Danielle Ellison: Salt

Silence spreads between us. We both know we’re at a stalemate. This time Carter’s not smiling when he looks at me. His gaze explores my face, and who am I to stop mine from doing the same? The high cheekbones, the green eyes, the stubble that grows faintly along his jawline. I don’t really take notice of boys, and they don’t take notice of me, but there’s something about this one that’s different—aside from the crazy that obviously plagues him.

“I think it’s a little early in our relationship to start making threats.”

“It’s not a threat.” I ignore “relationship,” although it’s not that, either. “It’s a common interest.”

I need everyone to think I have magic, no questions asked. I can’t be cut out; this world is my life.

Carter’s quiet. The smile appears and then fades, leaving us both to stare at each other. “Okay, Pen.”

“I’m not ‘Pen’—”

“I won’t tell anyone your dirty little secret, if you don’t tell mine.”

“Fine,” I say, breaking the stare, because it’s weird, staring at a boy I barely know on the sidewalk. It’s not like some movie where girl meets boy and they go through all the trials and live happily ever after. I don’t want that anyway. Not with this boy or any boy. My happily ever after consists of finding the damn demon that killed my parents and recovering my own magic.

Carter’s phone beeps in his pocket—high note, low note, high note—which means there’s something on the Witches’ News Network. Probably something unimportant; at least I hope that’s the case. I should’ve brought my phone.

“Another attack,” he whispers.

“Where?” He looks up at me, like he’s surprised that I care. I wave my hand at him, urging him to speak. What does this boy need, a flashing sign?

“In DC on M Street,” he says. He slides his phone in his pocket. There have been a lot more attacks lately. DC is well patrolled, so how are demons slipping by us? I’d never make it to M Street in time, not from where I am.

He studies my face. “So little Penny has a thing for demons, too.”

“I don’t have a thing for demons.”

“You seem to,” Carter says, considering me. The way he looks at me tells me my face said a lot more than my mouth.

“I just asked a question,” I scoff.

“Right, and you’re not thinking about how long it would take you to get there right now?”

I open my mouth to reply, then change my mind and shrug instead. He doesn’t get to know what I was thinking, or anything else about me. Gran told us never to share secrets with strangers. I don’t plan on starting now.

A horn honks in our direction. We both turn, and I see my sister’s blond hair bobbing in the car. Gran probably sent her, more of that non-optional suggesting. I need to change my running route. The trails are getting too predictable for them.

“I should go,” I say. Connie calls my name from the car, and parks in a spot. I nod at Carter, all awkward-like, and take a couple steps toward my sister. “See you around.”

“See me tomorrow,” he says.

I stop walking. “What?”

He moves to fill some of the space between us. Not too close, but close enough that it makes me want to run in the other direction. “I keep seeing you, and I don’t think coincidences are real.”

I pause, my mouth dry. I thought the same thing about him not twelve seconds ago. “I don’t hang out with strangers,” I say, stepping away. He follows me. What is it with this boy? He does not take a hint. Go away.

“We’re not strangers. I’ve met you twice. Now, we’re more like people getting to know each other over coffee. If you drink coffee. There’s a place in Del Ray—St. Elmo’s?—that’s the best.”

That place is my favorite in the whole city. I go there so much they know my order.

“Penelope, I knew you’d be here,” Connie says, walking up to us. Her voice trails off when she sees Carter. I don’t know how much longer we stand that way before he breaks our gaze.

“Who’s this?” Connie asks in our silence. She’s got that singsong tone to her voice like when she was up to something as a kid.

“Carter,” he says. He reaches out for my sister’s hand and kisses it awkwardly. She cocks an eyebrow while I just roll my eyes.

“And you are?” he asks.

“Connie,” she says.

“My little sister,” I add.

Carter nods toward her. She eyes me suspiciously as he lets go of her hand and clears his throat. “Tomorrow afternoon then?” he asks me.

Connie narrows her eyes in my direction. I see the question brewing in her mind. I don’t want another incident like the time I told her how Mike O’Connor kept borrowing my pencil when he had a whole bag full, and then she convinced him to ask me out because he obviously liked me. He didn’t; he liked my mechanical pencils.

I nod quickly. Please go away now. He flashes another bright smile from the corner of this mouth and he’s gone at least three minutes before Connie speaks.

“How do you know him?”

“I don’t,” I say. “He’s a stranger.”

“A hot one.”

“He could be crazy. I think he’s a stalker.”

“Again, a hot one.” She pauses. I shrug. “And you like him,” she says in my ear.

I shake my head and swat her away. It must be a rule that little sisters have to be irritating. “No. I don’t even know him, Con.”

She does this little huff like she doesn’t believe me. I stick my tongue out at her because I’m mature like that.

Gran calls my name as soon as we walk through the door. Connie squeezes my hand and runs off so I can face the firing squad alone. Traitor. In the kitchen, Gran is bent over the oven. It smells like spaghetti pizza, which she only makes on special occasions. The smell of the melting cheese and pepperoni makes my stomach growl.

“Did you need something? I wanted to shower. That smells good,” I say. Deflection!

Gran closes the oven door and faces me. “Did you have a good run?” She doesn’t buy the trick. She’s a retired high school teacher; not much gets past her.

Sure, until the Enforcers and a stalker-boy showed up. I nod in quiet reply.

“I’m thinking I’ll make something special for dessert. I made this chocolate angel pie when your mom was your age. How about that?”

This is Gran’s way of apologizing. She’s not the “let’s hug it out” type. She’s not even the “I’ll admit I was wrong” type. A special dessert plus a fancy dinner? She’s that type.

“Sounds delicious,” I say. She starts rummaging through one of her cookbooks. I grab my phone off the table where I left it and see all of Ric’s frantic texts about leaving in the middle of a conversation and asking where I’d been. His last says he called Con. Want to come to dinner? I text.

Don’t lie to me, darlin’. I will cut you.

I’d like to see you try.

He sends me back an emoji of a knife, and I laugh.

“Can Ric come over? His mom is working late.” Gran’s turning pages in her book, and since this is my apology dinner, I already know she’ll say yes. I send the text before she even answers.

“I reckon. Tell him an hour,” she says. The buzzer on the stove goes off and Gran is in action again so I head upstairs. Connie stops me before I turn into my room.

“I made you this,” she says. She hands me a little box. Connie’s not really a “make things” kind of girl. Buy them, yes. Make them, no.

“It won’t bite me, will it?” I ask. She crosses her arms and I pull off the lid. Inside is a necklace. It’s a glass vial filled with salt strung on a chain.

“It’s so you won’t forget salt again,” she says. “Practical and cute.”