Broomstick, page 6
For the first time, I think of the Ouija board. And I think of the words I luv u. At the time I shuddered. Now, looking into Alondra’s mesmerizing eyes, I think how beautiful the message was. Particularly, I think of how it was meant for me. If it actually was my mother, it was beautiful. It was a message to me right after her death.
And with that, I falter over the fire. Bryce grabs me before I fall. I open up and start crying terribly.
So does the rest of the circle. My grief seems to spread around the fire, and everyone starts crying. Even Mira, who I always thought hated me, bursts into tears. Even stoic and dark Dr. Reardon sheds tears. There are tears from everyone.
Bryce and Maddie help me slowly back to my seat. They hold the candle over my fingers.
Alondra walks over and kneels beside me. She gently lifts my chin and says, “Release your pain, Cadence. There is no reason to be sad any longer. Your mother has been freed to the Summerland. Your love just freed her.”
I look up at her. She seems so sure of her words. Then I’m touched by the tears that have streamed down her face.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Thank you.”
Alondra smiles sweetly. “The rest of the evening is secret. You have not signed on. I’m afraid you need to return home… But know that the coven prays for you, Cadence. We are here for you, our sister.”
“Thank you,” I say softly again.
Everyone looks at me. They all smile sweetly.
I turn and leave.
No one escorts me out. As I reach the sliding glass door, I look back. Once again, around the circle, the group is holding hands. They’re chanting something that I cannot understand. Even Bryce is completely immersed in the moment. And this time it’s Doctor Reardon, not Alondra, who leads the group. The fire eerily dies down and, in shadows, the group dances around it, following Reardon, circling as if in a trance, mesmerized by the dying flames. I try to close the glass door. A few times. But it won’t budge.
I walk back to my car alone. And then I drive home.
7
Crying
I’m curled up in a ball, in bed, crying my eyes out. It’s the middle of the night when I hear the lock turn and Maddie walk in. She’s initially cautious not to wake me, creeping slowly to her side of the room, but when she hears me crying, she kneels beside the head of my bed. I feel her fingers run through my hair and rub my neck and back.
“Oh, Cadence.”
I don’t say anything. I just cry. It seems strange that I didn’t do this before. And as much as I liked crying at Alondra’s house, I really don’t like it now.
“Oh, Kate.”
Maddie can’t really say much more. She just runs her hand along my dark hair.
I catch a whiff from her arm. It smells strange. It’s an outdoor smell of juniper mixed with lavender. And there’s an earthen smell. I turn quietly and look at my friend. Only the sliver of light from the door shines over us—she hasn’t closed the door yet, nor has she turned on the light. I jump at the sight of her hair. Her hair is a complete mess. And the black mascara from her eyes is running. Her face is smudged with dirt, and there are small leaves stuck in her hair.
“What…what the hell happened to you?” I ask. Even her clothes, the formal black dress and stockings she’s wearing, are torn up. Then I catch a few scratches and scrapes at the nape of her neck. “Maddie, what happened?”
I forget all about me. My friend looks like she was assaulted. Then I’m even more surprised when Maddie chuckles.
“Nothing, Cadence. Don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m more worried about you.”
Now I’ve spent time with Madison every day since first year orientation. There has never been a secret between us. Now there plainly is. Something did happen to her, but it’s clear that she has no intention of telling me. And yet, as awful as she looks, it doesn’t seem to bother her.
“Don’t worry ’bout me, Cadence. I’m fine. What about you? How are you holding up?”
“Terrible,” I say, turning away from her into my pillow. I suppress another sob. “I was so proud of myself for not crying. Now, ever since Alondra’s little ceremony, the tears won’t fucking stop flowing.”
“But that’s good, Katie,” she says, rubbing my back. “You need to mourn. You’ll feel better later.”
I shrug. “That’s shit, Maddie. That’s complete bullshit. There’s no reason I need to cry for anything. I just feel miserable.”
