Magic For Dummies: A Paranormal Reverse Harem Romance (God Fire Reform School Book 1)

by Lacey Carter Andersen

  It’s such a familiar scene that it pings my nostalgia, and I run my hand up Aiden’s arm. His muscles are hard and toned under my fingertips, and his breath hitches in his chest--is that from me? He catches my hand in his, just for a second, and his half-smile flickers into something real. Then his smile--and the touch--are gone in an instant.

  “Come on, children,” Van says, sweeping forward. “We seem to be alone. At least, no one has come to intercept us.”

  “Spread out and search. Let’s find that portrait and get out of here,” Wilder orders.

  “If it’s even real,” Van says.

  “You think the academy’s teaching us about stuff that isn’t even true?” Wilder asks skeptically.

  “These lovely people mess with our heads? Impossible,” Van returns, each word laced with sarcasm.

  I walk down rows of carefully packaged relics and objects I’d never seen before. There are elaborate pixie houses with little towers no bigger than a Pringles can and enormous weapons that no man could ever wield. Ice giant weapons, apparently. I’ve heard a lot about them lately.

  “Hey, guys,” Reid calls.

  The four of us rush to his side. He points down a hallway. The metal plate tacked to one side says Art/History.

  “Helpful,” Reid mutters.

  Down the hallway, past the statues that line the hall, I can catch glimpses of pictures hanging on the walls.

  “Shit, it’s like an art gallery,” Wilder says.

  We’d been hoping the portrait would be wrapped in bubble wrap and stored like so many of the relics. Maybe it is. But suddenly, I don’t think it’s likely.

  “Someone’s going to notice the portrait is missing.” Van runs his hand over his hair. “Maybe we just use the portrait and leave it here?”

  “Good idea,” I say. “We probably shouldn’t steal from our reform school. I don’t think there’s anywhere else to go.”

  It’s a joke, but once I’ve said the words, they sit uneasily. There is nowhere else to go.

  I’ve been so desperate to find out the truth about my mother and my sister that I’ve put all these guys in danger. Regret and guilt hit me. I’ve been so selfish.

  “But then we won’t be able to see what’s coming after today.” Aiden sounds frustrated. “I thought we’d be able to use it regularly to maybe survive this damned school.”

  This place seems to be the hardest on him, and it’s hard on all of us.

  “We snuck in once, we can do it again.” Wilder shrugs and heads down the hall.

  “Always the optimist!” Van calls after him, but then he’s moving, just a beat behind. He makes fun of Wilder, but he’s always by his side anyway.

  The two of them are the first ones in as the statue and the suit of armor to either side of the doors come to life. The figures clank, moving jerkily, and then suddenly they seem to move more smoothly.

  For a second, we just stare in surprise at the suit of armor and the marble statue. Are they supposed to have come alive like that? Or should we be worried?

  “Shit,” Van mutters, turning slowly to stare into the face of a suit of armor, just for a second, before it wraps metal arms around him and the two of them crash to the floor.

  Oh, hell!

  Wilder doesn’t hesitate, ducking under the arms of the marble statute that flies toward him, then kicking out at its chiseled torso. He gets in a good kick that knocks the headless statue stumbling back. The statue hits the ground and cracks, lying on the ground without moving. I almost feel relieved, until I look at Wilder and see his mouth parted in pain as he grips his foot. Oh yeah, kicking a marble statue…probably not the best idea.

  Wilder scrambles to his feet, heading for his friend with a pronounced limp, and my gaze turns to Van. A minute before he seemed to be wrestling with the suit of armor, but instantly I realize things have changed.

  Van’s in trouble!

  His face is getting red. The metal arms of the animated being have wrapped around him in an iron-tight grip, tightening and tightening, as if they’re trying to squeeze his lungs until they pop.

  Panic claws at my throat as my shock turns to true fear. All of us rush to Van, trying to pry away the metal arms squeezing his chest. Please, please let us be fast enough. Please don’t let him be hurt because of my stupid plan. My fingers dig into the metal, trying to drag his death grip away from Van, but I can’t get him off.

