Steadfast(40)

“Excuse me?” One of the hall monitors stood in the doorway and spoke to their substitute. “I’m supposed to bring Nadia Caldani to Ms. Walsh’s office. I’ve got a note.”

Nadia had been dodging Ms. Walsh and ignoring her emails ever since the incident at the town hall meeting. Of course, the emails had been just vague enough for her to feasibly not answer—maybe we should talk, etc. But apparently Ms. Walsh could only be put off so long.

Mateo mouthed, What’s up?

Ms. Walsh, she mouthed back. Even Mateo couldn’t understand the fear every witch felt when there was a danger her secret had been inadvertently discovered.

She sighed and went with the hall monitor.

On the way, Nadia tried to remain calm. There was almost no chance that Ms. Walsh suspected her of witchcraft. After all, she could only know about witchcraft if she were a witch herself, and if she were, Nadia would have seen evidence of it by now. Wouldn’t she? For a moment she doubted herself, but she knew the odds as well as anyone. There were very few witches in the world, and while there had been a coven in Captive’s Sound, Elizabeth had apparently driven the coven deep underground.

Okay, this won’t be about witchcraft, Nadia thought. Then what?

Probably it was about her mother leaving, or college applications, or something similarly depressing. It was all Nadia could do not to groan as she walked into the main office.

Ms. Walsh had the smaller office, nearest the door, but the principal and assistant principal both had their offices in this same area. Different sports and drama schedules were posted all around, and a few other people milled around the waiting area—including someone who wasn’t a student.

“Well, look who’s here.” Verlaine’s uncle Gary opened his arms for a hug, like they’d been friends forever; Nadia hugged him back. Even though they’d only met a handful of times, one of those times had been when Verlaine was in the hospital and they were both scared to death; people got closer at moments like that. He had a broad smile outlined by a short, crisply trimmed beard; between that, his belly, and his usual good cheer, it was easy to imagine him playing Santa for little kids. “I know they can’t have brought you in for detention. Never. Never ever ever.”

Despite her tension, Nadia had to laugh. “Just meeting with the guidance counselor.”


“It’s that time of the year, isn’t it? Verlaine keeps rewriting her Yale essay—four times so far, I swear. I thought it was perfect the first time. Didn’t you?”

Nadia hadn’t even realized Verlaine wanted to go to Yale, or that her test scores might make that a possibility. Verlaine had never even shown her the essay, because she didn’t believe Nadia could care. “I’ll ask her if I can look at it. Maybe she just needs a fresh pair of eyes. You know?”

“Some perspective. Yes. Exactly.”

“I guess you probably need to talk to Ms. Walsh, too.” Nadia’s hopes rose. “It’s fine with me if you go first.”

“Oh, no. Just dropping this off.” He held up a brown bag and a Hello Kitty thermos Nadia recognized. “Verlaine forgot her lunch, and I know she calls the cafeteria the Hall of Trans Fats.”

“It’s pretty disgusting,” she agreed. So much for getting out of this.

Faye Walsh opened her office door, her smile betraying a little chagrin—Nadia had put off replying to the emails way too long. That alone had probably told her something was up. “Well, there you are,” she said. “Come on in. Let’s chat.”

Nadia gave her a searching look. She’d always paid attention to how Ms. Walsh dressed simply because she was so stylish; today she wore a deep-orange pencil skirt and silky white blouse with a patterned scarf at the neck—basically outshining every other faculty member, and most students, by a mile. But today Nadia wanted to look for what Ms. Walsh wasn’t wearing.

And it was exactly what Nadia expected: no rings, no bracelet, no charms strung on a chain around her neck. Every witch kept her raw materials close if she could, because that was the only way to ensure her ability to cast any spell at any moment. Back in ye olden times, that had sometimes meant carrying around a bag of stones and gems, but today it was easy to keep everything on hand as jewelry. If Ms. Walsh didn’t do that, then Ms. Walsh wasn’t a witch. She didn’t know about the Craft. Whatever she’d seen at the town hall meeting, she hadn’t glimpsed the truth.

Relieved, Nadia headed into the office to talk her way through whatever was coming—but then Ms. Walsh stepped past her, obviously dismayed. “Sir? Sir, are you all right?”

Uncle Gary stood at the counter, one hand to his throat in a gesture that had become all too familiar.

Ms. Walsh ran toward him, but not in time to keep him from falling onto the floor, sprawled out across the linoleum. “Call 9-1-1!” Nadia shouted. At least the paramedics could keep him alive.

He convulsed on the floor, gurgling and coughing, as streams of black liquid flowed from the corners of his gasping mouth. Nadia pulled off her cardigan and balled it under his head.

“Hang on,” she whispered. “You’ll be okay.” It was a lie. To judge by the desperate panic in his eyes, Uncle Gary knew it.

The black stuff pooled beneath his head, burning streaks across his face and neck until it flowed and sizzled against the floor. Her cardigan began to smolder at the edges. Nadia tried to tune out the screaming of the secretary or Ms. Walsh shouting directions for the ambulance into the phone; the important thing right now was to focus on him, give him a little comfort if possible.