Free Season of the Witch by Mariah Fredericks Page B

the huge, smooth dome of the whale’s back. She gestures,
Come up
.
    “I’ve got it,” she says happily as I collapse beside her. The book is in her lap.
    “The spell?”
    She nods. “So perfect. At first I was like, Hm, gutless, gutless, that’s a good image. Got to be something there, some way to attack his insides.…”
    “Puking his guts out?”
    She nods approvingly. “Like that. Save it.” She opens the book, turns it so I can see. “See what you think of this.”
    A SPELL FOR SILENCE
    As I stare, the words seem to rise off the page. I feel hypnotized by them. Maybe it’s that Cassandra has awesome handwriting. She’s a total artist. But it’s hard not to feel that the words alone have some kind of power.
    Cassandra explains, “You know, ’cause he didn’t speak up for you.”
    When I don’t answer, she tugs the book back. “Okay, not working for you.”
    “No!” I grab the book. Then instantly let it go. I shouldn’t be yanking her Book of Shadows around. “No, I love it. I’m …”
    How to put this?
    “What would it do to him?”
    “Put him into a deadly coma from which he never awakes, thus ensuring his silence for eternity.”
    Her face is completely straight. Too straight.
    I say, “Come on.”
    She laughs. “Sorry, had to. You looked so freaked. No, what it will do is make him unable to speak, but not hurt him. And we can do it light. Just for a day or two, if you want.”
    “How will it silence him?”
    “Um, I believe the correct answer is … ‘magic’?” She looks at me: Duh.
    “No, I know, but it won’t like, twist up his throat so he can’t breathe, right?”
    “Do you want it to?”
    “Only every other Tuesday.”
    She grins, pleased that I got the joke this time. “No, this is a nonlethal spell. Technically, you’re supposed to use it against other witches so they can’t cast a spell on you. It’s a defensive move. I just liked the imagery of it, since his silence cast a spell on you and did harm.”
    I like it too. I also like having Cassandra on my side, telling me that what people are doing to me is not cool. That I am not a skank.
    I ask, “So how long, do you think?”
    “How many days?”
    I nod.
    “Whatever you think is fitting.”
    I think. How many days have I been in hell? It’s been almost a month since Chloe found out about me and Oliver. Thirty days. Is he responsible for all those phone calls and texts before school started?
    No. But once it did, it’s a different story. He might say he has no idea what Chloe’s doing—but he does. School started two weeks ago—fourteen days. Should Oliver suffer in silence for that long?
    Not, I tell myself, that I actually believe in any of this. But it’ll make me feel better to do something.
    Fourteen days is too long, I decide. Say this spell actually does something to Oliver’s throat. Fourteen days of messing with your vocal cords has to do some damage. I don’t want anything permanent.
    On the other hand, I don’t want anything trivial either.
    When could Oliver be silent and it would really, really hurt him? But not forever.
    Then I remember: his Amnesty interview. Four days from now.
    I really freeze up if I have to talk under pressure
. Why not strike where he’s weak?
    I smile. “I think one week is sufficient.”
    Cassandra lifts the book to the sky. “One week be it.”
    The wind picks up, and the pages flutter like bird’s wings.

    You can’t see it when you enter the park, but the rock has a large square cavern cut into it, almost as if the whale had a vast slice of blubber cut out of its side. Three sides are rock face, while the high wire fence to the playground faces you. Since there are trees and bushes planted on the playground side, no one can see what you’re doing. It’s the perfect place to drink, smoke weed—
    Or do witchcraft. So that’s where Cassandra and I go. Down into the pit.
    We begin by finding a piece of rock. It has to be thin, although Cassandra won’t