I opened my eyes and forced them to peer down at the pile of crystals—and my face broke out in a relieved smile.
“Oh, the crystals didn’t do anything,” I exclaimed, staring happily down at the glistening black salt piled on the frayed satin.
I poked the grains with my finger, making an indentation in the pyramid-shaped pile. It felt exactly like digging in sand.
“Well, that was a big nothing,” I breathed, looking up at Angelique.
And then my smile faded.
Angelique stared down at the crystals, her pale skin even paler. Then her eyes met mine.
“Emma, that’s bad,” she whispered hoarsely. “Very, very bad.”
“Very bad,” I repeated woodenly, taking a deep breath. “Can you define very bad, please? How bad?”
“You’re in danger,” Angelique said, her normally level voice raising a pitch. “A world of danger.”
I dropped the marble canister from my hands, and it hit the floor with a dull clacking sound.
“I don’t get it,” I said numbly. “They’re just black crystals. They didn’t burst into flames, or fly across the room… .”
“It’s salt. It starts out a clear, whitish color. You know, like salt?” Angelique’s voice rose even higher as she stared at the coal-colored pile. “The color reflects the energy being directed at you. White or green would be good, signs of pure energy. Red would be love and passion.”
Angelique poked her finger in the crystals as I had, only she smoothed them across the fabric. She squinted, peering at the grains. She pressed her finger into the black crystals and lifted one red grain, embedded in her skin. It looked like a drop of blood.
“One crystal for love?” I croaked hoarsely.
“One. Just one for the soul mates who have been ripped apart and reunited over centuries. Just one for two people—the only two out of a thousand years and who knows how many reincarnations—who could overcome the curse because Brendan loves you enough to sacrifice himself for you.” Her voice was almost monotone as she rubbed her fingers together, letting the one red crystal fall into the pile of black sand, where it disappeared. I felt an almost irrational desire to find that one crystal and keep it safe.
She smoothed the glittering pile across the black fabric. “Brendan is your soul mate. He’s head-over-heels in love with you.” Angelique’s voice became increasingly frantic as she continued talking, fanning the black crystals across the satin, where they blended in against the inky fabric.
“You know he’s not my favorite person in the world, and he annoys the hell out of me. But as much as I would love for us to be single together and you to postpone the whole soul mate thing until college, I have to admit, that guy would do anything for you,” she said bluntly, raising her eyes to meet mine. “He has done anything for you. More of his energy should have been reflected here. Especially since you were just with him. Hell, you’ve still got smudged lip crap on your chin from sucking face all afternoon! There should be more red crystals. There should be more of something. Anything!”
“What does it mean that there isn’t any?” I asked, my voice coming out very small.
“Whatever danger there is, it’s bigger than the two of you,” she said, looking at me with sad eyes. “It’s got more hate than you two have love.”
“Is there any chance we did the spell wrong?” I asked, grasping at straws as my voice shook. But Angelique just slowly shook her head, looking at me with mournful eyes.
“So what do I do now?” I felt the panic rising in my chest.
Angelique took a deep breath.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
Chapter 2
“Emma dear, is something wrong? You’re being awfully quiet tonight.”
I looked up from my barely eaten plate of take-out eggplant rollatini to see my aunt Christine frowning at me with a concerned look on her face.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” I fibbed, shoveling a big bite of mozzarella and eggplant into my mouth so I wouldn’t have to talk. “I’m just tired.” Tired of feeling like I’ve got the Sword of Damocles dangling over my head.
I peered up cautiously. Given the turn my life had taken, I half expected to see the mythical sword hanging over my aunt’s kitchen table, right next to her Waterford chandelier.
“Is everything going well at school?” Aunt Christine asked, expertly twirling a forkful of spaghetti with garlic and oil.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. The teachers are just really slamming us with homework before spring break,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant as I reached for a piece of garlic bread. Maybe if I stuffed my face she’d buy it. I hated lying to Aunt Christine, but there was no way I could explain that I’d just performed a spell that said I was in terrible danger. Again. Aunt Christine didn’t know about the magical side of my life—she just thought Brendan and I were a little (okay, a lot) too serious for our age.
“Dear, if that part-time job at the library is too much to handle—”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” I interrupted, nearly spitting out garlicky bread crumbs. I wiped my mouth hurriedly and swallowed loudly. Jeez, Emma, eat like a grizzly bear much? I wiped my mouth a little more daintily and took a drink of water.
“Seriously, all I do is put away books, make sure the computers are turned off. Most of the time I’m just in there alone doing homework, listening to my iPod.”
I couldn’t give up that job. I’d lost my mom, lost my twin brother and was left with nothing but my boozed-up stepfather, until my godmother, Aunt Christine, had taken me in last summer after Henry nearly killed me with his DUI driving skills—the accident that left me with a pretty nasty scar on my arm. Christine paid for my tuition at the insanely expensive private school, offered—insisted, actually—to pay for college and didn’t ask for a thing in return. Aunt Christine had rescued me, and claimed my happiness was reward enough. I already felt guilty about how much she’d done for me, and I only felt worse when I sheepishly asked for spending money. The afterschool job at Vince A’s library was the one thing I got right—at least I didn’t need to pester Christine for spare change.
I dug back into my eggplant, winding a long string of mozzarella around Aunt Christine’s Christofle fork, hoping that was the end of the conversation.
It wasn’t.
“Emma, dear,” my aunt began, taking off her tortoiseshell-framed eyeglasses and setting them down on the pink-flowered tablecloth—a sure sign that she was about to get serious. “Are things going well with you and your beau? Or are your classmates giving you a hard time again?”
I squirmed underneath Aunt Christine’s intense gaze. Sometimes I think her background in New York theater is a ruse, and she really used to work for the CIA, interrogating prisoners. Her gentle cross-examinations are more effective than water-boarding.
“Yes, Brendan’s fine. Better than fine, actually,” I said honestly. Well, that was the truth. “He’s great. I’ve just got a lot of homework and projects and stuff. Otherwise, school is great.” That part was a big, fat lie. Vince A’s hallways were riddled with so many social land mines it was impossible to make it through the day without a few blowing up in your face.
Still, I smiled winningly, and it seemed to satisfy Christine.
“Well, dear, the weather should be getting nice soon, so you should be able to go jogging again. I know how much you like that. Maybe that will help with some of the stress.”