Spell Book & Scandal

Spell Book & Scandal

by Jen McConnel

SPELL BOOK & SCANDAL

By Jen McConnel

Published by Jen McConnel

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017, Jen McConnel

Cover Designed by Paper and Sage, 2017

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, locations, and events are products of the author’s mind, or have been used in a fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the right of all trademark holders for products mentioned in this work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or to actual events, is purely coincidental.

License Statement:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Copyright

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About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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CHAPTER ONE

For most people, wearing pink probably wouldn’t count as a form of rebellion, but then again, most people don’t come from my whacked-out family.

Christina glares at me across the breakfast table as soon as I come into the kitchen. I try to ignore her stare, smoothing my glittery pink hoodie before I grab a bowl. But when I reach across the counter for my cereal, Mom glances up from her cup of coffee, and she frowns.

Shelby, she begins, pausing for a moment before choosing her words, wouldn’t you rather wear something else?

Dad looks up from his laptop, and his eyebrows draw together. It’s the first day of school. Surely, you want to make the right kind of impression.

The confidence I felt when I pulled on the sparkly pink sweatshirt up in my room begins to melt, but I force a smile. "Lots of people wear pink. I mean, there’s even a movie about it, Pretty in Pink." I pour my cereal, but I have to work hard to keep my hands from shaking.

Christina snorts. There’s nothing pretty about that, she says, her eyes stripping away my pink armor before she flicks her dark hair over her shoulder, dismissing me entirely.

Mom tries again. I just think it sends the wrong kind of message.

I stiffen my shoulders, shoveling cereal in my mouth even though it tastes like paper. I like it, I say, trying to sound final and certain, but my voice lilts up on the last word, making it sound like I’ve asked a question.

Mom and Dad exchange another glance, but they drop it. Christina shakes her head again. Just try not to let people know we’re related, she mutters, just loud enough for me to hear, but quiet enough that Mom and Dad miss it.

At least, I think they miss it; maybe they hear and they don’t punish her because, deep down, they agree with her.

Last year, I never would have dreamed of wearing pink, especially not on the first day of school. Last year, I wore black and purple, like Christina, flaunting the magic that runs in my veins. That’s because last year, I’d still believed that some of my powers might be waiting to emerge.

Feeling worse than naked in my pink hoodie, I trail after Christina to our bus stop. She’s old enough to drive, but Mom and Dad say they won’t buy her a car until she passes her Casting Level Threes, the last magical test she has to face before college, and the one that will determine everything about her future. Christina wants a car, but she pretends not to mind, although I’ve seen her light on more nights than I can count, way past midnight, and I’ve heard her muttering spells when I stand outside her door in the hallway. She’s studying day and night for her Threes, which she’ll take on Halloween, and I’d almost feel bad for her if I weren’t so jealous.

Christina’s a caster, like my dad. He works for the Caster’s Force, a pseudo-governmental organization that polices casters and scribes, which means he’s a stickler for the rules. He’s also one of the most powerful casters to come along in generations, due in no small part to the power of his scribe. Even the most powerful caster needs someone to write his spells, and Dad lucked out by marrying his scribe, too. I’m supposed to be a scribe, like Mom, but somewhere along the way, that message seems to have been lost. So today I’m wearing pink and trying to be something other than the broken member of the King family, at least for the hours every day when I’m at school. I snort at the thought. Who knew I’d ever look forward to school?

Kelsey is waiting at the bus stop, her red hair flying like a crazy wig around her face, and she slips an arm through mine without mentioning anything about the pink. Kels knows a little bit about how I feel about my family, especially Christina, and we’ve been best friends long enough that she doesn’t fuss or try to get me to buddy up with my sister, like some bad after-school special. In fact, Kels knows enough not to mention my sister at all, just like I don’t mention her grandma, who’s got dementia and moved in with the family last year.

Did you hear that Miah and Becca broke up again? Kels says, drawing me closer to her.

I glance over my shoulder, but neither of them is at the bus stop yet. Trying to play it cool, I force myself to shrug. They’ve broken up, like, fifteen times in the last year, but they always get back together.

