Curse of Stone Page 3

  Then again, there were sports reporters from all over the state there since it was such an important game. They must have come back out of the high school after the storm and saw me. And then they snapped the picture.

  I’d slammed the paper down and run to my room, then shut and locked the door. Now, I’m watching them through my bedroom window as they continue to prowl around.

  I hold my coffee cup tight, the warmth of the ceramic calming my frigid body. The reporters have slunk back across the street, but they still wait. Like vultures. The news vans are from all over. Turkey Hollow doesn’t have a TV station, just a local newspaper. But the vans advertise where they are from: Oklahoma City. Tulsa. The van from Dallas says it’s an official ABC News vehicle. I shudder at the thought of my face being plastered across every TV in America. The reporters talk to each other, laugh, share donuts. Just another day at work for them.

  I hear a door in the house open, and Mama laughs. The man and woman she was with say something, but I can’t make out the words. They’re probably just gathering their things and making plans for their next threesome.

  I bite back a gag.

  I should probably warn Mama’s visitors about the reporters outside...but I don’t. I sip my coffee, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure at seeing Mama and her “friends” caught with their pants down.

  The front door opens, and the reporters all rush across the street once more. I can’t help but laugh as Mama and the man cuss as they slam the door.

  “What the hell was that?” Mama yells.

  “How should I know?” the man asks.

  “Did someone call the cops?” the woman cries.

  Oh great. They came back inside.

  They fuss and fight as they try to figure out what’s going on.

  There’s some shuffling. Then the woman says, “It’s just reporters. Not cops.”

  I chuckle to myself. They probably almost shit themselves thinking it was police tracking them down for buying drugs or something.

  The back patio door slides open with its usual scrape that’s unmistakable through these thin walls. The man and woman must be trying to sneak out that way. They can cross the yard, hop the fence, and then cut through the woods to get to another street and find their way home from there.

  As long as they’re gone, I really don’t care.

  The reporters make their way back to their vans, but this time, they are all on their phones. Probably trying to find out who the man was and more about Mama. I cringe a bit at that. It won’t take them long to find out that Mama has a drug problem. She’s kind of famous around here for that reason. Thankfully, she’s never been arrested for her use, but she’s been picked up several times for her own safety and been in and out of a few rehab centers.

  Mama paces downstairs, floorboards creaking under her steps as she mutters to herself. Probably trying to figure out what’s going on. I could go down there and tell her, but instead, I sit on the bed and pick up a magazine.

  Let her come to me for once.

  The TV in the living room switches on. I can’t understand what the female reporter is saying, but Mama cusses again and then her feet come thudding up the stairs as if she’s taking them two at a time.

  “Maddie!” she yells, throwing my door open without knocking. “Oh my God, baby!” She rushes to my side and grabs my face. “Are you all right?”

  “Geez, Mama!” I say when she makes me spill some of my coffee on my shirt. I wriggle away from her.

  “What happened?” she demands.

  “You’d know if you bothered to show up yesterday!” I say, getting to my feet and putting my cup on the desk. I go into the bathroom and take off my jammie top to rinse it in the sink before tossing it into the hamper. I pull on a bra and proper shirt.

  “I’m...I’m real sorry about that,” she says, and I know she’s rehearsed this in her mind. “I was on my way, but then Mac called and needed some help. It was only supposed to take a couple hours, but then Sue showed up and...I just lost track of time.”

  “And your phone?” I ask around my toothbrush. I spit and look at the mirror. I reach up and touch it slightly. My image starts to blur, but I pull my hand away and shake my head. I run the water to wash my face. Mama says something else, but I can’t hear her over the running water. I dry my face and step out. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters,” Mama says. “The lady on the news said something about Beau getting killed? And a tornado! Baby, what happened?”

