idea. After all, this affects both of your futures."

I nod, feeling a prickle of apprehension. Last night, when Christina first suggested her plan, it seemed doable, but then this afternoon, when we'd decided to go to Mom for help, I felt overwhelmingly relieved. The reality that I'll be taking my sister's place for the biggest casting event of her life settles over me with an icy weight, and suddenly, I'm terrified of what tomorrow will bring.

***

Dad lectures me for most of the drive home, even going so far as to threaten not to sign off on my supervised driving hours, but Christina's license is the farthest thing from my mind. I glance at the rearview mirror, meeting Christina's eyes for a moment, and she mouths the words, "Just breathe." If she's not worried, I guess there's no reason for me to freak out, but still, as soon as we're back to the house, I grab her hand and pull her into my bedroom.

"So we're really going to do this."

She looks annoyed. "Shelby, unless you've figured out how to reverse this spell in the last half hour, then yes, we're really going to do this. I don't see what other option we have, with Mom..." she trails off, and then she clears her throat. "I don't want to bother her right now."

I nod my head quickly. "No, I agree. It's just—"

"Did you want to ask Dad?" She raises an eyebrow, and I shudder.

"God, can you imagine what he'd do? He'd go through the roof."

Christina nods. "Not to mention I'm sure there's probably some magical law against impersonating somebody else or something; knowing Dad, he's just as likely to call in the Caster Force as he is to help us."

She's right, but I can't help wishing for a fleeting moment that Dad would be on our side. I take a deep breath. "So I'm you."

Christina smiles. "For now. We'll get through the Threes, and we'll both get into Henbane, and then when it's all over and we have some breathing room, we'll straighten this mess out once and for all."

I exhale slowly, resigned to my terrifying fate. "Okay. What do I need to know to pass the test?"

"I'll be the one doing all the magic," she reminds me.

"I know, but I have to make it look believable. We need to rehearse or something."

She pauses, considering. "I guess you're right," she concedes. "Wait here."

She leaves me alone in my bedroom, but as I stand there looking at all my familiar things, the room suddenly feels foreign, like it's not mine anymore. I shake my head, dispelling the depressing thought, and when I turn around, Christina slips through the door and closes it after her. She's holding a small diary, something I've never seen before.

"These are the spells I was planning to use," she says, holding the notebook out to me. Her hands shake slightly, and I realize that this is as personal for her as my spell book is for me, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of sympathy for my sister. But then she ruins it by saying, "You think you're smart enough to memorize the whole thing by tomorrow?"

I grab the notebook and glare at her. "I'll do what needs to be done." Flipping through the pages, my eyes skim the spells. Christina's been collecting a ton; some are long and complicated, and others are only a word or two, but there must be over a hundred spells in the small notebook, and I've never even heard of most of them. I look up to find her watching me intently. "Where did they all come from?"

She exhales slowly and looks away. "I've been buying them for a long time."

"Buying them?" It takes a minute for the words to sink in. "What, like on the Internet?"

She nods, not meeting my eyes. "When you started selling spells, I panicked. I mean, what if these spells aren't any good? If you could do it, well, _anybody_ could." She flounders, and then she clears her throat. "I mean, you know your spells weren't any good until this year."

I want to be angry with her, but mostly, I just feel tired. "I know. But now they work. Or at least," I amend, "it seems like the work. Miah didn't have any trouble with the ones he used last night."

Christina hesitates, but then she nods. "I haven't had a chance to test all of these," she admits. "I guess we don't have to use the ones I haven't tested." After a beat, she says, "Do you think you could scribe a couple spells, too, just so you'd have some you're familiar with tomorrow?"

I stare at her, wondering if I heard her right. "You're going to help me get into a coven," I begin slowly, "and now you're actually asking for my spells? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?"

She sticks her tongue out at me. "Fine, be a brat. It was just an idea."

"No," I say hurriedly, grasping at this chance before it passes me by. "I'll scribe for you, if you want. I want to earn my way into the coven; I don't want to feel like I owe you for the rest of my life."

She laughs. "You already owe me, Shelby. I let that stupid boy kiss me, and let me tell you, he didn't bother with a breath mint."

For a minute, I want to smack her, but then she cracks a smile, and I can't help it; I giggle. In a second, we're both laughing, and every time we start to get a grip, our eyes meet and the giggling starts again. I haven't felt this close to her, this easy with her, since we were kids, and in the midst of the warm fuzzies that accost me, I can't even stay angry about her kissing Miah anymore.

"Okay," I finally say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "Show me which spells to cut, and then we'll figure out what new ones you need."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Christina and I stay up way past the so-called "witching hour"; we work until dawn, memorizing spells, talking about strategy, and filling in the gaps in Christina's spell arsenal with some of my own creations. With Mom still in the hospital, no one bothers to tell us to go to school in the morning, and once Dad has left for work, I call into the school and excuse both of us before staggering into Christina's room and landing face down on her bed. When I finally wake up, afternoon sunlight is streaming into the room, and I'm hungry enough to eat everything in the house.

I stumble down to the kitchen, rubbing my eyes and reciting spells, trying to remember everything that Christina and I talked about, but I pause on the threshold to the kitchen. My sister is sitting there at the island, clutching a coffee cup like it's a lifeline with her eyes closed. _This is so much harder on her than it is on me_ , I realize with sudden clarity. Her whole future hinges on this test, and Christina's a control freak; it can't be easy for her to step back and watch me take her place. I feel a twinge of guilt that I haven't tried harder to come up with a spell that will swap us back into our proper bodies, and Christina opens her eyes as if she'd heard my thoughts.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, and then she pats the barstool next to her. "Breakfast?"

