Tris & Izzie Read online

  EGMONT

  We bring stories to life

  First published by Egmont USA, 2011

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 806

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © Mette Ivie Harrison, 2011

  All rights reserved

  1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2

  www.egmontusa.com

  www.metteivieharrison.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Harrison, Mette Ivie, 1970-

  Tris and Izzie / Mette Ivie Harrison.

  p. cm.

  Summary: When sixteen-year-old Izzie makes a love potion for her best friend, she is unaware that she, like her long-dead father, has real magic, and while she is trying to sort out her friends’ love lives she must also deal with monsters that have her magical scent and want to destroy her.

  ISBN 978-1-60684-173-0 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-60684-257-7 (electronic book)

  [1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3. High schools—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Monsters—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.H25612Tri 2011

  [Fic]—dc22

  2010051588

  Printed in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue—Two Years Later

  Author’s Note

  To Scott Abbott

  Chapter 1

  Mark caught me in a big hug from behind as I closed my locker. “Guess who?” he said.

  “Um, my fabulous captain-of-the-Tintagel-High-basket-ball-team boyfriend with the darkest, deepest eyes ever?” I said.

  He turned me around so I could look into those very eyes. “Got it in one,” he said. He kissed me lightly on the nose and let me go.

  “Hey, there’s a reason I get straight A’s,” I teased. Mark had trouble keeping his GPA high enough to stay on the team, but I tutored him when I could. Too bad we didn’t have any classes together this year.

  “You are smart and pretty,” said Mark. “What a lucky guy I am.”

  I’m just over five feet tall, dark-haired, and dark-eyed. My dad picked out my name, Isolde, which means “fair lady,” before I was born. He used to tease me that it was just like me to be contrary, even then.

  I miss my dad a lot these days. You’d think it would get easier, after ten years, but it doesn’t. Sometimes when I am with Mark, it hurts the most, because I think of how much Dad would have wanted to tease me about him.

  “You’re practically perfect, in fact,” Mark went on. “Seems a little unfair, don’t you think, Branna?”

  I hadn’t seen Branna until then. She is almost six feet tall and has huge shoulders from swimming butterfly, but Mark is even taller and broader across the shoulders than she is. He can block her out completely, or anyone else, really, which is why he is such a great basketball player. He just holds his hands up and no one can get around him to the basket.

  “Yeah, totally unfair. If Izzie weren’t so nice, everyone would hate her,” said Branna. She gave a twisted smile, and I could tell that something was wrong, because she’s my best friend. She moved off with her arms wrapped around her middle, and she barely looked at me.

  Usually, we were the Three Musketeers. Mark and I had been dating for over a year, but Branna always hung out with us. Branna and I had been superglue close since kindergarten, when I moved to Tintagel in midyear and started getting picked on because I was so small. Branna had protected me then, and I wished I could return the favor now. If only she would tell me what was bothering her.

  I saw that Branna was headed toward her locker, which was up on the second floor.

  “Uh, Mark, love you.” I blew him a quick kiss. “Gotta go.” I started running up the stairs behind Branna.

  I turned once to see Mark watching me appreciatively. “Love it when you run, Izzie!” he said.

  I blushed, but really, what is wrong with your boyfriend noticing that you look good? I don’t know why it made me uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if Mark was one of those guys who thought of his girlfriend as just a body.

  I caught up with Branna by the second-floor bathrooms.

  “What’s up?” I asked, reaching for her arm.

  She pulled away from me, and there was a moment when I remembered how much bigger than me Branna is.

  “Branna, please tell me. I can help, I swear!” There had been something wrong for months, and the most I could get out of Branna was that it wasn’t my fault. She said it had to do with someone else, but she wouldn’t tell me who. In ten years of us being best friends, there had never been some-thing between us that we couldn’t talk about.

  She turned around and loomed over me. “What makes you think you can do anything for me, Izzie? What are you, the queen of the world?”

  “Maybe,” I said, looking up at her. “I’m the queen of the high school, at least, since I’m dating Mark, and he’s the king.” I’m not afraid of her. No matter how big she is, I know she won’t hurt a fly. That’s just the way Branna is.

  “Fine.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, it was like she’d put on a mask so she wouldn’t hurt anymore. “There is something.”

  “Really?” I clapped my hands like a little kid. I wanted so badly to do something for Branna in return for all the times she had been there for me. “Anything. Tell me.”

  Branna looked up and down the hallway, then nodded for me to follow her. We ended up tucked into the alcove by the janitor’s closet.

  “So?” I said.

  “It’s Mel Melot,” Branna said, making a face.

