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...
(Hey, this is fun!)
Then she took care of the Kim doll.
When she was finished, she put both dolls in a shoe box and put the shoe box under her bed. Then she stood up, flushed and triumphant.
"It's over? I did it?"
"You did it. You're a full-fledged witch now. Hecate's the Queen of the Witches, incidentally. Their ancient ruler. And she's special to you- you're descended in a direct line from her daughter Hellewise."
"I am?" Gillian stood a little straighter. She seemed to feel power tingling through her, a sparkling energy,
a sense that she could reach out and mold the world. She felt as if she ought to have an aura. "Really?"
"Your great-grandmother Elspeth was one of the Harmans, the Hearth-Women, the line that came from
Hellewise. Elspeth's older sister Edgith became a big witch leader."
How could Gillian have ever thought she was ordinary, less than ordinary? You couldn't argue with facts like these. She was from a line of important witches. She was part of an ancient tradition. She was special.
She felt very, very powerful.
That night, her father called. He wanted to know if she was okay, and to let her know he loved her.
All Gillian wanted to know was whether he'd be home for Christmas.
"Of course I'll be home. I love you."
"Love you."
But she wasn't happy when she hung up. (Angel, we've got to figure things out. Is there a spell I should do on him?)
(I'll think about it.)
The next morning she sailed into school cheerfully and looked around for someone who would talk. She spotted the cropped red head of J.Z. the Model and waved hello.