Kels raises her eyebrows. But maybe this time they won’t, especially if Jeremiah finds somebody new before Becs get her claws back into him.

My face heats up at the thought of Jeremiah Smallwood’s arm linked through mine, the way Kelsey’s is now, and she grins, reading my thoughts. I don’t think he even knows who I am, I admit quietly, trying to ignore the bubble of excitement that’s pulsing in my stomach.

Shelby, come on. He kissed you in fourth grade; I don’t think a person can forget a thing like that.

I snort. "One, that was fourth grade. This is tenth grade. People change. Two, I add quickly when I see that she wants to argue, he’s almost as good a caster as she is, I jerk my head in my sister’s direction. What would he want with a dried-up scribe like me?"

The yellow school bus pulls up to the curb before Kelsey can say anything, and I’m grateful. As much as I love Kels’s optimism, there’s really no way she can spin my lack of abilities that makes me look worthwhile to anyone, let alone a star caster like Miah. Shaking my arm loose from hers, I head up the steps to the bus and back to our familiar seat, three-quarters of the way down the aisle. Kelsey follows me, and we both pretend not to know Christina when she breezes by, heading for the back of the bus with her friends.

There’s a mix of kids on our bus, even though our neighborhood is almost exclusively filled with magical families. One of the normies smiles at me as she takes a seat across the aisle, and I force myself to smile back. It’s a new year, and I’m ready for a new start. If Kelsey notices, she doesn’t let on, just whips out her phone and starts scrolling through pictures, showing me a crystal ball she found in a shop downtown that she really wants to get. Kels is a caster, like Christina, but she’s nowhere near as powerful. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to bother her; I think she’s more interested in the props and trappings of magic than in the actual spells, but at least she knows she can cast if she has to; I can barely muster up enough magic to test the crappy spells I write, and even then, I rarely manage to get the results I’d hoped for. Christina won’t touch my spells with a ten-foot pole, and even though Kels loves me, the couple of times she used my spells backfired so spectacularly that she never offered again. At this rate, no one will want me to scribe for them, and I’ll have to get some kind of bizarre job like a normie, working in a cubicle or something. Kels is still talking, but I’m only half-listening to her; I keep looking out the window for Miah, but the bus pulls away from the curb before he shows up, and I try to fight my disappointment. Turning to Kelsey, I refocus my attention on her, trying not to think about Miah, my sister, or magic in general.

By the time the bus drops us off at school, I’ve almost forgotten the way my family reacted to my outfit that morning, but when I walk into homeroom and the teacher who’s calling roll does a double take when I raise my hand, I feel my spirits start to sink again. Why did I think I could make a fresh start? Half my teachers have probably had my sister, and it’s not like she’s ever gone out of her way to hide her status as a caster. I slither down in my seat, but the teacher doesn’t say anything, and although I hear a few of the normies around me whispering, I can’t be sure they’re talking about me. Then again, I can’t be sure they aren’t talking about me, either, and I start picking at my cuticles under my desk. When Becca saunters in right at the end of the period, a black ribbon tied around her neck, draped in a sparkling indigo tunic, I sink even lower in my chair. She glances at me, and her lips curl up into a cruel smile. Sitting down beside me, she leans over conspiratorially.

Shelby, I’m so glad you’re finally being true to yourself. It takes a lot of courage to admit that you’re worthless.

My fingers curl into fists under my desk, but whereas Christina could rub Becca’s annoying little nose in something nasty with just a few words and the flick of her wrist, I can’t do anything to her. As a rule, scribes aren’t as strong as casters, but most scribes would have enough magic to put another scribe in her place. Not me. Based on the smirk on her face, she knows it.

The only weapon I have is my words. I smile at her sweetly, forcing myself to sound calmly disinterested. I thought you’d appreciate it, considering.

Becca raises an eyebrow. Considering what?

I widen my eyes innocently. Why, since you’re not strong enough to scribe for Jeremiah. It must have taken a lot of guts to admit your failings, especially since I know you guys are…were close.

