by Jami Klein
I hadn't known lions could roll their eyes.
When all he did was continue to stare at me, my body unclenched and I was able to breathe normally again. His paws were massive and I was fascinated by them.
"What are you doing out here?" I asked. I was proud that my voice only trembled a little bit.
Nothing.
I knew some shifters couldn't speak in their animal forms, but for some reason I thought the king of the jungle might be able to.
"I don't suppose you know how to get back to the dorms?"
Miracle of miracles, the lion cocked his head at me and walked by me. As Stefan brushed by me, I resisted the urge to pet his mane. Wouldn't Priscilla feel bad if Stefan bit my hand off for petting him? No, she probably wouldn't.
Stefan looked back at me and growled.
"What? Oh, I'm supposed to follow you? Thanks." Like I was a mind reader now? Oh, wait. I was. But there was no way in hell I was risking trying to manipulate Stefan Harte. Maybe I'd be braver if he wasn't currently an eight-foot, five-hundred-pound lion.
"Can you talk or do you just not want to?" I asked.
He growled again.
"Okay, man of few words. I can get behind that." I was pushing my luck as it was, but I really wanted to ask him about Delia and his brother and the last year's wolf quarterback. Sue me, I was a little nervous about walking behind a violent murderer. But after a few minutes, I recognized the path and saw the lights of the Academy.
Stefan jumped about six feet in the air from a seated position and stared down at me from a large rock.
"I suppose if I start singing songs from The Lion King, you'll change your mind about eating me?" When he continued to just look at me with flat, bored eyes, I yodeled the opening part of the musical.
He opened his mouth really wide. That was a lot of teeth. I shut the heck up.
"All right then. I guess that's goodnight. Thank you for bringing me back. Aren't you coming in with me?"
Stefan jumped over me and landed gracefully on his feet and took off deep into the forest back where we had come from.
"That's enough adrenaline for one evening," I said and fast walked back to my room, not caring if I was still invisible or not. Priscilla was asleep or at least she had on that idiotic eye mask. Tossing my backpack on the floor, I changed into my pajamas and got under the covers.
I shifted on the mattress and sighed as I glanced down at the bracelets. If only I could get them off I could have taken a glimpse into Stefan's mind to see what made him tick. Violent murderers didn't usually lead lost girls out of the forest. He seemed haunted– and not by his own sins but by a loneliness and despair that I somehow understood all too well. Or maybe I was projecting my own emotions on him.
Sighing, I reached into my backpack and pulled out the book Andrei had brought to me. I rummaged through my bedside table and found my flashlight. I needed to bring my blood pressure back to normal before I could even begin to try and get some sleep. I couldn't think of anything that would be both boring and exciting than reading my father's essay on magical theory.
Flipping back to my father’s essay, I began rereading it. I was looking for clues about his life. As my eyes passed over a passage, I instantly felt had been written just for me:
When an individual witch or warlock has come of age and realizes he or she is one of the fortunate to be gifted with clairvoyance, telepathy, and mental insight, it is easy to become enamored with the power and lose focus of its relevance.
I snorted. That was putting it mildly.
The gift of premonition, for example, should be used as a warning but never to change the pattern of events in another person’s life.
Had he seen the future? Had he known he was going to die and didn’t do anything to change it?
The same can be said of mind control, which has been argued as being a worthless attribute that only inspires the criminally minded witch. I, on the other hand, believe that such a gift can be a blessing when employed for the usage of crime-solving or bettering society by influencing greater minds to make better decisions. Only in the proper hands can such a gift be fostered and influenced so that the bearer of the gift becomes a citizen of merit, strategy, and importance.
I stared down at the words. Had I lost my father's trust when I manipulated my mother? Did he think the next step would be to turn her into a zombie, like he had done with the candy story employee? No wonder he had been so angry – so much that he felt compelled to give my mother a protective amulet just to keep her from being overridden by me. Did he die thinking I was becoming the sort of witch who would use my gift only to do irreparable damage to those around me?
I myself have limited mental mind control abilities, but believe that with time they can be honed in upon. However, given the nature of my past transgressions, I am not so sure this is the proper method for me just yet. I feel that those of us who possess this power need to do more research into finding ways to curb the natural tendency to use it for malicious intent and to learn with which persons and which cases its application is merited.
Who gets to decide that? I wanted to throw the book at the wall. They were my spells. It was my magic. I should be the one to decide. And yet, I hadn't done so well. The FBMI and my mother seemed to believe that the Jewel Academy would help me. Help me like it did my father? He made a lot of sense in this essay, but it was starting to sound a little like he had drunk the Kool Aid. That he was reciting things by rote instead of speaking from his heart.
To place laws and restrictions on those with these skills would be ill-advised without finding out more on the inheritance factors with consideration to these mental powers and the influence one’s peers may have upon them. For example, those who are children and being used by others by coercion, abusive and threats of violence. Who then, is truly responsible? The child or the person exploiting them? I know from experience how this has affected me.
