The Reluctant Witch: Year One (Santa Cruz Witch Academy Book 1)

by Kristen S. Walker

  I hugged my middle and tried not to let it get to me. She’d promised to come back and give the relationship a try, so I had hope. Just had to get through the next few months until she came back.

  At least for the next few weeks, I’d be busy with the end of my first magic classes and finals. Then winter break and holidays at home with my moms, who I missed. Taking it one day at a time, the wait would fly by and I’d see her again before I knew it.

  If only I believed that.

  14

  After a few days at home for Thanksgiving where I didn’t talk about anything that happened at school, I buckled down on my studies. I got through the end of my first quarter at the academy. My grades were As in all my academic classes, but I only got a B+ in Herbalism and a B in Basic Grounding, which dragged down my GPA. Ms. Murphy wrote a note on my file that said I needed to focus more and open myself up to magic.

  The grades were posted online the day we went home, and it was like a punch to the stomach to see those Bs. I hadn’t gotten a score that low in any class since I was in third grade, when I struggled to learn multiplication and barely passed math. I’d worked really hard to keep my grades up ever since then.

  But magic classes weren’t like regular school. It wasn’t as easy as memorizing all the test answers and writing essays that told teachers exactly what they wanted to hear. I’d struggled with Earth magic, and it was obvious in the results I’d gotten.

  On the car ride home, I slumped down in the back seat and stared at my grades that I’d printed out in the computer lab. I’d wanted to show them off to my parents when they got there and instead I had to apologize for my mistakes.

  Mama Rosa saw my unhappy face in the rearview mirror and turned around from the front passenger seat. “You know, it’s normal to struggle when you start at a new school,” she said, taking the grade sheet out of my hand. She tucked it away in the glove compartment. “This doesn’t mean you’re not good at witchcraft. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it after the break.”

  Mama Ashleigh glanced over at her. “Don’t say it like that,” she tried to say quietly, but I could hear her in the small car. She raised her voice and added, “The grades don’t matter. What’s important is that you’re trying something new.”

  I folded my arms and turned my head to look out the window. “It’s the school’s fault for putting me in the wrong element.”

  “I thought you wanted to study Earth like me.”

  I bit back an angry comment about my mom dictating my life. “I actually applied to study Water, but they said I was too emotional.”

  Ashleigh muttered in that tone I could still hear, “I thought Water was all about emotions.”

  “Yes, but Earth is the track for herbalism,” Rosa said at a normal volume. “If you were struggling, you should have asked me for help. I know your herbalism class is over, but do you want a refresher when we get home? Or should we do an introduction to your next classes? Crystals aren’t my specialty, but I can still give you a few tips.”

  “I don’t want to think about school on my break.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Ashleigh said, too brightly. “Let’s focus on our family holiday celebrations and have some fun!”

  I had three weeks of winter break and my parents had a habit of going overboard for the holidays, so I knew I was in for a packed schedule.

  The first week was for preparations, including decorating the entire house, because they’d waited for me to get home before starting anything. First, we had to clean every room from top to bottom, then chop down a pine tree and hang up all the ornaments. Mama Rosa had made holiday charms that went in strategic locations. One in the kitchen to prevent burned food, one in the living room to guard the fireplace, and one over the present closet to make sure I didn’t peek. I haven’t tried to peek since I was little, but it was tradition.

  Mama Ashleigh performed a little rare Fae magic, too. She made fairy lights, which stayed bright without inflating our electrical bill. She decorated around the outside of our house and the Christmas tree.

  Once the house was ready, and the presents were wrapped, the official celebrations started with Winter Solstice. The Longest Night was spent at Doe’s Rest Castle for the Fae Court party, where I could visit Uncle Glen and Aunt Heather. They weren’t related to my parents, but they were old family friends, so my moms called them my uncle and aunt. Uncle Glen was actually the faeriekin count, but he never made a big deal out of his position. Aunt Heather was also sweet—she was a normal human with no magic who somehow navigated the prejudice of the magical community, so I looked up to her.

