Spellwood Academy

by Kate Avery Ellison

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  “And go where?” One of the dancers twirled so beautifully that I couldn’t help but giggle in delight.

  “My party,” Griffin said. He steered me toward one of the paths, his arm still around my waist. “Come on, Kyra.”

  I didn’t mind the way he slightly mispronounced my name. In fact, it made me laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Griffin asked, smiling down at me. His eyes gleamed golden as if faintly lit from within.

  “You,” I replied. It was a stupid reply, I knew, but I couldn’t seem to find the need to care. His arm was warm on my waist. I felt safe and happy.

  “How much did you drink?” he asked as we reached the doors of the greenhouse and stepped into the warm summer air.

  “A goblet full.” Some small place in the corner of my mind wondered if that was too much, and it thought about raising protest, but the rest of my happy brain squelched its concerns. It was a beautiful night. I was with Griffin, who I hadn’t been sure about before, but now I felt quite comfortable and happy with his arm around me.

  We followed a path lit by moonlight, past the silent school buildings, past the tower that held Headmaster Windswallow’s office. I could see lights gleaming in her windows. She must be awake, perhaps keeping watch over the society goings-on.

  “Where are we going?” I thought to ask after some duration.

  “The Basilisk party,” Griffin answered.

  My stomach did a flip despite my euphoria. “I don’t think I’m invited,” I said a little too loudly.

  “You’re with me,” Griffin assured me. “You are my guest.”

  The Basilisk party was held at the crypt, which shone ominously in the pale moonlight, surrounded by a tall wrought-iron fence that groaned as Griffin pushed it open. We climbed the steps, me stumbling once, and walked down a hall lined with crumbling stone columns until we reached the entrance.

  “What is this place?” I muttered, looking around me. “It’s creepy.”

  “The crypt has been here as long as the labyrinth and the other original buildings,” Griffin said as we approached the door. “Some say its haunted, but you’ll be safe with me, Kyra.”

  The door swung open as we reached it, held by a student with downcast eyes and no shirt. He wore a golden collar around his neck.

  “What…?” I said, turning toward the student.

  “Ignore him,” Griffin said. “He’s being initiated. Everyone who was invited into Basilisk is here, and they are serving us tonight. On society night, we party among ourselves. No need to impress any new students.” He laughed.

  The inside of the crypt was bigger than I’d expected. Stone walls stretched upward to a vaulted ceiling. Statues and stone coffins lined the walls, and doorways led into dark, shadowed corridors that I assumed held more burial places.

  Basilisk had made a half-hearted effort with carpets and candelabras to light the gloomy space. A few of the members were sprawled on stone caskets as if they were couches, joined by some Briar members in their fancy dresses. Everyone was drinking from goblets. The elected new members scurried around with platters piled high with food and drink.

  No dancing, no music, no impressive or creative displays of enchantment. Just a bunch of elite snobs drinking and lounging like drunk lions.

  I was less than impressed. Even in my euphoric fog, I recognized that they must think themselves above the earnestness and creativity of the other houses. They probably though such cool detachment made them refined and sophisticated, but it merely made them dull.

  “Is this it?” I was saying when my eyes strayed across the room and collided with a familiar pair of green-gold ones.

  My stomach sunk to my knees, and a flush rose along my cheeks.

  Lucien.

  He looked back down at the book in his hands immediately. I stood reeling, some of my good feelings replaced by a spinning confusion, a kind of hunger. Part of me wanted to turn around and walk right out the door, and another part of me wanted to go over to him and demand that he explain himself and his capricious, maddening moods. We’d almost been friends. At least, I thought we had. And then he’d turned cold toward me.

  He’d hurt me.

  The most sensible part of me whispered that I ought to ignore him. I listened to that part and focused all my attention on Griffin’s face. Well, most of my attention.

  I couldn’t fully wrest it from Lucien, not matter how much I tried.

  “Are you bored?” Griffin was saying with amusement. “Not enough fae glitter for your mortal eyes?”

