Except for the Antima. And for that creepy shadow message that Greta had shown her. Iris wondered what Jadora would do about them?
15 SUNLIGHT AND SHADOWS
If you ignore Discord within a coven, it will multiply in the shadows.
(FROM THE GOOD BOOK OF MAGIC AND MENTALISM BY CALLIXTA CROWE)
On Thursday at noon, Greta found her way to her favorite bench in the school courtyard, the one under the purple crape myrtle tree. It was a perfect day to be outside—warm but not too warm and with a gentle breeze that carried with it the faint, intoxicating fragrance of abelia blossoms and freshly mown grass. The cedar bench was adorned with a small gold plaque that said: IN MEMORY OF JANE ELIZABETH LEAVENWORTH. She didn’t know who Jane Elizabeth Leavenworth was, and she’d resisted the impulse to google her; in Greta’s mind, the name had bloomed into a social activist, biologist, and (secret) garden witch who lived in Sorrow Point a century ago with a cat familiar named Orlando and six witchy daughters.
Greta gazed around the courtyard; Binx and Ridley should be here soon. Iris had said she’d be late, but Greta was just happy she could join them at all. Plus, she was glad to have a little time alone with Binx and Ridley first. They had a lot to discuss, and not just about the shadow messages and the Antima.
Ridley had called her last night and told her about Ms. O’Shea. The news had been a (good) surprise—there were now two new witches at their school. There was strength in numbers, after all. But with the good came the bad, of course. If Ms. O’Shea and her coven were right, and there really was some rich, powerful Antima organizer in Sorrow Point, then things were bound to get worse… not just shadow messages and defaced gravestones, but possibly violence. Like what happened to that witch in Texas. (Also, maybe this Antima bigwig had influence with the local police and would convince them to beef up their witch patrol… and witch arrests?)
A sudden chill spidered up Greta’s spine. She glanced up abruptly. Nope, no one around. The closest students were all the way by the soccer fields playing Ultimate Frisbee. No sign of Orion or Axel or Brandon, either.
She touched her raw amethyst pendant under her peasant blouse and willed herself to relax. Maybe she should sketch a little until the other girls arrived. She pulled out a slim notebook—not her grimoire, which she only used in private, but a Himalayan rice paper sketchbook—and a green velvet bag containing her drawing pencils. She also opened her recyclable waxed canvas lunch bag and peered inside. She usually packed her own lunches and Teo’s, too (she’d been doing this since fifth grade), but this morning her mother had apparently woken up at three—“Middle-aged-lady insomnia,” Ysabel had explained with a cheerful yawn—and packed lunches for the whole family. Greta made a mental note to mix a new sleeping elixir for her—perhaps a blend of lavender, valerian root, chamomile, passionflower, and skullcap?
Greta’s parents knew she was a witch. They’d known ever since she was eleven, when she’d touched a dead zinnia in the garden, closed her eyes, and willed it to “wake up”—and the withered brown blossom had instantaneously morphed into a profusion of bright red petals. After this discovery moment, Tomas and Ysabel had sat her down and instructed her that even though they’d always taught her not to keep secrets, she absolutely had to keep her magical power a secret. Had to. They loved her and supported her; they were opposed to 6-129, the law against witchcraft; and they were passionate about equal rights for all. But they also wanted to make sure that the information about her identity never leaked, for her own safety. They’d also told her about her great-grandmother Adelita, on Ysabel’s side, who’d been a witch, too. (Adelita had died when Ysabel was a baby, so she had never known her.)
“Hey!”
It was Binx, making her way toward the bench. She was carrying a strawberry yogurt, a bag of potato chips, and a ginger ale. “Calumnia,” she said as she sat down next to Greta and shrugged off her Hello Kitty backpack. “So where’s the newb recruit?”
“Is that what you’re calling her now? Iris will be here soon. Where’s Ridley?”
“She had to see Ms. Fein about her paper. She said, like, five minutes.”
“Got it.” Greta nibbled thoughtfully on a carrot stick. “Did you manage to find the names on those gravestones?”
“No. I tried to blow up the photos, but the quality was too grainy. I guess one of us will just have to go back to the cemetery in person. Fun!” Binx tore open her bag of potato chips and popped one in her mouth. “By the way, I’m curious—why does the newb recruit think 1415 is code for ‘no’?” she asked, chewing.
“She touched the shadow message. My shadow message; she doesn’t know about Div’s yet. I didn’t even tell her about Div being a… Anyway, Iris touched my shadow message and had some sort of vision that indicated that 1415 meant ‘no.’”
“Soooo… she could be making it up?”
“Why would she make it up?”
“Who knows?” Binx said with a shrug. “You literally just met her yesterday. She could be a fake, or a fluffy bunny, or crazy, or whatever. Or she could have sent the shadow message, did you ever think about that? She may not be who she says she is. In fact, I should do more online vetting on her before we let her into the circle, don’t you think?”
Greta spread her napkin (actually a dish towel with a map of New Mexico) across her lap and smoothed it carefully. “I guess? But she seemed real to me. Super-sincere. You can see for yourself when you meet her. Besides, we need all the help we can get to figure out who’s threatening us.
