Christina and I stay up way past the so-called "witching hour"; we work until dawn, memorizing spells, talking about strategy, and filling in the gaps in Christina's spell arsenal with some of my own creations. With Mom still in the hospital, no one bothers to tell us to go to school in the morning, and once Dad has left for work, I call into the school and excuse both of us before staggering into Christina's room and landing face down on her bed. When I finally wake up, afternoon sunlight is streaming into the room, and I'm hungry enough to eat everything in the house.
I stumble down to the kitchen, rubbing my eyes and reciting spells, trying to remember everything that Christina and I talked about, but I pause on the threshold to the kitchen. My sister is sitting there at the island, clutching a coffee cup like it's a lifeline with her eyes closed. This is so much harder on her than it is on me, I realize with sudden clarity. Her whole future hinges on this test, and Christina's a control freak; it can't be easy for her to step back and watch me take her place. I feel a twinge of guilt that I haven't tried harder to come up with a spell that will swap us back into our proper bodies, and Christina opens her eyes as if she'd heard my thoughts.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, and then she pats the barstool next to her. "Breakfast?"
I laugh, but it sounds forced. "Lunch, more like it. Is there more coffee?"
She nods. "I made a pot. Your mug is on the counter."
I cross to the coffee pot behind her, surprised and touched that she bothered to fish my favorite big mug out of the dishwasher. "Thanks." After filling my cup, I slide onto the stool beside Christina, and for a moment we sit there sipping in silence. Finally, I turn to face her, and she lifts her eyes to mine.
"I'm sorry," I say, knowing the words can never be enough. "I seriously didn't mean for all this to happen."
A ghost of a smile flickers across her face. "I guess it wouldn't have happened if I weren't such a bitch."
I stare at her, stunned. "Seriously? No guilt trip or anything?"
"Oh, don't get me wrong; this spell seriously sucks. But," she adds thoughtfully, staring into her coffee cup as if it holds all the answers, "I guess you never would have scribed something like that if I'd been different."
"I didn't even think I was scribing," I admit to her, startled into honesty by her words. "I mean, when I scribe, it's different; I've got an intention before I begin, and I try to find the words that will make that intention reality. But with this mess, I wasn't thinking; I was just writing, just venting. I never meant to turn my anger into a spell."
Christina considers for a moment. "But clearly your words worked. What I can't figure out is how; even the best scribes can't actually cast their spells, at least not so that there's any lasting effect. We've been stuck in each other's bodies all week. That's the part that doesn't make sense."
I sigh heavily and take a sip of coffee. "I know. And I don't have any idea to fix it."
To my surprise, Christina drapes her arm around my shoulders and gives me an awkward hug. "First, let's get through the Threes tonight. Then we can worry about the rest of this mess, okay?"
I nod. "Okay." Taking a final swig of my coffee, I stand up. "Want to practice one more time?"
***
Mom is still in the hospital that evening, so Dad drives us to the exam. "Now, this is going to be a lot different than your practices," he reminds me as we turn onto the highway. "For one thing, the covens rented out a convention center, so there's way more room, but I'm sure they'll give all the casters a map."
I swallow, clenching my fists and digging my fingernails into the flowy black lace tunic that's bunched up in my lap. Other than the purple velvet ribbon at my throat, I'm covered head to toe in black. Christina picked the clothes, and even though I feel like a walking corpse, I wasn't about to argue with her, not when there's so much as stake for both of us. She doesn't know that I pulled on my favorite pair of sparkly silver socks, though; they look like an extension of the Chucks on Christina's feet, and just knowing I'm wearing something of mine under Christina's black armor makes me feel a little better. "Got it. Convention center."
Dad glances at me and then looks back at the road. "Just relax. You're a King; there's absolutely nothing to worry about."
My eyes meet Christina's in the rearview mirror, and I swallow nervously. Sure. Nothing except our futures hinging on a ridiculous game of make-believe.
When we pull up to the hotel, Dad's hand lingers on the gearshift. "I can come in with you, if you want," he offers, "but I know I might make you more nervous. It's up to you."
I shake my head. "I can do it," I say, willing myself to believe the words. "Will you pick us up when it's done?"
