by Sarah Piper
Her gaze shifts to a point beyond me, far away from here, and I can’t turn to follow it.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t prepare you better for this,” she says. “You’re in grave danger at the Academy. Ironically, it’s also the place where you are the safest. I wish I could have told you more, Starla, but I do not see in specifics, and to reveal much more than this would be to place you in even graver danger. Already, we risk everything by meeting here.”
I shake my arms, shedding some of my leaves. I want to ask her about the prophecies, about what Trello wants me to translate, but I can’t form the words.
“The dark book,” my mother says suddenly, and I wonder if she heard me, if that’s her answer. Then her face turns shockingly pale, her eyes wide with fear. She tears at her hair, pulling out handfuls, the lake around her starting to roil.
The Princesses step closer, then cast me a look that warns me that our time is coming to an end.
“What dark book?” I try.
Mom shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, sizzling when they hit the lake.
“Book of darkness,” she says. “Book of shadow. Book of mists…” She’s rambling now, and when she meets my gaze again, her eyes are milky white, her voice a ghostly echo that reverberates through my skull.
Book of shadow, book of mists
What magick draws, you won’t resist
Death to those who shun its call
Where one shall rise, the others fall
Book of shadow, book of mists
The truth emerges from the myths
Flame and blood and blade and bone
What starts with zero ends with one.
She repeats the verse, again and again and again, and with each new beginning, my leaves change, shifting through the seasons—the bright green summer to red-orange autumn, the bare branches of winter to the new buds of spring. When I’m finally lush and green again, the Princesses nod at me in unison, then vanish.
I glance down, relieved to find myself a woman once again.
My mother, alone in the water, repeats her mindless chant.
“What book?” I ask, finally able to run toward her. But as soon as I step into the water, she begins to flicker and fade. “Mom, wait! Don’t go!”
She sinks into the center of the lake, and I trudge in up to my knees, fear paralyzing me, holding me back. Suddenly the water rises, and I can’t move my legs. It sucks me under, and I hold my breath until my lungs burn and my vision turns black…
I wake with a gasp, shocked to find myself lying in the bathtub, the cold water already up to my chin. The faucet is still running, but it’s not water that’s filling the tub now.
It’s Tarot cards. Hundreds of them. Thousands. The same two images, repeated over and over, covering my body, overflowing onto the white marble floor.
One features a frail old woman dressed in a hooded green cape, a sickle tied to her waist. She holds a skull in her hand and stands before a steaming cauldron. A snake slithers along the wall behind her.
On the other card, a young boy emerges from a tomb, called by the summons of a ritual horn urging him to rise from his eternal slumber.
Death and Judgment—definitely not a pair you’d invite to your next party.
I clamber out of the tub, my clothes and hair dripping all over the floor. The cards vanish, leaving their eery message behind, a warning that echoes as clearly as if my mother were bent over me now, whispering in my ear.
The darkness is already rising. Judgment will come for us all.
Twenty-Four
STEVIE
October has always been my favorite month of the year. Pumpkin carving, caramel apple cider, relief from summer’s oppressive heat, Halloween tricks-and-treats. Something about it always speaks to me of new beginnings.
And now, it ushers in the first day of magick school, too.
Not sure I’ll ever get used to saying that, but man, does it put a smile on my face.
I’ve got on Mom’s necklace, and thanks to my shopping spree, I’m decked out in a pair of dark stretchy jeans that actually fit, a lavender v-neck sweater that highlights my best assets, and black leather boots that make me feel like my very best, bad-bitch self.
Complete with flat-ironed hair and a glossy red lip, I’d say it’s a pretty stellar first-day look.
But when I head out into the bright fall morning in search of my first of three classes, I still haven’t shaken off my dream’s icy grip, my mother’s cryptic chant and the warning in the Death and Judgement cards tempering my first-day excitement. After I got out of the tub last night, I wrote down every possible detail I could remember from the dream, staring at the words until the sun came up. Even by the light of day, I still couldn’t make much sense of them.
