Vacations from Hell

Page 20

Just when it looked like she’d pulled it off, Cecily heard her mother in the hallway. “You know, it’s kind of sexy when you sing.”
Dad laughed softly. “I would’ve spent all night on stage if I’d known that.”
Horror froze Cecily to the spot. What was worse: being caught stealing Mom’s Book of Shadows or having to hear her parents flirt? She’d never find out, because she was about to do both at the same time, which was as bad as it could possibly get.
Then she heard Theo. “Mommy, Daddy, come read me a story!”
“You want a story before bed? You haven’t asked for one in a while.” Dad sounded affectionate. “We don’t want to keep Scott awake.”
“He’s off kissing Kathleen,” Theo said scornfully. “Come read to me!”
Their footsteps approached the doorway—then went past it, heading toward Theo. Cecily caught her breath for a second before she clasped the Book of Shadows to her chest and sneaked out.
As she went, she looked behind her. Mom had Theo in her arms as they walked toward his room. He smiled at Cecily from over their mother’s shoulder and winked.
I can’t believe it. Theo saved me! Her little brother couldn’t possibly have guessed why she needed to be in their parents’ room, but he’d covered for her anyway. Just because. It was definitely the least bratty moment of his life to date.
Cecily grinned at her brother, proud that at least one of her self-improvement goals had paid off.
Now to fulfill the most important goal of them all: taking Kathleen down.
Part Four
DISENCHANTMENT SPELL CHECKLIST
moth’s wings
red wine—located in wet bar of beach house
purified ash
broken glass—smash a glass in kitchen, leave a couple dollars for house owners
essence of verity
cauldron—will improvise
crushed beetle shells
virgin’s blood—depressingly, can provide this myself
The wind whipped in from the ocean, chilling Cecily as she sat on the still-damp sand. Although the rain had finally stopped, the skies overhead remained ominously clouded, without any stars.
Her mother’s Book of Shadows sat next to her on a beach towel. Although it wasn’t decorated as elaborately as some witches preferred—Mom liked to keep things simple—the book possessed a kind of power just sitting there. Maybe it was Cecily’s imagination, but the pale gray cover seemed to glow a little even without any moonlight.
She could have done this research inside, but that would have been too comfortable: warm and cozy with a lamp to read by. The temptation to discover all of Mom’s spells would’ve been too great. Cecily didn’t feel guilty for stealing the Book of Shadows, because this was important, but she would lose the moral high ground if she abused this opportunity.
Besides, being out of the cramped house with its silly decorations was a good thing. Cecily found the cool night air and the roaring ocean clarified her thinking. For instance, she’d stopped reveling in the shame this would cause Kathleen and worrying about how Mom would react when she found out about the unauthorized use of her Book of Shadows. Instead Cecily was thinking about Scott.
What will the end of the enchantment be like for him? she wondered. The Book of Shadows didn’t say. Will he simply not care much about Kathleen anymore, and wonder what he ever saw in her? Or will it be more dramatic than that? And if it is dramatic, will he realize he’s been enchanted?
Cecily had been the subject of some harmless enchantments a few times; that was a standard part of a witch’s education, finding out how it felt. When the enchantment broke, the feeling was unmistakable: as sudden and powerful as the drop in a roller coaster after it had climbed a hill. You came smashing down to earth, and you knew that something unnatural had just happened to you.
Even somebody who had never heard of the Craft might well understand that they’d been the subject of magic. That was one reason enchantments were to be used sparingly, if at all.
If Scott realized the truth, then what?
Probably there was an answer lurking deep within the pages of Mom’s Book of Shadows, but Cecily wasn’t going to look for it. In her heart she had always believed that men could hear and accept the truth about witchcraft. (Maybe not all men—but all women couldn’t hear it either, could they?) Somehow her mother could live with lying to her father forever and ever, but Cecily had never wanted that for herself.
The guy of her dreams—the chef who wanted to open a restaurant with her—he would know not only that Cecily practiced the Craft, but would also see how amazing it was. He would be proud of her power. He would support her no matter what.