Accidentally Evil Read online

  We all laugh at the image of Kendall being less than perfect. Kendall will literally kill to maintain her perfect image.

  “She seems better with it now,” Jo says.

  “Unfortunately,” Ivy agrees.

  “Here’s the thing,” Dru says. “She can only control it for a little while, according to the rumors I heard in the hallway. It’s like her tongue does all the smelling for her or something like that. So it just kind of flicks out without warning.”

  I picture Kendall standing tall, full of herself, and her newly forked tongue falling straight out of her mouth. Priceless.

  I did everything I could to reconnect with Kendall last year, but she made it painfully clear that wasn’t going to happen. Just remembering how she poisoned me last year makes my ears ring with anger.

  “I hope that happens when I’m around to see it.” It almost makes me wish we were still roomies so I could witness her struggle.

  Almost.

  “So what else happened at the dance?” I ask.

  Dru shrugs. “Nothing, really. It was pretty tame. There weren’t a ton of people there, and the music was kind of lame because the headmistress was in charge of it.” She gives a dramatic eye roll that makes me laugh. “Lots of eighties music.”

  I don’t tell them I actually like eighties music. Instead I laugh along with them. I wonder what secrets they keep from me? It’s the first time I’ve really thought about it. My dad says everyone has secrets, and that secrets aren’t always bad. Sometimes things are too special to share. That’s how I feel about Cody right now.

  Ivy’s face darkens briefly. It returns to normal so quickly, I wonder if it actually happened. That’s the second time she’s taken a mental break from a conversation today. She looks at me and smiles. It’s the same genuine, in-control smile I remember from last year. Still, I can’t shake that something’s wrong.

  “Ssh,” Jo whispers. “They’re in the hallway.”

  We look at the door, straining to hear what Jo can hear so clearly. She has the gift of clairaudience, which means she can hear things far away. She once heard me and Ivy talking about our favorite movies, and we were in a completely separate room.

  “They stopped,” she mouths, finger over her mouth to keep us quiet.

  The room is so silent, I wonder if everyone else is holding their breath like me.

  Jo leans back. “Okay,” she says, her voice normal.

  “What happened?” Ivy asks.

  She shakes her head like she’s freeing a cacophony of sounds from her ears. “I could hear them as clear as day.”

  “Hear who?” Dru asks. She is possibly the most impatient person I know.

  “Kendall and Zena. They were talking in the hallway.”

  Ivy and I share a quick This isn’t good look. With the two of them rooming together this year, we will have to watch out for each other every single second of the day.

  “And?” Dru’s voice is insistent, and I’m afraid that if Jo doesn’t answer in the next two seconds, Dru will fly out of the room and confront Kendall and Zena herself.

  Jo giggles, a sound I haven’t really heard before. She laughs infrequently at best, and even then, it’s often forced. That girl is way too serious.

  “First they were talking about what they’re wearing tomorrow—”

  “Um,” I say, interrupting. “Our uniforms? Not much to decide.”

  “They were talking more about shoes and jewelry. And their hair.”

  Kendall has the kind of hair that is always perfect—it looks almost exactly like strands of gold and smells like coconut. She could roll out of bed and never put a brush through her hair and still look better than Barbie.

  “That’s all?” I ask.

  Part of me is kind of disappointed they didn’t say more. I was hoping to use Jo’s gift to stay one step ahead of them.

  “Pretty much,” Jo says. She thinks for a second, then snaps her fingers. “Oh yeah! They said that they’d ‘show her’ tomorrow.”

  My eyes practically fall out of my head. “That’s the ‘oh yeah’?”

  Jo smiles, smug, satisfied. She loves to make me squirm.

  “Is it me? Were they talking about me?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. They didn’t say any names. But come on, Hallie. Who else would it be?”

  She’s right. I’m the only one they hate enough to target. I’d hoped that when my gift of inheritance was exposed and the true strength of my gift was understood, Kendall would leave me alone. Finally. But she only dug in more deeply, more convinced than ever that her purpose in life was to destroy me.

  “I should have known she wouldn’t change.”

  Ivy shifts to my bed and puts her arm around me. Her eyes are shiny, like she might cry. Her gift of empathy makes her hypersensitive to what other people are feeling, and it’s even worse with me because we’re so close.

  “Don’t worry,” she says, pulling me in more tightly. “We’re all in this together. She’ll have to go through us to get to you.”

  “That’s right,” Dru says, resting a featherlight arm on my shoulder.

  Jo doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. She is one of the most loyal people I’ve ever known. She’ll be there.

  I take a deep breath, will my nerves to calm down.

  “It’s one girl,” I say to my friends. “How much harm can she really do?”

  Five

  Sitting in Lady Jennica Silver’s class this morning, it’s like I never even left. Lady Jennica is everyone’s favorite teacher. She has turned the history of Dowling into something exciting and meaningful.