"Who abused you, Dad?" I said. Was it someone from here? Or had someone in his family who had given him up to the FBMI hurt him to this level. No one from his side of the family had come to his funeral, but he had always told us they were dead.
Maybe he had lied to us about that.
"Whuh?"
I hadn't realized I had said it aloud. It was second nature to float a sleep spell over to her. "Nothing," I whispered, toning my voice even with my breathing. "Go asleep."
And she did.
Chapter Seven
As usual, I woke up earlier than Priscilla but a strange apprehension had taken root – twisting itself into my heart like a concrete block that been sat on top of my chest. I recognized that it stemmed from worrying about my father and if there was going to be any repercussions from the wolves from my little stunt.
I dressed quickly and grabbed my backpack as I headed toward my first class.
“Good morning, Lola,” headmistress Magee said as I walked into the center hall apex of the school. I glanced at the large JA tiled in the center of the floor and admired the flashy architecture.
“Hello, headmistress,” I said.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Fine. I still have a lot of questions, though.”
She held up a hand. “What’s in the past is in the past. It’s safer that way.”
I nodded. She didn’t understand.
“I made an appointment for you right now with Mr. Urso. He’s the school guidance counselor.”
“He must have his hands full.” How did one guide a group of supernaturals? I wondered about the college application process when considering Jewel Academy students – but that was a question for another time.
"Are you and Priscilla getting along?"
I resisted the urge to touch my cheek where she had slapped me. “I suppose."
No sense in burdening the headmistress with more worries where I was concerned. If I told her about the slap, I'd have to tell her why I felt I deserved one. As it was, I wasn't quite sure if Priscilla reported my magical s
nooping to Magee anyway.
Hopefully, fear that I'd reciprocate by telling about Delia's spellwork would keep things balanced between me and Priscilla. I wanted to fall off Magee's radar, but sensed that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. Not with my father’s crimes hanging over my head. So, much for thinking I’d get off earlier for good behavior.
“He’s waiting for you in his office. Just follow the corridor to the end and turn left. He’s the fourth door on the right.”
“Thanks.” I shifted my backpack and sauntered down the hall.
A few students hung out around their lockers. The Jewel Academy looked like every other high school at this level. There were the usual suspect cliques – the jocks, the nerds, the outcasts, which seemed a little strange considering we were all social pariahs by every definition of the word.
Two girls were deeply engaged in conversation, but they seemed to watch me as I passed by them. I didn’t recognize them, but I thought they were shifters, though I still wasn’t sure what type.
I wasn’t paying too much attention, so when I hit a brick wall in the middle of the corridor I bounced off it. “Hey!” I said, before looking up.
The brick wall was Stefan and he just gave me a long suffering look before walking past me.
I was going to be late for my appointment with Mr. Urso, but I didn’t care. I hurried to get back in front of him. I half expected him to keep moving through me, but he stopped.
“Look, I wanted to thank you for last night.”
A witch to my left tittered until Stefan turned his lethal gaze on her and she scrambled away from it, banging into a locker as she went.
“I guess that came out wrong. What I mean to say is I owe you one. I don’t have much to repay you, but if you like cookies I’m a pretty good baker. Just let me know what type and when I can dig up the ingredients you can hop on over to my balcony some night.”
Why did that sound like I was propositioning him?
“I mean… for cookies.” I needed to get the hell out of this situation. “I’ve got to go. Thanks again.”
I scurried around him and bolted down the hallway. I skidded to a halt when a stray thought crossed over my mind.
“Chocolate chip,” the thought said in a lion’s growl.
Whipping back around, I just barely saw Stefan’s wide back turn down another corridor. Had he communicated with me mind-to-mind or was I losing it? I should be afraid of him. He never talked. He supposedly killed his brother, ripped a student’s arm off and killed Delia because of a botched love spell. And yet, like an idiot I offered to back him cookies. I walked backwards until I could no longer see him and ran smack into someone more squishy than a brick wall. We both almost fell.
“Sorry,” I said. She was a witch, about my age, but she wasn’t from the sixth floor. I would have recognized her. She was dressed like a vampire in gothic black and severe makeup. If it wasn’t broad daylight I might have mistaken her for one.
“Watch where you are walking!” the girl spat out.
“My bad. I was distracted.”
“Yeah, I bet. You’re a head case, just like the rest of your family.” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, or are you deaf as well as magically disabled?”
“Who are you and who do you think I am?” I asked.
“I know a Bragg when I see one. And don’t think I don’t know you planned on bumping into me. Our families have been enemies for centuries.”
“I have no idea who you are.”
“Be that way. But I’m watching you.”
“And I thought yesterday was a weird day,” I muttered. I wasn’t about to get into a fight with this girl, especially not after what happened yesterday. What I did wonder – was how in the hell everyone knew about my father attending Jewel Academy when I had only just learned of it. Who had Dad been to these people – to this place?
“Dead witch walking.” I heard the girl say as she continued on her way. I clenched my teeth.
I made a beeline for the guidance office. I hoped that Mr. Urso could work some magic on my life. I knocked on the frosted glass of the door.
