“Hey,” Julieta says quietly. Gently. As though trying to use a single word to show me the compassion she feels.
“Hey,” I echo back. I peek out the door to make sure Mama is still busy, then I shut and lock it. “You were still asleep when your mom drove me home. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. “Just a bump to the head. I told Papa that only chocolate ice cream could make me feel better. So I’m in bed with a big bowl of belgian chocolate ice cream, watching Springer.”
I check out the window. The reporters are still there, but they look super bored. Most have retreated into their vehicles instead of standing vigilantly in the street.
“How are you?” she asks.
“As well as can be expected.”
“Can you come over?” she asks. “Mama won’t let me leave the house, but I’m sure you need to talk.” She pauses before adding, “I heard what happened. I’m so, so sorry.”
I sink onto the bed, unsure of how to reply. Talking to Julieta would help, I’m sure. It usually does if I’m going through something. But I need to get out of here. Get to La Voisin.
“I...I’m okay,” I say. “I mean...I don’t know. How is someone supposed to feel after their boyfriend dies? I don’t know what normal is right now.”
“I’m sure that whatever you are feeling is totally normal,” Julieta says. “This isn’t something you could ever prepare for, and everyone reacts differently to...to...”
“Death?” I say, and her silence confirms it. A few tears well up again, but I wipe them away. “That’s true,” I say. “Thanks.”
“Papa says he can come get you,” Julieta offers. “Mama is making tamales. Have you eaten?”
The smell of bacon and eggs wafts up the stairs and makes me a little nauseous. “I haven’t been hungry. But no, don’t send your dad. There are reporters camped outside. I don’t want to get you involved.”
Julieta puts her hand over the phone. Whatever she says next is muffled, perhaps intended for someone in the room with her.
“Mama wants to know if Ms. Whittaker is okay,” she says when she gets back to me.
“She’s fine,” I say. “She’s cooking breakfast.”
Julieta relays the message for me. “Mama insists you come over. Papa says he will bring a bat in case the reporters get too close.”
I chuckle. “No, really. I...I just called to tell you that I’m going to go away for a while.”
“What?” she asks, and I can almost hear her jump to her feet. “Where are you going?”
“To see friends,” I say. “I just need to get away. Mama is driving me crazy, and the reporters. I just need some time…”
“You’ve been through something terrible,” Julieta says. “But you aren’t alone. You don’t need to run away. You can come here. Really.”
I nod as I think about all the times the Hernandez family has been there for me. Taken care of me. But this time, I need to help myself.
“Thanks,” I say. “But it’s okay. I’m not running away. Mama knows where I’m going. It’s a place where people can help me.”
“Like...a support group or something?” Julieta offers.
“Something like that. Something for people who have the same...problem...I do.”
“I...I guess you know best what you need,” Julieta says, and I can hear the dejection in her voice.
She’s been through a lot, too. She nearly died, her friend did die, and now her best friend is leaving. I wish I could tell her more. Calm her fears. Heck, I wish I could take her with me. But I can’t. She has a loving and supportive family. I can hear them fussing over her in the background. She doesn’t need me as much as I need La Voisin.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just...need to go.”
“Okay,” she says. “But stay in contact, at least through text, okay? Or else I’ll worry.”
“I promise,” I say. “I’ll message you later.”
“Okay. See ya’.”
“Bye,” I say and end the call. I need to get going. I wouldn’t put it past Mr. Hernandez to come over anyway, just to make sure everything is okay. I pull on a jacket and stuff my phone in my pocket. I grab notebooks and pens and put them in the bag, too, and then think if there is anything else I need.
My eyes fall on a framed picture on my desk of me and Beau. It’s from the homecoming dance just a few months ago. I wore a long green dress that complemented my eyes. It was shimmery with a gold belt. A white and pink corsage circle my wrist. Beau had given it to me when he picked me up on his motorcycle. He wore a simple black suit, and he had two red feathers tied in his long hair. His pocket kerchief and vest were in a native tribal pattern. He was so proud of his Cherokee heritage.
I put the picture in the bag and zip it closed. I loop the strap over my shoulder and face the mirror, taking a deep breath. I touch the mirror and open my mouth to say the words to open the portal, but my throat goes dry and the words fail to come.
Can I really do this? Run away? Leave Mama here alone? What if something happens to her and I’m not here?
I can’t leave without saying anything. But I can’t talk to her to her face. She won’t let me leave.
I go to my desk and grab a paper and pen.
I’ve gone to La Voisin, I write. Don’t try to stop me. Don’t come after me. Get help. Get sober. Go to rehab. Once you’re clean, we’ll talk.
I nod to myself, proud that, for once, I’m not taking responsibility for her actions. I have to put me first.
“Maddie!” Mama calls up the stairs.
My heart freezes. How did she know?
“Breakfast is ready.”
“Okay!” I call back, hoping my nerves don’t register in my voice. “Be right down.”
There’s a knock at the front door. I rush to my bedroom window to see who it is. The reporters are all gathering excitedly around Officer Jordan’s police cruiser. They have their cameras and microphones ready.