  Lady Jennica isn’t a traditional teacher. She doesn’t look at us over her reading glasses, and she wouldn’t be caught dead in a holiday sweater. Today she’s wearing a silvery wispy dress. It has layers of thin material that is shorter in front but goes all the way to the floor behind her. I’m used to seeing her in black, but silver fits her better. And not because that’s her last name. It just fits. Her black hair has grown and now reaches the middle of her back. It’s held with a silver clip, and little pieces of hair that have come loose hang over her face. Last year she had purple highlights. This year they’re red. But just a little. So little you can’t really see it at first. But if you look closely enough, you can see it peeking through.

  I was surprised someone as young as Lady Jennica was a teacher. But I found out later that Dowling hires Dowling graduates to teach. Only the best of the best are selected.

  In the five minutes I’ve been sitting next to Ivy, the lights have gone off twice and the window shades have opened and closed at least a dozen times. A fireball hangs in the corner near the ceiling, and a girl stands below it looking guilty.

  Class is just seconds away from starting. Kendall’s and Zena’s seats are, of course, empty. They are allergic to punctuality.

  Lady Jennica snaps her fingers, and the door closes just as Zena and Kendall enter. The class snickers as the two girls attempt to look apologetic. But they’re too arrogant to pull it off.

  Kendall is still playing with her hair, twirling it around her fingers, when Lady Jennica tells them, “Consider this your one free pass for the year, girls.”

  Ha. There’s no better way to start the day than seeing Kendall get in trouble.

  Lady Jennica turns her attention to the rest of the class. “Welcome back, Crafters.” She places special emphasis on our new level, and the room is full of smiles. “I am so glad you’re back.”

  She fixes the blinds and dispels the fireball. “We’ll get this under control this year.”

  Lady Jennica writes the word “Goals” on the board and swipes a sloppy line under it. “Let’s talk about what you can expect this year.”

  I position my pencil over the first page in my brand-new spiral. I copy her word onto my paper and w
ait for more. I’m what some might call a bit of a teacher’s pet. I prefer to think of myself as conscientious.

  “You may have heard this will be your hardest year at Dowling.”

  The room gives her a collective nod.

  “Relax,” she says. “Every year feels like the hardest year. It’s supposed to get tougher the longer you’re here. That’s how you know you’re learning.”

  For some reason that doesn’t make me feel better.

  “So, let’s talk about our major goal for this year.”

  She turns back to the board and writes in her familiar just-barely-legible handwriting.

  “This year we’ll learn more about our familial connections to Dowling.” She faces us again. “This will involve more than producing a family tree. This will be in-depth genealogy research. The results . . .” She stops, looking for the right word. “The results are sometimes surprising. You know, when I was in this class at your age, I found out I was related to one of the dorm mothers. Funny, huh? So you never know what the research will drag up.”

  I personally detest surprises. I have to know what’s going to happen, and when, and where, and how. Flying by the seat of my pants gives me hives.

  Last year our major project was to research a High Priestess from Dowling’s history. I was stuck doing the project with Kendall, but I got to choose the High ­Priestess. Dannabelle Grimm. Researching Dannabelle was not only interesting, but it was great for me when I found out she and I shared the same rare gift.

  The rest of the class period is crammed with boring first-day-of-school stuff. Filling out papers, answering a questionnaire about our summer, that kind of thing. Just before class is over, Lady Jennica looks over to me and mouths, “Stay after.” It’s like a thousand moths have been set free in my stomach. Why does she want to see me?

  When the bell rings, I tell Ivy I’ll meet her in the next class.

  “You sure? I can wait,” she says.

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll be right behind you.” I hope.

  I hang back as the room clears out, then walk to Lady Jennica’s desk.

  “Yes, ma’am?” I say. Manners matter, my dad says, and he’s almost always right. It can be maddening how right he is.

  She leans forward in her chair, hands clasped on the desk in front of her. “I am dying to know how your summer went.”

  I look at her, confused. “My summer?”

  Her eyes widen. “Yeah. You know. It’s those months that just went by when you lived with your parents.”

  Heat rushes to my face. “I know what summer is, but I’m not sure why you want to know about mine. Not that I mind telling you, of course.”

  Lady Jennica laughs lightly, like a wind chime tinkling in the breeze. “Hallie,” she says, “I’m curious about your summer because of the gifts you inherited last year. I thought it might have made your summer . . . interesting, to say the very least.”

  “Oh,” I say. “You mean the going invisible thing?”

  She nods. “And the mind manipulation thing.”

  “And the transformation thing,” I finish.

  “Precisely,” she says. “How’d it go?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t understand what you mean. I’m not trying to be dense, but I’m confused.”

  “Hallie,” she says, her eyes tilting to a worried angle. “Did you try to use any of your gifts this summer? Or did they accidentally happen? Like when you accidentally made Miss A dye her hair?”

  I think about the past couple of months, about our trip to the beach, and hanging out with my dog. I shake my head. “No, not really. Except this one time my mom said she was hungry for shrimp, but I was craving stir-fry. All of a sudden she changed her mind while we were driving and we ended up at Hong Kong Grill.”