“Come in Miss Bragg.”
I pushed open the door, not knowing what to expect. Mr. Urso was a shifter. Great. I hoped he wasn’t the alpha of the wolf pack I hexed yesterday. He was a big guy, wearing an ill-fitting suit, but he had friendly eyes. His office was floor to ceiling books and papers. Didn’t he know this was the digital age.
“Have a seat. Just move those papers.”
I picked up a stack and put them in the chair next to me. I flinched when a large tom cat landed on them with a thump.
“Don’t mind Chumley. He’s just saying hello. You’re not allergic, are you?”
“No.” I smiled. “I love cats.”
Chumley allowed himself to be petted and after I sat down, he settled his wide girth in my lap and went to sleep. I hadn’t realized I needed the affection until I found myself swallowing back tears.
“It seems you found a friend.”
I nodded, choked up. My mother was allergic and we couldn’t have cats. I had to give up all those kittens to the shelter many years ago. But they all went to good homes. I made sure of it.
“The headmistress thought I might be able to make your transition here a little smoother.”
“That would be nice,” I managed to get out.
“What can I do for you?”
“Can you take these off?” I showed him the bracelets.
“Not a chance,” he said, but he had a smile on his face.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I said lightly.
“Do you like rooming with Priscilla Walton?” he asked.
“She’s okay. I haven’t really gotten a chance to meet any of the other witches yet. The bracelets make me kind of a pariah. But I think I’m going to join another coven.” The two girls from breakfast yesterday came to mind. I was pretty sure I’d fit in better with them.
He nodded and poured himself a cup of tea from the electric kettle on his crowded desk. “Would you like a cup?”
“Yeah, I really would.” My mother made tea after dinner and I had missed that nightly ritual. He poured me a mug full of aromatic tea.
“It’s my own blend. It’s got chickory root and licorice. Honey and cream?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, blinking at the glug of both he put in.
Giving it a quick stir, he handed it to me. The first sip warmed me in and out and I relaxed into the chair.
“Are your classes the right level? We erred on the side of being too easy because it was difficult to judge your magical training.”
“The classes are fine. I was wondering if we could change out my homeroom?”
“Oh, I figured you would like Miss Carrier.”
“Why is that?” She sure as heck didn’t like me.
“Your father and she were friends when they went here.”
“My father was a popular guy,” I said. “I didn’t even know my father had attended here. He never mentioned it or his childhood. Did you know him?”
Mr. Urso shook his head. “I joined the faculty after he dropped out.”
“Dropped out? He didn’t graduate? How is that even possible? I thought he was here as a punishment.”
“He did his time. He got a job offer that wasn’t contingent on him receiving a high school diploma and he left.”
“It’s not like he was a professional athlete. He was an insurance agent.”
Mr. Urso added enough honey into his tea mug that my back teeth ached just looking at it. “I don’t know who offered him the job. I just know, he had a few months left to graduate, but as soon as it was deemed he had served his time, he was out of here like a shot.”
“I see.” I guess I couldn’t blame him. “When do you think my time will be served? Is it possible I could be back to my normal school for senior year?”
“Not a chance,” he said sadly, as if he was regret
ful.
It made me like him even more.
“I see,” I said, trying to put on a brave face. Well, it was good to get a solid answer at least. I was here until graduation. I wondered if there were ever any family days in this place, or if everyone just went back on holidays. Did parents come to check on their children who were students here or did they just ship them off and forget about them? If they did get holidays home, would I be granted the same privilege? And if I were, did that mean my mother would actually let me come visit her or would I be forced to sit at my dormitory alone while Priscilla left on some lavish rich girl’s trip?
“I will be allowed to go home for Thanksgiving break, though, right?”
“We don’t break for Thanksgiving. Yule would be the next closest parole day.”
“I’m definitely going home for Yule.”
His gaze slid away for a moment, a pang of alarm shot through me. “That’s up to your mother.” He cleared his throat. “I can move your homeroom, though, if you like.”
“Please,” I said. I didn’t know how Dad had left it with Miss Carrier, but I didn’t need to be humiliated by a teacher every morning. I was doing a great job of that all myself.
“Easy to arrange. Let me see what’s open.”
“Thanks,” I said, faintly. He was a two finger typer, so we might be here awhile. I didn’t mind though. I petted Chumley and sipped my tea. There was no reason why my mother wouldn’t want me home for Yule. I wondered if he could help me out in my research. “How did you know about my father dropping out if he came here after you. Is there a lot of gossip about him?”
“No. We keep detailed files in the record room.”
Bingo. My head shot up. “Could I see his file?”
He smiled again. “No.”
I deflated.
“But I can tell you that even if you did, it wouldn’t tell you anything more than I just told you. A lot of the paperwork is missing.”
“Missing? Is that normal?”
He shrugged. “When we went full electronic, we had a few interns entering in the data. They didn’t always do a thorough job. I wanted to hire work study students, but the administration thought it would be a breach of confidentiality. We’ve found that we’ve had a lot of repeat visitors in magical families throughout the year.”