Free Secrets and Lies (Cassie Scot) by Christine Amsden Page B

turned to murmurs, unflattering stares, and a few shouts.
    Most of the campers were staring at Carrie, but more than a few were staring at the green-haired girl, as if waiting to see how she would react. As I had hoped, she decided to make a stand right there in the middle of the crowd.
    “Did you do this?” Liza’s accusation was directed at me, which was exactly where I wanted the blame. She didn’t strike me as anything I couldn’t handle, not after dealing with Nicolas, Juliana, and Isaac.
    “Do what?” I asked innocently.
    “What happened to her zits?” Liza demanded.
    “What zits? I don’t remember seeing any zits.” The mutterings in the mess hall increased in response to my bold and obvious lie. It wasn’t the sort of magic I specifically had to hide, although I wouldn’t give out the recipe, but I resented the fact that I had to bring magic into this safe haven. Besides, the denial got a rise out of Liza.
    “Let me see,” Liza said, “do you prefer itching or burning rashes?”
    I managed to keep my lips from twitching into a smile, but it was a near thing. Even I can make potions to cause rashes and acne, and with a lot less melodrama. Not that I would need to spend hours brewing a potion if Liza decided to hurl a curse – the stinging nettle would hurl it right back.
    “Why not both?” With that, I turned my back on her and ushered Carrie to the food line.
    I didn’t feel the curse hit my back, but I did hear the shriek of pain from Liza when it rebounded on her. It took a while for the other campers to react, but as I turned away from the food line with a plate full of spaghetti, everyone began to clap. That’s when Liza scowled and ran from the room.
    They all wanted to know how I’d done it. Of course, they were convinced that I was a witch as well – a good witch, as Carrie had put it – but I refused any credit for what I’d done. When pressed, all I would say was, “I hate bullies,” and give the questioner a mysterious smile.
    * * *
    Camp Ozark looked to me to be a mosaic of every camp I’d ever attended. In a way, we hadn’t strayed far from home, because the southernmost tendril of Table Rock Lake wound into Arkansas, straight through Camp Ozark. But Table Rock is a long, many-headed serpent of a lake with many thousands of miles of shoreline. Though these waters connected with the waters back home (that I used to be able to see through my bedroom window, before my parents kicked me out), it felt different in a way I could not quite comprehend. There were the same types of trees dotting the shoreline, similar hillsides, and a similar view of the other side of the lake across a narrow stretch of water, almost like a wide river. Yet it may as well have been in a different country.
    When I commented on this to Evan, he nodded. “No node down here.”
    I couldn’t feel node energy, so I was sure that hadn’t been what I meant, but I understood why Evan would latch onto that fact, first and foremost. A node is a concentration of magical energies that sorcerers can tap into, increasing their strength and potential. The reason that so many sorcerers lived in such a small area around Eagle Rock was that such a node existed beneath the nearby section of Table Rock Lake, and they all wanted to live as close to it as they could manage.
    We drove up a small hill to the left, and then spotted the administration building. It was a small, unassuming wooden structure that probably couldn’t have supported more than half a dozen people at any given time. On that particular afternoon, all the action was at the mess hall. It was located just beyond the administration building, nestled against a copse of trees that allowed only taunting glimpses of the lake beyond.
    A small winding road forked to the left along the lakeshore, past a boat dock and swimming beach. It continued around a bend that probably led to the campers’ cabins and other activities.
    Though it was a beautiful afternoon when