by Sarina Dorie
“No, you can’t.”
But it was true. As much as I hated him, my body responded to the magic. The tension in my muscles melted away. I relaxed against his mouth. I loathed him and loathed myself even more that I wasn’t stronger to resist this magic.
My affinity flared and then shrank, as if unable to decide what it wanted to do. I didn’t want to be attracted to him. He was a monster. He’d intended to make me bear his children. But he understood my magic and how it worked. Touch might be my weakness, but it was also my strength.
“I won’t let you control me!” I shouted.
Instead of ignoring the vision and quelling the sensations making the magic inside me rise in an overwhelming tide, I embraced the crimson light crashing and sparking inside me. I pushed the Red affinity out through my arms and into him. The candles in the chandelier flickered out. Lightning flashed in the room. Ozone and charred flesh mingled in the air.
I blinked. I was no longer sitting in the chair.
Thatch stood back against the wall, his arms raised protectively in front of him, his wand glowing. He and his bird were on one side of a blue barrier that rippled like water. The raven’s wings flapped against the wire cage, frantic to flee. The papers on Thatch’s desk were scattered across the floor. Some of them were burned. His crystal ball was shattered. My sweater was under my feet, getting dirt on it. One of the sleeves was on his desk.
He waved his wand in the air, and the barrier dissipated. His lips pressed into a line. I’d failed my lesson.
My eyes burned, and I sniffled. “Do you have a tissue?” I dropped back into the chair in exhaustion.
Every muscle in my body shook with fatigue. My wrists and ankles prickled where the thorns had raked my flesh in the vision. There was no blood.
The shock of the magic must have numbed my senses. It was only when I hugged my arms to myself that the lance of pain on my palms drew my attention. My skin was blistered and burned, just like the last time I’d used my affinity to stop Julian. Now that I saw the wounds, my palms throbbed.
Thatch untucked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and placed it on the desk in front of me. It was clean and white. “You know how to control your pain,” he said.
I was too upset to meditate. I covered my face, embarrassed I was crying so uncontrollably in front of Thatch. The sting of the burns jolted through me every time I moved my hands. I couldn’t stop shaking. If he had been anyone else, I might have asked for a hug, but Thatch wasn’t exactly the warm teddy-bear type of person.
Thatch busied himself in the closet, examining vials and jars until he returned to his desk with a ceramic canister he placed before me. He uncorked it, the familiar scent of lavender, echinacea, and calendula greeting my nose.
I regained control of my breathing and blew my nose. Thatch didn’t offer to heal me.
I scooted forward and dipped my fingers into the salve, applying it to my palms. As I did so, I visualized the pain drawing away into my core, the energy swirling with my own and cooling. I sent liquid ice to my palms, numbing the pain and soothing the inflammation.
It took all my concentration to heal myself. There was no room in my head left for feeling sorry for myself or for thinking about Julian. I was one with my magic. The world melted away as I caressed my palms. Slowly the charred skin fell away, replaced by scabs. That was about as good as I could get it on my own.
Thatch sat on the edge of his desk, waiting for me to finish. “What did you see?” he asked.
“You knew, didn’t you? You knew I would see him.”
He drummed his fingers against the wood. It took him a long time to answer, and when he did, his voice was low. “I didn’t know you would see Julian.”
My heart quickened hearing his name. I forced myself to breathe slowly.
“You won against Julian in real life,” Thatch said. “Why would you see him now?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because I killed him, and now his ghost wants revenge.”
The silence hung in the air between us. I wiped my nose on the handkerchief one more time before holding it out to him.
He shook his head. “Keep it.”
I picked up my sweater and shoved the handkerchief into the pocket.
“The brownies will fix your sleeve if you leave it in your laundry,” he said.
He went around his desk and stooped to pick up the papers from the floor. I left my chair, all too glad to be out of the proverbial hot seat and do something with my hands as I cleaned up the mess with him.
I sniffled. “Why don’t you just use magic to clean this up?”
“I don’t waste magic on something trivial I can do through an easier means. Magic has a cost.”
I wondered what magic cost him and how his affinity worked.
We cleaned in silence. My thoughts kept wandering back to the apparition of Julian.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I swallowed. “Do you think he could be here, watching us? That he might have been in the room today?”
“I’ve seen ghosts. I’ve felt them. There were no ghosts in here today. Julian Thistledown is dead. He isn’t going to hurt you again.” He offered me a small, stiff smile. It didn’t touch his eyes.
“You don’t know that for sure, though.” I wanted him to say that I didn’t have to worry, and everything would be all right. It was what my fairy godmother would have said. Not that he was at all like her.
“I do know,” he said. My hope burst as he went on. “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t in danger. He isn’t going to be the only one who will want to use you because of your affinity and what your magic can do. You need to control your powers so you can hide what you are, and use them when you choose. If you don’t, you might accidentally kill someone.”
I crouched to reach the papers under his desk. “Thanks for the pep talk. You could be a motivational speaker.”