  Loki was also at the Fae party. He spent most of his time hanging out with Mama Rosa, but he pulled me aside for a report. I just repeated what Gabriella had told me about migrating south for the winter but not wanting to stay in Mexico permanently.

  “Interesting,” Loki said when I’d finished. “So they have trouble dealing with the cold, even in central California, but they were forced to leave because a political difficulty? I’ll have to ask another source to investigate what’s going on in the Mexican mermaid colonies.”

  “Let me know if you find anything out,” I said. Part of me was concerned that Gabriella would run into trouble while she was gone. What kind of problems did a mermaid have in Mexico, anyway? Would they be affected by human issues like drug cartels and government corruption? “Anyway, I won’t be able to do more investigating until they get back, probably in February.”

  Loki looked at me closely. “You haven’t told me much about this mermaid you’re talking to. Do you think you can trust her?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I can trust her, but I can’t give you any more details about her. I have to protect my anonymous source.”

  He smiled. “That’s an official-sounding term.”

  “I’ve been doing some reading about investigative journalism.” I started with spy work, but that was harder to research, and I didn’t like the idea of being a spy. Investigative journalist sounded morally neutral, maybe even a good thing, like I could inform the public about important issues. It also meant I could set up boundaries to insist that I didn’t have to tell Loki any personal information about Gabriella.

  Loki nodded. “I can respect that. Keep your source private, then.” He raised an eyebrow. “Just be careful.”

  I folded my arms. “I can handle myself.”

  After the all-night Fae party, we slept most of the next day, but then it was a whirlwind of family visits. On Sunday we went to Irish Catholic mass with Grandpa Quinn, who was Mama Ashleigh’s human father. He wasn’t devoutly religious, but he liked to keep his homeland’s traditions alive. After, he threw a huge dinner at his house which included tofurkey and vegan mashed potatoes for me.

  On Monday, we went to Granny Rose’s house, which was the house Mama Rosa had grown up in. She no longer had magic, but she still kept a garden full of herbs, vegetables, and roses. The food she cooked was mostly stuff she’d grown herself and it tasted amazing because it was so fresh. She gave us a huge basket of canned tomatoes, jams, and other preserved foods.

  Her black cat, Menolly, was so old that her joints creaked when she walked. Familiars lived as long as their witch companions, but since Granny Rose had lost her magic, Menolly wasn’t as energetic anymore. But for a cat that must be at least forty, she was an inspiration. She spent most of her time sleeping in warm places. As soon as I sat down, she jumped onto my lap, curled up, and stayed there for several hours. And you can’t move when an animal is sleeping on you, so I was stuck.

  Still, it was a nice break, because Granny didn’t ask any questions about the academy or how I liked studying magic. She’d told me a little, but she said when I was eighteen, she’d have a real talk with me about her past. Until then, no one mentioned witchcraft or magical politics in her house.

  After, we stopped at Damian’s house to help his family celebrate the second night of Hanukkah. I didn’t know the Hebrew prayers, but I liked to watch as the
y lit the candles on the Menorah. His mom served potato latkes, and even though I’d already eaten a ton of food at my grandmother’s, I couldn’t resist a few servings. And one of Damian’s brothers was a baker who pulled off vegan jelly donuts that tasted so good they must be magic.

  Then Damian and I exchanged our presents. It was our tradition that I always got him a collector’s edition Barbie and he got me an art book.

  “Princess Leia!” he squealed when he unwrapped the doll. “No way, you got me Space Mom!”

  I laughed, hoping he’d react like that. Damian loved Carrie Fisher.

  The art book he handed me was heavy. “Pre-Raphaelite Sisters,” I read the title. The back cover described the book as the stories of female painters and subjects of the mid-19th century art movement. “Over a hundred images. Nice. It’ll be fun to read something that isn’t school-related.”

  Damian rolled his eyes. “Only you could get a history book and call it fun. When we get through the holidays, I am taking you out again.”