She narrows her eyes. Who told you I can’t scribe for him?

I shrug. I heard it around. Pushing my luck, I place my hand on her shoulder in a gesture of fake sympathy. I’m sure he won’t replace you immediately…although a caster like him can’t be without a scribe for long.

Becca flushes for an instant, but then she regains her composure and shrugs away from my touch. "At least I can scribe, she says, her voice raising slightly. What a shame for your parents to have a defect like you."

My vision clouds, and I want to pummel her into the ground, but I can’t do anything. I’m frozen by her words; mean as they are, she’s echoing things I’ve thought more than once, and if Jeremiah is her weak spot, then my family is mine, and she knows it. I open my mouth, trying to think of a comeback, but Becca just smiles and stands up as the bell rings. See you around, Shelby.

I watch her walk away, alternately fuming and fighting back tears, but then she stops at the door and glances back at me. Oh, by the way, she says, her smile toxic, pink is a really good color on you.

CHAPTER TWO

By the end of the day, I’m shivering in my tank top; the school always runs the air conditioning too much, and I gave up on the pink hoodie at lunch, shoving it deep in my locker where I hope I never see it again. Christina could probably change its color for me with a simple spell, but I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that it was a mistake. I sigh, slamming my locker and adjusting the shoulder strap of my bag. Maybe it isn’t the pink that’s the mistake, a nasty voice whispers in my mind. Maybe I’m the mistake.

Last block is science, and when I walk into the lab, it’s clear that the teacher is fresh out of college. He’s standing at the front of the room, looking stuffy and overdressed in a suit and tie, and he nods firmly at each student who walks by his desk, no trace of a smile on his lips. I roll my eyes and head to a lab table near the back. I set my bag on the table next to me, pull out my notebook, and start doodling aimlessly. New teachers are always the worst; not only do they try too hard to have authority, but some of them seem totally oblivious to the interplay between casters, scribes, and normies. It’s not exactly a state secret that some people can do magic, but some communities are more inclusive than others. Since we live on the outskirts of Portland, home to all kinds of friendly freaks, most of the normies are happy to coexist with us during the school day, even if that vanishes once we all go home to our mostly segregated neighborhoods in the burbs. But with new teachers, you never know what kind of prejudices you’re going to get.

Young lady, a harsh voice pierces my thoughts, and I glance up from my notebook, ready to see who the new guy is about to light into, but for some reason, he’s staring at me. I glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing behind me except lab equipment, and when my eyes swing back to the front of the room, his gaze is still fixed on me. He clears his throat. That shirt isn’t acceptable.

Bemused, I point to myself. Are you talking to me?

He glowers. Don’t take that tone with me. I’m sure you know the school’s dress code, and tank tops are not allowed.

I frown, thinking about all the girls I’ve seen today who are wearing tube dresses and halter tops. I’m pretty sure it’s okay.

The teacher’s face starts to turn red. You will not be disrespectful to me, Miss--?

Instead of answering, I raise one eyebrow and glare at him, doing my best to imitate Christina’s angry stare that she reserves for stupid normies. The teacher sputters, and the bell rings. Instead of dropping it and starting class, the man walks toward me, looking for all the world like he’s going to try to haul me out my chair in front of everybody. I cross my arms and keep my mouth shut.

The teacher pauses in front of me. Miss--?

There’s a long pause, and then one of my normie classmates coughs. That’s Shelby King, she says, her voice subdued. Mr. Halstead, you probably want to drop it.

His eyes swivel away from me and lock on the girl, a goody-goody whose name I can’t remember. And why would I do that?

The girl glances at me and turns pale. She’s not one of us, she says, pitching her voice low. There’s no telling what she’ll do.

I want to jump across the room and grab the girl’s stupid perky ponytail, but I keep myself stone still. Now I guess we’ll find out what Mr. Halstead thinks of magic.

The man turns back to face me, but the anger that etched his features has been replaced by fear. Go to the office, please, Miss King.