  “Sounds like you got the gist of it,” I say with a sigh, the fight having gone out of me. “A storm whipped up at the game. Beau…” My throat pinches. I’m not ready to face that reality. I stick to the facts and try to leave my emotions out of it. If I fall apart now, I might not be able to pull myself together again, and one of us needs to keep it together. Mama isn’t going to be that person, so it has to be me. “There was some debris. Rebar. An accident…”

  Mama’s eyes are totally clear. I know that look. She’s...reading me. She says it’s “a mama bear’s intuition,” but I can’t help but wonder if it is something more. She’s not a witch, but the witch blood had to flow through her to get to me. Maybe there’s a little magic in her. In all of us. Anyway, witchcraft or mama skills, I can’t lie to her. Never have been able to get away with anything.

  Mama takes me in her arms. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”

  I don’t fight. I just let her hold me. I need to be held. Most of the time, no one would ever know she’s a junkie. A “functional addict” is what doctors have called it. I don’t like how that makes it sound okay. The “functional” part doesn’t make life with her any easier, doesn’t make her addiction any less dysfunctional. In fact, sometimes I think it makes it harder. Makes the hard times harder because I know how good things could be if she’d sober up.

  Still, I bury my head in her shoulder and let some tears go. Not as many as yesterday, but more than I’d like. I reckon I’ll be having daily tears for a while.

  Mama leads me to the bed and grabs a tissue from my nightstand to dab my eyes. Then she hands it to me, and I blow my nose. She pets my hair and fusses over my shirt.

  “You want to tell me what really happened?” she asks.

  I nod. “I...I used my powers,” I admit.

  Mama sighs. “Oh, Madison.”

  “I had to!” I say. “Julieta was injured, and the tornado was coming—”

  “You stared down a tornado?” Mama asks. “What were you thinking?”

  “Just that I had to protect my friend,” I say. “There was debris flying everywhere. I wasn’t trying to control the tornado. I was just deflecting the tree branches and stuff so Julieta wouldn’t get hurt.”

  “And you are sure no one saw you?” Mama asks.

  “I’m sure,” I say. “Everyone else was inside the school after the siren went off.”

  “So what happened to Beau?” she asks.

  “He...he came out of the school, looking for me,” I say. I fuss with the tissue in my hands, unable to look up. “I diverted a whole stack of rebar away from Julieta. The pieces of rebar went everywhere… Beau...took one in the chest…”

  I break down again as Mama pulls me to her. So much for keeping myself together.

  “Geez, baby,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Julieta was hurt,” I say, trying to calm myself. “When I went for help, I found him on the ground. He was already gone.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Mama says. “But it was an accident. You couldn’t control it.”

  I nod as my tears dry up, and I clear my throat. “Exactly,” I say. “I couldn’t control my powers. That’s why Beau died.”

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  “But it’s what I mean,” I cut in. “If I were stronger, more in control, I could have kept the rebar from flying off. I could have set it down gently. I could have controlled the wind. I know that some air witches could have even controlled the tornado.”r />
  “Oh, Madison,” Mama scoffs. “That would take a very powerful witch. An elder. A Legacy even. This isn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

  “But there was something I could have done,” I say, jumping to my feet and lifting the pamphlet for La Voisin off my desk. I’m practically clutching it in my fist as I jut the piece of paper toward her. “I should have started my training two years ago. I might not be an elder, but I am a witch. I could have been stronger, more in control. Things would have been different. Beau might not have died.”

  Mama stands and looks at me sternly. “Madison, we agreed that La Voisin was not for you. Just because you are a witch doesn’t mean you need to be part of that world.”

  “I think what happened yesterday proves that it does,” I say. “I’m a witch, and I need to know what that really means. What I can actually do. No more raking leaves and drying clothes. I can do more.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Mama says.

  “Oh, Mama,” I say. “This isn’t the 1600s. People aren’t stringing up witches anymore. Witchcraft is in! There’s this fortune-teller on YouTube who is so accurate—”

  “People are just as prejudiced as they ever were,” Mama says. “Maybe more so. But I’m not even talking about mundanes learning you are a witch and hurting you. I’m talking about other witches.”

