Curse of Stone

  Curse of Stone

  Veronica Shade

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Through the clashing of the marching band and roaring of the crowd, no one hears the rumble of thunder in the distance, warning of the horrors to come.

  “And now here they are!” the announcer crows into the mic, his voice reverberating over the cheering crowd. “Your regional champions! The Tukey Hollow Turkeys!”

  Of course, he pronounces “hollow” like “holler,” as any good Oklahoman would.

  “Let’s hear your turkey hollers!” the announcer calls, and all of us join in with the traditional gobble-gobble sound we learned to perfection back in our elementary school years.

  My best friend and cheerleading captain, Julieta, pumps one of her pom-poms in the air. “Let’s go, ladies!”

  She leads us in a jog onto the field, where we jump and tumble, our pom-poms shimmering in the bright lights of the football field. It shouldn’t be this dark on a Saturday afternoon, but the clouds are moving their way over the sun.

  It’s springtime in Tornado Alley. Before you can even walk, any kid raised here knows the terror that can follow a lightning strike, a gust of wind, and the blare of the tornado siren.

  Even the most rural part of the state has early warning systems for deadly storms. But numbers lie. Systems fail. Sirens don’t always go off.

  People die.

  But in the thrill of enjoying one of our favorite high school pastimes, it’s all too easy to ignore the signs that the fun should be put on hold.

  The clouds move in too fast. The wind changes direction. There’s that warning smell in the air.

  Others might have a free pass for overlooking the signs, but I should know better. Maybe if I wasn’t always so worried about hiding my special abilities, I’d be better at trusting my instincts.

  As the football team busts through the door from the locker room and onto the field, concerns about the dark weather are ignored. This is the division championships. If we win this game, we will go on to state finals! It’d be a huge accomplishment for our school, and I’m about to be a part of it.

  We cheerleaders step to the side, forming an alley for the footballers to run through. We yell and raise our pom-poms, but I’m only looking for one guy.

  My man. Number 63. Beau Redbird.

  When our eyes meet, it is as if the rest of the world melts away. He smiles at me, his teeth gleaming against his warm terracotta skin. I can’t speak, can hardly move as my heart beats to nearly rupturing in my chest.

  As he passes by, he reaches out and lightly brushes my cheek. Then he’s gone, lost in the throng of players bustling onto the field. The crowd roars again as our players move into position.

  “Come on,” Julieta says, grabbing my arm so we can take our seats on the side of the field.

  This is our first chance for a break in hours. We had to lead the pep rally first, which started at noon. And that was after the charity pancake breakfast the team hosted that we had to act as servers for. Not to mention it’s been a crazy week of activities leading up to today. And if—no, when we win—the next few weeks leading up to the state finals will be even crazier.

  But so worth it!

  If Beau gets a scholarship, then I’ll know where to start applying for colleges, too, so we can live in the same area. I know it’s crazy to think I might have found “the one” when I’m only seventeen, but when you know, you know, right?

  I scan the crowd for my mama. I knew I wouldn’t have time to see her this morning, so I had been pestering her all week so she wouldn’t forget the game today. This morning I’d found a note she’d left for me that said See you at three! and stuffed it into my bag as I ran out of the house. Part of me knows she didn’t come, but I can’t help but hope.

  I don’t see her anywhere. The bleachers are packed, though, and she’s kind of short. She could be here; I just can’t see her.

  “That’s a first down!” the announcer yells.

  The crowd cheers and gobble-gobbles, bringing me back to the game. We cheerleaders jump to our feet and rustle our pom-poms.

  A cold gust of wind pushes at the back of my neck, sending goose bumps across my flesh. I turn around, a sense of dread pressing down on me when I see the black cloud seeping over the field.

  “Julieta?” I say, nudging her with my elbow. “What did the weather say today?”

  “Chance of storms later, like after five,” she says, still watching the game. “Hopefully the game will end before the rain starts.”

  “I don’t think we are going to make it.” I tug on her arm, forcing her to turn around.

  “Shoot!” she says as she reaches into her top and pulls her phone out of her bra. “I better check for any warnings.”

  Out in the crowd, a few other people are also checking their phones. There may have been no siren or official warning, but we need to get inside.

  I grit my teeth, eyeing the storm cloud above. We could make it a little longer, couldn’t we? This game is too important. If we call it off now, there’ll be no chance to reschedule before the finals.

  A few people shrug and return to the game. I guess I’m not the only one hoping the storm will just blow over.

  “There’s no warning,” Julieta says. “Even the radar shows it going way west of here. I’m sure we’ll be fine. It just looks bad.”

  I nod, and we both turn back to the field. But the wind lifts my hair, brushes my skin. I feel the electricity in the air zapping my fingertips. The air is calling me. Warning me. Speaking to me.