  “Perhaps we should play a game,” someone suggested. I turned and saw that Sylla and Nylla had arrived, joined now by their third sister, Marit, who was dressed in a dress of gold that glimmered with the same shimmer as Griffin’s eyes. She gave me a poisonous look. She was the one who’d suggested the game.

  Griffin lifted his brows and smiled indulgently. “What game?”

  “Charades,” she said, taking a sip from the goblet in her hand. “Girls against boys.”

  Some of the others were watching us, their eyes bright with sudden interest. Like sharks that scented blood in the water, they could probably feel the dislike radiating from Marit in my direction.

  I didn’t remember her being like this toward me before. Had I done something to anger her?

  “I’ll go first,” Sylla declared.

  “No,” Marit said. “Kyra goes first.”

  The liquid euphoria still swam in my veins, bolstering me. I raised my chin. “Fine,” I said.

  Marit leaned close. Her lips almost brushed my cheek. “Your word is monkey.”

  I gave her a look—monkey was not the most flattering thing to act out in front of a group of sophisticated, judgmental snobs—but I wasn’t going to let her see me embarrassed. I strode to the middle of the room so everyone could see me, dropped to my hands and knees, and bravely mimicked a monkey.

  Some of those watching cackled. My face flushed, but I kept going. The euphoria in my veins helped. I hardly cared what they thought. The prickles of embarrassment were overcome with a heady sensation of freedom and power.

  Sylla and Nylla, as well as a few of the other Briar girls, tried to guess what I was.

  “A minkwarbler!” one cried.

  “A bogswallow!” another shouted, certain she’d guessed it.

  Hadn’t any of these girls seen a monkey before?

  Perhaps not. They were the elites, after all. They were all raised in fae courts, most likely. They didn’t know a computer from a toilet.

  Marit smirked at me, triumphant.

  Lucien was watching, and I felt his gaze on me like a brand, but I wasn’t about to let her win. I redoubled my efforts, and then I remembered that a professor had talked about monkeys in one of our lectures, comparing them to a fae creature called a gobbit that had long limbs and a primate-like face that loved to eat fruit and pluck its own fleas. I switched tactics, mimicking first the gobbit and then the monkey, and playing like a mortal in between.

  The strategy finally worked for one of the Briar students. “Monkey!” she cried loudly, to my relief. “It’s called a monkey!”

  Marit scowled.

  The boys seemed disinterested in rising from their positions atop the stone coffins to participate, so one of them called over a new recruit in a gold collar and made him act out their word instead. He strutted and stumbled and acted like a drunken fool. The word, in turned out, was mortal.

  Sylla was next, and Marit gave her an easy one. Sun court. Everyone guessed it right away, because Sylla mimicked the king of the court who apparently had easily distinguishable mannerisms relating to how he played with his beard.

  Another poor recruit was drafted to enact what turned out to be floor-licker, apparently a fae insult. The poor fellow actually licked the floor.

  When it came time for my turn again, we were winning by a single point. Marit stepped close to me, and I smelled the scent of her—mint mingled wi
th a coppery tang like blood.

  “How much charmwine did my sisters give you?” she asked with a slip of a grin chasing across her face.

  Charmwine.

  The forbidden drink that turned mortals into puppets and made even full-blooded fae silly and suggestable?

  A cold feeling crawled through me.

  This was dangerous. I hadn’t sipped some mild, enchantment-doctored juice. I’d consumed a fae drug. No wonder I’d been so weepy and giggly. No wonder I’d had no inhibitions.

  I tried to take a step back, but she seized my wrist. “Your word is slut,” she said. “And I want you to kiss Lucien to act it out.”

  My stomach squeezed like a fist. My eyes shot to the dark prince, who was once again reading, one leg dangling over the side of the stone casket, his head resting against the wall. My mouth dried.

  “No,” I whispered, but I had a feeling that I couldn’t really refuse her. I had fae blood in me, but not much. I was a middling, mostly mortal. I was practically her puppet should she insist, thanks to the charmwine. I was nearly powerless.

