Chapter Ten

Early Morning Misfit

Veda

I sat at my kitchen table. July had begun. It was a little early in the morning to be up, but I needed to focus and figure out exactly what I needed to do. My journal lay in front of me. It had my schemes. Other people called them ‘to do’ lists. I didn’t know much about those. I schemed.

The highlight of the day was going to be my date with Salinger that evening. I needed to concoct a scheme where it became clear to him that he and I were wrong for each other. The perfect idea alluded my grasp. Magically, we were very similar. We were both interested in spell books and we both used glamor on ourselves daily. We both knew a thing or two about predicting the future and making snarky comments whenever we thought we could get away with it.

I couldn’t even complain about him trying to sneak extra time with me. Unlike Antony, he didn’t try. The last time I had seen him, he had departed like a white rabbit who had somewhere mysterious to be.

There was a part of me, like a dollop of chocolate fudge in the lemon meringue pie, which shouldn’t have been there. I wondered if something about the spell book had worked its magic, not just for Fair Isle, but for Salinger also. He usually texted me to tell me what we would be doing for our date. No friendly reminder of our date popped up on my phone. They were staying in the same house. Were they having midnight meetings? If they were, was I jealous?

I considered the book before me. Inside, existed a list of things I wanted for myself before I died. It was not a bucket list, because I abhorred the expression 'kick the bucket'. The book in front of me showed my plans for graduation. Deserting my cousins and not 'including' them in my preparations was one of the things my cousins were mad about. I could have made each of them look as jaw-dropping as me, but selfishly kept my talents to myself.

Since the fateful night, cousins were talking, aunts were talking, discussing my behavior. It wasn’t the first time. Years ago, I had changed the stickers on seven skeins of wool in Intarisia's mother's shop, thereby drastically reducing prices. Of course, I was caught. It was alpaca and it was deeply frowned upon to arrange your own discount at the family yarn shop. Another time, I accidentally gave poor instructions about a potion to a customer at Pearl's mom's shop, causing the woman to return her purchase and give a firm promise to never come back. Listening to the retelling of that story always jarred my nerves. It was all because I didn't know the difference between my right and my left and I got the directions wrong. There were sore feelings all around afterward.

I didn't even have my mother to dress my aunts down. As a matter of fact, my mother's advice was to sell the house and leave all my people behind. June and I had talked about it at length. The only conclusion she came to was that we needed to speak to my mother. Getting in touch with her was hard lately. In truth, if she didn’t want to be found, which was what her letter said, then I wouldn’t find her.

It was quarter to seven in the morning when Fair Isle scratched at my door—the back door.

She burst in without a word and plunged into my bedroom, where she crashed around like a drug addict. I stayed at the table. I had one half of a grapefruit that needed my attention more than my stupid cousin.

Finally, she came back and raked her hands through her cropped hair. She hissed furiously, “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“The book.”

“What book?”

“The one Salinger wrote. I heard he gave it to you. Where is it?”

I blotted my lips with a napkin. “I don't have it.”

“Why not?”

“Because someone read it before me. It wasn't meant to be read over and over again. One time use only and someone read it before me.”

“What do you mean, 'one time use only?'” Her lips turned pale.

“I mean that some of the books in the hidden library are meant to be read over and over again. What happens in the book stays in the book and anyone can have an adventure in it, but not the one Salinger wrote for me. It was meant to record the actions and dialogue of the reader as they experienced the book because he wanted to read my response. When he gave it to me, I read what the thief did while they were in the story.”

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Fair Isle was aghast. “Did you read the whole thing?”

“Ugh, no. I gave it back to Salinger. He left in a huff and I haven't seen him since.”

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, tried to sound like she didn't care, and shrugged, “It sounds like you have no idea who read it.”

“You did.”

Giving up, she dropped into a chair and flopped half her body on the table like she was sleeping on a desk at school. “You don't sound surprised or mad or anything,” her strangled voice muttered.

I started scooping grapefruit wedges. “I keep telling everyone that my goal in life is not to rob you of Salinger. He's doing what he wants.”