“Maddie!” Mom calls again.
I cuss and rush to the mirror. I need to get out of here.
“Take me to La Voisin. This is my new start,” I say as I touch the mirror. The mirror ripples like water, and the school appears behind the hedgerow.
“Maddie!” Mom yells more forcefully, and her footsteps start thudding up the stairs.
I take a deep breath and step through the mirror.
I fall and hit the ground harder than I expected. I’m facedown on the wet grass, and wet droplets plop on the back of my head. Rain. I push myself to my knees, and the muddy ground soaks through my pants.
“Nothing like a New England spring,” I quip to no one.
But seriously, it’s so dark! Like, the cloud cover is so thick, it’s like night. Thunder rumbles in the distance. I stand and pull up the hood of my jacket. I retrieve my phone from my pocket and check the time. The phone updates for the new timezone, but it’s only an hour later here, making it about eleven in the morning.
I look left and right. I’m outside the hedgerow. I thought the mirror would lead me closer, like to the front door. Or even inside the building. But I’m outside the school grounds. I pull out the pamphlet and look at the picture of the school. There should be a front gate, so I follow the hedge to find it.
The hedge is so thick and tall, I can’t see the school from here. The branches are in full bloom with bright green new leaves, but thorns pierce out from the branches as well. Something shuffles, and the leaves shake.
Probably a squirrel. Right?
The hedge finally ends, revealing a sidewalk and a street ahead of me. I turn right, where the hedge turns into a wrought-iron fence with huge spikes on the top. A yellow warning sign tells me the fence is electrified, so I keep my hands to myself. I look through the fence at the school, the old Gothic house standing tall and menacing with several spires shooting up into the sky. There are lights coming from inside, giving it a strange feeling of warmth. The lawn around the house is neatly trimmed, with various decorative pl
ants and life-sized statues dotted around.
I get to the gate and am relieved to find an intercom. I press the green button.
“Hello,” I say. “I’m Madison Whittaker. I...I’m supposed to be a student here.”
“What do you mean supposed to be?” a voice on the other end asks. The connection is a little staticky, so I can’t tell how old she is.
“Umm...I was supposed to enroll when I turned fifteen, but I didn’t,” I try to explain. “But I’m here now. I need help.”
For a long time, the other person doesn’t reply. I stomp my feet to try and get some warmth back in my legs. The rain is still coming down. It’s not heavy, but it’s constant, and I’m already drenched. I’m about to hit the button again when the other person finally responds.
“If you belong here,” she says, “prove it.”
“What?” I ask.
“Find a way through the hedge,” she says, and I swear I hear someone snickering in the background.
“You must be joking,” I say. “Come on, just open the gate. I’m freezing.”
“If you can’t do it, you must not belong here,” the voice says. “Byeeeeee!” she sing-songs, and the intercom goes dead.
Grunting, I stomp my foot in annoyance. Haven’t I been through enough? Once I reach for the gate, I can feel the electricity running through it before my fingers make contact. The sign is no joke.
I look up at the spikes along the top of the fence. I know that some air witches can use currents of wind to fly, but I’m not there yet. I’ve tried. If there is anything cool about being a witch, flying would be it.
As I wander down the sidewalk back toward the hedgerow, I look up at the house; there are more lights on now than before. Have people come to watch me? To see if I can do it? Is this some sort of hazing ritual?
I raise my chin and walk determinedly to the hedge. I’ve come this far. What’s a few bushes?
I pull my jacket belt tight around my waist and tie my hood closed as well. I shorten the strap of my bag so it sits tight against my back instead of dangling by my side. Upon inspection of the hedge, I find there are no less dense areas to try and crawl through. There are thorns and brambles everywhere.
When I reach in and try to part the branches, something pierces my skin. I wince and pull my hand back. Blood drips from my fingers. I gasp and step back, remembering the blood on my hands the night before. But I blink and the blood is gone, the rain having washed it away. Beau’s blood. The reason I am here. So I never accidentally hurt another person again.
I grunt and screw up my face. I can do this. I will do this. They want me to go through the hedge? Oh, I’ll go through the hedge.
I call upon the wind to create a protective pocket of air, like I did on the football field, circling it around me. I step forward, and the wind moves with me, pushing the hedge out of my path. I step into the hedge.
Suddenly, the wind stops. The branches and vines and thorns snap shut on me, scratching and clawing at me. I scream and drop down, holding my arms up to protect my face. I cuss up a storm.
What the hell just happened? I should have been able to hold the air pocket longer than that. But I can feel...something in the air. Something I can only describe as heavy. Tight. Squeezing in on me.
There is magic here. Someone else, someone much stronger than me, is influencing the air in this place. Compared to the magic already here, my powers are useless. Which makes sense, I suppose. Everyone here at the school is going to be stronger than me. They all have the advantage of having studied. And, of course, they would want to protect their home from outsiders.
At least I have made some progress.
I lower my arms and lift my head. The brambles are not quite as thick here as they were on the edge, but I’m still going to get hurt.