I laugh, but it sounds forced. "Lunch, more like it. Is there more coffee?"

She nods. "I made a pot. Your mug is on the counter."

I cross to the coffee pot behind her, surprised and touched that she bothered to fish my favorite big mug out of the dishwasher. "Thanks." After filling my cup, I slide onto the stool beside Christina, and for a moment we sit there sipping in silence. Finally, I turn to face her, and she lifts her eyes to mine.

"I'm sorry," I say, knowing the words can never be enough. "I seriously didn't mean for all this to happen."

A ghost of a smile flickers across her face. "I guess it wouldn't have happened if I weren't such a bitch."

I stare at her, stunned. "Seriously? No guilt trip or anything?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong; this spell seriously sucks. But," she adds thoughtfully, staring into her coffee cup as if it holds all the answers, "I guess you never would have scribed something like that if I'd been different."

"I didn't even think I was scribing," I admit to her, startled into honesty by her words. "I mean, when I scribe, it's different; I've got an intention before I begin, and I try to find the words that will make that intention reality. But with this mess, I wasn't thinking; I was just writing, just venting. I never meant to turn my anger into a spell."

Christina considers for a moment. "But clearly your words worked. What I can't figure out is how; even the best scribes can't actually cast their spells, at least not so that there's any lasting effect. We've been stuck in each other's bodies all week. That's the part that doesn't make sense."

I sigh heavily and take a sip of coffee. "I know. And I don't have any idea to fix it."

To my surprise, Christina drapes her arm around my shoulders and gives me an awkward hug. "First, let's get through the Threes tonight. Then we can worry about the rest of this mess, okay?"

I nod. "Okay." Taking a final swig of my coffee, I stand up. "Want to practice one more time?"

***

Mom is still in the hospital that evening, so Dad drives us to the exam. "Now, this is going to be a lot different than your practices," he reminds me as we turn onto the highway. "For one thing, the covens rented out a convention center, so there's way more room, but I'm sure they'll give all the casters a map."

I swallow, clenching my fists and digging my fingernails into the flowy black lace tunic that's bunched up in my lap. Other than the purple velvet ribbon at my throat, I'm covered head to toe in black. Christina picked the clothes, and even though I feel like a walking corpse, I wasn't about to argue with her, not when there's so much as stake for both of us. She doesn't know that I pulled on my favorite pair of sparkly silver socks, though; they look like an extension of the Chucks on Christina's feet, and just knowing I'm wearing something of mine under Christina's black armor makes me feel a little better. "Got it. Convention center."

Dad glances at me and then looks back at the road. "Just relax. You're a King; there's absolutely nothing to worry about."

My eyes meet Christina's in the rearview mirror, and I swallow nervously. _Sure. Nothing except our futures hinging on a ridiculous game of make-believe._

When we pull up to the hotel, Dad's hand lingers on the gearshift. "I can come in with you, if you want," he offers, "but I know I might make you more nervous. It's up to you."

I shake my head. "I can do it," I say, willing myself to believe the words. "Will you pick us up when it's done?"

"Of course." He pauses, but then he reaches over and gives me a quick one-armed hug. "Make us proud, sweetie."

My mouth is dry. "I'll do my best."

He nods, smiling. "Then you'll be the best caster in there, hands down."

Christina and I get out of the car and wave as he pulls away, but then I turn to her and square my shoulders. "Let's get this over with."

She grins. "Ready whenever you are."

I close my eyes, reminding myself for the umpteenth time that this is only going to work if I can think like Christina, act like Christina. With one last deep breath, I cross my fingers and stride into the hotel, my sister trailing along in my wake.

Feigning the confidence I've always envied Christina for, I march up to the long table in the center of the lobby. Older casters and scribes, people who look like they're already in college, are milling around on one side of the table, sorting through stacks of paper and occasionally making notes on a spreadsheet. I can feel Christina hovering behind me when I catch the eye of one of the volunteers and offer him a tight smile.

"I'm Christina King," I say, my voice firm. "And this is my scribe, Shelby."

***

The first part of the exam is the exhibition, where all the casters get ten minutes each to perform their flashiest spells. The casters have been grouped alphabetically, and Christina and I are sitting in stiff chairs in a small ballroom with a dozen other casters from H through M, waiting for our turn. I'm relieved that Miah isn't in our group; it's going to be hard enough to carry off this charade in general, but I honestly don't know if I could do it with him watching.

A petite woman with her silver hair pulled back into a smooth bun steps to the front of the room, and the buzz of conversation instantly hushes. "Welcome," she begins, looking around at each of the casters arrayed in front of her. "We are looking forward to seeing what you're made of today." Her eyes land on mine, and I'm mesmerized by her steely stare. For a minute, I'm afraid she can see right through me, and I almost forget to breathe.

When her eyes leave mine for another victim, I lean back against my seat and exhale softly. "Who is that?" I whisper to Christina.

"Madame Sanderson, the head of Lavender." Her words are barely audible, but in the stillness of the room, it feels like everyone is suddenly listening to us. I wonder if she's related to the caster who pulled a wand on Miah. Madame Sanderson's eyes meet mine again, but she doesn't say anything, just clucks her tongue and shakes her head slightly, and my cheeks heat up. I look like such an idiot; no other caster needs to ask her scribe who one of the heads of one of the covens is, and I feel humiliated.

When the first caster gets up for his exhibition, however, my earlier humiliation pales in comparison to the way I feel watching him cast spells for ten solid minutes without even acknowledging his scribe once. I lean over to Christina. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. You don't have any choice."