  Tuesday night was Christmas Eve and the biggest family celebration. We hosted Grandpa Sam, Grandpa Quinn, Granny Rose, Aunt Akasha and her husband Anil plus their four-year-old twin boys, and Uncle Glen and Aunt Heather. They barely fit into our family room. We would eat dinner and then open presents together. Lots of people brought food, so we only had to cook the main entrees. Mama Rosa made a honey-glazed ham, and I baked a vegan lasagna. Cashew milk is the secret to creamy vegan pasta, which most of our guests ate and enjoyed.

  My cousins, Rama and Lakshmana, climbed over all the furniture while they waited for all the grown-ups to finish eating. Since their mom Akasha was a faeriekin and their dad Anil was a naga, they were born with snake tails from the waist down and Fae magic. An explosive combination in a four-year-old boy. The two of them were a lot to handle, and I was expected to babysit without any magic of my own. Every year that they got bigger and more energetic, the more I struggled and yelled to keep them in line.

  Finally, dinner was finished, and we opened our gifts. The twins got a Lego set, which they dumped on the floor, and a pair of Nerf guns, so they went back to chasing each other. Except now they were shooting foam darts. I sighed and hoped they’d go home to sleep soon.

  I got fresh art supplies, some warm sweaters and fuzzy socks, and more books. They made a neat pile on my lap as I sat on the floor to unwrap them. I was already calculating how many I could finish before I went back to school so I wouldn’t have to find space for them in my dorm room.

  Then Mama Rosa pulled a long, bulky box from the present closet. She almost hit me with it on the back of my head as she swung it over and set it in front of me.

  I glanced up at her. “What’s this?”

  “A final surprise,” she said, sitting back down on the arm of the couch next to Mama Ashleigh. “Why don’t you open it and see?”

  All the other presents were already unwrapped, so almost everyone was staring at me. I swallowed and ripped into the paper. Underneath, there was an unmarked cardboard box. The tape was stuck on hard, so I had to pick at it with my fingernails until I finally got a piece loose enough to rip off.

  Inside, wrapped in another layer of paper, was a long wooden stick. My stomach did a nervous flip as I tugged it out and saw the bundle of branches at the end.

  Mama Rosa looked at me with shining eyes. “Your first broom,” she said warmly. “I heard you’re learning to fly next quarter, so I wanted to make this for you myself.”

  A handmade broom? It looked a little plain, just a smooth dowel with dried branches tied on with twine. I cleared my throat. “Is it… safe?”

  “Of course it’s safe!” Rosa folded her arms and stared at me. “I’ve always made my own brooms and I’ve never had a problem with them. I know it’s not as fancy as the ones from the store, but it works just as well.”

  Ashleigh put her arm around her wife. “Your mom worked really hard on it.”

  I gripped the broom, trying to picture myself flying on it. “I know, thank you, I just…” I took a deep breath. How could I tell her that I was afraid of heights, so I wanted to make absolutely sure that I had a reliable broom to learn on? Better to just end this conversation. “Sorry. It’s great, Mom, and it means a lot.”

  “I know you’re not supposed to do any magic outside of school, but if you want to take it for a test run later, I won’t tell.” Rosa winked at me.

  “B-but you could get in trouble, too,” I said quickly. “I’d hate for you to jeopardize your position at your school.”

  Ashleigh nodded. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, it’s time for dessert!”

  The twins lowered their toy guns. “Cookies?”

  “Yup, cookies!” Ashleigh went to the kitchen and brought out a huge platter.

  15

  I managed not to fly with my mom for the rest of the break. The final holiday celebration was on Twelfth Night. That was the traditional name for New Year’s Eve, even if it wasn’t exactly twelve nights after the Winter Solstice. Faeriekin went out into the forest and toasted the trees with apple cider, which never was my favorite part. Maybe because I wasn’t even a little Fae. Mama Ashleigh didn’t use her magic, but she still felt a connection to nature that humans could only dream of having. Then I went back to the academy on January 3rd.