“I don’t understand why he wants you.” Her head perked up. “I mean, you are the most dead person ever. Do you ever feel anything, Invader?”

That was my nickname—Invader. Like Veda, but Invader. The cousins had called me that since I was nine. I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Come on. You're not bothered by the fact that we don't want you in our coven. You don't want hotter-than-hot Salinger even though he's serving himself on a silver platter for you. You didn't want Antony either even though he has favored you our whole lives. What is it you really want?”

I glared at her. She was not allowed to ask me questions so perfectly on point. “Why are you turning this around on me? The real question is why did you take something that was mine?”

“You never get mad at anyone. Why would you get mad at me for that?” she rolled her eyes.

For me, that was the epitome of rudeness. “Just because I never lose my temper doesn't make me any less right. You are the thief. Are you going to apologize?”

She batted her eyelashes at me. “I never apologize.”

“What were you hoping to gain coming over here? Were you hoping to get the book and read it again?”

She opened her mouth to protest but closed it again.

“You won't be able to experience the book again. The only thing you can do is read your thoughts and reactions—like a journal—where you didn't filter what was recorded.”

“It recorded... everything?”

“Everything. It's quite embarrassing. Salinger was embarrassed when he read it.” I paused. “Has he been avoiding you?”

She nodded, even though it was clear she didn't want to.

I got up, rinsed my plate, and walked across the kitchen to the hall. Fair Isle's hand shot out and she grabbed my wrist. “I've got to know. Why don't you like him? He's perfect.”

“Don't touch me,” I snapped, unsuccessfully pulling my arm back.

“I wanna talk to you!”

“Fine, but let go,” I said coldly.

She took her hand off me and blundered on, her words like marbles rolling on the floor, annoying and messy. “Forget I mentioned Antony earlier,” she said. “I didn't understand why you didn't like him until Salinger came along. I thought, 'this is why Veda didn't go for Antony. She knew there was a guy out there who was better, so she held her cards to her chest until he showed up.' I thought you were just acting like you didn't want Salinger either to stop us from lynching you or because you wanted to see how much he liked you by making him jump through hoops. But what I did, using the book he made for you, if you secretly wanted him—you should be ready to kill me—but you seem the same as you always are. Really? Why don't you want him?”

“You still aren't apologizing?”

She hit the table with the bottom of her fist. “I didn't know the book only had one use. I really didn't.”

“Still no apology?”

“I wanna hear why you don't want him! There aren't better men out there, Veda. He's it.” She put out her fingers and started counting on them. “He's handsome. He's twenty. He can work magic. He's fresh, clean, blood. He's rich. He has a huge house with log pillars built on the edge of a mountain range. His family has old power. He's a gentleman and an animal. If it had been you who read his book, you would know that he can romance a dead woman to life. Why isn't he good enough?”

“Because I am not capable of love.”

“Fine. But he should still get your blood pumping.”

I groaned but in a ladylike way. “I keep telling you. I was not made for that sort of thing. My body doesn't feel the same stuff yours does. I don't get all hot and bothered. I know exactly where my future lies and it doesn’t lie with him. I am a nun in a church I made for myself and no one else can come in.”

Her eyebrows were knitted like I spoke a language she didn't understand.

“I can explain about the coven thing easier,” I said, trying to dumb it down for her. “I don't want to be part of your coven of three, because frankly, none of you are as gifted as I am. You would all hold me back.”

She sneered. “You think that highly of yourself?”

“It's not arrogance. It's the truth. But let me give you a piece of advice. You should try not to lose Intarsia. I think you know she's the next most gifted. There's a chance she might want to do something else. I've looked into my crystal ball and you and Pearl are the only certain members. If things get ugly, you may have to use Antony and you and I both know that's not very good. Men do very well at their own things, but when you start mixing masculine and feminine magics, things can get muddied.”

She blinked. “Why not Clementine?”

I avoided her. “I need to get changed. I have a lot to do today.”