3Elena
The text comes as she spots her car across the street. Elena knows it’s probably her agent, asking her how it went. She doesn’t look right away. She wants to savor the moment. The director said she had “the perfect inflection” when she delivered the line about asking your doctor about Protenly. Not too happy, not depressed. And she’d felt pretty in that kelly green shirt they’d put her in. A good morning and a relatively easy six hundred dollars—more if they decide to run it. Her last three gigs were not so lucky, but hopefully this one will be.
The sun is shining. Of course, this is LA, and a woman with the tiniest dog she’s ever seen stops right in front of her on the sidewalk. Elena’s bright mood wavers slightly as she tries to step over the leash, but her foot gets caught on it, and she stumbles. The dog lets out a little whimper, and the owner, a blond woman in matching mint green yoga pants and bra, gives Elena a dirty look.
She swallows the comment that pops into her head.
Just as she spots the familiar dent on her car’s left bumper and the deep scratch near the driver’s side door handle, she sees something else. A slim piece of paper is tucked under her wiper blade. She glancesat the sign down the street, the one she should have looked at before parking. “NO PARKING FOR STREET CLEANING, 2ND AND 4TH MONDAYS OF THE MONTH.”But it’s Tuesday, she thinks. And then she remembers.No, it’s Monday.She squeezes the parking ticket in her hand.
Monday, June eighth.
For a moment, she’s back in the woods, sitting next to Quinn in their circle and reading from the book. She can smell summer forcing spring away. There is a warm breeze toying with the hair at the nape of her neck, making her itch. The magic is rising around them. “It feels like a bathtub filling up,” Quinn said once, and that was exactly it. It streamed into them, through them, before spilling over, and then the spells were released into the world. And every time—every single time—they shook their heads with amazement.They could do magic.And now she can almost hear Quinn correcting her. They didn’tdomagic. It was theplacethat was magical. The aspen grove was a mile north of Whisper Ridge, and you could feel the crackle of something powerful in your bones when you were there. The aspens held the magic. The four of them were merely the stewards. Yes, Quinn’s tree-hugger vibes were sometimes grating. But, god, that feeling was something special.
A sour taste fills her mouth, and the memory disintegrates. What was the point of all that magic if they couldn’t save her? Sometimes Elena’s not even sure the magic was real or just something her mind invented to escape the shitstorm that was her life. And then Quinn died, and it all got even harder.
Once she climbs into her car, she crumples the ticket into a ball and throws it on the floor of the passenger side. But then she thinks better of it and flattens it out, sticking it in her bag. She huffs and leans back into her seat, the upholstery making her feel hot. She pulls out her phone, her bright mood officially dimmed.
Maybe it’s because she was just thinking about the four of them, butshe’s not surprised to see Joey’s name on her phone. They haven’t talked in forever, and Elena’s embarrassed that she plugged Joey’s and Sophie’s numbers in from memory when she got a new phone years ago. She sent a group text that simply said,It’s Elena, and then instantly regretted it. They both responded, but she ignored them. They haven’t spoken since. She doesn’t know if she wants to look at what Joey has to say, today of all days, and so she hesitates. Does she really want to dredge all this up again? She’s put the past behind her—spent years doing it. Opening this revived text thread feels like opening an underground crypt.
The inside of her car is starting to feel as hot as an armpit, and she won’t run the AC just to get another ticket for idling. Best to just read the message and get it over with. Whatever it says, she plans to just reply with a heart emoji—a yellow one so it’s not depressing—and then get home. She has to clock in for lunch service at eleven.
She taps the message and reads Joey’s words. Immediately, she flushes with anger.Joey knows what happened to Quinn? What the hell is she talking about?They all know what happened to Quinn. It was an accident. Case closed. Elena can feel irritation making her jittery. This is the kind of thing she did not want to feel today. Joey was never one for melodramatics, but this message has the stickiness of desperation, the kind that can drag you down if you’re not careful. It’s been fifteen years, and she hasn’t even written a preamble. No,“Hey, I know this is out of left field, but…”Nope, straight to the point. That is pure Joey. Elena’s head suddenly feels heavy, and she doesn’t like it.
