Spell Check Page 7

  Which had to mean it worked! My feet, on their own accord, picked up speed until I was running, cutting through yards until I stood in front of Under the Moon. My chest heaved with the need for oxygen, and the blood rushing past my ears drowned out the noises of the street around me. With a great breath, I pushed through the door, jingling the chimes and crystals hanging there.

  “Mom?”

  The store was empty. She wasn’t there.

  Chapter Seven

  Note to self:

  Didn’t I already tell myself to be careful what I wish for? Secondary note to self: Pay better attention to notes to self!

  Mom!” I called several times more—just to make sure. I checked the back room where she kept her files. The papers lay scattered all over the desk, and the filing cabinets didn’t look in any way organized. She’d been in the middle of working on things. Her chair sat empty at the computer.

  I checked the bathroom, the back alley, and once more around the store. She never left the store unlocked and unoccupied. But if the spell hadn’t given her a choice . . . she’d be at home then. The chimes at the door jingled indicating customers, and then it hit me. The store could not be left unattended during business hours—not without me getting grounded until my college graduation. The Halloween season was our busiest time of year, it was what carried us through the rest of the winter.

  But I had to know! If they were together, if it worked. I needed to know immediately. So I called home, hoping Robison hadn’t gone to Heather’s house after school.

  “Yo. . .”

  It irritated me that Robison answered the phone like that and irritated me even more that Mom thought it was cute and never corrected him.

  “Is Mom there?” I asked, not bothering to yell at him for answering the phone like an idiot.

  “Duh. Mom’s at the shop.”

  My chest tightened. “Are you sure she’s not home? Check the bedroom.” Sending a boy into a female parent’s bedroom at a time when his parents might be reconciling their differences might be considered child abuse. But I had to know, even if it scarred the kid for life and he ended up needing counseling later.

  “I’m busy, Ally.”

  I wondered if all ten-year-olds whined as much as Robison did.

  “Go check! But make sure to knock first.”

  With a grunt, he did as told. I heard his feet thumping up the stairs. He came back on the phone a few moments later. “She’s not here. Go to the shop if you want her.”

  I almost told him I was at the shop, but decided against sending him into a full-blown panic. Mom was old school and didn’t put caller ID on our land line, so Robison would have no idea where the call had come from. “Fine. Go back to your video games then.” I hung up, redialed Mom’s cell number, and grunted when her overly cheerful voice asked me to leave a message. I hung up and dialed Dad’s cell phone.

  No answer.

  No answer at his house or his work. After redialing all the numbers several times more, the panic I’d tried to spare Robison settled over me.

  With nothing left to do, I called Robison back, told him he’d have to fend for himself because Mom left me in charge of working the shop, and took a seat behind the register where I was basically stuck until closing. Robison whined a little more, asking what he was supposed to do by himself until then.

  “Make yourself a sandwich and turn on the TV. It’s not like you’re going to be alone forever. It’s only two hours, three tops—depending on how long it takes to count down the register. You should just be grateful you never have to work here.”

  He insisted that he worked there a lot.

  Taking out the garbage and doing basic inventory was hardly what I called working. Family businesses were totally overrated. The kids were roped into all kinds of things they never wanted to do. I’d been working at mom’s shop since the day she bought it. For the first couple of years, I really enjoyed the work—feeling warm and good about myself when I recommended something to someone that they later came in and insisted saved them. But the last year, the shop represented “the family burden.” Mom spent more on the shop to drive more customers to it in an effort to prove she was better at managing a business than Dad. Coming from two parents who believed in the American dream of owning their own businesses was definitely irritating when those two parents competed over success.

  Robison whined a little longer before I got sick of him and told him to stop being a baby or I’d tell Heather. He had a not-so-secret crush on Heather, and he wouldn’t want his reputation of manliness to be tainted.

  I finally got the kid off the phone and looked around the shop—despair settling over me.

  Where were my parents?

  I locked up the store as soon as humanly possible, which wasn’t as soon as I wanted since business stayed busy and a couple dressed in varying shades of purple, and tricked out with piercings over their whole bodies, wandered the store for a full twenty minutes after closing before picking out a few suckers in the shape of witches, a package of yellow dock powder, and a spell book that was really just a journal with a cool cover. At the last moment, the girl added a “The Witch Is In” sign to her purchases.

  I guess I didn’t hide my impatience with them very well because they snorted when I thanked them for coming into Under the Moon and hoped their visit to Salem was magical. Maybe they snorted because the closing statement Mom insisted we use was simply stupid, but I didn’t ponder over it long either way as I flipped the sign, locked the door, and took her car home since it was still in her parking space at the shop.

  “Mom home yet?” I asked as soon as I entered the family room.

  Robison looked up from his game. “Nope.”

  All my hope died in that one word. I stood in front of the TV screen. “Did she call?”

  “Nope.”

  I wanted to beat the kid for trying to see around me instead of paying attention. “What about Dad?”

  He paused his game and looked at me through suspicious eyes. “Why? What’d you do? Are you in trouble?”