But I didn’t do anything!

He takes a tentative step back. You can come back when your clothes meet the dress code. With that, he hurries away from me and launches into a rambling welcome to class lecture. Clearly, he doesn’t want to push me in case I decide to turn him into a toad or something, but if I stay, it won’t take long before he realizes that I can’t even give him a bad case of warts. Tears prick my eyes, but I sweep them away with my hand. I’ve never been treated so crappily by a normie before, even though I’ve heard stories about their narrow-minded prejudices. God, I don’t fit in anywhere. There’s no way Christina would have let a teacher talk to her that way or single her out like that, but I can’t think of anything to say or do. For a moment, I’m frozen with indecision and frustration, but then I grab my bag and head out into the hall, letting the classroom door slam shut behind me.

In the hall, I lean against the lockers, trying to decide what to do. Will Mr. Halstead follow up, or will he just be relieved that I left his classroom? Maybe I should try to get my schedule changed, I muse, remembering the teacher’s cold glare laced with fear. I guess I could just go to my locker and get the pink hoodie, but now my attempts at changing what people think about me by wearing pink seem laughable. Unless I transfer schools, there’s no way for me to have a fresh start. Everyone here knows about my family.

Before I can move, a door farther down the hall opens, and Jeremiah Smallwood steps into view. I tense, ready to bolt, but there’s nowhere for me to hide unless I go back into Mr. Halstead’s room. Miah is headed right toward me, twirling a misshapen bathroom pass, and before I can decide what to do, before I can even think, he spots me. An easy, familiar smile spreads across his face, and my chest constricts when he walks up.

What’s up, Shelby?

You missed the bus, I say, the words slipping out of nowhere.

Miah’s grin stretches wider. I didn’t miss it. Mom and Dad finally let me buy a car.

No way!

He nods, his smile lighting up his eyes. Want to see it? I’m supposed to be stopping in the office to pick up Coach’s mail, but there’s time for a detour. Come on! Without warning, he reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me down the hallway toward one of the side exits. I let him tow me along, relishing the feeling of his strong fingers wrapped around mine. I’ve been half in love with Jeremiah since we were kids, long before he kissed me on a dare on the playground, but since he started dating Becca last year, this is the closest I’ve got to him in a long time. I close my eyes, trying to imprint the feeling of his hand in mine on my mind, desperate to hold onto this moment forever.

We’re outside in a heartbeat, and when Miah lets go of my hand, I try not to sigh in disappointment. He’s oblivious, of course. Isn’t she perfect? He grins, pointing at a rusty old sports car that might have been red in its former life. The hubcaps are mismatched, the passenger mirror is shattered, and the trunk is held shut with a length of twine. I can’t help but laugh.

Seriously, Miah? You’re, like, the best caster around. Why haven’t you fixed it up?

He frowns. I just bought her last week, and I’m still getting to know the way she drives. I might put in a new stereo, but for now, I kind of just want to let her be exactly what she is, you know?

His words strike me as if we’re talking about me, not a stupid car, and my breath catches in my throat. Yeah, I guess I get it, I admit, looking at the rusty car again.

Miah grins. I knew you’d understand, Shelby. Mom and Dad gave me grief about her, and you should have heard the shit Becca said. A cloud passes over his face, but then he shakes himself and smiles at me again. You want to check her out? Maybe go for a ride with me after school? He slings his arm over my shoulders, and I’m acutely aware of the straps of my tank top and my bare skin against him. Face hot, I clear my throat.

Um, I croak, searching desperately for the right words, Okay. Why not? Mr. Halstead and the whole awful day fade from my mind, and I grin at Miah, wondering if maybe this year really will be the year things change for me.

CHAPTER THREE

I decide to kill time in the library while Miah goes back to class. There’s a big bulletin board in there, toward the back of the stacks, with all kinds of flyers and posters and stuff. The librarian, Miss Minchell, is pretty cool, and she actually lets the students put up whatever they want, so the library bulletin board is more than just posters about sports tryouts and after-school clubs; it’s actually interesting.