“Mrs. Hornsby, this is really unfair to Kaitlyn,” Megan said quickly. “I’ll put my hair back so I can finish the batter and putting the pans in the oven and she can just help with frosting the cake.”
“So that she can shed her nasty hair in the frosting too?” Nancy exclaimed loudly. “Disgusting! Poor Mrs. Hornsby is going to be choking up a hairball like a cat when she gets a bite of your nasty little cake!”
“That will be enough, Miss Rattcliff,” Mrs. Hornsby said sharply, but I could tell Nancy’s words had had an effect on her. “Miss Latimer, get two hairnets from the supply shelf behind you,” she directed Megan. “Both of you are to wear them as long as we are baking and working with food.”
Megan looked like she wanted to protest again, but I gave her a tiny shake of my head. No good could come of making a bigger scene than Nancy already had. Maybe if we just complied quietly, everything would blow over and all the students could go back to working on their baking projects.
Nancy walked back to her own table, a smug smirk on her face and Megan went silently back to the supply shelf and got two hairnets—one for each of us. She handed one to me and then began tucking her own, long auburn hair, into the other one.
I did the same, keeping my eyes down and trying to keep the right side of my face to the room at large while hiding the left side in the shadows. Megan tried to help me by standing in front of me while I tucked my hair up into the net, both of us waiting for everyone else to turn back around and get back to their baking.
Mrs. Hornsby got a look at my scarred face, however. I knew because I heard her catch her breath in what sounded like a horrified gasp. I hoped for a moment that she might let me out of wearing the hairnet after all, but she only paused to gather herself for a moment, then clapped her hands loudly and went back to the front of the class.
“All right, class—eyes on your own baking,” she said firmly. “If your projects aren’t already in the oven, they ought to be going there very soon. Remember, this counts for fifty percent of your grade and I am not inclined to be lenient. You’d better impress me or don’t expect to pass this unit!”
That got everyone’s attention. Faces that were turned towards me in morbid curiosity faced quickly front, their attention back at their own tables. I breathed a minimal sigh of relief, though I still tried to keep my face turned away so that only my right side was clearly visible.
“Kaitlyn, I’m so sorry,” Megan whispered as soon as the teacher was gone and the rest of the class was busy with their own work again. “I never meant for that to happen!”
“It’s okay,” I whispered back, wishing my voice didn’t sound so shaky. “It’s just Nancy being a bitch, as usual.”
“It just goes to prove she doesn’t need magic to be cruel,” Megan said grimly. “Oh, I wish I could use some Blood Magic to get back at her!”
“You can’t though,” I said quickly. “I don’t want you getting into trouble on my account, Megan. Please promise me you won’t.”
“All right then,” she grumbled, looking irritated. “But I still think something ought to be done. Nancy is a horrible excuse for a human being!”
I wanted to tell her she didn’t know the half of it but of course I couldn’t. I knew that if Megan found out what other evil deeds Nancy Rattcliff had been up to, she would certainly retaliate. So I just kept my head down and my face turned away as we slid our cake pans into the closest oven and set the timer.
Somehow, I was going to get through this class, I told myself. And I wasn’t going to let Nancy drive me out of it. Wearing a hairnet was bad, but since this was the end of the baking unit and we were supposed to do sewing next, I shouldn’t have to worry about it again.
I can handle it, I told myself grimly. I’m not the fragile little flower all my Coven-mates think I am. I can keep my cool and get this done even with my scars showing. At least things can’t get any worse.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
10
Kaitlyn
“There—that looks beautiful, don’t you think?”
Megan stood back from the cake, hands on her hips as she considered our finished creation.
I had to admit she was right. The three-tiered chocolate cake was beautiful, covered in fudgy homemade butter cream frosting which Megan had decorated skillfully with chocolate flowers and butterflies she’d made using a piping bag and several different tips.
“It’s gorgeous,” I admitted. “And it smells amazing. I can’t wait to try a slice.”
“Well, we have to wait for Mrs. Hornsby to try some first,” Megan said. “We can’t touch it until she grades it.” She looked worried. “I just hope she likes it! I really need an A on this project to bring up my grade.”