The problem with my affinity, a Red affinity as it was called, was that I was different from everyone else. Among the many types of forbidden magic categorized as Red, mine was fairly tame. My natural talents didn’t use blood magic or necromancy. I didn’t draw power from pain—though I was learning that from Thatch. My affinity was focused on touch. As I’d learned last semester, this could be dangerous if someone found out and used my magic against me. Theoretically, I could also heal with touch. And I could kill. By accident or with intention.
“Tell me, why do you want to learn to control your powers?” Thatch asked.
This felt like a trick question.
“There are lots of reasons. I want to be a good teacher and help my students. I want to. . . .” Did I dare say it? Thatch had always denied anything and everything about Derrick before. “I want to help break Derrick’s curse.”
His eyes softened. “How are you going to be able to do your job and protect your students and help other people if you can’t protect yourself?” He opened the top drawer of his desk. It didn’t scream like the one time I’d opened it. He handed me a paper. “In addition to the private lessons you’ll be undergoing with me, I have taken the liberty of drawing up a new schedule for you. It will start next week with the new semester.”
Nervous excitement fluttered inside me. Was this really it? He was finally allowing me to study magic instead of just reading theory, studying Latin, and identifying herbs?
“On A days during your prep fifth period, you will assist Professor Bluehorse in her sophomore herbalism class. We’ve decided you’ve earned the privilege of advancing beyond freshman level.”
Grandmother Bluehorse was allowing me to advance beyond remedial herbalism? Score! Of course, that meant on the days I was teaching my odd classes, one, three, five, and seven, I would need to be doing my class preparations before and after school and during my other prep.
Thatch skimmed the paper he’d written out for me. “On B days, you will assist Coach Kutchi during your prep second period, gaining experience working with magical animals and gaining a better understanding of a
ctive and physical magic.”
I didn’t know what active or physical magic was, but I understood it would somehow relate to her physical education classes. Because I was now booked during all the even classes, two, four, six, and eight, it looked like I would be doing all the prep work before and after school.
“Miss Kimura will continue to work with you after school to teach you simple spells and charms. All four teachers have given me books for each of their classes so you can familiarize yourself with what you will be doing.” He opened another drawer and withdrew a stack of books.
So much for thinking I was done with my reading. He stacked four books onto the desk. Four books. Four teachers.
“Who’s the fourth teacher?” I prayed it wasn’t Vega again.
He cleared his throat. His hesitation caught me off guard.
“You?” I asked eagerly. “Are you going to teach me alchemy?”
“No. Potions, alchemy, and transmutations are still too advanced for you.” He gave a little cough. “I haven’t actually gotten your fourth teacher to agree to teach you. I’ve pulled the book from the library for what his freshman are studying.” He evaded my gaze.
His? I waited in trepidation. Please be anyone but Pro Ro, I silently begged.
“You will need to go to Darshan Rohiniraman and apologize for your behavior toward him. He still hasn’t forgiven you for tearing off his turban during that staff meeting and accusing him of having Alouette’s face underneath. Really, I don’t know where you get such ideas.”
I took it he’d never read Harry Potter before.
“One doesn’t take kindly to being accused of performing black magic. Darshan Rohiniraman is an excellent teacher, but it is still to be determined if he will take you on as a student.”
“Why him?” I asked. “Isn’t there anyone else I can study with?”
“There’s Vega, who would just as soon try to kill you as teach you if she thought it would make you stronger.” He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “No. Darshan is the best teacher for protective wards and defensive spells. He also teaches our divination studies. I believe you have inadvertently used divination in the past. You also have falsely presumed you have divined the future. It would do you some good to be able to tell the difference.” His sardonic smile said it all. He was specifically referring to my voodoo-doll dream with Pro Ro and my mother’s face under his turban that obviously hadn’t turned out to be true.
Just when I thought there was a light at the end of the tunnel, Thatch had to ruin it by rubbing my face in my humiliation.
“If he accepts your apology and agrees to teach you, on A days you will work with Darshan Rohiniraman during homeroom. He has students during that period, so you will mostly be assisting him with whatever he is helping students with.”
I nodded. I was determined not to complain about my studies. This was what I had been wanting to learn. I’d known it would be hard. I just didn’t know it would also be difficult for my pride.
“All these classes that I’m taking . . . will it help me become a skilled witch?” I asked. “How long do you think it will be before I can help people?” Again, I thought of Derrick.
He swept shards of the broken plate and crystal ball out from under his desk with a broom. “Don’t concern yourself with other people. Focus on developing your magic safely.”
I hadn’t seen a broom earlier, but he did tend to use magic. There weren’t any cookies in the debris. Did that mean he’d eaten them?
“How were the cookies?” I asked.
His lips twitched into an approximation of a smile. “Better than they looked.”
I suspected that was as close to a smile as he would permit himself. Or a compliment.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll practice again. If you want, you can bring more cookies.”
Yes! I may have been a magical failure, I may have made teachers hate me and been on most Witchkin’s shit lists, but at least my cooking was up to snuff. If I could bribe Thatch with cookies, I could probably convince the rest of the staff of my good intentions as well. I would show them all I was the most unwicked witch of all time and learn everything I needed to break Derrick’s curse.