Well, no pain, no gain. Right? I pull my bag around and use it as a shield to push my way through the hedge.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch,” I say as the thorns scrape my arms. But I am at least moving forward. I’ve taken several steps, and I think I can see through the hedge to the other side when my foot slips on a patch of mud and I stumble to the ground, hitting my head on something hard.
“Dammit!” I scream. “Why is this so hard?”
I try to push myself up, but my hand finds the rock my head hit. Only, it’s not a rock. It’s totally smooth. I brush the leaves away and see a shoe. I gasp, thinking there is a person in front of me.
“Who’s there?” I ask.
A streak of lightning illuminates the sky.
The shoe doesn’t belong to a person.
It’s a statue.
A statue like the ones I saw on the school’s lawn.
I stand and look at the horrifying sculpture. The mouth is open in a silent scream, and the hands are clawing forward, as if he is trying to get away from something. I shudder and step away. No wonder they let the hedge grow over it.
This part of the hedge is more like a dense forest. The brambles are not so thick and the thorns are gone. I look around and see another statue a short distance away. As the lightning flashes again, I see another statue still farther away yet.
A dark, unsettling chill seeps deep into my bones.
Something about this isn’t right.
I turn to make my way back to the school, but I’m not sure which direction I should be going. The forest is thick, and I can’t tell where I’ve come from or where I should be going.
A twig snaps behind me. I turn, but I see nothing. Probably just a squirrel again...right?
Except I don’t think squirrels growl like whatever is growling behind me.
I take off at a run, and the creature heaves heavy breaths as it runs behind me as well. Pushing the leaves and branches out of my way, I desperately try to find my way out and to the school. More snarls echo around me, and something like a howl.
How many of them are there, and what are they?
I duck under a low branch and then scream as a thorn scratches my cheek.
Oh crap! I’m back in the brambles.
I went the wrong way, the creature is right behind me, and I’m going to die.
Chapter 5
I turn to face whatever is coming after me and can’t help but cry out.
There are at least three of them, but I can see some dark shadows and glowing eyes in the distance, so there could be more. The ones I can see clearly are unlike anything I have ever seen before: four-legged dog-like beasts, but not like normal dogs. They have fur, but also feathers and wings. They are unnatural colors...red, blue, and green. One is the most dog-like, with its scruffy fur hackled up. Another is larger with fangs more like a wolf, in fur of red and black. Its eyes also glow red with a wild ferocity. The third is more lion-like, with large paws and a cat-like maw. Instead of a mane, though, it has a ring of blue feathers around its head that extend down its back into wings.
“Nice...nice doggies,” I say, trying not to move too quickly.
My soaked hair drips water into my eyes, making it even harder to see, but I don’t reach up to wipe my face for fear of what the creatures might do. The animals creep closer, growling, baring their fangs. Why haven’t they attacked me yet? Not that I’m not grateful to still be alive, but I wish I knew what was stopping them and if whatever it was could be used to my advantage to get away.
Gathering my wits, I open my hands and pull the wind protectively around me. The air moves quickly, rustling the fur of the creatures, and they start to grunt and bark. They step toward me more aggressively, as though they know the change in the air is coming from me...and they don’t like it.
One of the beasts, farther away than I can see, lets out a howl, which seems to signal to the other creatures to attack. They lunge forward, but I increase the wind speed and send it toward the beasts instead of around myself.
My magical wind pushes the beasts back. They strain against the wind, but they cannot make any progress toward me, which only seems to make them angrier.
The strain of the effort wears on me. I’m growing tired. I can’t hold them back forever, but I can see no way through the hedge. I have bought myself some time, but I have no idea what to do with it.
As I try to hold them back, my body gives out, and I fall to my knees. The beasts inch forward as the wind weakens.
“Stay...back!” I yell.
But it’s not enough. The wind stops, and the beasts leap for me. I hold up my arms in a futile attempt to protect myself.
A thick green barrier appears in front of me, as if the bushes have formed a protective wall. The creatures smack into it and whimper. Then they grunt and pant as they try to paw through it.
To the left of me, the brambles move away, creating a clear path out of the hedgerow, and a young man walks down the path toward me.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches me. “Need some help?”
I want to say something witty. Not that I’m a particularly witty person, but I know this would be a great time for a pithy quip. But my brain fails me. And I am in need of help, so I just nod.
“Thanks,” I say.
He extends a hand toward me. “Come on. Let’s get you dry.”
I take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet. He is tall and blond with warm hands. He looks so at ease in a leather jacket and white T-shirt, like that bad boy from the old movies. The one who died young. James Dean, that’s it.
He tugs me toward the school, but I hesitate.
“I...I guess I failed the test,” I say, and I remove my hand from his and squeeze the strap of my bag. “I couldn’t make it through the hedge.”
He scoffs. “That’s just Giselle being a bitch.”
“Giselle?”
“Yeah, thinks she’s the bee’s knees because she’s a Durant,” he says.
“I don’t know what that means,” I say with a nervous chuckle.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll meet her.”
That still doesn’t answer my question, but before I can press further, he turns to head toward the house.
Curse of Stone (Academy of the Damned Book 1) Page 4