You Must Fall In Love

Chapter Thirty-Two

Christine didn't actually know what amulets did, which is why when the package finally came, after four days of staring at her phone like a bulging-eyed zombie and not calling Mum, she was surprisingly hesitant to open it.

"Will you need any help, Miss Lam?"

"No, Mr. Kang, this is fine. Thank you."

"Perfect. Let me know if you need anything else."

Old Kang bowed and left. Then she remembered that she hadn't thanked him for fixing the bed last week, even though she didn't really know how he had done it. At least he had taken the thank-you note, she hoped.

"Alright, Lawrence," she muttered, "let's see what you've got for me."

It was a large brown box with an orchid stamp on it, sealed with duct tape lined with red lions-heads. On it were the words 'WARNING: DO NOT OPEN' and 'CONFIDENTIAL — MINISTRY FOR OTHERWORLDLY AFFAIRS, REPUBLIC OF SINGAPORE.'

She shook her head. Trust Lawrence to send an official package.

"Jen?" she yelled. "Hey, Jen!"

"What's up?" came the return shout.

Over the last two days, their version of communication had degenerated from actual conversation to in-room banter, from in-room banter to half-distracted phone-talk, and now, finally, yelling at each other from across the hall. To Christine, it was the most effective method of communication, because it a) didn't need eye contact and b) didn't require her to move at all.

Having a phone was terrible for her physical state, but at least it kept her from going insane.

"Do you have a boxcutter?"

"I have an Apache ceremonial knife!"

"Why do you have an Apache ceremonial knife, but not a boxcutter?!"

"Research!"

This was enough for Christine to roll out of bed, get up, and stomp over to Jen's room.

"Jen," she said, "Lawrence's amulets are here, and if you don't come over right now, I'm going to have to rip the box apart with my teeth."

Jen raised a finger, lowered her finger, put down her book, opened her drawer, and pulled out a knapped piece of black stone. It was hard and wicked and the handle was tied with a red tassel.

Then she put it back down and pulled out a pink boxcutter.

"Oh, there it is," she said thoughtfully. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Christine smacked herself in the forehead, then smacked the wall, then turned around and marched back to her room before she could walk over and smack Jen. Jen skipped along beside her, radiating happy nerd energy. Then she stopped and put a hand on her chin.

"Hold up, C, this is an official package. It's probably enchanted. Are you sure you want to..."

"Come on, Jen. It's a bunch of spell-paper and a set of instructions. Don't be such a scaredy-cat."

"Sniff it," said Jen.

"My nose doesn't work that way," groaned Christine.

But she did, anyway, even though she knew perfectly well that the only magic she could smell was on people. She took a deep breath, then inhaled.

"It smells like tape," she said. "And cardboard. What did you think it would smell like?"

"Your funeral," said Jen, handing the boxcutter over, then plugging her ears. "Just don't..."

SNAP

It was like a dry twig had snapped in half, then folded again. Christine touched her cheek and felt something very wet. When she looked down at the boxcutter, she saw a nub of cracked pink plastic.

The cutter had exploded the moment she touched it to the box. Her hand was red with blood.

"What... what the hell?"

"Don't move!" said Jen. "You'll cut yourself!"

It was true. There were shards of steel sticking out of the carpet, perilously close to her bent knee.

"You mean more than I'm already cut?"

"Y'know, I didn't want to say I told you so, but I told you so. Let me see..."

Jen struck her finger against the wall like she was lighting a match, hard enough to bruise it. A spark of autumn-orange leapt from the point of impact, then burst into green flame on the tip of her painted nail.

"Steel, return to steel, and mend thyself," she said, signing the fire into a floating Celtic cross. "Be whole. This I charge thee by the Christ."

She closed her hand around the sigil, then blew the flames outward. As Christine tried her best to keep kneeling in exactly the same position, the fragments of pink and gray shot back together, so suddenly that she dropped the boxcutter.

It was whole again. It was like the cutter had never been broken.

"Nice spell," said Christine, slowly processing what she had just seen. "Why... why didn't you do that when you broke your wrist in P3?"

"It's just a mending spell," said Jen, sucking her bright red finger. "It doesn't work on us. Besides, take a look at the blade."

"The blade? I don't see anything..."

No, she did. The segments of the blade, the ones that were meant to be snapped off to reveal sharper portions, were all crooked and crazed like a crackled vase. It looked like if she pressed it just a fraction too hard, the whole thing would shatter.

She had seen wrong.

"It's just like your mom says, C. Magic is ritual and sacrifice, but especially sacrifice. Nothing that's been broken can be put together again, at least, not in the same way. If I had bitten my finger hard enough to draw blood, I might have restored more of it. If I had more time, I could have worked out a spell that used nothing but my own blood sugar, but that would have taken an hour or so."

"That doesn't make sense," said Christine. "What about the protective spell on your Macbook?"

"That one runs down the battery," said Jen. "I'll have to toss it within the year."

"And the amulets that Mum uses..."

She stared at the box in sudden panic. She had never thought of things like this before.

"I don't know, either," said Jen. "There has to be a cost from somewhere, but I've never seen it. I guess burning the amulet might have something to do with it, but if you look at it objectively, there's no way that it covers the consistent power that your family's magic generates. Maybe it's the ritual."

"What about the box?" gasped Christine. "Is it going to suck out my life-juices? How does this..."

"Oh, come on, C, this is toddler stuff. Magical artifacts are just rituals embodied in a physical form. That box was primed with a slow spell which breaks everything you use to open it, but eventually, if you waited for a few years, it would probably crush itself and destroy its own contents."

"But how am I supposed to get in now?" wailed Christine, smacking her hand right on top of the box in a fit of pique.

Jen pointed.

Christine peeled her bloody palm off the cardboard and stared at the tape hanging from her fingers.