The next couple of casters actually seem to be using their scribes, and I feel a little better when a girl I vaguely recognize from school bites her lip, trailing off in the middle of a spell, and looks helplessly at her scribe, standing off to one side. The guy doesn't miss a beat, just whispers the words to her, and the caster finishes her exhibition with an impressive puff of glittery smoke. I glance at Madame Sanderson, sitting at the back of the room with the other judges, but I can't tell from her expression if the caster did well or blew it by asking for help.

Then, all of a sudden, it's our turn. Christina comes to the front of the room with me and stands off to one side, like we'd practiced. Like I've seen the other casters do, I stand in the center of the space and bow to the judges. "Christina King," I say, clenching my fists and praying my voice doesn't shake. There's a long pause, and then Madame Sanderson waves her hand, the signal to begin.

I take a deep breath and launch into my first spell, gesturing to the right and left. I try not to glance at Christina, but I can feel her just out of my peripheral vision, and I hope that anyone who notices her lips moving will think she's just reciting the words of the spell along with me. I don't want to consider what will happen if anyone realizes I'm not actually doing any magic.

Twin columns of purple flame shoot up on either side of me, and I lower my hands, gesturing the way Christina showed me. The fire shifts and twists, dancing like a snake, and then it shimmers and I'm flanked by trickling fountains instead. The water vanishes before it hits the floor, but the sweat on my forehead is real. Like a choreographed dance, I move my hands and mouth the words Christina taught me, while she casts spell after spell. For our grand finale, we've decided to use my sparkler spell that I wrote for Jeremiah, and as the fireworks die around me and everyone claps politely, I can't help but think about him, somewhere else in the convention center, trying to wow the judges in his room. _I wonder if he'll use that spell_ , I think to myself as I bow and hurry back to my seat, Christina close behind.

I sag against the chair as soon as we sit down, and I'm too drained to even care about the rest of the exhibitions. They go on and on, and through my stupor, I begin to notice that my stomach is empty and I'm feeling shaky. Finally, when everyone's done, Madame Sanderson stands up again. Her expression is bland, but her eyes flash with intelligence, and once again, I fight back the fear that she'll be able to see through my act. "We'll take a short break. Casters, report back to the registration desk at five thirty." She claps her hands once, and as if she's used magic, everyone stands up simultaneously and begins to file out of the room. I glance back over my shoulder, and I sigh with relief when I realize that Madame Sanderson is sitting down with the judges once more. For a second, I was afraid she was watching me.

Once we're out in the hallway, Christina grabs my hand. "Come on. If we hurry, we can grab a snack before the next round."

My stomach growls in agreement, but I hang back for a minute. "Did I do okay?"

She nods. "It went really well. But we're not through yet; we've still got the individual coven exams, and then the final ceremony."

I nod, but my hungry stomach has lurched, and I'm afraid I'm about to throw up. Christina sees it on my face, and the next thing I know, she mutters something and suddenly, I feel great again. I stare at her. "What did you just do?"

She doesn't answer. "We can go over our strategy while you eat. Come on," she adds, turning down the hall toward the hotel restaurant.

I pause and put my hand on my stomach, but my nausea is gone as if it never existed. _Did she just use a spell on me?_ I don't know why the thought leaves me so unsettled, but I'm grateful to feel better, at least, and I follow Christina toward the food.

***

We wolf down food from a vending machine as we walk through the convention center. When we get back to the registration desk, Christina prods me in the back and I go over to another volunteer. He looks up at me over his thick horn-rimmed glasses and smiles.

"King, right?"

I nod, surprised. "Yeah. Christina."

"Yeah, I figured. Your dad's always talking about you."

I must look confused, because he shakes his head with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I'm Carter; I started interning with the Force this semester."

"Oh." Dad hasn't mentioned any interns; in fact, Dad rarely talks about his work on the Force at all, other than to remind me and Christina not to ever even consider breaking any of the magical rules that govern all casters and scribes. The guy is kind of cute, though, and he seems friendly, so I smile. "I hope he's said good things," I finally offer, even though it feels so weird to know the guy is talking to the wrong sister.

He grins broadly. "Of course!" He winks. "I'll be excited to hear which coven you pick when this is over. I know your dad's pulling for Henbane, but I can tell you we'd be glad to have you in Bittersweet." He hands me a sheet of paper and smiles again. "Good luck with the rest of the exam!"

"Thanks," I say, retreating quickly to where Christina is waiting for me, hovering beside a large potted plant.

She grabs my arm as soon as I walk up and pulls me close to her. "Who was _that?_ "

"Him?" I tip my head back toward the registration desk. "That's Dad's intern."

She studies him, and then she smiles. "He's really cute."

"He asked about you."

She looks at me, her face bright. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, he said he'd heard a lot about you from Dad. He's in Bittersweet," I add, wondering why my sister is acting so dippy all of a sudden.

She sighs and glances at Carter again over my shoulder. "Why couldn't it be Henbane?"

"Can we focus? Here's the schedule for the individual coven exams." I hand her the paper and shift on my feet, rocking back and forth between my heels and toes. "What's the plan?"

She skims the list. "Henbane is last; we'll want to save the best spells for them, but there's no rule that says we can't repeat if necessary." She bites her lip and looks over my shoulder again. "I don't really care about Lavender or Fennel."

"What's this part of the exam going to be like, anyway?"

She looks at me, and her eyes are concerned. "No one really talks about it. But you'll be fine."

I blench, remembering something she said about the coven exams sometimes being dangerous. "You don't think—" I begin, but before I can worry out loud, a series of chimes sounds through the reception area, and everyone around us begins moving back in the direction of the ballrooms where we tested for the first part.