Riddles and rhymes, my mother’s native tongue. I’m no closer to understanding her in death than I was during her life.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I take a breath of crisp autumn air, thankful for the air- and water-blessed students for adding to the ambiance of the season. With fresh starts on my mind and a pep in my step, I walk my cute self over to the main lecture hall, another towering gothic building behind the admin building where most of the classes are held.
My first class is an intro-level lecture—Foundations of Tarot and Magick. When I finally locate the classroom—a large, auditorium-style hall already packed with about a hundred students—I’m relieved to see Nat inside, waving brightly and pointing to an empty seat next to her.
I look up across a sea of faces, most of them complete strangers. Thankfully, it seems I’m not the oldest first-year in the room—far from it. There are a handful of people my age and maybe a year or two younger, but a lot of them look to be in their thirties and even forties. I spot at least three women with gray hair, and a man who has more wrinkles than a raisin. I guess Dr. Devane wasn’t lying about the mix of ages.
As I’m making my way toward the seat, I see Baz and another guy sitting a few rows behind Nat, bookended by Carly and her pink-haired companion, Blue. The four of them look pretty chummy together, joking and laughing. Well, Baz is a little on the broody side—complete opposite of the cheerful-looking guy next to him—but broody seems to be part of Baz’s signature style.
I’m not surprised to see the two Claires here—we’re all first-years, after all—but what the hell is Baz doing in an intro-level class? I could’ve sworn Kirin told me he’s been at the Academy a few years.
Either way, I’m not complaining. Getting a side of his drool-worthy forearm porn with my Monday morning Tarot Foundations isn’t a bad way to start the week.
I wave at the whole group, and then smile extra bright at Baz, fluttering my lashes in the sluttiest way I can manage.
Carly glares at me, and I’m pretty sure Blue’s whispering some kind of curse on my perky boobs, her ringed eyebrows drawn tight. I hit the pause button on my shameless flirting long enough to scrape the bottom of my fucks to give bucket, but sadly, I come up empty.
All out, ladies! Sorry!
There may come a day when I look back on my petty behavior and cringe, but today is definitely not that day, so I smile once more at the guys, giving Baz a nice eyeful of my enhanced cleavage before settling into my seat.
Thank you, Isla, for convincing me to buy this push-up bra!
“That was amazing,” Nat whispers. “You are such a stone-cold bitch. I think I kind of love you.”
I slide the tablet out of my bag and power it up, hoping I don’t have to take too many notes on this thing. “I swear I’m not usually like this. But women like that need to be given a dose of their own medicine sometimes, and I’m still pissed that Carly ruined Isla’s potatoes.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“Or mess with my food.”
Our laughter fades as the clock chimes nine and Professor Maddox stalks into the room, her stern, no-nonsense vibe immediately commanding our attention.
“Where does magick co
me from?” she begins without introduction. “And what, if anything, does it have to do with Tarot? Some say Tarot was invented as a game in the fifteenth century. Others believe it’s a much older divinatory system, passed along from an ancient Egyptian source—the Book of Thoth, specifically. Possible? Fanciful? Maybe a bit of both, yes?”
She looks over each of us in turn, her gaze calculating and shrewd, but her smile full of passion. When she sees me, she pauses, her eyes widening just a fraction. A tendril of her energy reaches out, rising above the din of energies in the room—a mix of familiarity and surprise, followed by kindness.
She seems to recognize me, or at least know who I am. Did Trello give everyone advanced notice about my arrival? Or was Professor Maddox one of Mom’s professors, and now she’s noticing the resemblance in my eyes?
No, she doesn’t look old enough for that—in fact, she looks about the same age as Mom would’ve been now.
Maybe they were friends.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.
When she finally moves on to Nat, I let out a sigh of relief, wondering if it’s going to be like this every time I meet a new professor—them wondering if they’ve seen me before, me wondering if they knew my parents. If they were supporters… or something else entirely.
