It’s quiet between us for several moments. It’s all I can do to remain seated, to not topple off my chair or go running out of the room. It just doesn’t make sense. How we could be so similar.
I look back at him, wondering if he’s being genuine, if I can even trust him. My heart is beating so fast just imagining the possibility of his honesty, the idea that someone could relate to me this way.
“When you got here,” I begin, “how did you know who I was? How were you able to tell I was the girl you’d been dreaming about?”
“I knew it when we bumped into each other that day. I could sense it.” He swallows. “All over me.”
I swallow, too.
“Do you know what that feels like?” he asks. “To sense things so intensely that your blood almost feels like it could boil right out of the veins?”
I can almost feel it now. I clasp my hands and purse my lips, trying to hold it all in place, to remain in control. “So?” I say, finally.
“So,” he says, “now that I’m here, my nightmares have been stronger than ever.”
“And what do they reveal?”
He looks away like he doesn’t want to tell me.
“I have to know,” I say. “What do you see?”
“I see you,” he says, unclasping my hands and taking one in his own. He rubs it gently with his thumb, causing the blood in my veins to boil up and bubble right over my bones. “Lying in a casket.”
Before we say our goodbyes, Jacob scribbles his number on a slip of paper and tells me to call him if I need anything. But what I really need right now is to call Drea and Amber—to tell them I’m okay. I rush down to the phone in the lobby.
“Where have you been?” Drea asks.
“What do you mean? I’ve been here—in the library.”
“I called the library. I had you paged.”
“I didn’t hear any page,” I say.
“Me and Amber have been completely freaked,” she says. “Amber nabbed PJ from his room. They’re on their way to the library now to look for you.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“So, you met him?” Drea says. “He was there?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And we should talk about it. But later. Not here.” I glance around the lobby. There’s a spattering of students checking out books at the front desk and hanging out by the door.
“Chad came by around quarter of nine to pick you up,” Drea says.
I look at the clock. It’s 9:20. “Oh my god,” I say. “Was he mad? What did you tell him?”
“He was more frustrated than mad,” she says. “He waited for, like, half an hour, but then took off. I told him you were working on a group project, but I’m not sure he bought it.”
“I should call him now,” I say. I look toward the door just as Amber and PJ bust in.
“Oh my god,” Amber says, a big fat salami stick tucked under her arm. “Thank god you’re okay. I was totally wigging.”
“What is that?” I ask, pointing at the two-foot-long stalk of cured meat.
“My weapon,” she says, battering up as though at home plate.
“Yeah,” PJ says, pulling a water pistol from his jacket pocket. “We’ve come to save you.”
“I gotta go,” I tell Drea. “The cavalry has arrived.” I hang up and go to dial Chad’s number.
“Très rude,” PJ says, grabbing the receiver and hanging up. “We come all the way down here to save your sorry self and this is how you repay us? Making phone calls on our time?” He squirts a couple times into his mouth with the water pistol—a bluish-green liquid.
“We should go,” I say. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“So you talked to him?” Amber says, peeling at the wrapper on her meat stick. “Details, please.”
“Later,” I insist.
Amber sighs but she doesn’t object. I grab both her and PJ by the arm as I make my way toward the exit doors, but, unfortunately, we’re stopped by Cory before we can even make it out. He’s with his friend, the guy who stayed over at our dorm last night.
“What finds you ladies here on a Friday night?” Cory asks us.
“Unfortunately, your ugly ass,” PJ says.
Cory’s friend ignores PJ and leers directly at me. “Let’s hear it, Stacey, what kind of hexes are you casting up tonight?”
“Ones that make your boyhood shrivel up,” Amber says, holding up the wrinkly meat stick as an example. “Care to be the first?”
“Yeah!” PJ says, taking position behind Amber, his water pistol aimed and ready for battle.
“Seriously, now,” Cory’s friend continues at me. “Let’s hang out. Let’s do something crazy: drink someone’s blood, sacrifice a couple lambs . . . I know this really great farm not too far from here.”
“I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong person,” I say, pushing past him and Cory, now cackling back and forth.
“My name’s Tobias, by the way,” Cory’s friend says. “I’m new here.”
“Why couldn’t you tell us that yesterday?” I ask.
“Didn’t feel like it,” he says. “Wanted to remain enigmatic.”
“More like ignoramus,” I say, stopping to check what’s keeping Amber and PJ. PJ has managed to let all the bluish liquid leak out of his water pistol and onto the floor. Amber is helping him wipe it up with a clump of her bra stuffing before the librarian sees.
“I think we could brew up some really nifty concoctions together,” Tobias continues, his left eye twitching at me.
“Let’s go!” I call to Amber and PJ, ignoring Tobias’ suggestion.
“Tell me, Stacey,” Tobias interrupts, “do all witches pee their pants and throw up in yoga class? Or is it just the ones who suck at saving people?”
I freeze but feel my mouth drop open. I look at him, at the big, stupid grin on his face.