"Of course." He pauses, but then he reaches over and gives me a quick one-armed hug. "Make us proud, sweetie."
My mouth is dry. "I'll do my best."
He nods, smiling. "Then you'll be the best caster in there, hands down."
Christina and I get out of the car and wave as he pulls away, but then I turn to her and square my shoulders. "Let's get this over with."
She grins. "Ready whenever you are."
I close my eyes, reminding myself for the umpteenth time that this is only going to work if I can think like Christina, act like Christina. With one last deep breath, I cross my fingers and stride into the hotel, my sister trailing along in my wake.
Feigning the confidence I've always envied Christina for, I march up to the long table in the center of the lobby. Older casters and scribes, people who look like they're already in college, are milling around on one side of the table, sorting through stacks of paper and occasionally making notes on a spreadsheet. I can feel Christina hovering behind me when I catch the eye of one of the volunteers and offer him a tight smile.
"I'm Christina King," I say, my voice firm. "And this is my scribe, Shelby."
***
The first part of the exam is the exhibition, where all the casters get ten minutes each to perform their flashiest spells. The casters have been grouped alphabetically, and Christina and I are sitting in stiff chairs in a small ballroom with a dozen other casters from H through M, waiting for our turn. I'm relieved that Miah isn't in our group; it's going to be hard enough to carry off this charade in general, but I honestly don't know if I could do it with him watching.
A petite woman with her silver hair pulled back into a smooth bun steps to the front of the room, and the buzz of conversation instantly hushes. "Welcome," she begins, looking around at each of the casters arrayed in front of her. "We are looking forward to seeing what you're made of today." Her eyes land on mine, and I'm mesmerized by her steely stare. For a minute, I'm afraid she can see right through me, and I almost forget to breathe.
When her eyes leave mine for another victim, I lean back against my seat and exhale softly. "Who is that?" I whisper to Christina.
"Madame Sanderson, the head of Lavender." Her words are barely audible, but in the stillness of the room, it feels like everyone is suddenly listening to us. I wonder if she's related to the caster who pulled a wand on Miah. Madame Sanderson's eyes meet mine again, but she doesn't say anything, just clucks her tongue and shakes her head slightly, and my cheeks heat up. I look like such an idiot; no other caster needs to ask her scribe who one of the heads of one of the covens is, and I feel humiliated.
When the first caster gets up for his exhibition, however, my earlier humiliation pales in comparison to the way I feel watching him cast spells for ten solid minutes without even acknowledging his scribe once. I lean over to Christina. "I can't do this."
"Yes, you can. You don't have any choice."
The next couple of casters actually seem to be using their scribes, and I feel a little better when a girl I vaguely recognize from school bites her lip, trailing off in the middle of a spell, and looks helplessly at her scribe, standing off to one side. The guy doesn't miss a beat, just whispers the words to her, and the caster finishes her exhibition with an impressive puff of glittery smoke. I glance at Madame Sanderson, sitting at the back of the room with the other judges, but I can't tell from her expression if the caster did well or blew it by asking for help.
Then, all of a sudden, it's our turn. Christina comes to the front of the room with me and stands off to one side, like we'd practiced. Like I've seen the other casters do, I stand in the center of the space and bow to the judges. "Christina King," I say, clenching my fists and praying my voice doesn't shake. There's a long pause, and then Madame Sanderson waves her hand, the signal to begin.
I take a deep breath and launch into my first spell, gesturing to the right and left. I try not to glance at Christina, but I can feel her just out of my peripheral vision, and I hope that anyone who notices her lips moving will think she's just reciting the words of the spell along with me. I don't want to consider what will happen if anyone realizes I'm not actually doing any magic.
Twin columns of purple flame shoot up on either side of me, and I lower my hands, gesturing the way Christina showed me. The fire shifts and twists, dancing like a snake, and then it shimmers and I'm flanked by trickling fountains instead. The water vanishes before it hits the floor, but the sweat on my forehead is real. Like a choreographed dance, I move my hands and mouth the words Christina taught me, while she casts spell after spell. For our grand finale, we've decided to use my sparkler spell that I wrote for Jeremiah, and as the fireworks die around me and everyone claps politely, I can't help but think about him, somewhere else in the convention center, trying to wow the judges in his room. I wonder if he'll use that spell, I think to myself as I bow and hurry back to my seat, Christina close behind.