  “Just because Great-Great-Grandma had a falling out with one of the elders doesn’t mean that I should be prevented from achieving my full potential.”

  “It wasn’t just a falling out,” Mama says. She flops down on my bed and hugs one of my pillows to her stomach. “Granny said that whatever it was, it was enough for all the Whittaker women to leave La Voisin. To leave Danvers. She said it was a blessing that there were no more witches in our family because we didn’t have to worry about going back to that place.”

  “Until me,” I say. “And I’m choosing to end this stupid rift and go to La Voisin.”

  Mama shakes her head. “No, you are not. The headmistress was displeased when you didn’t enroll, but she didn’t insist on your admission because she thought your powers were too weak to worry about anyway.”

  “What?” I hadn’t heard that. At the time, Mama just said that Camille Brewster, the headmistress, had given me permission to not attend. I didn’t know it had anything to do with the quality of my powers.

  “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Mama says. “But no one in our family has had powers for a hundred years. She didn’t think the school would do you much good.”

  Well, she was right about the hurting my feelings part. According to the La Voisin pamphlet, the witch children of mundanes are just as welcome as Legacy kids. Anyone with the blood of a witch can tap into the power of Hecate, the paper says. Though, I suppose that could just be a plug to boost enrollment.

  “If Ms. Brewster had seen me yesterday,” I say, “I’m sure she would change her mind.”

  “Maybe,” Mama says. “But I haven’t changed mine. You are not going to that school.”

  “It’s not up to you!” I spit back.

  “You are my child,” Mama says, raising her voice. “And you will do as I say.”

  “Who’s the child?” I ask. “You’re never there for me! Where were you yesterday? You promised to be there!”

  Mama sighs as we launch into our regular fight. “I told you, something came up.”

  “Something always comes up!” I say, and I know I’m starting to sound like a tantrum-tossing toddler, but I don’t care. “Drugs and sex are more important to you than me!”

  Mama’s eyes water. “That’s not true, baby. I...I’m just sick.”

  “Then get help!” I yell. “If you aren’t going to let Ms. Brewster help me, then you need to help me. Be there for me.”

  “I...I’ve tried,” Mama cries. “But I’m weak. I just miss your daddy so much.”

  She puts her hands to her face as her shoulders heave. It always goes this way. She always goes back to Daddy. She says she started using drugs to escape the pain of losing him. And I always give in. What kind of monster would I be if I didn’t have pity on her for the loss of my daddy, the man she loved?

  But this time, instead of pity, rage bubbles inside me. Now we are on the same level.

  “You didn’t hold him in your arms as he died!” I scream. “You didn’t have his blood on your hands. You didn’t kill him!”

  The window bursts, and a gust of wind fills the room, swirling around us.

  “Madison!” Mama yells as she falls back against the dresser. “Stop!”

  “No.”

  I raise my hands, causing the wind to swirl faster, harder. It picks up my clothes, my books, the stuffed animals I never got rid of, and they all fly round the room, faster and faster. I can see the wind, feel it over my skin, fluttering in my hair. I order it to go faster, and it does. The wind is a cyclone. Clouds gather over us, and I can hear the rumble of thunder.

  Mama steps toward me, her hands outstretched. “Madison, you’re right. I’m sorry. Just...calm down.”

  “You didn’t kill Daddy,” I say, and I feel the wind slow. I feel a drop on my face and think that I’m crying again, but then I realize it’s a raindrop. I look up and see the storm cloud above me. One I created. The raindrops fall on my face, my head, my arms. “I killed Beau. I had to wash his blood away. It’s my fault.”

  Mama pulls me into her arms, and the rain washes over both of us. Then, as quickly as it started, it clears. I look away from Mama and wave my arms again, causing a drying breeze to clean up the mess the water made. My books, my toys, my clothes...everything is just as new again.