“Very good,” she says with a sharp and sudden nod, as if she just had an entire conversation in her mind and figured out the answer to the most pressing question in the universe. “While the pop-cultural, human-centric mythology of the Tarot is a fascinating subject, witches and mages have a fundamentally different understanding of this most sacred tool. It wasn’t invented as a fortune-telling device or a card game for wealthy aristocrats. In fact, it wasn’t invented at all, but recorded—a pictorial accounting of our magickal energy source. The very thing that makes us tick.”
Her eyes dance with excitement as she launches into an explanation of the Tarot suits and elemental correspondences, most of which I’m already familiar with. I relax a bit, glad that I’m not totally lost on the first day of class.
“All of us exhibit specific powers and talents connected to—and mirrored in—the Minor Arcana of the Tarot,” Professor Maddox says. “Your affinities can play a huge role in many aspects of your life, influencing not just your magickal abilities, but your interests and hobbies, your favorite foods, your friend groups, and even your romantic partners.”
At these words, a sudden tingling sweeps across the space between my shoulder blades, quickly racing up the back of my neck. I squirm in my seat, waiting for it to pass, but the feeling only intensifies.
Blue better not be putting an actual curse on me.
I turn around to glare at her, but she’s not paying me a lick of attention. Even Carly seems riveted by Professor Maddox’s trip through the Minor Arcana, and their other guy friend is doing something on his phone.
There’s only one person staring at me.
Baz Redgrave.
He’s slouched halfway out of his chair, legs stretched out casually, pen tapping absently against his knee. He’s making a supreme effort to appear bored, but it’s clearly just that—an effort at appearances.
Bored? Hell no. This man’s energy is so singularly focused, it’s like he’s trying to set something on fire.
Or someone.
Baz is still staring at me. Hard. Normally, a person who gets busted ogling you in the middle of class has the grace to look away. Not this guy. When I meet his eyes, he winks at me, his lips twitching as if he’s trying to hold back a smile.
Sometimes I wish I couldn’t sense people’s emotional torment. It would be a whole lot easier if I could just take people at face value and write him off as a sexy but egotistical ass who just assumes women will melt at one glance from his pretty, red-brown eyes… or fight with each other for his fleeting attention.
Granted, I might’ve brought that on myself with my cleavage shot earlier, but still. This isn’t about my flirty little games.
Whatever Baz wants everyone else to think? Deep down, he’s drowning in darkness.
My heart clenches. They say the bad boys are the most alluring. That we just can’t help but be drawn in, because we always want to fix them.
I get it, really. I nursed Jessa through a pretty rough bad-boy phase last year that damn near shattered her heart and her savings account.
But in my case? It’s a hundred times worse.
Whatever the source of my empathic gifts, it’s in my very nature to want to fix Baz—some innate part of me that I can’t control or dim. Just like it’s in my nature to make people their perfect cup of tea and to invite Carly and the Claires to sit with us at dinner last night despite their obvious attitudes. Even now, I feel the tiniest bit guilty about trying to needle Carly a few minutes ago, because I know that her raging bitchface is mostly for show.
The difference is—I’ve never been attracted to my Kettle Black customers (other than Kirin, who’s definitely a special case). And Carly and the Claires aren’t my type either.
But Baz?
That boy is hard to ignore, and he fucking knows it, too.
He holds my gaze, his smoldering intensity cutting right to the bone. And to other parts. Suddenly I want to kiss that stupid half-smirk right off his face, to make him ache for me, to hear him moan my name as I ride him into the sunset...
As if he can read my thoughts, he lifts his eyebrows, then smiles.
A trickle of sweat runs down between my boobs, and I turn back around and shift uncomfortably in my chair, trying to pretend like I dropped something.
“And how about you, Miss Milan?”
I startle at the sound of my name and whip my head up, my cheeks already flaming under the weight of my classmates’ collective stare.