  “No, I’m not in trouble!” I snapped. “Did Dad call or not?”

  “Nope.” He took his game off pause and went back to ignoring me. Really, would it have been so hard for me to have been an only child? I went to my room, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed Dad’s work. Nothing. Mom’s cell. Nothing. Dad’s cell. Nothing. Under the Moon. Nothing. I repeated this cycle for the better part of an hour.

  Nothing.

  Robison finally knocked on my door. “When’s Mom coming home?”

  “I don’t know,” I called through the door.

  Instead of going away, he opened the door and came into my room. “Are you supposed to make dinner?”

  I almost told him to forage through the fridge and figure out his own meal choices, but realized that our current status as orphans was very probably my fault. Guilt made me tromp down the stairs and heat up some Ramen noodles. It might have sounded like I was being a horrible caregiver, but my brother loved Ramen noodles. He acted like I’d given him a present.

  After another half-hour of trying all the numbers possible for either of my parents, while pacing the floor and listening to my own breathing becoming more erratic, full-on panic set in.

  What if whatever I’d done got my parents back together, but they’d forgotten about us? What if we were completely abandoned? I stared at the phone in my hand, and considered calling 911.

  But what would I say to the police? “Hi, my parents are missing because I cast a spell on them.”

  I dialed the nine, and then a one, and let my finger hover over the second one for a long moment while I considered my options.

  Options didn’t exist. None. Calling the police might end up with me locked up in a mental institution. And what if they weren’t lost? What if they just weren’t answering their phones? Then I’d go to jail for falsifying an emergency. I backspaced over the nine and one already dialed.

  I went to the backyard. “He
llo?” I called out, feeling stupid but also desperate. The woman knew something about my wishes causing trouble. Maybe she could help. “Hello?”

  I waited in the cold for a while before realizing I was being stupid and went back in the house.

  I’d have to find them on my own. It occurred to me to call Heather’s mom and see if they might watch Robison for the night, but it was already late. Although the Warren’s and my parents thought Heather and Robison’s friendship was cute, neither would allow boy/girl sleepovers unless there was an emergency. Whatever I did would have to involve Robison.

  I tromped downstairs where he slurped up the last of his Ramen noodles and watched TV. I threw his jacket at him.

  “What’d you do that for?” he asked, looking totally bugged that I’d bothered him.

  “We need to go to Dad’s house.”

  “Why? Is Mom not coming home?” He still hadn’t so much as moved a finger to put on his jacket.

  “She is eventually, but we need to see if—” I almost said we needed to see if Dad was there, but telling my little brother that we had missing parents really seemed like a bad idea. “To see if Mom left something at his place.”

  I really hoped she left herself at his place—that they were there together—together and happy. I crossed my fingers and almost said the words I wish again, but stopped myself. What if wishing twice messed things up more than they were?

  I grabbed Robison’s arm and pulled him up, grabbing the hoodie that had slipped to the floor in the process. “Put on your jacket. We need to go now.”

  “You’re not allowed to drive without an adult in the car until you get your license.” He informed me.

  I jabbed my finger into his chest. “Look, we have to go to Dad’s. Mom can’t take me to the DMV to get my license until next week. It’s more against the law to leave you alone than it is for me to take Mom’s car.”

  “You left me alone earlier.”

  I tugged his arm to make him follow me. “Yeah, but that was during the day. Night is different, and you’re scared of the dark.”

  “I am not,” he insisted. He totally was, but I let it go as I locked up the house and slid the car key Mom had given me into the door lock. With a great breath and a silent prayer that no one tried to cut me off, I slid behind the wheel, turned on the car, and—once Robison actually got into the stupid car—maneuvered out of the driveway and onto the road.

  The open road.

  Driving home from the shop hadn’t felt so scary since I was alone. The responsibility of my brother being in the car overwhelmed me. My knuckles whitened as my fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The little cauldron key ring clinked against the dashboard with the car’s movement, flashing the saying, “Don’t mess with women of power.” I didn’t feel very powerful at the moment. I felt terrified. Dad didn’t live too far away, but far enough that several major roads had to be traveled on. A semi-truck passed me on my left, going a hundred times faster than the speed limit, and nearly blowing me off the road. Robison snickered.

  “What are you laughing at?” I demanded to know.

  “Farmor drives faster than you do!” He laughed a little harder.

  “Shut up. You don’t even know how fast Farmor drives. When was the last time you were in a car with her? And I’m trying to focus here! Do you even have your seat belt on?” I hazarded a quick glance his direction and found that he did, leaving me with nothing more to yell at him over.

  Robison laughed again when a city bus passed us, but he stopped when I cast a cold eye in the rearview mirror.

  When we arrived, Robison muttered “finally” under his breath, unbuckled himself, and all but leapt from the captivity of the car.

  He hopped up the steps, past the pile of pumpkins on the porch and the old work clothes stuffed with straw that Dad and he had tried to make look like a headless monster of some sort, and tried to open the front door before I even got out of the car.