  Run.

  “Oh no,” Julieta says before I can voice my panic. “Mr. Barker’s dog got out again!”

  Across the field, on the other side of the fence, Mr. Barker’s little brown pomeranian runs loose, sniffing the grass and barking at something.

  “I better go get her,” Julieta says, and she takes off before I can stop her.

  Mr. Barker is an elderly gentleman who lives next to the school. He was a state champion back in like the fifties or something. Kind of a local legend, so we all look out for him. His dog, Mimi, sneaks out once in a while and we all fight over who gets to take her back home and get treated to tea and poppin’ fresh homemade biscuits with butter and honey.

  Sometimes, I think Mr. Barker lets Mimi out on purpose for an excuse to get some visitors. He doesn’t seem lonely when we’re there, but I bet he is the rest of the time. He’s a sweet old widower who loves to drone on about “back in my day…”

  But today, as I see Julieta running across the field, her superb brown ringlets bouncing in the staticky air, I’d rather leave Mimi to her own devices and get everyone else inside.

  I pull out my own phone, checking the weather alerts myself.

  “Please, please, please,” I mutter. Please, let there be an alert.

  We need to get everyone inside. I just know it in the magical way I seem to know these sorts of things. But there is nothing, and
I’ll seem crazy if I tell people to go in now. They’d ignore me, and then hate me for trying to ruin such an important game for our school.

  Run!

  I can’t ignore the warnings any longer. I don’t have to look to know the storm is about to break over us.

  Screw it. They can hate me. I have to say something.

  I run to Coach and grab his arm. He pulls off his headphones and narrows his eyes at me. It’s a serious breach of rules to interrupt Coach during a game.

  “This better be important, Whittaker!” he barks.

  The words die in my throat, so I just point. He turns to look up, and terror sweeps over me. The clouds are churning more now. Thicker, darker. Almost evil.

  Coach throws his headset back on and pushes a button. “We need to call this off and get everyone inside,” he says. “Now! Storm’s coming in fast.”

  Screams of panic tear my attention back to the bleachers. Some people in the crowd are pointing at the roiling clouds; others have already jumped to their feet and are trampling their way down to the field.

  But there’s a few who have planted themselves firmly, arms crossed as if refusing to give in to the power of nature and let anything disrupt the game.

  Coach blows a whistle and runs onto the field to convene with the other coach and referees. The players seem confused at first, but then they see the storm and start taking off their helmets. I motion to Beau to come to the side of the field, but he shakes his head.

  His attention is swiftly back on the coach, like he can’t make any more decisions—not even for safety—without Coach’s approval first.

  “Okay, folks,” the announcer says, an undercurrent of panic in his voice. “Looks like we got a gullywasher coming in. Let’s have a nice orderly procession off the field and into the building. Hopefully it will blow us by, and we can resume the game.”

  After a screech of feedback and a thunk, the announcer tosses off his headset. He’s probably making a beeline for the door, not wasting a moment of time to get to the ground.

  The crowd is in chaos. Some people boo and hiss at having to leave their seats. Others still refuse to get up, blocking the way. Several people hop from bleacher to bleacher, trying to find any path to the ground and back to the high school building across the parking lot.

  Finally, the coaches give their players permission to vacate the field.

  “Be the leaders I know you all are,” Coach says to the boys. “Escort the fans to the school in an orderly fashion.”

  Beau runs to me first and squeezes my hand. “You need to get inside.”

  “I have to find my mama first,” I reply. Even though I have a feeling she never showed, I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her. “I’ll meet you inside.”

  The wind picks up, blowing around us. My hair and skirt flutter in the breeze. He turns to block me from the wind, his warm arms wrapping me in a safe embrace.

  A tornado siren blares, shattering the air. The few people left in the bleachers finally realize the seriousness of the situation and jump to their feet, crowding the exits as they try to pile down the rows of the bleachers all at once.

  Beau releases my hand. “I’ll find your mom. You get inside,” he says, then he runs to the bleachers with the other players to escort the people off the field.

  I look around to make sure all the cheerleaders are gone when I see Julieta scampering back over the fence, Mimi in her arms.

  I wave to her. “Come on!” I scream, but my voice dies as the wind howls. Branches and debris fly across the field. “Hurry!”

  Julieta shields Mimi in one arm and lifts the other to protect her head. The last of the crowd is making their way across the parking lot. We are the only people left.

  I run toward Julieta, but just before I reach her, a piece of debris smacks her in the side of the head. She crumples to the ground.

  “Julieta!” I scream.

  Mimi yelps as Julieta lands on top of her, but she squirms her way out from under her and sprints toward the building.

  I kneel at Julieta’s side and shake her, but she doesn’t respond. I lift her head and see a trail of blood seeping from her temple. Her head lolls back down. I put my fingers to her throat .