“I thought you seemed relieved at the candle ceremony.”
Did I? I don’t even know.
She runs a hand along my cheek. Then she says, “You want me to sit here with you tonight? Or in bed? I can hold you.”
It’s not gay. It sounds gay, but from her tone I know it isn’t. The funny thing is her affection suddenly makes me start crying more.
I don’t know how long I cry, but it seems like hours. And all the while, my friend lies beside me. She’s trying to sleep in my arms. That’s cute. The funny thing is, I think her affection only makes me cry harder.
By morning, Maddie is sleeping like a log, impossible to disturb. Unlike Yours Truly, who feels like crap and has had no interest in sleeping since I got the news about Mom. I move out of my friend’s arms and slip on some slippers. I marvel that she hasn’t woken up due to our cheap, creaky bedsprings. It’s cold and the window is frosted. The morning dew has formed icicles on the leaves on the bushes and trees outside my window.
I walk to the dresser and take out a shirt and pants to change from my white negligee. Then I turn on the Keurig and brew two cups of coffee, one for me and one for Maddie.
Maddie is still sleeping like death on my bed. I’ve never seen her look so awful. It looks as if she was attacked, and I’m not going to let her get out of it as easily as she did last night. I’m gonna find out who did it, where it happened, and why. It looks like I should call the police or something. And yet, besides her disheveled brown hair and dirty, torn-up dress, she looks completely at peace. Her smile is angelic.
The Keurig is loud enough to wake my roommate. She stirs, draws out her arms, and yawns. Then she opens her eyes and smiles at me.
I sip some hot coffee, then walk to her with her Donald Duck mug.
“Morning,” Maddie says.
“Hi.”
I lean against the wall and look at her. Maddie stretches again and sits up in bed.
“You feeling better?” she asks.
I’m still staring at her. And no, I have no interest in crying anymore. I’ve had quite enough of that. I just look at her and don’t say a word.
“What?” Maddie asks. She sips some coffee. “What is it? …You know, this shit sucks. What happened to those pods Nick gave me?”
“Drank ’em all,” I reply with a shrug.
“Oh. Well, this tastes like water. Water mixed with a faint flavor of coffee.”
But she still drinks it.
“So?” I ask.
“Hmm? So what? It’s water.” Maddie sips more. She leans her forehead against her hand, and light shines on her and all her train-wrecked glory.
“No. I mean, what the fuck happened to you?”
“I told you not to worry about it.” Then Maddie laughs. “But you know…” She looks down at her tattered dress. “I really should change.”
I’m staring at her. She avoids my gaze as she gets up, walks to her dresser, and pulls out some clothes. “I suppose this will have to be disposed of. Pity, it was my best dress.”
“Tell me. Tell me now.”
“Don’t start, Cadence,” she warns, pulling off her mud-laden, torn-up dress. It angers me to think she was wearing that in bed with me. Not because she dirtied up the sheets, but because something was obviously wrong. I was too messed up last night to address it. Now I feel better. A little.
Something’s wrong. Really wrong.
“Just forget it, okay?” Maddie says.
“Tell me right now, Maddie. Tell me, or I’ll call the cops.”
“Stop it, Cadence,” she says, waving a hand. She changes into a campus sweatshirt and jeans. Then she walks back to my bed and pulls on her socks and shoes. “Just forget it, Cadence. I’m just happy you seem better.”
Maddie’s tying her shoes. I sit next to her and lift her face—as she’s been known to do to me, many times before—but she pulls away.
“Cadence, forget it.”
“No. We’re friends. Tell me what happened.”
“I can’t,” she says, shaking her head. “You know I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I’m sworn,” she says, averting her eyes from mine. She just raises her eyebrows and figures that’s enough. Then she resumes pulling on her shoes.
“It looks as if someone hurt you.”
“Nobody hurt me, Cadence,” she says with her head turned down.
“Your clothes say otherwise.”