  “Yes,” she said. “Go and do it, middling. And make it passionate.”

  Dread sank like a stone in my belly.

  Why Lucien? Why this?

  I looked at Griffin and understood. She was wearing gold to match him. She was angry that I was here. She wanted to make me kiss his half-brother…

  She was trying to get between us.

  The command hung in the air, and I lifted my eyes to see that everyone was watching us expectantly. They hadn’t heard her words, but they must have seen something in her expression. The watching faces hardened with cruel anticipation.

  All but Lucien’s. He was looking at me, his eyes dark with displeasure.

  “Go,” Marit commanded again.

  The impulse from earlier tugged at me too. The desire to stalk over to Lucien and demand to know what he was thinking.

  I walked across the crypt to where he and his friends were sprawled. Lucien closed his book with a snap.

  “What is it?” he asked, his gaze snapped from my face to Griffin’s.

  I looked back and saw Griffin smirking. Confusion bloomed across my mind.

  Marit was trying to make Griffin jealous, but what was Griffin thinking?

  I turned back to Lucien, whose expression had turned hard. He reached out and grabbed my hand.

  “Stop,” he commanded, and the warmth in my veins turned to ice.

  “Have you been drinking charmwine?” he asked in a harsh tone.

  I didn’t answer him, but the truth was clear.

  “How could you be so foolish?” Lucien hissed. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is? Are you that desperate for them to like you?”

  “Kiss him,” Marit called out in the imperious voice of one who expects to be obeyed. “Kiss him like you think he isn’t a repulsive little snot.”

  Lucien dropped my hand. A muscle in his jaw twitched as if he were grinding his teeth together. “Stop trying to give her commands,” he called back. To me, he said, “Go back to Dewdrop where your friends are,” he said. “You don’t belong here, Kyra.”

  His words hit me like a slap. The emotions in my head churned. I could hear the others laughing behind me. Griffin. The triplets.

  “She didn’t drink enough,” Marit said in amused dismay. “She’s resisting the effects.”

  So, it was all some scam to embarrass me? To put me in my place?

  Anger rose above the shame, drowning it out. This wasn’t my fault. It was their doing. I’d been too trusting, but that was usually not a bad thing.

  I whirled on Griffin and Marit.

  “How dare you,” I snarled.

  There wasn’t a single trace of remorse on their beautiful faces, and I hated them for it.

  “Why?” I demanded.

  Their laughter quieted to giggles. Griffin gazed down at me like he didn’t know who I was. “Why what, middling?”

  “Why did you try to—to seduce me? You ate meals with me. You kissed me!”

  Marit’s smile vanished completely at that.

  “And you lapped it up,” Griffin said with a smirk.

  “Honestly, I’ve had better,” I responded, and strode past them for the door.

  The silence outside was bracing. I stumbled down the steps for the path, my throat closing up with tears of rage.

  How dare they? How dare they have such cruelty and entitlement?

  The fury burned in me, strengthened by the charmwine and my resolve. I had been bullied a little in high school, but not much, and it was shocking to experience it now. Where they doing this to others?

  The moon was high. The societies would be winding down soon. I needed to put aside this mess and sign up for one before I went back to my room to crawl under the covers of my bed and cry.

  I knew which one I was going to pick. I’d decided.

  I stormed my way to the party of my chosen society, signed my name on the ledger, and went straight back to the North Tower.

  Stupid elites. Stupid Lucien. Stupid wondering well answer that wasn’t true.

  Although I meant to cry until I felt better, I almost immediately fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  WHEN I WOKE up, Lyrica, Hannah, and Tearly were all peering at me with expressions that ranged from curious to alarmed.

  “What?” I mumbled, sitting up and then immediately lying back down with a groan.

  “Are you all right?” Hannah asked. She had a glass of water in her hand, and she gave it to me. “Drink this.”

  “We heard about what happened,” Lyrica added.