I knew she was still struggling because of the long string of failing grades she’d gotten at the beginning of the class, when Nancy was still able to mess with her. But surely getting an A plus on her final exam would bring up her average considerably. And after seeing how perfectly the cake had come out, I didn’t see how Mrs. Hornsby could award us anything less than that, no matter how picky she was.
She was a tough teacher, though—there was no denying that. One of the girls on the far side of the room was wiping away tears after her Crème Brule had only gotten a C minus and another girl was glaring angrily at her plate of blueberry muffins which Mrs. Hornsby had declared, “Too simplistic” and had marked with a D.
Nancy and her crew, of course, had gotten an A with their fudge brownie peanut butter bars. Apparently the magical MSG spell the leader of the Weird Sisters used didn’t count as bad magic—probably because it made people feel good when they tasted it. So she continued to cheat in order to get good grades, though it was clear her baked goods were no more than ordinary.
Megan disdained the use of such cheating magic in her baking, however.
“My mom taught me to bake and that was a long time before I even knew real magic was a thing,” she’d said firmly as we mixed the cake. “If I can’t make an A without cheating, I don’t deserve to be in this class in the first place.”
I was sure my Coven-mate was right. Still, my heart was beating hard when Mrs. Hornsby finally approached us and got ready to cut a slice of the towering chocolate cake.
“Very nice presentation, girls,” she said, being careful, I noticed, not to look at my exposed face as she spoke. “Let’s hope it tastes as good as it looks.”
Using the cake cutter we had laid out for her, she sliced a generous piece and put it on a plate. Before she tasted it, however, she examined the interior of the cake.
“A good dense, moist crumb.” She nodded approvingly. “And the frosting looks to be just the right consistency. I must say, Miss Latimer,” she said to Megan, “You’ve come a long way—I consider you one of my success stories. You see, I told you that you needed to stay in my class and learn how to bake.”
Beside me, I could feel Megan seething. She had tried to explain to Mrs. Hornsby before that her mother had taught her how to bake—it had been their special thing together, the same way my mom and I used to sew together. To hear the self-important teacher taking credit for her good baking skills obviously irritated my Coven-mate to no end. Still, she only nodded her head and murmured,
“Thank you, Mrs. Hornsby.”
“Well now—let’s see if it tastes as good as it smells and looks,” the teacher declared and cut herself a truly huge bite of the chocolate cake.
She popped it into her mouth, the chocolaty crumbs clinging to her thin lips, and began chewing experimentally.
“Mmm-hmm…mmm-hmm,” she murmured, nodding her head. “Moist cake and creamy, light frosting. Mmm-hmm. Mmm-ha-ha-ha!”
The last “hmm” ended in such a strange sounding laugh that Megan and I both looked at the teacher, alarmed.
Mrs. Hornsby looked a bit alarmed and embarrassed herself. She swallowed and cleared her throat.
“Ah-hem. It’s an excellent effort, Miss La…La…Lati…Ha! Hahahaha
haha!”
Her sentence ended in a fit of almost hysterical laughter that made both Megan and me stare at each other.
“Mrs. Hornsby?” Megan asked carefully. “Um…are you okay?”
“I…I’m…” But the Home Ec teacher couldn’t answer—every time she tried to talk she went off into gales of uncontrollable laughter that shook her whole body.
The rest of the class was watching now too—some of them laughing uncertainly, as though they weren’t sure if they ought to join in or not.
“Um, what’s so funny?” someone asked.
But there didn’t appear to be any answer—just our teacher, giggling hysterically.
I was starting to get really worried by this time and clearly so was my Coven-mate.
“Mrs. Hornsby? Do you want some water? Here—let me get you some.” Megan ran quickly to the nearest sink and filled a glass with cold water before bringing it back to the teacher, who was trying to stifle her laughter unsuccessfully.
But though she was laughing, Mrs. Hornsby did not seem happy. She kept on breaking into giggle fits and chortles of glee, but her small black eyes were not amused.