"Come on," Christina says, grabbing my arm. "It's time."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The first coven on my schedule is Fennel, and Christina and I wait silently in the hallway outside a room with the other casters and scribes. After a few nervous moments, the door swings open and Becca's mom steps into the hall. Her eyes sweep across the crowd, and when she spots me and Christina, the corner of her lips twitch up in a fake smile. "Christina," she says in a clear voice, "we'll start with you."

I gulp, and Christina and I move toward the door, but Mrs. McClure shakes her head. "Just Christina, I'm afraid," she says, addressing my sister. "There's no need for a scribe right now."

For one panicked moment, I can't breathe, but then Christina squeezes my arm. "Good luck," she says, sounding for all the world like she's not about to hyperventilate. "I'll be right here when you're done."

Mrs. McClure purses her lips and ushers me into the room, shutting the door behind her and cutting off my view of Christina. I pause, frightened, but then I look around the room and take a tentative step forward.

There are four chairs set up at the front of the room, and Mrs. McClure brushes past me to take her seat. The other three adults next to her aren't familiar to me, but I'm sure they're all really important members of the coven, and I feel sweat collecting under my shoulder blades. The man next to Mrs. McClure gestures impatiently, and I step forward, standing in front of them nervously.

"So, Miss King," the man who gestured to me begins, leaning forward and studying me closely, "do you have what it takes to be a member of Fennel?"

I hesitate. Should I tell him the truth? I know Christina doesn't care about Fennel, but somehow, I don't think it would be a good idea to be that blunt during the exam. What if the covens confer with each other before they extend their invitations? I don't want them to think my sister is a stuck-up prima dona or something. Finally, I shrug. "I'm not really close with anyone in Fennel, so I don't know how I'd fit in."

Mrs. McClure makes a face that's halfway between a smile and a pucker. "I know your sister is closer in age to Becca than you, but surely, you can't pretend not to know anything about her or our family."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Becca's not exactly a ringing endorsement for anyone to want to join this coven, but I don't say that. "I don't know her well," I say instead, choosing my words carefully, "but I don't have any issues with her." It costs me a lot to say that and sound convincing, but Mrs. McClure is the only one who seems to hear the tightness in my voice. She narrows her eyes, but the other judges just nod.

"What do you plan to do after high school?" A woman in a purple track suit asks, studying my face with her head tipped to one side.

_What is this, a job interview?_ I shrug, trying to think if Christina's ever mentioned her plans for life after high school. "I like fashion," I say, thinking quickly of all the clothes she hoards in her closet, "so I guess it might be fun to do something with that."

There are a few more inane questions, but by the end of it, I feel like I've done okay; I didn't sound enthusiastic, but I also didn't offend any of the coven members, I hope, other than Mrs. McClure, but then again, it seems like any King who's breathing is enough to piss her off. Just when I'm starting to relax, the other man on the panel leans forward.

"Can you describe your favorite spell for us?"

I hesitate. "Do you mean my favorite that I've cast, or just that I've seen?"

Mrs. McClure looks at me, and I don't like the strange glint in her eyes. "Let's stick with one of _your_ spells," she says, and my stomach turns over with the way she emphasizes _your_.

I swallow, trying to think. I don't know what kind of spells Christina has been casting lately; even though I looked at her notebook, my brain is suddenly blank, and I don't want to risk making something up, especially since Mrs. McClure has been there for Christina's training sessions. "Um," I say, wracking my brain, "I've liked most of the spells I've cast, but I guess..." I sit up straighter as inspiration strikes. "I guess it was for my mom's birthday last year." That's the last spell I did with Christina, before all this mess happened, and even though it didn't work the way I wanted it to, it was a spell I was proud of, and I know Christina had been disappointed that it backfired.

Mrs. McClure leans forward. "And what kind of spell was this?"

"My sister and I—" I begin, and then I clear my throat. "My sister scribed the spell, and when I cast it, mom's birthday cake lit up like a mini sparkler without candles or matches." _At least, that's the way the spell was supposed to work._

Mrs. McClure looks triumphant. "Would you mind recreating it for us now?"

"I—" I try to speak, but my brain has run out of words. They want me to cast a spell for them? _But I'm a scribe...no scribe could do what they're asking for._ I swallow, realizing that that's the point. _Only a caster could pull this off._

The other woman waves her hand, mistaking my hesitation, and in an instant, a three-tiered birthday cake with purple icing is floating in the air before me. Mrs. McClure watches my face intently, and I flex my fingers, trying to think my way out of this mess.

"Could I have some paper?" I notice the skeptical expression on the judges' faces, and I hurry to add, "it's been a long time since we did the spell, and I don't want to get it wrong. It would help if I could jot it down before I cast it, to make sure I remember the words."

The judges look bemused, and Mrs. McClure opens her mouth, but the male judge shrugs and waves his hand. "I don't see why not."

A pad of paper and a pen appear in his hands, and he leans toward me. "Thanks," I say, trying to keep my hands from shaking as I accept the materials from him.

It's hard to write with the four of them staring at me, and even harder to scribe, but I have to try. _I did this once before,_ I remind myself as I put the pen on the paper. _I didn't mean to switch bodies with Christina, but I still made it happen. Maybe I can make that cake light up, just for a minute._

I scribble for a moment, aware of the four sets of eyes fixed firmly on me, and then I lift my hand and fake a confident smile. I point at the floating cake with the pen, crumpling up the sheet of paper with my other hand. "I remember," I say, and then I speak the words of my cake-lighting spell out loud.

For a moment, nothing happens, but all of a sudden, small pinwheels of light explode above the cake, and the four judges jump. I hold my breath, but this time, there are no fireballs shooting up to the ceiling, just a merrily sparking cake that fizzles and vanishes as I exhale, cake and all. My shoulders sag in relief as the judges applaud politely, and even though I know it's a mistake, I glance at Becca's mom.