  It opened for him, and he went in, not seeming to notice that the windows were all dark and that the house had an empty, eerie feeling to it. “Wait. Robison! No, wait for me!” I slammed the door closed, but got the seatbelt caught and took several seconds longer to get it back in the car so the door closed normally.

  Robison had left the door open. “Typical.” I grumbled as I shut the door. Robison had already turned the front hall lights on. He called out for Dad. The silence of the house answered him.

  Robison popped up from the kitchen as I headed up the stairs. He looked baffled. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s not here,” I said, stating the painfully obvious. He isn’t here. What were we going to do?

  “I thought you said we were coming to get something from him,” Robison said while his glance slid from me to the rooms around him as if he could see around the corners and through the walls to find his father.

  “I said we were picking something up. I didn’t say we were getting it from him.”

  “But he left the door unlocked.” And then Robison’s eyes widened, and he whispered, “Do you think a burglar is in here?”

  “Of course not.” But his fear felt contagious. I herded him to where Dad kept the TV and turned it on for him. “I’ll be just a minute.” I’d really stretched the limits of how much time Mom allowed Robison to be in front of the television, but choices were narrow in a crisis situation.

  I figured I’d search the house quick, and then go back to Mom’s shop just in case she showed up there. After that, I had no idea what to do next. Searching in my dad’s room creeped me out. What if they were in there? I swallowed my horror at such thoughts. This was an emergency. There was no time for squeamish thinking. But I did take care to knock loudly and wait several moments before entering . . . just in case.

  Dad’s unmade, but empty, bed sat in the middle of the room. I tentatively called out, but no one answered. I even checked his bathroom—totally risky since entering such a room was surely a violation of board of health standards. His still damp towel lay on the floor along with a pile of dirty clothes, even though his hamper sat nearly empty just a few feet away. Those were the sorts of arguments that led to my parents not being able to live under the same roof in the first place.

  “Dad?” My voice sounded too loud in the emptiness of the house. I half-expected someone to jump out of all that silence and scream, “Boo!” But the only interruption from the quietude was my occasional calls for my parents. With a groan, I admitted defeat and went downstairs to gather up Robison.

  Of course, some Disney rerun on TV hooked Robison’s attention, taking several moments of threatening before he finally gave up the remote control and followed me out the door. We took care to lock up, just in case burglars did show up, and climbed back into the car.

  “So what did you have to get?” Robison asked.

  “What?” I said, trying to concentrate on backing up without hitting the tree at the end of Dad’s driveway.

  “You said you had to go get something, but you didn’t come out with anything. What did you have to get?”

  My blank mind fumbled for an excuse. “I had to lock up for him. He forgot to lock his door and was nervous about leaving it like that.” Lies. Lies. Lies.

  And to give the little mutant credit, he slit his eyes at me and, with a shake of his head and a look filled with suspicion, said, “And you think I believe that why?”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  “You didn’t know the door was unlocked until I told you so. What aren’t you telling me? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” I insisted as I merged into traffic.

  “Something is too! What? Tell me! Tell me!”

  He chanted the words several more times before I screamed in absolute frustration, “I seriously wish you’d shut up!”

  The electricity filled the car, flowing from me to the backseat where Robison sat because he was too young to sit legally in the front yet. In the rearview mirror, his eyes widened so that the whites of h
is eyes glowed in the low light of oncoming traffic. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He moved his mouth—opened and closed, opened and closed, and then left it opened, in what looked like an eternal silent scream. Tears leaked out his eyes as he started to wave his arms in front of his face. He pinched at his lips, pulled out his tongue, slapped his hand against his throat.

  I was so busy watching him with the growing horror that I’d, yet again, done something awful, that I stopped looking at the road.

  “What?” I said to my brother as he pointed wildly to the front of the car. I turned just in time to notice the car next to me had decided at the last minute he wanted to be in front of me. As soon as his car entered my lane, his brake lights shone bright red, and his car lurched to a stop. I slammed on my own brakes with a loud squeal of rubber on road but not in time. The meeting of our bumpers sounded like a thunderclap in comparison to Robison’s wordless spasms in the back seat.

  I had gotten my best friend quarantined, made her unable to go on a date with the man of her dreams, lost my parents, ruined my brother’s voice box, and wrecked my mom’s car.

  I was definitely getting grounded.

  Chapter Eight

  Note to self:

  Never underestimate the power of a ferret.

  In spite of being confined by the seatbelt, I swiveled to see my brother. Tears streamed down his face in panic as he tried to process everything happening. “It’s going to be okay, Robbie. Everything’s fine. We’ll get you your voice back in just a minute, okay?” I almost wished him his voice back right that minute. But what if he started verbally freaking out in front of the person we’d slammed the car into and any witnesses or police who might come along? Or worse, what if it didn’t work? There wasn’t enough time to think it through, and though my brother and I weren’t best friends, I still liked the kid and didn’t want to ruin him because I was in a hurry.

  No. Now was not the time to reinstate his speaking abilities.