(Say "Unity." It's their greeting. And tell her that you're just passing through.)
(Angel-is she a witch? Are there other witches around here? And how come I have to lie-)
(She's getting suspicious!)
The girl was looking at Gillian rather oddly. Like someone trying to catch a conversation. It scared Gillian.
"Unity. No, I'm just visiting," she said hastily. "And," she added as Angel whispered, "I need the Dragon's Blood and, um, two wax figures. Female. And do you have any charged Selket powder?"
Melusine settled back a little. "You belong to Circle Midnight." She said it flatly.
(Whaaaat? What's Circle Midnight? And how come she doesn't like me anymore?)
(It's a sort of witch organization. Like a club. It's the one that does the kind of spells that you need to do right now.)
(Aha. Bad spells, you mean.)
(Powerful spells. In your case, necessary spells.)
Melusine was scooting her chair behind the counter. For a moment Gillian wondered why she didn't get up, and then, as Melusine reached the edge of the counter, she understood. The chair was a wheelchair and Melusine's right leg was missing from the knee down.
It didn't seem to hinder her, though. In a moment, she was scooting back with a couple of packets and a box in her lap. She put the box on the counter and took out two dolls made of dull rose-colored wax.
One of the packets held chunks of what looked like dark red chalk, the other a peacock-green powder.
She didn't look up as Gillian paid for the items. Gillian felt snubbed.
"Unity," she said formally, as she put her wallet away and gathered up her purchases. She figured if you
said it for hello, you could say it for goodbye.
Melusine's dark eyes flashed up at her intently and almost quizzically. Then she said slowly, "Merry part .
. . and merry meet again." It almost sounded like an invitation.
(Well, I'm lost.)
(Just say "Merry part" and get out of here, kid.)
Outside, Gillian looked at the town square with new eyes. (The Witches of Woodbridge. So, are they, like, all over here? Do they own the Creamery and the hardware store, too?)
(You're closer than you think. But we don't have time to stand around. You've got some spells to cast.)
Gillian took one more look around the quiet tree-lined square, feeling herself standing in the bright air with her packages of spell ingredients. Then she shook her head. She turned to the car.
Sitting in the middle of her bed with the bedroom door locked, Gillian contemplated her materials. The plastic bags of rock and powder, the dolls, and the hair she'd gathered from the brush in Macon's bathroom last night.
Two or three strands of sun blond curls. Three or four long black glossy hairs.
"And you don't need to tell me what they're for," she said, looking at the air beside her. "It's voodoo time, huh?"
"Smart girl." Angel shimmered into being. "The hair is to personalize the dolls, to link them magically to their human counterparts. You've got to wind a hair around each doll, and name it out loud. Call it Tanya or Kimberlee."
Gillian didn't move. "Angel, look. When I got that hair, I had no idea why I was doing it. But when I saw those little wax figures-well, then I realized. And the way that girl Melusine looked at me. ..."
"She has no idea what you're up against. Forget her."
"I'm just trying to get things straight, all right?" Hands clasped tightly in her lap, she looked at him. "I've never wanted to hurt people-well, all right, yes, I have. I've had those-those images or whatever at night, like seeing a giant foot splat down on my geometry teacher. But I don't really want to hurt people."
Angel looked patient. "Who said you were going to hurt them?"
"Well, what's all this for?"
"It's for whatever you want it to be for. Gillian, dragonfly, all these materials are just aids for a witch's natural powers. They're a way of focusing the power, directing it to a particular purpose. But what actually happens to Tanya and Kim depends on you. You don't have to hurt them. You just have to stop them."
"I just have to stop them from doing what they're planning to do." Gillian's mind was already sparking into action. "And Tanya's planning to write letters. And Kim's planning to spread the word..."
"So what if Tanya can't write letters? And if Kimberlee can't talk? It would be sort of... poetic justice."
Angel's face was grave, but his eyes were glinting with mischief.
Gillian bit her lip. "I think it would kill Kim not to talk!"
"Oh, I bet she could live through it." They were both laughing now. "So if she had, say, a bad sore throat... and if Tanya's arm were paralyzed..."
Gillian sobered. "Not paralyzed."
"I meant temporarily. Not even temporarily? All right, what about something else that could keep her from typing or holding a pen? How about a bad rash?"
"A rash?"
"Sure. An infection. One she'd have to keep bandaged up so she couldn't use her fingers. That would stop her for a while, until we can think of something else."
"A rash... Yeah, that could work. That would be good." Gillian took a quick breath and looked down at her materials. "Okay, tell me how to do it!"
And Angel walked her through the strange process. She wound the dolls with hair and named them
aloud. She rubbed them with crumbled Dragon's Blood, the dark red chalky stuff. Then she dabbed the hand of one and the throat of the other with the iridescent green Selket powder.
"Now... may I be given the power of the words of Hecate. It is not I who utter them, it is not I who repeat them; it is Hecate who utters them, it is she who repeats them."
(And who the heck's Hecate?) She sent the thought to Angel wordlessly, in case speaking aloud would ruin the spell.
(Be quiet. Now concentrate. Pick up the Tanya doll and think Streptococcus pyogenes. That's a bacteria that'll give her a rash. Picture it in your mind. See the rash on the real Tanya.)
There was a certain satisfaction in doing it. Gillian couldn't deny that, even to herself. She pictured Tanya's slim olive-skinned right hand, poised to sign a letter that would destroy David's future. Then she pictured itchy red bumps appearing, another hand scratching. Redness spreading across the skin. More itching. More scratching...