Chapter 1 Jack of Hearts: Use magick Leering skeletons, laughing pumpkins, and the loud music began to recede, all swimming together in the weirdest sensation. Bethany Salem blinked and shook her head, thinking that it was too hot in the huge family room of Vanessa Peters'' home, or maybe she''d eaten something she shouldn''t have. Food poisoning could make you hallucinate. Halloween music boomed from hidden speakers, and a bunch of kids were doing the limbo with a broom held by Wolfman and Little Bo Peep across the room. Her best friend, Tillie Alexander, plopped down beside her on the sofa, prattling about the great decorations, the fantastic catered food, and how much this party must have cost. Her gold costume shimmered and oozed in the dim lighting as she stuffed a worn deck of Tarot cards in a gold- beaded pouch. Bethany''s mouth grew dry and her tongue felt like it was cemented to the roof of her mouth. She breathed in little gasps, her heartbeat quickening.
Tillie didn''t seem to notice and turned to talk to someone else, waving the gold pouch expressively in the air as she chattered. Bethany''s natural vision collapsed to a pinpoint, replaced totally by some sort of psychic vision. Her fingers clawed at the neck of her costume, the orange and black sequins catching briefly under her nails, but no one noticed. It was as if a part of her floated up in the air somewhere, her mind observing a new scene in some sort of weird time lapse. She was no longer at the poshest teen Halloween party in Cedar Crest. Where was she? She couldn''t feel her physical body anymore. The experience was like a bad horror movie, the kind where you yell at the girl on the screen to run. Except she couldn''t scream.
Her tongue would not obey, and there was nowhere to go. No more party. No more Tillie. She was in a surreal place where she floated freely in the air, and the man below her had a gun. The man raised his arm. The scene stuck, like a videotape on pause. She saw the dirt around the edges of his mouth, as if he''d just consumed a chocolate bar, but the rest of his face was obscured. A shadow? No, a mask.
One of those black masks that only cover the area around the eyes and the bridge of the nose. A garish red-and-white polka dot bandanna covered his hair. He reminded her of a fat, dirty pirate, except the fat was padding, she was sure of it. Freeze frame. The woman''s shocking blue eyes opened in surprise, devoid of hope. Paralyzed. The crack of the pistol-a hollow, elongated sound that thrummed through the air, as if the bullet passed within a millimeter of Bethany''s ear as it bored straight for the woman''s heart. The yellow wall so bright behind the falling victim; her head snapped back, arms akimbo, then folded like a wilting white poppy with a splashing, crimson center.
Another woman, an older one with dark skin, materialized. The scene began to slip away, the edges growing fuzzy but not completely melting. The wizened figure cocked her head as the long, black tendrils of her hair glowed with white streaks, its ropy length in pieces as if she individually twirled the tresses in boredom moments before. She stared at Bethany with liquid black eyes that carried just a hint of ice blue speckling the iris. Bethany couldn''t move. The killer pirate didn''t move. And, obviously, the woman on the floor remained frozen in death. The old woman pointed a gnarled, dark finger at her own forehead, leathery with age and crisscrossed by tiny, intricate wrinkles.
Slowly, a third eye appeared beneath her wavering finger. The eye shown with an inner, blue light. "You can see," said the woman. She continued to point to the third eye. "You have the gift. You must use it wisely. This is the awakening. In time your skill will grow.
Don''t disappoint me." Bethany''s heart pumped an erratic momentum of blood through her veins. "Hey, snap out of it!" yelled Tillie over the steady cadence of music. Bethany jerked her head, focusing on the smiling face of her friend. She was back at the party, the murder scene gone. She sighed with relief, not realizing that she''d been holding her breath. "Have you been sitting here the whole time I was gone?" asked Tillie. Bethany opened and closed her mouth, then said, "You were gone?" "For about fifteen minutes, girlfriend.
" Tillie plopped down beside her on the couch, throwing the gold-beaded bag on the coffee table. "Glad you saved my place. Right beside the food." She smacked glossy lips. "We''re supposed to be having a good time, you know," Tillie reminded her, cocking her head and dipping her dark fingers into a bowl of buttery popcorn. "What''s with you? You look like you''ve seen a ghost or something." "Or something," muttered Bethany, throwing her friend a lopsided grin while trying to ignore the pounding in her temples. She took a jittery breath.