“Tsk, tsk, Stacey,” he says. “Should have been at Veronica Leeman’s chapel service. Not very respectful of the dead, are you?”
“Screw you,” Amber says to him. She grabs me by the hand and whisks me through the second set of doors.
Tobias follows us out. “I’m only looking out for Veronica’s best interest, Stacey. And she wants you gone.”
“What are you talking about?” Amber turns to him.
“We’ve talked to her.”
“Must have been a pretty one-sided conversation,” Amber says. “In case you’ve forgotten, the girl is dead.”
“We’ve talked to her spirit,” Cory calls after us, as we walk away. “And she’s mad as hell.”
I try calling Chad as soon as I get back to the room, but he doesn’t pick up, even after seven consecutive attempts. Great! I contemplate making the hike across campus to his dorm, but since I really don’t feel like leaving the security of my bed and my medicinal bowl of lavender pellets right now, and since he obviously doesn’t want to talk to me, I decide to just leave a couple messages and hope for the best. I feel really bad that I missed our date, but my love life isn’t exactly my top priority right now—it can’t be. Nor can I afford to preoccupy myself by worrying about Cory and his so-called séance. I need to focus on myself, on the prospects of ending up in a casket before the week is up.
I tell Drea and Amber all about my meeting with Jacob, every single detail, from crystal cluster rock to coffin. Minus, of course, the part about his eyes and the way he touched my hand, and the stupid, stupid way I feel all jittery around him.
“So, what’s that supposed to mean?” Amber asks. “That he’s some warlock? Are you seriously buying that dung?”
“Not a warlock,” I say, “a witch. Warlocks are people who break oaths.” It’s weird to even give him a label, to stamp some ready-made definition to his fore
head so others can try to comprehend him.
“Whatever,” Drea says. “A guy witch?”
“It’s not a gendered religion,” I say. “And you don’t have to be female to sense things.”
“I suppose a guy witch could be kind of sexy,” Amber says, rubbing at her chin in thought. “But that still proves squat. Everybody at this sad-ass campus knows about your Maura nightmares. You talked about them at the trial last year, when they asked you about your first experiences with premonitions.”
“I know,” I say, mashing the lavender pellets up with my thumb, soaking up the soothing scent. “But when I talked about the Maura nightmares then, I was referring to the ones I was having three years before. This is different. He knows I’m having nightmares about her now. He also knows I’m having nightmares about Veronica Leeman.”
“So, who else besides us knows that stuff?” Amber asks.
“Just you guys,” I say.
“And Chad and PJ,” Drea adds.
I nod.
“So they totally could have dished about it,” Amber says. “Especially PJ.”
“I guess,” I say. “But why would Jacob come all the way here from Colorado to find me and tell me I’m in danger? What would he have to gain?”
“Maybe he’s one of the ghost groupies,” Amber says.
“You don’t think there’s any chance he could be telling the truth about the premonitions?” I ask.
“We don’t even know if he’s telling the truth about transferring here from Colorado,” Amber says. “For all we know, he could be from the next town over.”
“Of course there’s a chance,” Drea interrupts. “Look at Stacey. Look at how she’s able to predict stuff.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s possible,” Amber says. “It just seems pretty sketchy, you know? Like he’s trying too hard to get on Stacey’s good side. I just think we really need to be sure.”
“I guess,” I say. “I guess we should probably try to find out if he really is from Colorado, and then ask PJ and Chad if they’ve said anything.”
“I don’t think Chad would go spreading stuff,” Drea says.
“You’re right,” I say. “He wouldn’t. Especially since he seems to think my nightmares are all psychosomatic.”
“Psycho being the operative word,” Amber says.
“It just makes a lot sense to me,” I say ignoring Amber’s comment, “why someone would travel to such great lengths to forewarn a person that their life is in danger . . . Sort of a way to safeguard yourself from years of impending guilt.”
“Yeah, but then why did he wait so long to contact you?” Drea asks. “I mean, if he’s supposedly been having nightmares about you since the summer . . .”
“Good question” I say, biting down on my lip.
“For now, I think you should stay away from this guy,” Amber says. “For all you know, he could be another Cory clone.”
“I don’t know,” Drea says. “Maybe he could really help us. I mean, let’s say he really is from Colorado—why would he bother traveling all this way if he wasn’t telling the truth? Do you think anyone’s that fanatical?”
“Look at freak-show Trish Cabone,” Amber says. “She came here all the way from Rhode Island.”
“Um, that’s only like a state away,” Drea says. “When was the last time you looked at a map?”
Amber shrugs.
“Maybe he came here for the prestigious Hillcrest name,” Drea says.
“Yeah,” Amber says, “I’m sure all the Ivies are psyched to get applicants from Kill-crest Prep.”
“Look,” I begin. “All I know is I’m having nightmares that tell me that I’m going to be begging to die in less than a week. I’m getting letters that say the same thing. And meanwhile, some guy is claiming to be dreaming about my funeral.”
“Don’t forget middle-of-the-night boiler room visits, evil children’s music, and red letter Ms,” Amber says.