I sag against the chair as soon as we sit down, and I'm too drained to even care about the rest of the exhibitions. They go on and on, and through my stupor, I begin to notice that my stomach is empty and I'm feeling shaky. Finally, when everyone's done, Madame Sanderson stands up again. Her expression is bland, but her eyes flash with intelligence, and once again, I fight back the fear that she'll be able to see through my act. "We'll take a short break. Casters, report back to the registration desk at five thirty." She claps her hands once, and as if she's used magic, everyone stands up simultaneously and begins to file out of the room. I glance back over my shoulder, and I sigh with relief when I realize that Madame Sanderson is sitting down with the judges once more. For a second, I was afraid she was watching me.
Once we're out in the hallway, Christina grabs my hand. "Come on. If we hurry, we can grab a snack before the next round."
My stomach growls in agreement, but I hang back for a minute. "Did I do okay?"
She nods. "It went really well. But we're not through yet; we've still got the individual coven exams, and then the final ceremony."
I nod, but my hungry stomach has lurched, and I'm afraid I'm about to throw up. Christina sees it on my face, and the next thing I know, she mutters something and suddenly, I feel great again. I stare at her. "What did you just do?"
She doesn't answer. "We can go over our strategy while you eat. Come on," she adds, turning down the hall toward the hotel restaurant.
I pause and put my hand on my stomach, but my nausea is gone as if it never existed. Did she just use a spell on me? I don't know why the thought leaves me so unsettled, but I'm grateful to feel better, at least, and I follow Christina toward the food.
***
We wolf down food from a vending machine as we walk through the convention center. When we get back to the registration desk, Christina prods me in the back and I go over to another volunteer. He looks up at me over his thick horn-rimmed glasses and smiles.
"King, right?"
I nod, surprised. "Yeah. Christina."
"Yeah, I figured. Your dad's always talking about you."
I must look confused, because he shakes his head with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I'm Carter; I started interning with the Force this semester."
"Oh." Dad hasn't mentioned any interns; in fact, Dad rarely talks about his work on the Force at all, other than to remind me and Christina not to ever even consider breaking any of the magical rules that govern all casters and scribes. The guy is kind of cute, though, and he seems friendly, so I smile. "I hope he's said good things," I finally offer, even though it feels so weird to know the guy is talking to the wrong sister.
He grins broadly. "Of course!" He winks. "I'll be excited to hear which coven you pick when this is over. I know your dad's pulling for Henbane, but I can tell you we'd be glad to have you in Bittersweet." He hands me a sheet of paper and smiles again. "Good luck with the rest of the exam!"
"Thanks," I say, retreating quickly to where Christina is waiting for me, hovering beside a large potted plant.
She grabs my arm as soon as I walk up and pulls me close to her. "Who was that?"
"Him?" I tip my head back toward the registration desk. "That's Dad's intern."
She studies him, and then she smiles. "He's really cute."
"He asked about you."
She looks at me, her face bright. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, he said he'd heard a lot about you from Dad. He's in Bittersweet," I add, wondering why my sister is acting so dippy all of a sudden.
She sighs and glances at Carter again over my shoulder. "Why couldn't it be Henbane?"
"Can we focus? Here's the schedule for the individual coven exams." I hand her the paper and shift on my feet, rocking back and forth between my heels and toes. "What's the plan?"
She skims the list. "Henbane is last; we'll want to save the best spells for them, but there's no rule that says we can't repeat if necessary." She bites her lip and looks over my shoulder again. "I don't really care about Lavender or Fennel."
"What's this part of the exam going to be like, anyway?"
She looks at me, and her eyes are concerned. "No one really talks about it. But you'll be fine."
I blench, remembering something she said about the coven exams sometimes being dangerous. "You don't think—" I begin, but before I can worry out loud, a series of chimes sounds through the reception area, and everyone around us begins moving back in the direction of the ballrooms where we tested for the first part.
"Come on," Christina says, grabbing my arm. "It's time."