Free Season of the Witch by Mariah Fredericks Page A

it’s like looking at a mirror that’s shattered but still holding together—only just—a maze of jagged cracks on the verge of collapse. Saying no to her seems cruel. Glancing at Cassandra, I say, “Well, I could—”
    “She’s got her own awkward dinner to go to, Mom,” says Cassandra, guiding me toward the front door.
    As we hurry through the dining area to the entryway, Cassandra whispers, “First lesson: no mercy.”
    But your mom hasn’t done anything to me, I want to say. She deserves mercy. From, like, the whole world.
    “It won’t help her,” says Cassandra, “and it’s a habit you need to break. Trust me. Bye, Antonia from school,” she says loudly as she opens the door. “I’ll think about that other thing.”
    “Cool,” I say loudly, as if we’re talking about homework.
    The door closes. As I start for the elevator, I suddenly feel lost. The long corridor stretches before me with its unknowable doors and strange light. Where am I? I wonder for a moment. And where am I going?
    Forward
, I hear in my head.
    So that’s where I go.

    “My goodness,” says my mom as I come in the door. “We were starting to think you’d run off with the circus.”
    She is sitting at the dining room table, her laptop and a glass of wine in front of her.
    My dad is in the kitchen. I hear the hiss of the frying pan, smell garlic and onion. The air in the apartment is thick with cooking—and something else. Something … not pleasant.
    My dad appears at the kitchen window. “Table set?” he asks my mom.
    She moves her eyes back to the screen in front of her. “Almost,” she says.
    I look at the table. It’s a mess, covered with mail, my mom’s papers, and old newspapers. Her coat hangs over a chair. There is nothing set here. My dad waits at the window, growing more frustrated with every second. My mom pretends not to notice, keeps typing. Every click of every key can be heard in the silence. I feel all this ugly emotion tangled like a mess of wire above our heads, sparking and hissing with dangerous energy. The longer my parents don’t speak, the longer my mom refuses to look at my dad, the stronger that killer energy—the Katherine energy—gets.
    I can set the table
. The words form in my head, ready to be spoken. I imagine myself clearing the table, laying out the plates, chatting about this or that. My mom will talk to me; so will my dad. Eventually, they’ll end up talking to each other. Katherine will fade out.
    But then I remember what Cassandra said when I felt like Ineeded to be nice to her mom: It won’t help her, and it’s a habit you need to break.
    “Let me know when we’re ready,” I say, and go to my room.
    Dropping my stuff on the floor, I lie on my bed. From outside, I hear the thud of a pot on the counter. My dad saying, “Claire?” and my mom, exasperated, “Yes, God, okay—”
    They probably will get a divorce, I think calmly. My dad will move in with Katherine. In which case, I will definitely live with my mom.
    Because even though she should have set the stupid table if she said she was going to? My dad shouldn’t have cheated on her. And he shouldn’t expect that everything’s forgiven just because he said he was sorry. You let people down, you deserve to be punished. Because otherwise? Anyone can get away with anything.
    My phone buzzes. I have a text. I look at the number. Ah, yes, Chloe.
    A little bird tells me you talked to O today. That’s a no-no. Punishment awaits
.
    Guess that protection spell didn’t work out. No big surprise. Cassandra said you had to feel it. I didn’t feel a thing.
    I’m feeling it now, though. Quite strongly.
    I text Cassandra:
    I’m feeling revenge
.
    Maybe Cassandra’s my prince, I think. Or wicked witch. Or whatever. I don’t care at this point.
    A moment later, I get a text back.
Meet me at the rock after school
.

CHAPTER SIX
    CASSANDRA’S ALREADY THERE WHEN I get to the park. From the ground I can see her, perched high on