“Right,” I say. “I’m thinking I should take it all seriously.”
“Very seriously,” Drea says.
Amber grabs a pinch of lavender pellets and drops them down the front of her shirt. “I think we should keep an eye on Cory and Tobias as well.”
“And Trish and Emma,” Drea adds.
“Do you think there’s any truth to their lame-ass séance?” Amber asks.
“What are you talking about?” Drea asks. “What séance?”
“Apparently Cory and his ghost-groupie clones have conjured up Veronica’s spirit,” Amber says. “They say she’s piss-mad at Stacey.”
“Try not to stress about it,” I say. “I mean, I know it’s easier said, but I’m with Amber on this: their séance is definitely lame.”
“How do you know?” Drea takes a deep breath and grabs a bar of chocolate off her night table. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“We’ll deal,” Amber says.
“Famous last words,” Drea says, gnawing away at the block of chocolate comfort.
I lie awake in my bed, trying to go over and over and over in my head what my mind and body are trying to warn me about, how the messages and the song play into that, as well as everything that Jacob said. But instead of becoming clearer, I only feel more confused, more funkified, like my head is a giant bingo tank and the endless questions that spin around inside are the rotating bingo balls. I just can’t seem to focus longer than two whole minutes. It seems that every time I try, my mind begins to wander. As much as I want to, I just can’t stop thinking about Jacob, which completely infuriates me because I’m thinking about him and not about Chad. And what infuriates me even more is that I shouldn’t be thinking about either of them. I should be trying to figure everything out.
Which is why I decide to do a spell tonight, one that promotes clarity, one that will help me gain a better understanding of things. I set the family scrapbook open atop my bed for inspiration and reference, and I go ahead and make copies of the letters at the library, just in case I need them as evidence later. I place the copies in my jewelry box for safekeeping and keep the originals for the spell.
Amber and Drea agree to help me. They sit at the foot of my bed—Amber, busy charging up all the spell supplies by passing them one by one through the incense smoke, and Drea, cutting the letters up into tiny squares.
It feels good that Drea is helping me like this, talking about the situation as if it’s our problem and not just mine. I know how hard this must be for her, not only putting aside any negative energy between us but putting my needs well above her own.
Using a razor blade, I carve into the top of a thick yellow candle, doing my best to get close to the wick, but not to sever it, and to dig a deep enough bowl-like space for melted wax to collect. I light the candle and place it on a ceramic plate. I need to capture Jacob’s essence in some way. Normally, I’d use a lock of his hair or a fingernail shard, as the family scrapbook suggests, but since I don’t have those things I need to be resourceful. The crystal comes to mind. I palm it, wondering if I could make it work, but it really doesn’t capture him—his spirit—the way I need it to. I need something more personal, more intimate. I rack my brain for some idea, but the only one that comes to mind, the one that I can’t seem to shake, is that slate-blue eye color and the way those eyes made me feel, making me almost want to gouge out my own eyes with a ballpoint pen. I mean, what is wrong with me? Still, since it’s the only thing that I can think of right now, I have no choice. I ignite my lightest blue candle and place it to the side.
“So,” Amber begins, “did this Jacob guy admit to sending you these letters?”
“No,” I say. “It was weird. He seemed to know about the stuff I was getting, but then when I asked if it was from him, he just shook his head.”
“So, if it isn’t him,” Drea says, “then it
could be anyone.”
“Freakin’ brilliant, Sherlock,” Amber says.
“No, I mean, it could be anyone. Even a girl. We were originally thinking it was a guy, right? Because of the break-in. Because Stacey heard a male voice and saw a male figure that night in the boiler room. But if that was Jacob, and if it was Jacob who sent the e-mail, then we have no other evidence that it’s a guy who’s after her, right?”
“Tell me, O wise one,” Amber intones, “if you were a crazy stalker, would you really admit to your target that you were the one who was sending her all this psycho threatening stuff?”
“If I was a crazy stalker,” Drea says, “I wouldn’t even admit to knowing about the psycho threatening stuff.”
A good point. Which is why I believed Jacob when he said the messages and the cassette weren’t from him.
“You think a girl sent these letters?” Amber asks, running the spool of black thread through the incense smoke.
“It’s possible,” Drea says. “I mean, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a guy.”
“No way,” Amber says. “These letters are so Y-chromosome. A girl’s death threats would have way more style.”
“There’s a brilliant theory.” Drea cuts up the last of the letters and drops the tiny paper squares into a bowl. “We really shouldn’t rule anyone out.”
“And we won’t,” I say, pouring the bowl of melted yellow wax into a ceramic dish. I drip the melted baby-blue wax onto it and then swirl the two colors together with the back end of a mixing spoon—yellow for clarity and blue to represent Jacob.
After the wax has had ample time to cool, I grab it up in my fingers and sculpt it into the shape of a body.
“What is that?” Amber asks.
“An effigy,” I say, rubbing the warm and buttery wax between my fingertips.