  Mel is short and has spiky blond hair and a goatee. He joined Mark’s posse this year, but I’m not sure why Mark let him. Mel annoyed me with his stupid, sly jokes. Mark told me that if I really disliked him, he would “exile” him, which meant that no one would speak a word to him without Mark’s permission. I was still thinking about it.

  “What about him?” I asked.

  “I think he’s using magic,” said Branna.

  “What? That’s impossible.” Branna knew my mom was a witch, but she was the only one who did. I didn’t even tell her until sixth grade, after we had known each other for years and years.

  “Well, I hope so,” said Branna.

  “I didn’t think there was anyone else who even believed in it,” I said, “let alone had it.”

  “Yeah, me either,” said Branna.

  When I was five, Mom and I moved away from the magical place where she and Dad had gotten married and where I had lived my whole life. I don’t really remember it much because I was so little. Mom said it was too painful to stay where all the memories were. Dad died just after I failed the test for magic that was supposed to help figure out what kind I had. I guess magic can skip a generation or even
fade out completely. No one knows the reason, but it’s why there’s less magic in the world now than there used to be. It’s hard to live without magic surrounded by magic people, Mom says.

  I believe her, but it’s also hard to live knowing magic is real surrounded by other people who don’t know about it and have never seen it, except for the effects of Mom’s secret potions. They all think it’s just because the hospital here is so great, but we didn’t win national awards until Mom started driving ambulances. The doctors don’t even realize how much she has to do with their success.

  Ever since I can remember, Mom has drilled into me the danger of talking about magic openly. If we did, she says, the cameras would descend, and we wouldn’t have a private life anymore. Crackpots would want her to help them with their potions. I would be laughed at and, if people thought she was crazy enough, maybe even taken away from her.

  “What kind of magic?” I asked Branna, trying to control my panic. “Did you see him use it?”

  “No,” said Branna.

  I could tell that Branna was still avoiding telling me the whole truth about what was bothering her, but this was important, and it had to be dealt with now. “Tell me what happened.”

  A couple of people passed us, headed to class. Branna waited until they were gone. “I was talking to a girl from the swim team,” she said. “She said that Mel told her he had magic.”

  “And she believed him?”

  “He claimed he had a bottle of wine that you could drink from and it would never go empty,” said Branna. “Is that possible?”

  Even though Mom was a witch, I didn’t know about all the kinds of magic there were. I knew she could use potions that she made herself if the ingredients were natural things and she followed the right recipe, but she couldn’t make objects come to life or wishes come true. She couldn’t change the past or control the future. And she had no power over the elements—air, fire, water, and earth.

  I knew that there were different kinds of magic only because of the fairy tales that Mom used to read me when I was little. She would shake her head about one story that had gotten it wrong and nod gently at another that clearly had it right. When I asked her directly, Mom tended to clam up and mutter something about my not needing to know that.

  Since we moved here, I had never seen anyone use magic. A part of me was horrified at the thought of someone openly using magic here, but another part of me was just plain curious.

  “She said she went over to his house and he got the bottle out,” Branna added before I could answer her. “They apparently drank from it all night, and it was still full in the morning when she stumbled out, hungover.”

  “He could easily have tricked her,” I said. “He could have had a bunch of bottles that all looked the same and just switched them out.” It was easier to use tricks than real magic, which was why Hollywood was still making movies the way it did. There were witches in Hollywood, Mom said, but they were more into youth potions than special effects.

  “He could have,” said Branna. But she didn’t look convinced.

  I wasn’t convinced, either. If Mel didn’t have magic and was just saying he did, that was one thing. But if he did have magic and he was going around telling everyone, that was something else.

  “We need to be sure,” I said. This wasn’t something I could tell Mark about. He didn’t know about Mom being a witch. He didn’t know anything about magic being real, and I wanted it to stay that way. It wasn’t like I had magic myself, so I wasn’t keeping any important truths from him, even if Branna thought I was.

  “I saw him this morning, before you got here.” Branna drove her own car to school these days, instead of taking the bus.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “Over in the deadhead halls. With another freshman.”

  “You don’t think he would bring a magic bottle of wine to school, do you?” That would be extremely stupid and supremely arrogant. Unfortunately, that was in keeping with what I knew of Mel so far.

  The bell was about to ring, but I started running toward the other wing of the school. Branna followed me. We were both going to be late for class. But what else could I do? Mom would want me to do this. Keeping magic secret was important.

  Chapter 2

  We ran past the office and the auditorium, and then turned left at the second hall where the deadheads hung out by the bathrooms. When we got closer, I stopped and put out a hand for Branna to stay behind me. If Mel had a magic bottle of wine, who knew what else he might have? A magic knife? Or sword?

