me. I really need to talk to you.
Alex… call me, okay? Just call me.
At one time, I would have flipped over these messages. But today I really don’t care at all. And that definitely is not normal.
Without pausing to wonder any more about what could be happening, I call Hayes.
“How are you feeling, sleepyhead?”
“I don’t know why I’m calling you at all, with the crap you pulled last night.”
“Oh, Alex. Have a sense of humor.”
“Whatever, you crazy wench. I get it—you and Madison get off on weird joyrides. But I need you to tell the truth about something.”
On the other side of the phone, there is an uneasy pause.
“Okay,” Hayes finally says.
“What was in that Vitaminwater?”
“Just some herbs,” she says.
“Herbs?” I reply. “Hayes, I know all about herbs. I’m practically a licensed herbalist. Those were no herbs that I’ve ever heard of.”
“Roots,” she says.
“What roots? Specifically?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Because whatever you gave me not only knocked me out and gave me crazy-ass dreams, but it altered the way I feel. Like, I don’t care about Reggie even a little anymore. Crush officially crushed.”
“Well, so, that’s great,” she says brightly. “We’ve got lots of guys for you to hang with as soon as we get your hair fixed. Why ask questions?”
“Hayes. You guys—y’all—drugged me. Don’t you think I deserve to know what’s going on?”
“Hang on for a minute.” She holds the phone away, and I can hear the rise and fall of Madison’s voice in the background. “Okay. Tell your grandmother we’re coming over.”
“Why should my grandmother care if you come by?”
“Just tell her,” Hayes says, a little impatiently. “Actually, what you need to tell her is that I said it’s time.”
Within minutes, the MGs are at my grandmother’s house. What follows is a story so crazy, it’s hard to retell it without questioning my sanity. But the craziest part? I’m not surprised at all. Somehow, in my very core, I know that every single word is true.
The four of us—me, Hayes, Madison, and my grandmother—gather around my grandmother’s long, candlelit dining room table. She has forgone the champagne tonight for a decanter of brandy, offering each of us a glass. (My grandmother definitely has no qualms about underage drinking.)
“What did you give her last night?” Miss Lee asks.
“A potion Sam gave me,” Madison says.
“Hmm.” My grandmother opens a large, old book that she has brought down from her suite. It’s the same one Sam had at his house: Lady Brown’s Book of Conjure and Spells.
“Probably gunpowder, wasp nests, blood—”
“What?” I yell.
“Cayenne pepper, sassafras, bluestone… it’s a wonder he had enough bluestone at this time of year. You know, I think I might almost have this one down. Did he instruct you to get drops of the boy’s sweat?”
“Yes. I strained the drink through a piece of his shirt,” Madison says. “Got it from her room.”
Reggie’s shirt? My favorite vintage rock tee! So that’s why the cloth in Madison’s hand looked so familiar.
“You went through my stuff?”
Madison shrugs. “Had to.”
“You cut up my favorite shirt and then fed me pepper and God knows what other crap? Are you insane?”
“She’s not insane, darling,” my grandmother says. “She was following Doc Buzzard’s orders.”
“What orders?”
“On how to properly conduct this spell.”
“Okay.” I stand up from the table, backing away from them. “It’s time for you all to tell me what the hell is going on here.”
“We are about to, Alexandria. Right now, actually.” My grandmother pours me a tiny bit more brandy. “All right, Alex. Tell me what you know about magic.”
“Magic?” I say, trying not to laugh. “What, like wizards and wands?”
Madison, Hayes, and my grandmother all give me unmistakably annoyed looks.
“Wizards? Don’t be ridiculous.” Miss Lee settles into her velvet chair and looks at her diamond rings. “Let me begin again. Did your mother ever talk about spells?”
“No spells.”
“Curses?”
“Definitely not.”
“Conjuring? The evil eye? Shadow magic? Soothsaying?”
“Okay, you’ve seriously lost me. Can you please bring my grandmother back now? The one who was worried about whether I cross my legs in public?”
My grandmother smiles patiently.
“Well, it seems Louisa really did keep you in the dark.” She stands and paces the dining room. “Let me start at the beginning. You’ll have to reach way back. Nineteen fifty-seven. At the time I, like you, was sixteen years old.”
I cock my head, trying to do the math. Nineteen fifty-seven. Would that make her now, like, seventy? But how could that be? She looks forty, tops.
“I was engaged to be married,” she says. “And then