“Katie.” She looks back at me with a sad smile. “Katie,” she says again. “It was the initiation. Nobody hurt me. No one hurts anyone there without consent. Everything is done with consent. I promise. You must believe me.”
“The initiation? What the hell do they do at the initiation?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
I give up. Or rather, my body gives up. I feel like a chair has landed on me, and I sort of fall on the bed. I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept in days.
“Katie, don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself. Just rest.” She pats my back again. “I tell you what. I’ll go to your professors today and get your homework, ’kay? You can just stay in bed today and get some sleep.”
“All right.” How can I argue with that? I can barely keep my eyes open.
“Great.”
“Swell,” I say sarcastically.
“Keen,” she adds.
I laugh at her mockery of my fifties language. The situation isn’t funny, but exchanging dumb words is. Just being friends together, you know.
But I want to know. I want to know what happened to her. I’m worried about her.
I felt good after leaving Alondra’s mansion. I felt like her heart was there for me. I felt so good that I even considered joining their club. But not now. Not after seeing what she did to my friend.
And what’s so good about some charm to make you cry all night, anyway?
“You want me to get you breakfast at the dining commons?” Maddie says.
“No. I’ll try to go.”
“Sure?”
I nod.
Then she puts her finger to her chin for a moment. She looks around and finds something on the dresser beside the door. It’s the mourning candle from last night.
“You forgot this. Alondra wanted to make sure you got it.”
It was only partially lit last night. It’s still a fully lightable candle.
“Thanks.” I touch her arm and look at her very seriously. “But please tell me, Maddie, is everything all right? Please. Are you okay?”
“Cadence, believe me, I’ve never been happier.”
8
The T.A.
A few days after Alondra’s ceremony, Maddie finally convinces me to go to class. It’s early in the morning, and she knows I’m not a morning person. But I think it was after I laughed at her stupid comment, “Bryce’ll be there,” that I capitulated. Of course Bryce will be there. It’s his class.
I’m majorly behind in my studies. The point of TA classes is to brush up on things, not to teach. Bryce usually just reviews Alondra’s lectures and I, being the stellar super-smart gal that I am, often raises my hand just to regurgitate information both of us already know, just to see Mr. Handsome’s infamous wry smile. But today I actually have to pay attention. At eight in the morning.
We walk through the quad. It’s empty. Everyone is sleeping or recovering from their weekend hangovers, but I know Bryce’s ancient history class will be full. It’s one of the most popular classes in school. Apparently, that’s why he can meet so early. At eight in the morning. As Maddie leans on my shoulder, telling me how she just dumped that dickhead playboy Nick (she’s been telling me all week), I yawn and struggle to move forward to my boyfriend’s class.
Just as I thought, the class is full. It’s small, like a high school classroom, with about twenty people. Mr. Handsome is pulling out his laptop from a brown leather briefcase on the desk at the front. He’s wearing pressed slacks, loafers, and a button-down shirt—left open ever so slightly to show the stud’s chest hairs. Who dresses him? His clothes are to die for.
We sit in the back since the room is already full. Then Maddie pulls out her laptop from her bag. I forgot mine.
We wait. For a moment, I recall why I haven’t slept in over a week. I feel that constricting feeling in my chest. But then I’m saved by the vision at the front of the class.
“Let’s talk about Amarna,” says my tall hunk. He looks down the rows and sees me. I win that smile, and I feel my heart bounce a little. “Ancient Egypt. Dr. Johansen spoke of Nefertiti and Akhenaten. This is, of course, well into the time of the pyramids. Do you know the son of this famous couple?”
“Tut,” says a redheaded girl in the front row.
