Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [119]
Angelique poked her head into my room. She had touched up her blond roots, and added a few white and navy-blue streaks to her jet-black hair. It worked on her.
“Hey, Em, how’s it going?” she asked, her face brighter and happier than I’d seen it in, well…ever. She wasn’t exactly a happy-go-lucky, skipping-down-the-street kind of girl.
“Still headachey from time to time, but okay,” I complained, shutting my laptop and placing it on the nightstand.
“So, I haven’t had the chance to ask you since you first came home—have you and Brendan talked about the curse at all?” she asked bluntly.
I shook my head. “Not since the little bit we talked about in the hospital,” I admitted. “The necklace is gone—and I haven’t had any dreams, signs, nada. And I have to be honest though, part of me feels like I lost Ethan all over again.”
I scratched patterns into my fleece comforter to distract myself from welling up with tears. Angelique wasn’t too big on public displays of affection and since the “Rumble on the Rocks”—I really hated that name—I’d been a highly emotional mess. Poor Brendan had to deal with me tearing up at least once an afternoon.
“So there have been zero signs that the curse is still active?” Angelique asked.
“Like I said, nothing. But what really worries me is this: I lost the medallion during Anthony’s attack, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still in danger, right?” I threw my hands in the air, frustrated. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or ready for war. Was Anthony the big danger?”
Angelique pulled something out of her bag—it was the shiny red Spells for the New Witch book.
“I have to tell you something, but first promise me that you’ll work on developing your powers.”
“I really don’t think I’m a witch. I think it was just a onetime thing, Angelique,” I mused. “I’ve been trying to move things around the apartment with my mind for weeks. I got nothing.”
“You’re a witch, not telekinetic,” Angelique corrected me, flipping her Technicolor hair and causing the stacked bangles on her wrist to clang together musically.
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference, Emma, is that you can’t move things with your mind.”
“No way, that’s not true,” I protested. “I did in your room!”
“No, you did a spell in my room. You demanded your power, then you demanded a sign. And from what you’ve told me, that’s how you conjured your brother’s spirit. You performed a spell when you cried out for his help. The sapphire helped amplify your talent, but it was passionate, it was heartfelt—that was a spell.”
“So I can’t move things?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
“Not without a spell—you need to work on your craft,” Angelique advised, laying the book on top of my laptop.
“Promise me you’ll read it.” She crossed her arms and regarded me solemnly.
“Okay,” I agreed, and she smiled, relaxing her posture.
“So what else is new?” I asked, taking a swig of water from the bottle on my nightstand. “What did you want to tell—”
“Oh, just the biggest news ever!” Angelique interrupted. She practically danced over to her heavy black bag, her long black skirt swirling around her feet as she moved. She shoved my feet over so she could sit down, throwing the bag on the bed.
“You’re in a good mood,” I observed, and she just gave me a toothy smile with her purple-painted lips.
“I think you will be, too,” she said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a pristine copy of Hadrian’s Medieval Legends.
“Just take a look at what I have,” Angelique said, bowing her head and holding the book up like Mufasa held up Simba in The Lion King. I expected sunbeams to burst forth from the book’s cover.
“No way!” I shouted, then winced at the lingering dull thud in my head. “Is the rest of the legend in there? Please tell me that we’re okay.”
“Just let me read the rest of the story.”
“You’re killing me, Angelique,” I moaned. “Please, just a yes or no.