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  For Mom and Dad . . .

  who taught me that giving up was never a choice

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, thank you . . .

  Holly Root, I can’t imagine my career without you steering the ship. You were gifted with the ultimate ­trifecta—wit, wisdom, and wicked-good instincts—and I’m so honored to call you my agent.

  Alyson Heller, Teresa Ronquillo, and the many others at Aladdin M!X who had a hand in bringing Accidentally Evil to life and then to the shelves . . . a million thanks wouldn’t be enough. Every single person I’ve worked with has been as enthusiastic about Hallie and the girls as I am. Thank you for welcoming us into the Aladdin M!X family!

  Coco Masuda, your work on the covers of The XYZs of Being Wicked and Accidentally Evil is nothing short of pure genius. Thank you for sharing your talent with my readers and me.

  To my Suh-weet Success Sisters—Alex Ratcliff, ­Kimberly Belle, and Koreen Myers . . . Regardless of where we are, what we’re writing, or what’s going on in our lives, you will always be my favorites. I’m so thankful to have made that trip to the mountain. Here’s to a lifetime of trips together. Mwah!

  Bill, Caleb, Laney, and Weston . . . no amount of success would have meaning without you. You make me happier than I deserve and stronger than I thought possible. You are my everything.

  Two of my students inspired the creation of Hallie, who’s smart, funny, and genuinely good. Megan R. and Jackie G., you are amazing young women and I can’t wait to see how you leave your mark on this crazy world.

  To my readers . . . you are the reason I write, and I am so thankful you’ve spent some time with Hallie and the girls. Each one of you has been blessed with special gifts that can change the lives of others.

  Embrace your power. Live out loud.

  One

  Unless you’ve been blessed with the gift of premonition, there’s no preparing for your second first day at Dowling.

  Last year I entered the Dowling Academy School of Witchcraft in fear, all sweaty hands and pounding heart.

  Last year I hauled my impossibly heavy trunk to my room. Last year everything—and I mean everything—changed.

  I walk under the large oak tree, now fully aware what happens beneath it. Blessings and socials, and darker things I’ve yet to see, I’m sure. My senses, dulled by the scorching Texas heat and never-ending summer days, now zap to life.

  There’s a bounce in my step as I keep myself from running inside to find my best friend, Ivy. It’s been two long months since I last saw her. FaceTime just isn’t the same as being with someone. It was impossible to talk about boys or magic or gossip without one of our mothers eavesdropping. So we had to settle for late-night texting to talk about the good stuff.

  I pat the iPhone in my back pocket, happy I’m allowed to have it. Last year I was a Seeker, which means I was a beginner. Seekers have almost no privileges. No phones, no television, no computers. It was a lot like prison, but with better food.

  This is my second year, and I’m a Crafter, which means I know what my gift is (that’s a really long story) and I’ve passed the Seeker exam. I’m a long way from being a real witch, though. That takes years.

  I stop in front of the massive Dowling doors that once seemed so forbidding. Just me. No parents. No trunk. No nerves.

  What a difference a year makes.

  I pull the door open and let the cool air wash over me. Before I’m fully inside the building, I hear Miss A call my name.

  “Hallie!”

  My eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and my dorm mom’s face becomes clear. A huge smile stretches across my face. Last year I accidentally made her dye her hair orange and she hasn’t changed it since. Beneath that ­tangled curly mess of shocking hair is the face I’ve missed so much. She was only my dorm mom a year, but we have a special connection.

  She pulls me into a big, squishy hug. “Looky here, looky here! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

  I laugh and pull out of the embrace. “I missed you too, Miss A.”

  I’ve tried to forget that Miss A won’t be my dorm mom this year. All the other dorm moms are überserious and a little bit scary. Miss A’s like the crazy grandmother at family reunions. Her face is painted too brightly, and her lipstick is always smeared across her teeth. But you just know she’s always going to be there for you.

  “Is Ivy here yet?” I ask.

  She checks her watch before answering. “Her mama called and said they were running late. Should be here in about an hour.”

  I try not to look too disappointed. I’m excited about seeing Miss A, but Ivy is the one I really want to see. When you go through what we did last year, you’re more than just friends. You’re sisters.

  I glance at the staircase and smile. “Our trunks are here.”

  “You betcha,” Miss A says, smiling.

  The trunks whiz up the stairs, two feet off the ground, unassisted. When we witnessed it last year, Ivy passed out. She would’ve hit the floor and split her head open if Miss A hadn’t frozen her midfall. Magic saved the day—something that would happen many times after.

  “Didn’t I tell you this would happen for you as a Crafter?” Miss A asks.

  “You did.” I am mesmerized by the trunks and wonder if mine has already been delivered to my room.

  “It’s already in there,” Miss A answers.

  It takes me a second to remember that my thoughts project. I’d gotten used to no one hearing my thoughts all summer. I kind of liked it that way.