“I… I’m sorry,” I stammer. “Could you repeat the question?”
“We’re discussing our elemental gifts, which you would know if you were paying attention to the lecture rather than to Mr. Redgrave. As handsome as it may be, that face of his will not help you understand your magick or—for that matter—pass my class.”
A snicker rolls through the room, along with a few whoops and catcalls, and I’m just sitting here like a total chump, trying to melt away into my chair.
“Don’t keep us in suspense, Miss Milan,” Professor Maddox pushes.
“I… I’m blessed with all four,” I say, then rush to add, “as far as Miss Trello and Professor Phaines told me.”
“Did you not complete the test?” she asks.
“I did. It could be wrong, though, right?”
“What could be wrong?”
“The test? The vision… thing?”
“I suppose in magick anything is possible. But no, Miss Milan. In the hundreds of years the Academy has been fostering witches and mages, the test-vision-thing, as you’ve so eloquently called it, has never been wrong.” She shakes her head as if to admonish me, but her energy tells a different story. She’s amused, and more than a little curious about me.
She turns back to the rest of the class. “What Miss Milan is too modest to say is that she’s one of our rarest magickal students—a spirit-blessed witch. This means she possesses all four elemental affinities and will eventually learn to wield the full spectrum of elemental magick. Definitely someone you want in your corner, even if she is easily distracted by charming mages.”
Another collective laugh, and I’m just about ready to set witchfire to my own ass.
Lucky for me she stays on point with the rest of her lecture, talking about the Minors and the elements until the clock finally strikes ten. At the tell-tale chime, the class abruptly stows their notebooks and tablets, spilling out of the rows toward the exit.
“All of you should be signed up for one of the companion labs!” Maddox shouts above the rush. “Tarot Divination and Spellcraft with Professor Eames or Professor Nakata! Happy Tarot-ing!”
As Nat and I pass by the podium at the front of the room, I’m half-expecting Professor Maddox to pull
me aside and scold me for my lack of attention. But she only raises her eyebrows, her lips curved in a sly smile as if she’s having another one of those conversations in her head.
I offer her an apologetic smile in return, then scoot out of there as fast as I can.
Out in the hall, Nat and I make plans to meet up with Isla for a late lunch, then part ways.
I’ve just made it outside when someone calls my name from behind. I turn around to see the cheerful-looking guy that was sitting with Baz and the others.
“It is Stevie, right?” he asks. When I nod, he says, “I’m Ani. I’m a friend of Kirin and Baz.”
He’s got red-gold hair and eyes the color of melted caramels. When he smiles, two dimples wink from beneath a thin beard, and I can’t help but return it.
“Annie?” I ask. “Because of the red hair?”
“No, Ani. Short for Ansel.” He’s still grinning, his bright, happy energy like a warm hug. “Anyway, don’t let Professor Maddox get to you. She’s kind of a stickler sometimes, but she’s not so bad. Really knows her stuff.”
“I could’ve done without the mortification, but it was my fault. I should’ve been paying attention.”
“Yeah, well… Don’t be too hard on yourself. Baz has that effect on most women.” Ani laughs. “Half the guys, too.”
“Are you a first-year?”
“Third, actually.”
“Why are you in an intro class?”
“It’s a core class. I tested out of it at first, but then Trello decided I needed a little more foundational work, so here I am.”
“Baz too?”
Ansel flashes a knowing smirk.
“I’m just curious!” I say defensively. “We met the other day, and I thought he was a few years ahead. I was surprised to see him here, that’s all.”
“Baz repeats a lot of classes. Personally I think he’s a little slow, but don’t tell him I said that. He’s sensitive about—”
“Personally I think you’re an asshole, and you shouldn’t be filling the jailbird’s easily-distractible mind with lies.” The class-repeater himself appears behind us, tossing an arm around each of us as he wedges into our conversation. Turning to me, he says, “Miss, is this gingersnap bothering you?”