She snatched the glass of water from Megan but when she tried to drink some, she nearly choked because she couldn’t stop laughing long enough to swallow. She tried again and a great gout of chocolate-colored water shot out of her mouth and nose, drenching her blouse and staining the long white professional chef’s apron she was wearing.
The rest of the class burst into laughter at what really was a comical sight. Everyone was laughing at Mrs. Hornsby—everyone except Megan and me. We exchanged horrified glances, unsure what to do.
Watching our teacher, I was reminded of the one time I had taken laughing gas at the dentist’s office. I’d had to have a wisdom tooth pulled and he had assured me that the nitrous oxide would make the procedure completely painless.
It hadn’t been painless though—I could still feel what he was doing to my tooth, only I couldn’t stop laughing despite the discomfort. I remembered thinking distinctly, “This is awful! It’s not funny at all but I can’t help laughing!”
After that experience, I had never wanted laughing gas when I went to the dentist again. It was just too weird feeling like my emotions were being chemically manipulated into laughter, though what my body was feeling wasn’t a bit funny.
Looking at the Home Ec teacher—who was literally laughing like a hyena—I had the idea she might be feeling the same way I had on the nitrous oxide.
“Miss…hehehehe…Latimer,” she finally managed to get out at last. “Headmistress’…hahaha! Office. Now! Hehehe-hahaha!”
“What? But I didn’t do anything!” Megan exclaimed.
Mrs. Hornsby was clearly beyond answering. She grabbed Megan by the arm with one hand and me with the other and marched us both firmly out of the classroom.
The last thing I saw as we exited Home Ec with our madly laughing teacher was Nancy and the Weird Sisters watching us with satisfied smirks on their faces.
11
Kaitlyn
Megan had told me that the one time she had visited Headmistress Nightworthy’s office, it had been down a long, mysterious tunnel-like corridor that seemed to go on forever and took no less than thirty minutes of steady walking to get to.
However, the teachers must have had some kind of magical shortcut because all Mrs. Hornsby had to do was walk around the corner nearest the Home Ec classroom and down a short hallway. I barely had time to snatch the hairnet off my hair and hide the left side of my face again before we found ourselves in front of a large wooden door with the words, Headmistress printed on it in flowing gold script.
Letting go of me for a moment, Mrs. Hornsby banged on the door with one fist, still laughing like crazy all the while.
I heard the Headmistress say, “Come in,” and the door swung open, as though by its own volition.
Inside, Headmistress Nightworthy was sitting at an old-fashioned solid wood desk that looked like it had come straight out of a Victorian novel. The rest of the office had a similar theme with a plush oriental rug on the floor and a grandfather clock ticking a stately rhythm in one corner.
The Headmistress, who had a sleek cap of silver hair and bright blue eyes, had obviously been writing a letter at her desk. But the moment she looked up and saw the state Mrs. Hornsby was in, her eyes widened and she put down the old-fashioned quill pen she’d been using at once.
“My gracious, Myra!” she exclaimed to Mrs. Hornsby. “Whatever is the matter?”
Mrs. Hornsby tried to answer but all that came out was a cackling, exhausted-sounding laugh. She pointed at Megan and me furiously and tried to mime eating something from a plate with a fork, giggling madly all the while.
Headmistress Nightworthy frowned.
“Miss Latimer,” she said to Megan. “I think you had better explain—and quickly.”
“I wish I could, Headmistress, but I don’t know what’s going on!” Megan exclaimed. “Mrs. Hornsby just took a single bite of our chocolate cake—she was going to taste it to grade it—and then she started laughing and it doesn’t seem like she can stop.”
“Are you certain you don’t know what happened to Mrs. Hornsby?” Headmistress Nightworthy leveled a steely look at Megan. “Because she appears to be under some kind of a spell.”
“Yes! Ha-ha-ha! Spell!” Mrs. Hornsby nodded her head emphatically.
Megan turned pale, her few freckles standing out on her white cheeks.
“Not one I put on her, Headmistress, honestly! I’ve kept my promise to you—I haven’t done a single bit of magic outside of class ever since you made me swear not to.”