  Aiden suddenly pushes away. “Get away from him,” he says, drawing his sword.

  “Are you sure you know how to use that thing?” Reid demands. His hair is stuck to his forehead with his sweat from struggling to free Van. Working together, the three of us keep coming close to peeling an impossibly-strong metal arm free, only to have the other clamp down even harder. “You aren’t going to help if you stab Van.”

  But this isn’t working either!

  “I’m not going to fuck this up,” Aiden says, and there’s an implication in his voice that will bother me later. Like he thinks he always fucks everything else up.

  “Do...it…” Van manages through gritted teeth.

  Reid and I yank back, even though it kills me inside to let the creature continue hurting Van. Wilder hesitates, looking between Van and Aiden, before finally jumping back too.

  Without our grips, both steely arms go around Van. The blank slit in the metal helmet seems to stare right into my eyes over Van’s shoulder, giving me a look both blank and malevolent, as his grip tightens. Van gasps, his eyes bulging. There’s a faint cracking sound, and my chest aches. His ribs are breaking! Moisture burns my eyes as my hands flex and unflex. I’m a goddess, I should be able to stop this. Shouldn’t I?

  Aiden prowls around the suit of armor quickly, his movements agile and smooth, his gaze calculated as he looks for a place to strike. The suit of armor swivels, dragging Van along, keeping Van as a human shield. My nerves tighten, but Aiden doesn’t look worried. His gaze remains steady and focused, like he’s done this a million times before.

  At last, Aiden jumps forward, impossibly fast, and slashes the sword across the suit of armor’s calf. The suit stumbles forward, his grip on Van relaxing just slightly. He almost immediately begins to recover, but the rest of us attack too, kicking and punching, hoping to hurt it in some way, until the suit is on the ground. Aiden raises his sword above his head, then sweeps down across the suit’s neck. The helmet rolls away, and the suit of armor suddenly stills, as if the magic that animated it has faded away.

  Aiden bends down and picks up the helmet. But there’s nothing inside of it. So it was just magic making it attack. And yet, that only seems to infuriate Aiden further. He hurls the helmet down the hall, his jaw set and furious, and it rolls down the hall, the metal clanging into the silence.

  Van sits with his back against the wall, trying to focus on breathing, one arm protectively braced against his ribs. I kneel, and he does his best to give me a wink.

  “I’m fine,” he rasps.

  It’s hard to talk around the lump in my throat. “You don’t look fine.” Then I glance at the others. “What do we do? There’s probably a nurse on campus, and we could lie about how he got hurt.”

  Wilder slowly shakes his head. “I should be able to heal him.”

  His tone isn’t exactly confidence-inspiring.

  Wilder kneels next to me. His hands probes gently across Van’s chest, and Van gasps through gritted teeth. His head falls back against the wall, his face a mask of agony. An agony I wish like hell I could take away. Haven’t we been through enough at this school already?

  Wilder winces at whatever he feels and draws back a little. “They’re worse than cracked. They’re broken through--I can feel the edges.”

  “We should get him to a hospital.” Reid rakes his hands through his hair. “Aiden, give me your cell. We need to call 9-1-1.”

  Aiden shakes his head slowly. “Wilder can heal him. We can go on with the mission.”

  “We don’t have infinite time here,” Reid hisses at Aiden.
As if his brother doesn’t understand, he tries to clarify. “His ribs could poke into his lungs. He could die if Wilder can’t…we can’t take the risk.”

  “Wilder’s got it.” Aiden sounds confident.

  My gaze flickers to Wilder’s face, which isn’t nearly as confident, but Wilder’s hands roam across Van’s chest now. Gold magic sparks under his fingertips, then seems to sputter out, and my breath catches in my chest.

  “You just don’t want to face reality and maybe lose what you want,” Reid accuses him.

  “I want to protect Van too,” Aiden says hotly. The twins look like they’re about to come to blows. “Just give Wilder two minutes. Christ. Have a little faith. We’ve seen how our powers can work, and his god’s powers should work the same.”

  “He’s never used his magic before!”