Maybe she was just going plain old nuts. She examined her soda can, hoping no one slipped anything in there. Drugs were not her thing, and most of the people here were not her friends. Tillie pushed the bowl of popcorn toward Bethany. "Want some?" "Nah, I''m trying to watch my weight." "Yeah, right," replied Tillie. "Like you''re really fat." Bethany narrowed her eyes.
"We can''t all eat like you and get away with it. Just think of my abstinence as fat prevention." Sidney Bluefeather, computer nerd of the century and Native American activist at Cedar Crest High, wandered over and perched on the arm of the sofa. He looked as uncomfortable as Bethany felt. His eyes scanned the crowd but his expression said he was afraid to mingle. Tonight he was dressed in full native regalia, complete with a nasty looking knife that appeared more than real. He''d actually be half- decent looking if he didn''t hunch his shoulders and did something better than a ponytail with his hair. He always wore baggy clothes, like he slept in them or something.
His eyes were strange, like his gene pool was touched by a Mongolian khan. Too bizarre. Bethany inclined her head slightly (no need to be a snob) but turned away to deter conversation. It wasn''t anything personal, she just didn''t feel sociable, which was stupid because that''s what you were supposed to do at parties-mix and mingle. Coming here was probably a mistake. She scooted closer to Tillie to further seal the "don''t talk to me" message. She wanted to tell Tillie about what just happened, but this wasn''t the place to share her vision. Bethany tried to compose herself, running nervous fingers through her heavy, dark hair, then plucking at the black, silky sleeves of her witchy costume.
The music was almost deafening and she was glad when, inexplicably, one of the speakers blew out, creating shouts, sparks, and squeals. Still, no one turned off the music. Kids milled throughout the Halloween-decorated warren of Vanessa Peters'' basement family room, spilling soda, laughing, dancing, and trying to scare each other or catch a quick kiss from a willing partner. Minus one speaker, the music played on. Sidney watched the crowd with wistful eyes. Bethany could relate. She wasn''t the belle of the ball either. She''d have to remind Ramona that her glamoury spell was lousy.
Maybe her housekeeper should brush up on that Hoodoo-bayou stuff of hers. All the popular kids from Cedar Crest High were here, along with a few other, odd choices. She knew she was the latter. Sidney was another outcast and, of course, Gillian Merriday over there in the corner. All of them were outsiders, but for different reasons. Sidney said, "I understand that, but-" Bethany looked to the right. To the left. No one was around Sidney, but he kept talking quietly anyway.
Weird. Bethany moved closer to Tillie. Definitely a glitch in the gene pool. Tillie, it appeared, decked out in gold lamé and topped with a heavy turquoise and gold collar, was the life of the party. Of course, her friend was always the life of anything-outgoing, charismatic, charming. Besides, Tillie spent the last two hours reading her Tarot cards for all the kids, cementing her place as the center of attention, at least for this evening. "How did your Tarot readings go?" asked Bethany. "Same old, same old.
Some of them believe. Some think it''s a joke. No biggie," said Tillie, flapping her hand in the air, the gold bands on her forearms gleaming in the low light. "Anything interesting?" asked Bethany, shifting positions on the couch. She couldn''t seem to get the vision out of her head. The murder. The old woman. Maybe she''d been so bored she daydreamed it all.
A loud burst of laughter mixed with the volume of music shrouded Tillie''s reply. All Bethany heard was something about Gillian Merriday. "What about Gillian?" asked Bethany, leaning closer. Gillian Merriday sat in front of her in chemistry class. A big-boned girl with thick, faded brown hair and snapping gray eyes, she walked around with a chip on her shoulder the size of the Titanic. She''d been suspended twice already this year, and it was only the end of October. Other than that, Bethany didn''t know much about her, nor did she care to. Look at Gillian wrong and you might find yourself with a black eye, two if she meant business-off school property, of course.
Tonight she was dressed like a very large, athletic Cat Woman. The plastic toy whip in her hand was a frightening thought. Tillie''s dark eyes narrowed. "One of those strange ones. She clammed up when I asked her about stuff at home. There were some really negative cards in there, but I wasn''t sure what it was about, and there isn''t much.