  “That’s all?” Lady Jennica asks. “Usually the girls have a rough time that first summer home. Their gifts always seem to leak out.”

  I laugh. “No, nothing like that happened. The rules say we aren’t allowed to do that.”

  “Yeah, well . . . that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. We need to spend some time working on your control. Your thoughts fly right out of your head like they’re running a race. The whole point of having the gift of mind manipulation is that people don’t realize it’s happening.”

  My face reddens. “I know.”

  “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Hallie. You have a powerful gift. It will take you years to master all the gifts you have acquired. Come see me next week, and we’ll set up some one-on-one time.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Is that all, Lady Jennica?” I look at the clock. “I have two minutes to get to my next class.”

  “Yes, yes,” she says, pushing my back lightly to help me out the door. Then she says, “Hallie.”

  I turn around in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “How’s Ivy holding up? She looks great, but you know . . .” There’s a sadness in Lady Jennica’s eyes that doesn’t make sense.

  “Um, Ivy’s fine, I guess.”

  “Well, I know she’s better now that she’s with you.”

  “What are you talking about?” My voice is wispy, as if my lungs are hoarding the oxygen to deal with whatever comes next.

  Lady Jennica’s eyes squint, and she chooses her words with surgical care, a short pause between each word.

  “You . . . don’t . . .”

  “I don’t what?”

  “It’s nothing,” she says, a fake smile growing on her face. Her eyes are still sad, troubled.

  “Is there something wrong with Ivy? Is she okay?” As I say the words, my throat tightens.

  Lady Jennica puts a hand on my arm. “Talk to Ivy.”

  I open my mouth to push her for more information, but she practically pushes me out the door. “You better get going,” Lady Jennica says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I just nod and walk numbly to my next class.

  Six

  I go through the rest of the day pretending I don’t know something’s wrong with Ivy. My mind has gone wild with possibilities.

  Is it her grades? When mine came over the summer, I was terrified to open them. But my grades were good, and Ivy’s smarter than I am.

  Maybe she got a boyfriend over the summer and she’s sad she had to leave him.

  When I get to our room after our last class, I’m still trying to decide what to say.

  Ivy takes one look at me and frowns. “Who died?”

  Died? Did someone die? “You tell me,” I say.

  “What?” she asks. I can tell she’s genuinely confused. She sits down next to me on my bed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “Really? You’re trying to lie to me? About your feelings?”

  I smile back at my best friend. She knows me way too well to buy a lame answer like “nothing.”

  “Spill it,” she says.

  “Lady Jennica asked me something weird today.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “She asked if I’d had any trouble with my gifts over the summer. She seemed surprised I hadn’t.”

  “What do you mean? You didn’t play with your magic this summer at all?”

  “Am I the only girl who actually followed the rules?”

  Ivy smiles at me. “You’re too good to be a witch. Especially one with black magic gifts.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Black magic. Of all the girls at Dowling, I am the least likely to use black magic. As one of the few witches with the gift of inheritance, I am an inherently “black” witch.

  Miss A would call it fate. Dad would call it ironic. I call it bad luck.

  “That’s all she wanted?” Ivy asks.

  My mind snaps back to my conversation with Lady Jennica. “That was most of it.”

&nbs
p; “What else? Did she ask you about Kendall?”

  “No,” I say. I take a deep breath, swallow hard. Say it! “She asked me about you.”

  Ivy looks confused, and a quick flutter of hope blinks inside my belly. Maybe Lady Jennica was wrong. Maybe Ivy’s fine and someone else is in trouble. Or dead.

  “Why?”

  “She wanted to make sure you were okay. She said you were probably better now that you’re here with me.”

  I look straight into Ivy’s eyes. “What’s going on?”

  Tears fill her eyes and she cries, so quietly, I can barely hear her. But the tears roll down her face, and she swipes at them angrily.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong, Ivy. I’m kinda freaking out right now.”

  I’m surprised when my own tears surface. I’ve never been a sympathy crier, but I’ve also never had a friend like Ivy.

  “It’s my parents,” she says between swipes. “They’re getting divorced.” Her voice chokes on the last word. My heart breaks for her. I want to hug her, tell her it’s going to be all right. But I don’t know if things will be okay.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s the truest thing I can say.

  She shrugs. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t be surprised. They haven’t gotten along for a while. I just thought—” She stops midsentence, her voice catching on unshed tears.

  I don’t need the gift of empathy to feel her pain. I hold her hand and squeeze. “You should have told me.”

  Ivy shakes her head. “No sense ruining your summer too.”

  Her thoughtfulness is one of my favorite things about her. “Well, now I know and we’re back at Dowling. You know I’m here for you, right?”

  “I know,” she says, a sad smile on her face. She takes a deep breath, stands up and goes to the sink in the bathroom. She washes her face and comes back out. Her face is still pink, but she looks good. She taps the watch on her wrist. “Dinnertime. I was going to check my e-mail, but that will have to wait.”

  I put a hand over my empty rumbling stomach. “Perfect timing.”