  The night came back to me, first in pieces, and then all at once in a rush of horror. Griffin. Basilisk. The crypt. Lucien’s coldness, and Marit’s cruelty. I remembered leaving the crypt, and then nothing else.

  “What did you hear?” I said, a dart of terror spearing my stomach.

  “How you went to Toadcurdle after all,” Hannah said. “How you stormed inside and gave them a rousing speech about not accepting the bigoted limitations of class divides or something?”

  “I think you’re their hero now,” Lyrica added, her eyes wide. “I heard one of them say they were in love with you.”

  I made a scoffing sound. “I gave a speech?”

  “It’s true,” Tearly said. “I saw you go in.”

  “But you didn’t join Toadcurdle,” Lyrica continued. “Did you?” She sounded a bit nervous, as if she wasn’t entirely convinced that I hadn’t.

  I searched in my memories for the answer and came up empty. I had no idea. My memories from the night after leaving Basilisk were a blur of starry night sky and shadows, the taste of cupcake on my tongue and the faint scent of roses and mud.

  “I don’t remember,” I confessed after a long, expectant pause.

  They stared at me in confusion, and I heaved a sigh.

  “Is there some way I can find out?”

  “It’s posted,” Tearly said with a gasp. “In the main building. There’s a list. We can go and look.”

  They hustled me out of bed, making impatient noises the entire five minutes it took for me to brush my teeth, make myself less gross with a sponge bath via wet washcloth, and get dressed.

  “There should be charms for the equivalent of a shower,” I grumbled. “And they should be allowed.”

  “Come on,” Lyrica begged. “I can’t wait another second. I bet you’re in Dewdrop with me and Tearly!”

  “I think probably Stormtongue,” Hannah said, looking mildly disappointed like she hoped I’d joined Flameforge instead and was trying to brace herself for an alternative answer.

  We hurried down the spiral staircase and into the warm, humid summer morning air. It was the weekend, and no classes, but a few students were out wandering the gardens or having picnics on the great lawn.

  I noticed one or two people looking at me as we passed. Worry prickled at the back of my neck. Had they heard about how Basilisk had humiliated me?


  We reached the main buildings and went inside. Our footsteps echoed. My heart pounded.

  The lists were posted on the wall beside the office where I’d submitted my laugh and drop of blood the first day I’d arrived. Six scrolls were pinned to the woodwork, the names emblazoned at the top. Dewdrop’s font sparkled like it was made of water glistening upon a river rock.

  Tearly and Lyrica scanned the list of names.

  “You’re not here,” Lyrica announced, disappointed. “I was certain you would be.”

  They moved on to Stormtongue. The list fluttered as if blown by an invisible wind.

  “Not here either,” Tearly said, turning to glance at me with her brows raised.

  Hannah made a sound of strangled excitement. “You did choose Flameforge!”

  But Lyrica, who’d moved in front of the parchment with the flaming font, shook her head. “Her name isn’t here either.”

  Hannah covered her mouth with her hand. “Toadcurdle? Technically, anyone can join any society, but…”

  “No,” Tearly said. She took a step back as if in shock. She pressed her fingers to her chest. “Kyra, what have you done?”

  “What?” I demanded anxiously. “What is it?” I pushed forward, looking where she was looking.

  The parchment covered in brambles, with a scent of roses, and there at the bottom was my name, signed with a confident swirl.

  Horror bloomed in my chest.

  I’d joined Briar.

  ~

  “How?” Tearly kept demanding as we ate lunch. “How is this possible? You have to be invited to join Briar and Basilisk, or the pen won’t work on the parchment. You literally cannot put your name down unless they have given you an invitation.”

  “One of Griffin’s triplet friends sarcastically invited me,” I said, remembering. “Do you think that was enough to make it work?”

  “It must’ve been,” Hannah said. “But… why?”

  “I guess I was angry,” I said, trying to retrace my thoughts and coming up mostly empty. “I wanted to show them they couldn’t mess with me. I must have stormed back to the Briar party and put my name down.”