  “If you don’t want me reading your thoughts, you better get busy figuring out how to close that brain of yours off from me,” she says with a wink. “And everyone else.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answer. There are a lot of things I still don’t understand about my gift. Or gifts. With the gift of inheritance, I can acquire gifts from other witches. Last year I accidentally picked up the gift of mind manipulation. That means sometimes people hear my thoughts about what I think they should do, and then they do it. But they don’t realize I’m the one who gave them the idea. That’s how Miss A got the orange hair. It’s kind of like subliminal messages, only I have almost no control over who hears what. I’m hoping to work that out this year.

  “Better get your room assignment and settle in. Invocation is at five thirty in the Gathering Circle.”

  The Gathering Circle—or GC—is the main meeting room at Dowling. It’s the only room in the building big enough to hold all of the Dowling girls. This is my second year, but there are some girls who have been here five years. Even longer if they’re full-fledged witches.

  Some Dowling students never leave—they return year after year to teach future witches.

  I walk to the welcome desk, manned by two fourth circle witches. That’s what I’ll be next year if I make it through this one.

  “Hi, Hallie,” one of the girls says. I don’t know her, so I’m surprised she knows who I am. She hands me my ID, which holds a picture taken of me today. I have no clue how they do it, but they manage to get a picture of us the day we arrive, without us knowing. And voila! It appears on our badge. That kind of thing is hard to get used to.

  Just as I’m about to walk awa
y, the other girl sneers at me. “Good luck this year, Hallie. Not that you’re going to need it.” The last part is said under her breath, but I hear it anyway.

  Of course they know who I am.

  Everyone knows who I am.

  I am the first student at Dowling to have the gift of inheritance since High Priestess Dannabelle Grimm was here in the 1800s. Apparently that’s kind of a big deal. All I really wanted to be was a hedge witch like my great-great-grandmother, mixing herbs and potions to heal and to cast spells. But I got a lot more than I bargained for.

  I walk away and smile back at the girls, whose faces wear frozen, fake smiles. Miss A said people would be jealous. She was right.

  I look at my badge. My room number is 202.

  I climb the stairs two at a time, anxious to see the room I’ll share with Ivy. During the first year, Seekers are required to room with whomever Dowling assigns us to. For me that meant my worst enemy of all time, Kendall Scott. Being able to choose my roommate this year was a big deal. Huge.

  I hit the top of the stairs and find the hallway crammed with girls talking, hugging, and snapping fingers. Small bursts of magic appear as girls show off their still-new skills. One girl keeps walking through a wall and back again. Back and forth, back and forth, her friends begging to see her do it “just one more time.” It’s hard not to watch her, because it’s crazy cool. A different girl farther down the hallway has accidentally (I think) frozen a girl’s legs in a block of ice. There are probably six or seven girls around the frozen girl, chipping at the ice.

  I can’t stop smiling. Even though it’s a madhouse, it’s my madhouse. Home.

  “Hallie!” Dru Goode, still a foot shorter than everyone else, pushes her way through the cluster of girls to get to me.

  She breaks through, and I smile when I see her. Her perfect white teeth are in direct contrast to her dark skin and black curly hair. It’s impossible not to love her. I hug her close, then look behind her.

  “Where’s Jo?”

  Dru shrugs. “I haven’t seen her. What room are you in?”

  “Room 202,” I tell her.

  She pushes my shoulder so hard, I nearly fall. “Get out! We’re in 204! We’re neighbors!”

  “You’re stronger than you look,” I tell her, laughing.

  I send a silent thank-you to Miss A. I know she’s the reason our rooms are next to each other.

  I look at the room numbers on the wall and realize I’m standing in front of my door. “Have you gone into your room yet?” I ask Dru.

  “Yep,” she says. “Same as last year.”

  I swipe my ID in the door scanner, and the door unlocks. I push it open and—just as Dru said—the rooms are identical to last year’s. The only difference is a big one. There’s a laptop on each of our desks.

  I spin to face Dru. “I didn’t know we were getting laptops!”

  “Me either,” she says. “But don’t get too excited. I hear we have superlimited Internet access.”

  “Still, we can at least check our e-mail.” I look at Dru. “Can’t we?”

  Dru nods. “Miss A said we could. But no Facebook.”

  Good. As long as we have e-mail, I’m golden.

  My trunk sits in front of one of the beds. Ivy’s trunk is already here too. “Your trunk make it here okay?”

  Dru nods. “I don’t even care how it happens. I’m just glad I didn’t have to haul it upstairs. Those trunks are heavy!”

  There are definitely perks to being a witch.

  “I wish I’d brought my glow-in-the-dark pj’s from home. They’ve got a picture of my family on them,” I say.

  “Your pj’s?” Dru asks, sneaky smile on her face. “At home? Two hundred long miles from here?”

  “Dru, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  She puts her fists on her hips. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that.”

  I put my hands up in apology. “You’re right. What was I thinking?” Last year Dru’s gift of conjuration came in handy when she produced a curling iron before the dance at Riley Academy, where I met Cody.

  Cody Ray. The “it” guy at Dowling’s brother school. We met at last year’s social, and no matter how hard I tried to discourage him, he was glued to me all night long. I’ve seen girls ignore their friends because of boys, and I swore I’d never be one of those girls. Besides, life at Dowling is complicated enough. The last thing I need is a distraction. But that’s exactly what I have.