CHAPTER TWO
The Ghost of Boyfriend Past
The first item on my to-do list: get Pro Ro to not hate me. I hiked up to the astronomy tower. I carried with me a dozen miniature peace offerings in the form of ugly cookies. If I could get to Felix Thatch’s heart through baked goods, I didn’t doubt I could work the miracle one more time.
Even though he was turned away talking to a group of five students with books out, Pro Ro stiffened and turned the moment I set foot in his classroom. His yellow turban matched the warm colors of his flowing pants and robes. His lumberjack-like beard hid most of his facial expression, but I could tell from the way his brown eyes raked over me he wasn’t pleased to see me.
“Hi, Pro Ro,” I said, trying to muster up cheery enthusiasm I didn’t feel.
“I’m busy,” he said through clenched teeth.
The students, all advanced upperclassmen, looked from Pro Ro to me in curiosity.
“Sure. No problem. Students are important. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for, you know.” I set the cookies down on his desk.
He stalked toward me, fists clenched at his sides. Maybe now wasn’t the time to ask him for any lessons. I backed away. I didn’t think he’d do anything to me in front of witnesses, but maybe I’d underestimated his loathing for me.
He reached out a hand. The cookies on his desk slid across the wood and thudded into the garbage can.
All things being considered, that had gone better than our last encounter.
In the privacy of my classroom after school, I pulled out the drawing Derrick had made. I’d found the portrait last semester. Flickers of fluorescent letters flashed on the white of the paper before fading away. Magic prickled against my fingers as I smoothed the creases from the drawing. I was touching something Derrick had drawn. The page was a painful reminder of everything I couldn’t have.
Gazing at the upturned nose and freckled face so cute and full of innocence reminded me of how he saw me. I was a masochist to keep staring at my object of torture. That single page represented all that was left of Alouette Loraline’s diary. That page summed up the actions of my impulsiveness to renounce my biological mother and her evil deeds.
In the process, I had burned an entire book that contained the solution to everyone’s problems. But if I had used that last spell in the book to solve Derrick’s curse, the Raven Queen would surely have learned I had the secrets to the Fae Fertility Paradox. As if she didn’t already have enough reasons to want to kidnap me and enslave me.
There had to be another way to help Derrick. I just didn’t know what that was yet.
A knock came at the door. It popped open with a creak. Hurriedly, I shoved the drawing into the top drawer of my desk, not wanting anyone to see Derrick’s art or the magic flickering over the paper. Someone might recognize the magic as one of Alouette Loraline’s dark powers.
Josephine Kimura stood in the doorway, the brim of her witch hat almost wide enough to stretch across the frame. Today she wore hues of turquoise mixed with lavender and orchid, layers of lacy clothes giving her a shabby-chic look.
Her gaze flickered to the drawer I had shoved closed.
She adjusted her black-rimmed glasses. “Hey, girl. Everything all right?”
“Yeah. Everything is fine,” I said quickly.
She twisted a purple streak in her ink-black hair. “You sure?”
“Of course? Why wouldn’t I be sure?” Maybe I looked guilty.
“You had your lesson with Professor Buttmunch this morning. And students told me about your encounter with Pro Ro. You didn’t show up to our lesson. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Shoot! My lessons had started up today? I shifted the papers around on my desk until I found the schedule Thatch had given me. There it was. On Mon
days, starting today, he had arranged for me to learn simple Amni Plandai magic with Josie. Everything else began next week during the first week of the new semester.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry. I thought we were meeting after school, starting next week on Tuesdays, not Mondays.”
She crossed her arms, leaning against the chalkboard. “Did things go that bad this morning with the lord of bitchiness?”
“No, it was fine. It was great. I’m learning—” I couldn’t very well say how to control my affinity. That would lead to questions about what my affinity was. “I’m learning about visualization and focusing. Sometimes I can be kind of scatterbrained.” I laughed in nervousness.
“Do you think?” She laughed along with me. She ventured closer, eyeing the charred surface of what had once been a beautiful desk, stained and battered by the last fire in my classroom. Her fingers skimmed across untidy piles of paper organized in a system of chaos only I knew the secret to decipher.
“I really am sorry about missing my lesson. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” I asked.
“No worries.” She hooked an arm through mine. “Come on. Let’s go to my classroom. I have a new spell for you. You’re going to love this one!”
“By any chance, is it a spell for repairing old library books I’ve accidentally burned to a crisp?”
That was a safer explanation than saying I wanted to repair Alouette Loraline’s diary so I could use forbidden magic that was so dangerous it might blow up part of the school.
Josie shook her head. “You’re hilarious. No, but I bet you could get Mrs. Periwinkle to help you with that one.”
Right. Because the librarian would be willing to help the daughter of her enemy who had stolen her youth and beauty.
I moved on to my next problem. “How about making art supplies magically reappear?” I jerked a thumb at the door that led down to the supply closet. “Because that isn’t magically refilling itself.”
She laughed. “If you ever discover a spell for that, I want to be the first to know.”
As much as I wanted to devote every moment of my time to finding a cure for Derrick, my teaching duties encroached on my ability to rescue my knight in shining armor.