She starts the car. The phone vibrates in her palm just as she’s starting up the podcast,The Second Act, episode thirteen. She closed Joey’s text, planning to pretend she didn’t see it at all, but now another message comes through, this one from Sophie.
She opens Sophie’s text, sent only to her. It’s a long one. She almost doesn’t have the stomach to read it, but she exhales and gets on with it. She laughs after the first sentence. Sophie wants her to go to WhisperRidge. That is something Elena will absolutely not be doing. There are several reasons for this—one of which she decided years ago. Too much baggage for one small town. Too many memories. Okay, yes, some memories were good. But it doesn’t matter, does it? Bad memories are like spots of mold. They eventually shrivel the whole fruit.
The other reasons she can’t go back have to do with her life here. Gael, for one. Plus, her agent has said she should be available as much as possible.“Try not to go out of town unless you have to,”she said.“In case your big break comes knocking in the form of an insurance commercial,”is no doubt what she meant. But Elena hasn’t had any place she’swantedto go. Her mom lives down in San Diego, where they moved after her life in Whisper Ridge blew up. But it didn’t take too long—just a few months, really—for Elena to get the hell out of there. Her mom would probably call it a misunderstanding. Elena would call it an escape. Either way, she doesn’t speak to her anymore, let alone drive three hours for a hug and a catch-up.
Even though Elena is fully expecting to send that yellow heart emoji, her eyes catch on something Sophie has written, between one run-on sentence and several nonsensical autocorrected words. Elena reads the words through once, then again. They are filming a movie in Whisper Ridge.
She thinks for a minute, then starts the car and presses Play on her podcast. When she gets home, she calls off work. Then, after a quick Google search, she calls her agent.
She’s going to be “out of pocket” for the next few days.
“Four will be initiated from each generation.”
—Rule #2,The Book of Aspens
4Quinn
October 2007
Four years before the fall
We’re all thirteen, but I’m the oldest. Sophie is the youngest, and Joey and Elena are in the middle. That’s the order we’re walking in now. The trees are watchful around us; their trunks lean and are bone white with small black knots like eyes. My mom leads our group, followed by Joey’s mom. The six of us are silent except for the crunch of the leaves beneath our shoes, but inside I am on fire.
The moms kept us up until midnight last night, telling us everything about the magic. We sat around the kitchen table with mugs of hot chocolate, switching between quiet shock and fits of giggles. It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be. They told us there was magic in the trees. And that it was going to be ours.
“You four have been chosen because we have decided you’d make the best stewards of the magic,” said my mom. She wore a headscarf printed with red roses and dangly earrings that swayed as she spoke. Joey asked whatstewardsmeant, and we all listened carefully. “You will wield the magic,” my mom explained. “We will show you the spells. But you will also protect it. This is crucial. You will be the protectors of the magic. It’s a huge responsibility. Are you prepared for it?”
We all said we were, of course. Then Elena made a joke about our periods giving usblood power, and Joey’s mom laughed. “It is amazing,” she said. “You girls will love it. Just don’t get carried away.”
My mom looked at her, then at us. “Look, I know it sounds fun, and it is. But it is extremely serious too. A long time ago, someone died trying to keep the magic from falling into the wrong hands.” That silenced us. “It’s why we have a formal initiation process. It’s why, back then, they established the five rules—to help keep the magic safe.” She stood to pour us more hot chocolate. “Above all, youmustfollow the rules. They’re for your protection.”
They told us stories about the group of girls they were initiated with back in the eighties. There was my mom and Joey’s mom, of course, and Elena’s mom, who stopped practicing magic to becomeborn again, which I didn’t really understand, because how can you be born twice? And then there was a woman named Tammy, but she moved away years ago. I couldn’t believe it. Why would someonechooseto stop doing magic?
When they were done explaining, we were allowed to ask questions. And we had about a thousand. It took until our hot chocolate was cold and our heads drooped toward the table, but they answered every single one.