  Branna had no defense against him except herself, but I had a special protection potion I carried in my backpack. Mom had insisted I start carrying it to school when we moved here, after Dad died. That was when she got her job as an ambulance driver and started using her potions to save people’s lives.

  I think Mom still feels guilty about what happened with Dad. She thought we both just had the flu. But then he died, and she had to make up a potion to save me. It almost wasn’t enough at that point, because I was sick for weeks.

  After that, she became paranoid about keeping me safe, so now she sends me to school with the potion. I don’t know exactly what it’s supposed to do, but Mom assured me that if I was ever threatened, all I had to do was pop the cork and throw it at whoever was trying to hurt me.

  I could hear Mel’s voice down the hall now. I moved as quietly as possible, so as not to surprise him and have him turn his magic—if he had magic—on us.

  “We have lots of interesting things at home,” said Mel. “My parents came from Alsace-Lorraine and they brought some of the last, best magic of the old country.”

  A girl giggled. I could smell the cloying, overly sweet odor of whatever Mel had on him. They were shadowy figures still, not clear enough for me to recognize the girl or to see the object Mel was holding in his hand.

  “If you come over to my house tonight, I could show you all my magic,” said Mel.

  I rolled my eyes. What a line.

  I put my hand on the vial of potion and pulled it out of my pocket. I had held on to it a few times in the past, when I was walking home in the dark or when I heard weird noises in the house while Mom wasn’t home. But I had never actually cracked the cork before.

  Mom told me that the potion wouldn’t kill anyone—or make them melt, which I asked after I saw The Wizard of Oz for the first time. It would just keep me safe from any threat, and I figured that included Mel Melot.

  “Izzie,” whispered Branna, behind me.

  I turned around and put a finger to my lips.

  Her eyes were wide and she gestured for me to get out of the way. She had to outweigh Mel Melot by about a hundred pounds. I’m sure she thought she was the one to handle him.

  But I was stubborn enough to shake my head at her. I didn’t want her to get in trouble with the principal because she got into a fistfight with Mel. There was a zero-tolerance policy for violence at the school, and she could end up being suspended.

  The girl whispered something.

  “I like freshman girls,” said Mel. “They’re just easier to talk to. Not so judgmental.”

  Not so smart, I thought.

  I was definitely going to tell Mark to exile Mel. But for now, I had to stop him. This girl was young and obviously gullible, and Mel was taking advantage of her, magically.

  In fact, Mel was violating one of the rules of magic that Mom has told me about over and over again, even though I don’t have magic myself. It’s a rant left over from when she used to live with lots of magical people. Magic isn’t to be used to manipulate or deceive. Magic is a source of good, and it’s people like Mel Melot using it wrongly that made other people burn witches in the old days.

  That was when people with magic started to withdraw into the pockets around the world where they live now. Mom says that their isolation also helps police the magic, so no single magic user becomes too powerful and takes control of the non-magical world. She got out because she was just a
witch, and even so, she had to promise she would use her magic to help people, magical and non-magical alike.

  I lifted the vial to my mouth and used my teeth to tear out the cork. There wasn’t any flavor that I could detect, which surprised me. When my mom gave me the healing potion after my dad died, I had a smoky, sooty taste in my mouth for days. I also had terrible dreams about a forty-foot-tall serpent with red and gold sparkling scales saying my name.

  But eventually, the dreams went away, and I always assumed they were an aftereffect of the potion. I hadn’t taken any other potions besides that one. But I had seen Mom make them, and I knew she sometimes put snake scales in them. I figured that might have triggered my dream in some way. If there had been newts in the potion, I would probably have dreamed about giant newts instead.

  Branna scuffed her foot against the wall, and Mel jerked upright, craning down the hallway. “Who’s there?” he asked. He was reaching for his pocket, and I reacted swiftly.

  Hands shaking, heart thundering, I threw the potion in his face and stepped to the side.

  But nothing happened.

  No screaming.

  No frozen human statue.

  Had Mom’s potion lost its effect after all this time?

  I saw Mel’s hand slip back into his pocket, along with a cigarette. Not a knife. Not a sword.

  Maybe I’d gone a little overboard with the potion. Would Mom be mad at me when I told her I’d wasted it? But why hadn’t it done anything? All these years, I thought it would protect me, and it was useless in the end.

  For a moment, I doubted my mom’s magic. Could it all be pretend—all the potions she made, all her secretiveness? Or maybe Mel hadn’t been enough of a direct threat?

  “What was that?” asked Mel, wiping at his face. “Did you just spit at me? That’s gross.”

  “Leave him alone!” shouted the freshman girl. “What do you think you’re doing?” She put an arm around Mel’s chest.