  Classes started on Monday, the 6th. Then there was no more avoiding it. I gripped my broom nervously as I walked onto the flying field.

  Damian was in the same class as me and he was way more excited. He’d also gotten a new broom as a gift, one that was also hand carved but made by a local artist. His handle had fire designs carved into the wood and the end was dyed red and yellow, matching his new red and yellow flight robes.

  Samantha and her minions were there, too. Their brooms were all sleek, modern factory-made models with artificial bristles in classic black. The dark brooms set off the girls’ bright, school-colored flight robes.

  I didn’t have any clothes for flying. Mama Rosa said they weren’t necessary to wear, so long as I dressed warm enough to keep off the wind chill. So I’d bundled up in a thick jacket and gloves. But standing among my classmates, who all seemed to have gotten the latest gear from their parents over the holidays, I felt out of place.

  That was nothing compared to my fear of actually flying. When Mama Rosa took me on the back of her broom, I just closed my eyes and held on tight until it was over. But if I was the one steering, I think I’d have to see where I was going. And there were so many things that could go wrong.

  Our flight instructor was an enthusiastic woman with short blonde hair named Coach Bloodgood. Her peregrine falcon circled above us. She marched onto the field and blew a whistle loud enough to make everyone jump.

  “Right!” she barked. “Now that I have your attention, let’s start with a few rules. First rule, no one leaves the ground until I say so. And if I’m not satisfied with your ability to follow my instructions, no one is flying at all today.”

  Groans and protests echoed through the class. Everyone except me seemed more than ready to throw themselves off a cliff with nothing but a thin piece of wood to keep them from plummeting to their deaths.

  Coach Bloodgood cut them off with another whistle. “I said, listen to me if you want to fly. Anyone with a complaint can leave my class and try again next quarter.”

  That made everyone shut up.

  Coach Bloodgood looked around, checking to make sure that everyone had fallen silent, and nodded. “Good. On to the safety rules.”

  She outlined the field and said no one was allowed to fly outside the boundaries, or to fly over ten feet off the ground. According to her, a tumble onto the grass from ten feet or fewer might give us a few bumps and bruises, but it should help us avoid major injuries. Then she went through a whole range of hand motions to communicate in the air which she made us practice.

  The first exercises were teaching us how to fall. Everyone had to practice tucking and rolling onto the grass, which messed up some
new flight robes. I didn’t feel jealous of my better-dressed classmates then. At least I didn’t have to worry about keeping my clothes looking nice. And since I’d taken a few gymnastics classes when I was a little kid, I remembered how to take a fall.

  “If you can sense that you will crash, try to let go of the broom,” the coach told us. “Your first instinct will be to clutch it tighter. You may be more concerned about saving your broom instead of your head, especially if your parents spent a lot of money on it.” She raised her eyebrows at Samantha and the other rich girls. “But trust me, brooms can be replaced. They might shatter in a crash and then you have sharp wooden splinters to cause you more injuries. Also, your broom might survive better if you’re not landing on top of it. Getting impaled on your own broom is the most common injury among young witches, and it’s not dignified.”

  I could impale myself on this thing? I looked down at my broom with even more fear. This sounded worse than learning how to drive. In a car, at least you had things to protect you like a seatbelt and airbags, and you only had two dimensions to worry about. Adding the third axis, up and down, would complicate everything.

  Coach Bloodgood spent so much time warning us about everything that could go wrong, I began to hope that we could run out the class period without flying. But I was out of luck. Fifteen minutes before the end, she told us to line up along one edge of the field, arms-width apart from each other, and mount our brooms.

  “You have more control if you sit astride,” she said, showing on her own broom. “I know some of you ladies will want to try side-saddle, to borrow a term from horseback riding, but that’s more advanced. We will not be covering it today. Hopefully you all wore something under your plaid skirts.”

  The January air was cold enough that the few girls in skirts had all worn pants or leggings underneath their uniforms. I was in my athletic sweatpants, which weren’t very stylish, but at least I felt comfortable. As comfortable as I could be with a wooden handle between my legs.