  There’s a pulse.

  “Come on!” I cry, trying to get her to her feet, but it’s no use. I’m strong from cheer practice, but I can’t deadlift another human being.

  I stand and look around, trying to find someone to help, but everyone is safely inside.

  As the tornado forms, debris swirling around us, I know there’s really only one hope that we’ll survive this.

  I have to do what I swore I would never do.

  I have to use my powers.

  After years of hiding them, I’m not even sure I can, but given no other choice, I stand and face the storm. I’m not strong enough to stop it, or even redirect it, but I should be able to create a pocket of air around us for protection.

  I am an air witch, after all.

  I raise my hands and call on Hecate, the First Witch, for strength. I cannot create air, but I am able to gather the wisps of errant breezes around me to create a small cyclone of my own.

  As my magical cyclone whirls around us, faster and faster, the tornado drops from the clouds to the earth like an angry dragon’s tail. Lightning strikes around it, and the wind roars threateningly, but I hold my ground.

  I’ve had no formal training in how to use my powers. Everything I know is simply from the trial and error of my youth, before I realized it wasn’t safe to use my powers. There’s too much risk of someone seeing me.

  It’s been a few years since I’ve practiced against a fierce Oklahoma storm, and that wasn’t a tornado. I’d never faced down a tornado before.

  Mama would kill me.

  But I can think of no other way to protect Julieta. If the tornado comes for us, we are doomed. I need to direct the debris that could kill us somewhere else. It’s the only way.

  The tornado skirts around the field, growling like a freight train bearing down on us. The sky churns, spitting down stinging rain. Lightning sparks.

  Then the tornado seems to pass us by. We’re going to be okay!

  Just as soon as I have that thought, I’m reminded that tailwinds are the most dangerous. The tornado had ripped up trees and demolished houses, and now the remnants are following in its wake, careening toward us.

  Siding from a house pummels toward us, but I wave my arm, slapping the debris to the right with a gust of wind to send it away from us. A patio chair tumbles toward us next, but I knock it away as well. A tree branch, a rearview mirror, shingles—I knock it all away or it bounces off the protective pocket of air I’ve created.

  I start to think we just might survive this when something dark and long falls out of the clouds and heads straight toward us. I try to send a gust of wind toward it, to knock it off course, but it is too heavy. As it gets closer, I realize it is a bundle of rebar, probably from a nearby construction site.

  Damn it.

  I can’t maintain the air pocket and control the gusts. It will take all my strength to divert debris this heavy.

  I drop the air pocket and send not just a gust, but a full surge of wind to the rebar. It is just enough to redirect the rebar’s fall, and it crashes to the ground, the zip ties holding it together breaking, sending the rebar flying in all directions.

  I scream and send out a burst of wind to keep the errant rebar from hitting us. There are too many of them that I don’t even think about where to send the flying metal. All I think about is pushing air out, away from us in every direction.

  The wind starts to die down, and the tornado slips back up into the clouds. The siren goes silent. I collapse at Julieta’s side and shake her. She groans.

  “Hey!” I say. “Are you okay?” She grunts again but doesn’t speak. I brush a curl from her face. “I’m going to go get help.”

  I stand up, my legs and hands shaking. I’m tired from the exertion, but
the adrenaline is still rushing through my veins. I can’t believe I faced down a tornado! I can’t wait to tell Mama. She’ll be mad, but there’s no one else I can tell. No one else knows I’m a witch.

  I run past the bleachers to the field’s exit to find someone to help me with Julieta. She needs a doctor. But as I run, I see someone else collapsed on the field, lying on his back.

  Not just anyone. My boyfriend.

  My blood freezes in my chest, and my whole body stops. The adrenaline is gone. The fear of the tornado is gone. Julieta and Mama are gone.

  There is only Beau.

  I find my feet and run toward him, my arms pumping at my sides. “Beau!”

  He’s not moving. Why is he just lying there?

  When I reach him, I see why.

  A stick of rebar is jutting out of his chest, red blood pooling around it.

  “No!” I collapse at his side, my lungs seizing and tears pinching my face. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

  His eyes are wide open, but he doesn’t respond.

  I shake him. “Wake up! Please!”

  But he’s already dead. He was probably dead before he hit the ground.

  I scream to Hecate. Cursing her. Begging her for help. But I know she had no hand in this. This was me. My fault. My pride. My stupidity.

  I’ve killed the boy I love.

  Chapter 2

  The hospital smells of disinfectant, blood, and salt. Everyone speaks in hushed voices, but I can still hear what everyone is saying as their words carry on the air.

  “Such a tragedy.”

  “He was such an amazing young man.”

  “It was Madison Whittaker who found him? Weren’t they dating?”