  “Right here, guys,” Wilder says. He glances up. “Maybe calling 9-1-1 isn’t a bad idea. But either way, you should take this argument somewhere else so I can focus.”

  Aiden looks furious, but then he storms down the art gallery hallway.

  “Don’t go in there!” Reid calls after him. “We don’t know what other traps could be waiting for us!”

  But Aiden doesn’t listen.

  “Go with him,” I tell Reid. “I’ll be right there as soon as we know…”

  I glance at Wilder, but I don’t want to say it.

  Reid looks exasperated, but he stomps off toward the gallery, following Aiden.

  Slowly, my focus returns to Van, and my heart clenches. For some reason, I know, I know that if Noah can’t do this, no one else will be able to get here in time.

  And the thought makes the world fade. He has to be able to heal him. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Van.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Izzy

  Van’s face is pale. Wilder places his hands over his friend’s chest, closing his eyes, trying to focus. But Van’s breathing starts to rasp even worse than before, and then he starts to choke.

  A rushing sound fills my ears, and I grip his free hand, even though it’s limp in mine. His eyes are wide, overwhelmed with fear, and he keeps trying to breathe, I can see it, but no air comes in or out.

  Wilder tears Van’s shirt open. His face is intent, but I can see an edge of panic in his expression. He knows. He knows if his powers don’t work right now, his best friend is dead. Our Van is dead.

  My gaze moves from Wilder to Van, and I try to hide my shock. Van’s chest is badly bruised, new, dark bruises blooming across his skin as we watch. He’s bleeding out under his skin.

  We should’ve called 9-1-1 that very first second. Oh my god. Our desire for that damn painting might’ve damned Van to death.

  No. The word seems to echo through my mind. Van isn’t going to die, because Wilder is going to save him. There can be no other ending to this.

  “You can do this,” I tell Wilder, pressing my other hand into his shoulder. I almost jerk my hand back in surprise, but force myself to continue touching him. His skin feels hot under my fingertips, even through his t-shirt, like his magic heats his body.

  He just needs to release it.

  “Did they teach you anything yet?” I ask. “About how to use your powers?”

  “Nope,” he says. “Just like you, we’ve been focused on the very useful power of burning things down. Just what makes sense at a goddamn reform school. But I do know how to access my magic, just not how to actually use it for something like this.”

  Wilder’s voice is tight.

  “Remember what the witch did,” I remind him. “You’ve got all the magic inside you. The power to command life and death, the power to heal.”

  “I’m trying…” He bites his lip. “Odin says that if I let him take over, he’ll heal Van…”

  My thoughts turn. We’re all afraid of what happens when we let the gods take us over, if afterwards we can stuff the genies back into their bottles. But if it could save Wilder’s life…. I don’t know what to tell him to do. What if we release Odin and he still doesn’t save Van? The gods don’t exactly have a reputation for being kind or trustworthy.

  Wilder’s hands shake, magic sparking at his fingertips, glowing golden. Golden magic arches across Van’s bruised chest, but even I can sense this isn’t enough. The god inside me knows what healing looks like and feels like, and he seems certain this isn’t it.

  “Izzy,” Wilder says, his voice holding an edge of fear I’ve never heard from the confident golden child before.

  He needs me. He needs me to give him the confidence to do this.

  “If you lose control, I’m right here,” I tell him, my fingers curling deep into the muscle of his shoulder. “I’ll help you.”

  If I can.

  Suddenly, Wilder sneers, his lip curling back from his teeth, and that’s how I know he’s not quite Wilder anymore.

  “I’ll help you,” he parrots. “Mortal children versus the king of the gods. Let me know how that works out for you.”

  But his gaze snaps back to Van. His hands probe his chest, not gently this time, and Van lifts his head from the wall to scream. His hands go to Wilder’s as if he’s trying to push him off. Wilder’s fingers dig into his bruised chest as if he’s going to kill him. Terror washes over me, and I almost scramble for a weapon to hit Wilder with, to hopefully knock Odin out of him.