  Mama turns me to her and stares into my eyes. “You’re right,” she says. “I didn’t kill your daddy. But you didn’t kill Beau.”

  “Mama—”

  “No, Madison,” she says. “You need to listen to me. You have been heartbroken for less than a day. I’ve been living with this pain for nearly twenty years. I know what I’m talking about.”

  I cross my arms, but I let her say her piece.

  “I’ve always been a screw-up,” she says. “I didn’t start doing drugs after losing Daddy. I started doing them again.”

  “What?” I ask. I’d never heard this before.

  “I had run away from home when I met him,” she says. “You think you and I fight? You should have seen the fights I had with your granny.” She laughs for a second at a memory I don’t share. “But then I met Alexander, and everything changed. I got clean, I had you, and everything seemed perfect.”

  “So what happened?” I ask. I know that Daddy died, but not the details. She always said it was too painful for her to talk about.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says, and I start to pull away, but she grabs my arm. “The point is that I let my grief consume me. I fell back into drugs. The dream was gone. I was too weak to carry on by myself.”

  “But you weren’t by yourself,” I say. “You had me. You should have kept it together for me.”

  “I know,” she says. “Goddess, how I know. But I messed up. Made bad mistakes. And I have to live with those. But you, you’re strong. You’re so smart! You can do anything. You don’t have to live in a broken dream like I do.”

  “Which is why I need to go to La Voisin,” I say. “So I don’t screw up again.”

  Mama shakes her head. “Which is why you must not go to La Voisin,” she says. “That would be your mistake. Mine was drugs. Yours would be witchcraft.”

  “What?” I pull my arm from her grasp and step away. “How can you say that? I am a witch. I don’t have a choice. You choose to be a drug addict.”

  Mama strokes my hair and looks into my eyes. “You are a witch, but that doesn’t mean you need to explore and dive headfirst into the whole world of witchcraft. It’s dangerous.”

  “Beau died,” I say. “Going to La Voisin is more dangerous than that?”

  “Yes,” she says, without hesitation. “I have failed you. But that
changes today. I’m going to get help. Get clean. You might be seventeen, but you still need your mama. You don’t need to go to La Voisin. I’ll help you.”

  “You aren’t a witch,” I say. “And you’ve been to rehab before.”

  “I know,” she says. “But things will be different this time. I promise.”

  I grimace, though I force myself to nod and tell her what she wants to hear.

  She isn’t going to change her mind, but she isn’t going to change her life either. She’s told me before that she was going to get clean, but it never lasts. But I’m tired of arguing with her. Right now, I just want to be alone.

  She hugs me, and I let her, though my hands remain limply at my side.

  “Now,” she says as she stands from my bed. “Let me see what I can do about getting those reporters out of here. Maybe I can call Officer Jordan.”

  I nod again, remembering how kind he was to me last night.

  “Would you like some breakfast?” she asks as she heads out of the room. “Some fried eggs and bacon?”

  I nod and do my best to smile.

  “Great,” she says, and she pads down the stairs.

  I poke my head out the door and listen as she opens the fridge door and then calls Officer Jordan.

  Then, I grab my duffel bag.

  Chapter 4

  As I pack my bag, I hum to myself. Mama and I have had our troubles, but I’ve never been outright rebellious before. If anything, I’m the responsible one. I’m the one taking care of her and looking out for us. But I’m done. I’m leaving. I’m going to La Voisin, and she can’t stop me.

  I pack several outfits, my makeup, my stuffed dinosaur, and a few books. My tablet and charger. My phone. As I look at my phone, I see a message from Julieta.

  Oh Madison. I saw the news. I’m so so sorry. U OK? Anything I can do?

  I call her. Mama will know I went to La Voisin and am fine, but Julieta doesn’t know I’m a witch. If I vanish, she’ll worry. Mama might not call the cops to report me missing, but Julieta or Mrs. Hernandez might.

  “Hey,” Julieta says quietly. Gently. As though trying to use a single word to show me the compassion she feels.