“Right. King Tut. Know that. And know of the mystery of his father, Akhenaten. Dr. Johansen will not want you to tell me what every kindergartener knows of Tut. She will want you to give me information on his parents. What’s important here is Akhenaten, Amenhotep IV of the Eighteenth Dynasty, who changed his name to Akhenaten and created a religion based on monotheism, worshipping the sun disk. Have you seen statues of Akhenaten?” It’s a rhetorical question. Bryce doesn’t wait for an answer. “They’re grotesque. The man has some of the weirdest features of any pharaoh. He doesn’t look human. His wife, too, has been depicted in statues and hieroglyphs that look odd. But then there is also a famous bust that many believe to be the true bust of the Egyptian queen. She is beautiful—nefer, meaning, in ancient Egyptian, beauty.”
He looks around the room. Everyone is intently focused on him. Then his eyes fall on me, and I can swear he flashes that smile again. At me. That irresistible smile. Holy shit, he’s hot!
Then Maddie ruins it by hitting my shoulder. I turn and she has the exact same wry smile, making fun of me.
Bitch.
“You all need to know of Amarna,” continues Bryce. “You see Akhenaten, not only being from another world, in my opinion…” I hear a lot of murmuring over that. “See, Akhenaten started a revolution. It was only upon his death that statues and paintings were defaced in order to cover up his rule and return to the ways of the past…because this is what people do to the unknown. People cannot deal with mysteries, and their fear and prejudice make them eliminate them.”
Bryce looks at his PC. He moves the cursor around and types a little. The room is silent until he gathers his thoughts.
“Those of you who brought your computer or have access on your phone, open the file on our website on mummification. For others, I’ll write the most important steps on the board. Know the following and memorize it. It will be on the test. If Dr. Johansen doesn’t see them on your essays, know that you’re not going to squeak by with much more than a C. She grades tough, but you already know that. ”
“The following is done to the dead in the mummification process.” He starts writing on the whiteboard:
The brain is removed in pieces by a hook through the nostrils.
The organs are removed through a cut in the chest at the left side of the abdomen (sparing the heart) and placed in jars later buried with the mummy.
The body is dried out with natron, a salt substance. NATRON. Remember that.
The body is wrapped.
The mummy is placed in a coffin in an ornate tomb.
“The whole process takes up to two months. Know the steps. But if you want an A, Dr. Johansen will want to know the details.”
“How detailed?” asks a guy in the front row.
Bryce leans against his desk and recites, as if reading from a book:
“The first step in preparing the dead is embalming, after which a hole is punched into the ethmoid bone of the skull not far from the nose. It is hammered in with pieces of the brain, meninges, and spinal fluid, adhering to a stick, as the priest thrusts in and out. In and out. After many thrusts—in and out—the fatty goo flows from the hole. But this never removes the entire brain. As much as possible is scooped out… That detailed. Got it?”
The boy nods.
“Know your steps. Know your instruments. If you were in class, you would have seen the pictures.” There are a few groans from the students. I’m sorry I missed it. “Now let’s move on to Babylon and Hammurabi.”
I start doing what I really shouldn’t be doing in Bryce’s class: daydreaming. The problem is, Bryce doesn’t hold my attention the way Alondra does. He sort of spits out information. That’s great for getting As on exams, but it won’t work well for keeping me awake at eight in the morning after a restless sleep. I’m drifting off, getting some much-needed rest, when I suddenly hear my name.
“Cadence, can you expound on the Code of Hammurabi relating to witchcraft?”
I can. I learned this a couple of weeks ago, when we were learning of Salem and witchcraft in medieval times. He knew this, the sneaky, irresistible fucker.
“Yeah.” I sit up, clearing my throat. He flashes that infamous grin. It irritates me a little this time. “The code is one of the first of its kind throughout history,” I continue with pride. “It states that if someone accuses a witch of a harmful spell, the witch shall be thrown in a sacred river. If the witch dies, the accuser shall know she was guilty and take her possessions. But if the witch lives, the accuser shall be put to death, and the witch shall obtain all their possessions… It’s stupid, and I can see why the dunking of witches has been made the butt of jokes ever since.”