  Before I can, golden magic arches over Van’s chest. The heat that swells around Wilder spreads until it’s like we’re surrounded by fire, and the light from his hands grows brighter and brighter. The bruises on Van’s skin fades, and suddenly, I can almost feel that his body has been pulled back together. He draws a normal breath, his eyes wide, then takes several more rapid breaths before slowing his breathing.

  “That hurt so bad, you asshole,” he says to Wilder, smiling. “Look what you can do, man!”

  Wilder just stares back at him. Then he gets to his feet. He towers over Van without offering to help him up.

  Hurt flashes across Van’s face, before understanding dawns. “Oh. You’re Odinized.”

  I offer Van my hand, while trying my best not to look scared as hell at the idea that Odin is currently running Wilder’s body. Van lets me help him to his feet.

  He rubs his hand across the place where his ribs were broken. “Man, I feel great. Energized. Wow. That’s better than having an IV to cure a hangover.”

  I flash him what I hope is a bemused look, briefly glancing at Wilder, then quickly away. “You worry me, Van.”

  He shrugs. “My parents pay a flat monthly rate for their concierge doc. Might as well take advantage of the ultimate hangover cure. Well...what I thought was the ultimate hangover cure.”

  He slaps Wilder’s shoulder.

  Careful, I think, feeling uncertain.

  Wilder flashes him a warning look.

  I’m not sure how much of Wilder is...Wilder… right now. And there’s no way for me to ask. If he could stuff Odin back in his box entirely, I’m sure he would.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Didn’t I feel good when Loki took me over? Powerful, playful, free. In a way I’d never been before…

  But the guilt I felt afterward was like a hangover of its own, and it didn’t have an easy cure.

  “Let’s see what trouble those idiots are in,” Wilder says, heading for the gallery.

  I can’t tell if that’s Odin or Wilder calling Aiden and Reid names. Could go either way.

  In the art gallery, the portrait hangs on the wall. It shows a goddess in a white gown, her foot on the chest of a man who looks up at her with awe--and maybe terror--written across his face.

  Underneath there’s a tag that says Portrait of Veritas.

  She looks up at the five of us as we crowd around, the portrait coming to life.

  “What do you seek from me?” she demands, coming closer, her face filling the portrait. In the background, the man scrambles to his feet and runs away.

  Her dark curls are wild around her face, and her almost-black eyes are
equally wild.

  A shiver of unease passes down my spine.

  “We just want the truth,” Aiden says. He gestures toward Wilder. “Someone hurt our friend. They almost beat him to death…. Who was it?”

  “Is that all?” She steps back and to one side, to the edge of the frame. Wisps of her hair still tease across the portrait, as if blown by the wind, but we can see what’s behind her clearly. The scene with Wilder fighting back, as hard as he can, only to finally be knocked to the ground and kicked and beaten. The sight makes my heart harden with rage.

  “Show us their faces,” Aiden says roughly.

  “Are you sure you want to know?” she asks, her voice musical.

  “Yes,” Aiden grits.

  The portrait zooms in on one face after another; their fangs are out, their eyes vicious, their faces frozen in moments of gleeful cruelty as they attack Wilder. In one of the frozen frames, Wilder’s blood splatters across the face of his attacker, who is grinning fiendishly. It makes me sick.

  It makes me want to kill the ones who hurt him.

  “We’ve got company.” Reid is suddenly at our sides; he’d been roaming around, checking out the rest of the gallery. “There’s a night watchman. He just came back into the warehouse…”

  “I’ll deal with him,” Wilder says grimly. He heads back.

  I never even got the chance to ask about my mother and my sister.

  “No, Wilder.” I grab his arm, feeling loss sweep through me. Who knows if we’ll manage to get back in here again? “We have to hide. We can’t hurt anyone.”

  “I think they’re gonna notice the rubble we left behind, Iz.” Van jerks his thumb at the scene of devastation in the hall. “I’m not sure we can run.”

  “Who’s in there?” a rough voice calls.

  Aiden turns, his face furious over his shoulder. “I want answers.”

  “I know the answers you seek most.” The musical voice from the painting sounds amused, and despite the ticking clock on the night watchman, she sounds so malevolent that I can’t help looking back at her. “I know the answers to the questions you fear to ask, Aiden.”