She's staring at me with her eyes narrowed. Somehow, I forced myself to cast, but I have a feeling she's not convinced, and my stomach feels heavy as I turn to leave the room. Mrs. McClure doesn't say anything as she escorts me back to the hallway, but I can feel her eyes boring into my back as I wave to Christina and step away from the Fennel room to fill her in on what happened. _Even though I'm not exactly sure what happened._

"Don't say anything yet," she says, her voice a hurried whisper.

I nod, resisting the urge to glance back over my shoulder. When Mrs. McClure calls another name, I risk a look, but she isn't watching me anymore, and I sigh with relief.

Christina leads me away from the other casters into a tiny alcove with a fake plant and takes a step closer to me. "What happened?"

"I cast," I tell her, still too stunned to think.

"What?"

I take a deep breath. "I think Becca's mom suspects. At first, they all just asked questions, but then, they asked me to replicate my favorite spell, and...I did it."

She narrows her eyes. "That shouldn't be possible."

"You think I don't know that?" My voice lilts up dangerously, and Christina waves her hands to shush me. "I don't know what happened; I described Mom's cake the way I wanted that spell to go, not the way it actually happened, and then when they asked me to show them, somehow, I did."

Christina frowns, considering. "Do you think it has something to do with being in my body?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe." I pause, and then I add, "but I wasn't you when I cast the spell that did this in the first place."

"That's true. I wonder—"

Before I can ask her what she wonders, a pair of casters walks by. The guy is gesticulating wildly and doesn't notice us, but the girl shoots us a suspicious glance, and I realize how ridiculous we look, hiding behind a big fern and talking in whispers.

"We have to get back," I tell Christina, stepping out of the alcove. "I still have three other covens to meet with."

She nods, but her brow is furrowed. "Shelby," she finally says, her voice so soft that I have to strain to hear her, "you wouldn't do anything to ruin this for me, would you?"

I glance at her. "It's my future, too."

She exhales sharply and averts her eyes. "I just...I've been thinking, and I never realized how nasty I can be to you." She bites her lip. "I thought you might hate me."

I stare at her in surprise. "Of course I hate you," I say without thinking, but when her eyes fill up with tears, I hurry to add, "I've hated you a lot lately. But you're still my sister, and I still love you; it's just hard to remember that sometimes."

She nods, but she doesn't look sure of herself anymore. In fact, my sister looks smaller and more lost than even I've ever felt, and it's sort of heartbreaking to see my own face look so hopeless.

Impulsively, I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. "We're in this together, and I don't want to screw it up for either of us." It's sort of a surprise, but as soon as I say it, I realize I truly mean the words. I don't want to sabotage Christina anymore, and I especially don't want to screw up today. "Now, let's go get chosen for Henbane."

***

It's almost eight o'clock before Christina and I find ourselves facing Mr. Stone, the leader of the Henbane coven. The other interviews were fairly uneventful, and I didn't have to cast again, since Christina was actually allowed in the room with me for Lavender and Bittersweet, and we did our lip-syncing routine smoothly each time. I'm tired, and I really just want this day to be over, but I force myself to pay attention to Mr. Stone as he leads us into a small room that's less like the hotel ballrooms we've been in all evening and more like and empty storage closet.

He studies me for a moment. "I want you to know that your parents are highly respected members of our coven."

I start to smile, but he shakes his head, his eyes glittering.

"However," he continues, "that will not in any way influence our decision. Family is important, of course, but your coven comes first. _If_ you are invited to join Henbane, it will not be because of your last name."

I glance at Christina and I swallow nervously. "I understand," I tell him.

He studies me for a moment more, then whirls on his heel. "Stay in this room. You will be facing another caster in a duel. First to cause harm will be considered the winner." He glances back at me, his hand on the door. "Do you have any questions?"

I gulp. Even though I've scribed for Miah in the spell battles, I've never had to fight someone myself, and a thousand questions about what Mr. Stone means by "first to cause harm" flit through my mind; will they heal us after the duel? What kind of harm is he talking about? In the spell battles, there are rules against death, disfigurement, and dismemberment, but I have no idea if those same rules apply here. But how can I ask these questions without sounding stupid, or, worse, giving away my involvement in the spell battles? I don't want to spoil mine and Christina's chance at Henbane by admitting I've done something illegal, so I swallow my questions and shake my head. "I can do it," I say, more to convince myself than anything.

Mr. Stone nods once and steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a soft click. I glance nervously at Christina. "What do we do now?"

"Wait for your dueling partner, I guess. We should plan to end this as fast as possible. Which of the spells do you want to use?"

I'm surprised that she's giving me the choice; I consider for a moment, thinking about the spells I scribed for Miah. "Not the flashy ones," I finally decide, and Christina laughs.

"No. Those are good for show, but we don't need to be showy, I don't think." She glances around the room curiously. "I'm not sure how they're going to judge, unless they've got some kind of magical surveillance set up in here." She looks at me, her eyes telegraphing an urgent message, and I nod once. We have to assume they're watching and listening, so I can't say anything that would give us away.

Before we can strategize any more, however, the side wall of the room begins to fold back on itself, and I realize why the room seemed so small; they had divided one of the larger ballrooms with a folding wall, to separate the casters, I guess. Christina gives me an encouraging smile, and we both turn to face my dueling partner.