“Well then who did this?” Headmistress Nightworthy demanded, glaring at us.
She looked so frightening with her piercing blue eyes focused on us like a laser beam, I could barely make myself speak up. But I knew I had to say something.
“Headmistress,” I said faintly. “I think maybe…maybe it was Nancy Rattcliff.”
“Nancy?” Megan frowned. “But she can’t do anything but nice magic now! I made sure of it!” She gestured at our still giggling Home Ec teacher. “And this is not nice.”
“No, but remember she and the other two Weird Sisters both came by our table and said spells?” I reminded her. “And they were laughing at us when we were leaving—I saw them.”
“Whole…heeheehee…room was…haha…laughing!” Mrs. Hornsby gasped out, a look of outrage on her face, even as she continued laughing herself. Clearly her lack of dignity in front of her class was bothering her as much as the fact that she couldn’t stop laughing in the first place.
Headmistress Nightworthy frowned.
“Well, this does seem to be a conundrum.” She clapped her hands sharply and suddenly one of the little gnome-like gerrunds appeared.
Nocturne Academy employed these lesser Fae as messengers instead of using an intercom system in order to avoid interrupting teachers with endless announcements. The gerrund was a little man—about three feet high—with a long white beard tucked into his belt and a pointed red cap on his head. He bowed to the Headmistress deeply, the tip of the cap brushing the floor.
“Yes, Mistress of Nocturne, what may I do for you?” he asked in a surprisingly deep baritone voice.
“Go and get Ms. Yasmeen at once and bring her here,” the Headmistress instructed him. “Tell her to dismiss her class early—she is needed urgently and I don’t think she’ll be back before the bell.”
The little gerrund bowed again and took off like a shot, leaving the office and scampering down the hall on his teeny booted feet.
He was back in next to no time with Ms. Yasmeen, who taught Megan’s Elementary Casting class as well as much more advanced material, I knew. She was a tall, thin woman with carroty hair who always dressed like she was going to a swanky cocktail party rather than spending the day teaching. Today she had on a deep red dress that clashed magnificently with her orange hair, along with a frown on her face wh
en she saw the nearly exhausted but still laughing Mrs. Hornsby.
“What in the world?” she murmured, frowning at the Home Ec teacher.
“That is what I am hoping you can tell me,” Headmistress Nightworthy said. “According to Miss Latimer and Miss Fellows, Mrs. Hornsby took a bite of their cake in order to grade it and suddenly started laughing. And she has not been able to stop.”
“But I swear I didn’t do it to her, Ms. Yasmeen,” Megan put in. “We think Nancy Rattcliff and her friends might have something to do with it, only I don’t see how since I put a spell on her to make sure she could only work nice magic that benefited other people.”
“Hmm…” Ms. Yasmeen nodded. “Well, that would explain why I don’t sense any evidence of evil or harmful magic around her.” She looked closer at Mrs. Hornsby and then reached out to tap her forehead with a fingertip as she murmured a few words in Latin.
Mrs. Hornsby’s mad cackling slowed down a bit, but it didn’t stop completely. She acted like you do when you’re trying not to laugh somewhere inappropriate (like in church) but you keep starting up again anyway, even though you’re trying hard not to.
“Not…not funny!” she gasped and giggled angrily as she stared at me and Megan. “Put…put me under a…ha-ha! A spell!”
“No, we didn’t, Mrs. Hornsby—honestly!” Megan said quickly. “We would never do something like this!”
But Mrs. Hornsby did not look convinced.
“Don’t lie!” she exclaimed and then went off into a gale of giggles.
“I believe this is a simple ‘cheer up’ spell,” Ms. Yasmeen, murmured, still studying the Home Ec teacher from all angles, as though she was an interesting scientific specimen. “However, its strength has been tripled and it has been applied three times and by three different people. Such three-squared magic is exceedingly strong and difficult to break.” She looked at Mistress Nightworthy. “I am afraid I cannot stop her laughing completely without doing a ritual with the entire coven on the night of the full moon.”
Fang and Claw: Nocturne Academy, Book 2 Page 6