  Dru closes her eyes, puts her fingers in snapping position. She peeks out at me. “Where do you keep your pj’s at home?”

  “My dresser. Bottom drawer.”

  She closes her eyes again, takes a deep breath. She whispers words I can’t hear, and tiny colorful sparks dance off her fingertips.

  I look at my desk, then high-five Dru.

  Sitting there beside my laptop are the pj’s I left behind.

  Two

  My clothes are unpacked, my uniforms hung. Decorative pillows are on the bed and family pictures are on the dresser. The only thing missing is Ivy. I look at the watch on my wrist. She should already be here. I decide to check in with Miss A to see if she’s heard from her. My nose is just inches from the door when it swings open and smacks me right in the face.

  “Yoooooooowww!” I yell. I put my hand over my now bleeding nose.

  “Hallie! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Ivy comes through the door and guides me to the bathroom. She’s half-­laughing as she grabs one of the hand towels from the cabi­net. “What were you doing there?”

  I sit on the toilet and tilt my head back. “I was trying to leave.”

  “Pinch your nose,” she says.

  I do as she says as she stands over me, holding the towel over my face. “Been working out?” I ask.

  She laughs, and the sound of her voice makes me forget the throbbing in my nose. I didn’t realize how much I missed her.

  “No,” she says. “You know me better than that.”

  “Well, you sure swung that door open like a heavyweight champ.”

  She removes the towel. “When did you become so fragile?”

  “Very funny.” I sit up and look at myself in the mirror. But I can’t focus on my nose with Ivy looking like that. “Your hair!”

  She tosses the towel into the hamper and rubs soap onto her hands. “Like it?”

  Last year Ivy’s hair stayed in long braids. I once tricked her into leaving it down and was stunned by how full and curly it was. It’s still the perfect shade of auburn, but the braids are gone. Soft curls frame her face and rest on her shoulders.

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Is that a good ‘wow’ or a what-were-you-thinking ‘wow’?”

  “Are you kidding me? Your hair is freaking awesome!”

  She gives me an easy smile. “You’re leaking again.”

  I grab a tissue and hold it to my nose. When I compare my own reflection to Ivy’s, I feel like I am behind. My straight brown hair has grown over the summer. But I still wear it pulled back in a headband. Simple. Easy. And suddenly childish.

  “You okay?” she asks. “I’m sorry I hit you with the door. I didn’t know you were standing on the other side.”

  I follow Ivy out of the bathroom and into our bedroom. “I was leaving to look for you.”

  “Lie down,” she says, pointing at my bed. “Keep pinching.”

  I do as she says and watch her drag a duffel bag into the room.

  “What took you so long?” I ask.

  Ivy gives me a shrug. “Just running late.” There’s a distance to her voice, but she doesn’t give me time to ask what’s wrong. “How long have you been here?”

  “A couple of hours. You missed the flying trunks.”

  “I saw all of that that I needed to see last year, even if I don’t remember everything
that happened.” She drops to the bed and lies back. “Jeez, it’s good to be back.”

  “I didn’t think summer was ever going to end.” I pull the tissue from my nose. “There. It’s stopped bleeding.”

  “Good. Help me unpack.”

  I’m kind of OCD—okay, a lot OCD—so I’m happy to take over. I make quick work of hanging her uniforms and organizing her dresser.

  She pulls school supplies from her bag and freezes midturn when she gets a good look at her desk. “Whoa! Laptops?”

  “I know. I didn’t realize we were getting them either.”

  “Very nice,” she says, then more quietly, “Have you seen them?”

  Them. She doesn’t have to say the names of our enemies for me to know who she’s asking about. Kendall and her partner in crime, the equally awful Zena Fallon.

  I shake my head. “Just Dru. She and Jo are next door.”

  “Yes!” She tosses the things in her hands onto the bed. “Let’s go see them. I can finish later.”

  It pains me to leave with her stuff all over the room, but I follow her anyway. The hallway is empty—at this point most of the girls are getting unpacked before invocation. The first night at Dowling is a long one. Ivy knocks two times on Dru and Jo’s door, and it opens almost immediately. What follows is a mix of screams, laughs, and hugs. As Seekers the four of us stuck together, and it made the year bearable. Fun, even, on some days. We had a common interest last year—bringing down Kendall and Zena. I suspect we’ll have the same mission this year.

  Kendall Scott has hated me since a third-grade sleepover turned bad. From that day on she made it her personal mission to make sure my life was miserable. As luck would have it, she is also a Dowling descendent, and we were forced to room together last year.

  Zena Fallon was Ivy’s roommate. She is also the daughter of Dowling’s headmistress. Kendall and Zena quickly connected and brought out the evil in one another.

  “Man, you two have been busy!” I say. Dru and Jo’s room is decorated in bold colors—hot pink, lime green, and neon orange the same shade as Miss A’s hair. I picture our mess of a room and shiver.