Everything freezes as I take in the familiar face. It's Jeremiah.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded, and his eyes slide past me to my sister. He looks shocked, too, and for a moment, the three of us just stand there, staring at each other in an awkward triangle. Finally, Miah looks back at me, and he gives me a respectful bow, the same way I've seen him start his battles with the other casters. I bow back, but my stomach is threatening to turn itself inside out and my mind is racing. _How can I hurt Jeremiah?_ I glance back at my sister, and my stomach turns to lead. _But how can I not? I can't screw this up._

Miah lifts his hand and mouths a few words, and I stumble backward, like he's just shoved me in the chest, even though he's ten feet away from me. Quickly, I raise my hands, trusting that Christina will counterattack.

A gust of air threatens to knock Miah off his feet, but he crouches down, making himself too small for the wind to affect him. Before I can think, he's casting another spell, and this time, the room is plunged into darkness.

My heart speeds up, and I stand there for a moment, feeling blind, before Christina conjures a burst of purple fire. The blaze ignites the place where Miah had been standing a minute ago, but now he's not there. I glance around franticly as the fire fades, my eyes searching the darkness, and suddenly I feel a grip on my wrist. As the flames die down, I whirl to face Miah, but he doesn't let go of me.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't do that to Shelby."

The fire burns out, and the room is dark again, but now I can make out Miah's features in the inky gloom. He stares at me in the darkness, but he doesn't say anything else, and I can't think of what to say.

"Shel—Christina!" My sister's voice comes from the other side of the room, and I realize that she must have been moving through the darkness, just like Miah. "Where is he?"

I don't want to tell her. I don't want to let her hurt him; he's making this too easy. When I don't speak, he lets go of my hand with a sigh and snaps his fingers. Light floods the room and he takes a step back. "Here," he says, looking right at me. Like he's challenging me to attack.

I blink, my eyes struggling to adjust to the brightness of the room. Before I can think, Christina mutters another spell, and I barely have time to raise a hand and open my mouth before Miah crumples to the ground, his face contorted in pain. Without thinking, I rush to him, but my sister grabs my shoulder and holds me back.

"We won," she says firmly in my ear. "Don't spoil it."

But watching Miah lying on the ground doesn't feel like wining to me.

The lights flicker, and Mr. Stone walks back in, followed by two other members of Henbane. They're all dressed in black, and for a moment, they make me think of vultures, circling their prey, and I pull back in fear. But Christina keeps a tight grip on me, and I can't move.

One of the women kneels down beside Miah and runs her hand over his forehead. "He is truly injured." She nods at me. "Well done."

Mr. Stone snaps his fingers, and Miah's face smooths out as if the pain he'd been feeling never happened. Unsteadily, he gets to his feet, and I watch him closely, terrified that whatever my sister did to him actually caused real harm. But he's standing, and he doesn't look like he's in pain anymore. He just looks tired, but the triumphant look he shoots my sister makes my heart turn over. I know he's said the covens don't matter to him, but I still can't believe he'd sacrifice his chance at Henbane for me. I want to run to him, to tell him how much it means to me, but I'm still wearing Christina's body, and the coven leaders are watching me closely, so I turn my face away from him and try not to show my tangle of emotions.

Mr. Stone nods at me once, and then glances at his two companions. They nod slightly back at him, and he smiles at me. "Nicely done." Then they all three turn and head toward the door. After a moment, Miah follows them, and then Christina falls into step, too. It takes me a little longer to shake off my stupor, but finally, I hurry after them, trying not to think about what Christina and I just did...or what Miah _let_ us do.

***

Christina and I don't talk after the battle; I'm too overwhelmed, and I don't know what's going on in her mind. Once we're out of the room, Miah disappears, swallowed up by the crowd of casters, and I have no idea what's going through his mind, either. I don't have much time to worry about it, though; a few minutes after our duel ended, a couple of loud chimes echo through the convention center, and all the casters file into the lobby, where Madame Sanderson is standing beside the registration desk.

"Thank you for your participation today. Your results can be retrieved from the same place where you picked up your registration materials. We ask that you not open your envelopes until you are home." Her eyes spark as she looks around the room. "To ensure your compliance, all results have been sealed magically. The spell is set to release tonight at eleven." With a wave of her hand, she dismisses us, and everyone shuffles toward the table to pick up our results. _There'd probably be a mad stampede if the results weren't spelled,_ I think to myself, looking at the weary faces of the casters around me. But now that we know we won't know anything for a few hours, everyone is quiet and polite as they line up at the registration table.

Finally, I have Christina's envelope, and I turn to find her. She's standing off to one side of the crowd, alone, looking at her hands. I walk up to her, and when she looks up, I'm surprised to see tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "It's nothing."

Her tone warns me to drop it, but I'm tired of secrets and lies. "Tell me," I say, pitching my voice low.

She glances over my shoulder at the room teaming with casters, and then jerks her head to the door. Together, we walk out into the crisp Halloween night, heading for the MAX station to get ourselves home, and Christina's shoulders sag. "It wasn't what I thought," she finally admits. "I don't know if I could have done it alone."

I shake my head. "You would have been fine. You did all the work tonight, anyway."

"But when I hurt Jeremiah—" her voice breaks off, and she shakes her head again. "I don't know. It wasn't what I thought," she repeats, her words soft.

"Yeah," I agree, replaying the whole mess in my head. "But at least it's done."

She nods slightly. "It'll be done once we're back to normal."

But even if we switched bodies right in this moment, I'm not sure I'd know what normal is anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The wind chimes are still clanging on the porch when Christina and I walk into the kitchen, and I'm surprised to see Mom standing there. Her eye is still covered with gauze, and she looks like a ridiculous kind of pirate, but at least she's home. After a moment's surprise, Christina and I both rush to her, and she manages to hug both of us at once.

She studies our faces, and I get the feeling she can tell that we haven't switched back yet, but she doesn't say anything about that. "How did it go?"

Dad has trailed after us into the kitchen, and he sits down on a bar stool, watching me intently. I glance at Christina. "It was different than we—I—thought, but I think it went pretty well."

"Were you allowed to keep Shelby with you for all of it?" I can hear an undercurrent of worry in Mom's question, and I realize that even though she didn't butt into our issue, she must have been considering various ways Christina and I could make the whole body-swap work tonight.

"For everything but the Fennel test." I pause, hoping Mom hears more than just my words. "Mrs. McClure said I didn't need my scribe."

Dad shrugs. "That woman's always been a bit odd, but Fennel doesn't matter. I'm sure you'll have your choice of covens."

Christina and I exchange a glance, and finally I hold up the envelope. "We'll see at eleven o'clock."

Mom smiles faintly. "They didn't used to set a time spell on them; I remember ripping into my envelope immediately after the exam, just like everybody else. There was a lot of celebrating, but also a lot of fighting, too."

"That's probably why they made the decision to do it this way," Dad offers reasonably. "So," he says, smiling at me, "how do you want to spend the next hour and then some? We could watch a movie, or maybe try a board game."

"Actually," I pause, looking to Christina before I speak, hoping I don't make her mad with what I'm about to say. "I'd rather just be alone. Is that okay?"

Dad looks put out, but Mom nods. "Of course, sweetie. I can bring up some hot cocoa later, if you like?"

I nod at her, and then I glance at my sister. "I'm going up to _my_ room," I say, hoping she'll figure out what I want.

She narrows her eyes, but then she smiles and nods slightly. "I'm tired. I think I'll go up, too."

Dad looks confused. "Don't you even want to let us celebrate with you?"

"I'll come down after I open the envelope," I offer, but he still looks annoyed. I leave the kitchen before he can tell me not to, though, and Christina follows close behind. I gesture to my bedroom and she nods, slipping in behind me and closing the door.

"Did you have an idea to get us swapped back?" She asks eagerly.

I nod. "I think so. Do you have my spell book?"

She crosses to the desk and reaches for my familiar notebook, but she hesitates before she hands it to me. "Will you still be willing to scribe for me after all this is over?"

"I didn't know if you'd want me to. I mean, I don't have that great of a track record."

She shakes her head impatiently. "You didn't, but everything you've scribed lately seems to work. Make it was like puberty or something, and you were just a late bloomer."

I snort. "Don't you think Mom would have said something if that were even possible?"

Christina shrugs, but she's still holding my spell book. "I don't know what changed," she says finally, "but if you're interested in being my scribe, I'd be happy to use you."

I reach for the spells, and after a minute, she places the notebook in my hands. "To use me?" I say, trying to sound teasing.

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean, Shelby. I'd...I'd like to keep working with you."

I start to nod, but then I think of Jeremiah; I'm not sure if he still wants me to scribe for him, or if he'll hold his injuries against me. "I'll think about it," I say finally, "but you know, there's no law that says you have to have just one scribe." I pause. "I kind of liked scribing for Miah, too."

"But family should come first. At least," she amends, hanging her head guiltily, "it should from now on."

I don't say anything, but I sit down at my desk and open the notebook to a blank page. Even though I can feel Christina watching me intently, I try to ignore her as I begin to scribble the words that I hope will be enough to get things back to normal. Finally, when I feel like I've done the best I can, I stand up and offer the open book to Christina. "Let's read it together," I suggest, wondering if my freak magic flare ups would be enough for me to cast the spell on my own, but I'm kind of afraid to test that theory; scribes can scribe and casters cast, and there isn't supposed to be any crossover. The fact that I've somehow managed to do both a couple of times worries me, and even if I could cast this spell on my own, I'm not sure I'd want to. I try to ignore my swirling thoughts and focus on the words on the page instead.

"I never meant to trade with you," Christina begins to speak, raising an eyebrow as I she skims the words. I join in, and together we chant, "what's yours is yours, what's mine is mine, so let us return to our rightful kind."

The air around us begins to shimmer, and Christina looks at me excitedly as we finish the spell, speaking the words which seem to come from both of our hearts. "I'm not sorry we're sisters, although I am sorry for pain I caused you, and with these words, that time is through."

For a minute, sparks fill my vision, making it impossible to see anything, and then all at once, the room goes black for an instant. I fight back a scream and beside me, Christina sucks in her breath sharply, but before we can react, the room is lit like normal as if the strange blackout never happened. Cautiously, I look down at my hands clutching the spell book. My nails are familiar and ragged, and my heart, which I didn't realize had stopped, begins to beat again quickly.

I lift my eyes and look at my sister, and then she gives a giddy little cheer and throws her arms around me. "It worked!" She hugs me tight, laughing, and I hug her back. My skin feels tight and strange after so long in Christina's body, but she's right; it worked, and we are back to ourselves. A strange tearing sound fills the room, and Christina and I stop embracing. Our eyes land on my desk at the same time, where the envelope from the Threes is now laying open, its pages flapping in an invisible breeze. Unnecessarily, I glance at the clock on my nightstand and swallow.

"It's eleven."

Christina nods, but then she says something that totally surprises me. "I want you to look first."

"What?" I stare at her. "Why?"

"You earned this just as much as me, Shelby. You deserve to know first."

Hesitantly, I take a step toward the desk, but Christina doesn't change her mind. My hand is shaking as I reach for the envelope, and I take a deep breath before I look at the papers in my hand. "Bittersweet," I read out loud, my voice barely a whisper, "Fennel, Lavender, and Henbane." My eyes meet my sister's. "You got into all of them."

She grins. " _We_ got in."

It takes a minute for it to hit me, but she's right. We're in whichever coven we want, and I don't have to worry about my future any more. I sigh in relief, and then Christina grabs me and hugs me again, tighter this time. She plucks the papers out of my hand, her eyes skimming the words again with a broad smile on her face, and I notice a violet sticky note I hadn't seen before flutter to the floor. I stoop down to retrieve it, but when I read the short message, the blood drains out of my face and I freeze.

Christina notices my panicked expression and leans over. "What is it?"

I swallow and I show her the scrawling words. "'I know.'"

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, neither of us moves. Finally, Christina says, "Who do you think wrote it? And what are they talking about?"

I quirk an eyebrow at her. "You don't think it's obvious? Someone figured out we'd switched places."

She shakes her head emphatically. "There's no way. You were perfect; no one would have suspected."

"Mrs. McClure did," I say slowly, remembering the way Becca's mom had stared at me during my test for Fennel.

Christina crumples up the sticky note and shoves it into her pocket. "You're paranoid. If she suspected, why did we get an invitation to her coven?"

I shrug, but the truth is, I don't know. "Do you think it's just a...a prank or something?" I ask hopefully.

Christina nods. "There's nothing to worry about. Well, I guess there is one thing."

"What?"

"We need to decide which coven we want to join before we go downstairs and tell Mom and Dad."

I stare at her, surprised. "Henbane. That's what you've always wanted, isn't it? How is this even a question?"

She hesitates. "I didn't like their test," she finally says. "None of the other covens asked us to hurt anybody."

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her that Miah let us win, that he didn't mind being hurt, but I click my teeth shut and purse my lips. Would that make her more inclined to join Henbane, or less? I feel like I've already had way too much say in Christina's future this week, and I don't want to influence her one way or the other. _It's my life, too_ , a small voice whispers in my mind, but I push it aside. A month ago, I was afraid I wouldn't get in any coven; I don't feel like I know enough about them to really have a say, and it doesn't feel like I deserve to make this big of a decision. "We don't have to decide right now," I finally say. "Right? I mean, when's the deadline for acceptances?"

Christina looks back at the paper in her hands. "We have until the new year."

"So that's plenty of time to think about it, right?"

She nods slowly. "I guess." She pauses, thinking, and then she grins at me. "Should we torture Mom and Dad and make them wait a few more minutes, or should we go down now?"

I giggle. "They'll probably break through the door if we don't go tell them soon."

She loops her arm through mine. "Well, that won't be anything we can't handle together."

Warmth spreads through my chest, but I can't articulate the swirl of emotions that are rioting around inside me, so I just squeeze Christina's arm and head down to the kitchen beside her.

***

That night, I lay awake for a long time. It feels good to be back in my own bed, but a little strange, too; I guess I'd started to get used to Christina's room. My phone chimes, and I roll over, glad for the distraction.

It's a text from Miah. For a minute, I'm afraid to read it; what if he says that he can't forgive me and my sister for what happened tonight? What if he wants to get back together with Becca? But finally, I swipe my finger across the screen and read his words.

A slow smile spreads across my face, and even though I should be tired enough to sleep for a week after everything that's happened, I swing my feet out of bed and get dressed silently in the dark. Whispering the spell I scribed forever ago for sneaking out, I creep into the hallway and slip through the front door.

Miah is waiting at the corner of the street, shadowed in dark jeans and a hoodie, and my heart speeds up as he comes into view. I stop a few feet away from him, feeling shy and awkward and nervous. "Hi," I finally say, hoping I don't sound too stupid.

He steps toward me. "Hi, yourself. Are you sure you're up for this?"

I hesitate, but then I remember what I've been through this week, what I've survived even just tonight. _If I can do all that, surely I can be a little brave about this guy,_ I tell myself. Carefully, I close the distance between us and put my hands on his shoulders. Miah smiles and brings his lips to mine, and I close my eyes as he kisses me for the second first time. His lips are warm and soft, just like I imagined they would be, and when he pulls away, we're both smiling in the darkness. "You can't fight without a scribe, right?"

He chuckles and laces his fingers through mine. "I did okay tonight, I thought." He pulls me along the deserted streets, heading toward the MAX.

I hang back for a moment. "I'm sorry—" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Don't be. I know how much Henbane matters to your family."

I don't tell him that Christina is having second thoughts. "Which coven did you get invited to join?"

He smiles. "Fennel. Bittersweet." He pauses, his eyes unusually bright under the street lights. "And Henbane."

"Seriously?"

He nods. "I haven't decided yet, but it's good to know you've got options, right?"

We've reached the train station, and I snuggle closer to him, enjoying the feeling of his warmth against my torso. "Sometimes," I agree. "Options can be good."

He looks down at me, and to my surprise, he kisses the top of my head. "Other times," he says softly, "it's better to just stick to one thing."

My heart catches in my throat. Is he talking about me and him?

Before I can ask, though, the train pulls up and Miah drags me on board. "They moved the spell battle again, to stay away from the Force, but tonight should be pretty fun. Now that the Threes are over, everyone can finally relax." He flashes me his grin. "Which means they'll let their guards down."

I laugh, feeling more at ease than I have since the school year started. "You want to exploit their weaknesses?"

Miah winks at me. "With your spells, and my casting, we'll be unbeatable."

I watch the darkness whip by the train windows, and some of Miah's confidence seeps into me. "Let's do it, then."

###

The Spell Book & Scandal Series will continue in 2018!

**About the Author:**

Award-winning author Jen McConnel writes NA, YA, and various other works. When she isn't writing, she can be found on her yoga mat or wandering off on another adventure. Visit www.JenMcConnel.com to learn more, and sign up for her newsletter to claim your free book!

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