Other students snicker. I fail to see the humor in my question.
Ms. Boucher sighs. “I’m not sure that it did much,” she says. “After all, our power, our strength, our beliefs, come from Hecate herself. The first witch. The wild woman of Greek mythology. How could any other belief system improve upon that?”
At that, I throw up in my mouth a little, but, thankfully, the bell rings over the house-wide intercom system.
Ms. Bucher smiles. “On Wednesday, why don’t we skip ahead to the next chapter and talk more about our Greek roots.”
I put my book into my bag slowly so I can be the last person out of the room. I don’t want to have to push past any of the other students to leave. They are still looking at me, murmuring to each other and snickering.
Why did they think anything I said was funny?
Then again, this is a first year class, so everyone here is younger than me. They probably think I’m stupid.
I take my time, trying to give Ms. Boucher a chance to leave as well, but she seems to be waiting for me.
“Ms. Whittaker,” she finally says when we are alone, “as the Grier coven elder, Ms. Brewster has tasked me with helping you catch up in the development of your air powers.”
My face goes hot. After that awkward discussion, I am not looking forward to having to spend more time with her anytime soon.
But I smile and say, “That’s great… What’s Grier Coven?”
“All air witches are part of Grier Coven,” she reminds me. “We are all descended from Liberty Craig, one of the women who came over on the Mayflower.”
“Right,” I say. “I’ve been here a day, and so much information is being tossed at me. The other covens were what?”
“Water witches are in Brewster Coven,” she says. “Earth witches are Glenn Coven. And Fire witches are Craig Coven.”
I repeat all this to myself, but I know I won’t remember until I write it down and go back over it a few times. “And there are only four covens?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says through pressed lips, nodding her head. “Anyway, perhaps tomorrow we can meet, and you can show me what you can do. I can come up with a plan from there.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “Thanks.”
“Of course,” she says. She hesitates, but then she continues. “Those were good questions you asked today. Are you part Native American?”
I shake my head. I want to tell her about Beau, but that is still a part of my life I need to keep to myself. “In Oklahoma, there’s a strong Native American presence. I had some good friends who were Cherokee.”
“That’s wonderful,” she says. “I do love history. That’s why I teach it. I know it is far more complicated than can be distilled down into a textbook. If you would be interested in writing a paper on the Native American influences on European magic, we could use it to help you pass this class.”
“Oh gosh,” I say, sighing in relief. “That would be amazing.”
“We can talk more about research methods and your paper’s angle later in the week,” Ms. Boucher said. “How does that sound?”
“Great!” I’m actually so excited, I can hardly contain myself. I nearly trip over my own feet as we make our way to the door. “I can’t wait to get started.”
Ms. Boucher smiles and turns down the hall, her hair fluttering in her own personal breeze and a sweet scent on the air.
I head to the common area so I can pull out my schedule and see where I need to go next. The common area is a large parlor toward the front of the house with lots of chairs, tables, bookshelves, a TV, and a fireplace. The TV is one of the few in the house, so it’s usually tuned into a news station when it isn’t reserved by someone to watch a popular TV show or a new movie.
When I see that the TV is set to a national news program and the reporter is talking in front of my house, my heart leaps into my chest . The volume is low. No one seems to be paying attention. I tune my ears into the frequency of the reporter’s voice.
“The funeral for Turkey Hollow’s star player will be held today,” the man says. “Local community leaders and tribal elders from across the country are reported to be in attendance. One person mysteriously absent for the last couple of days, though, is the player’s girlfriend, Turkey Hollow High cheerleader Madison Whittaker.”
I totally panic. I use a small gust of wind to try and turn the TV to another channel, but the wind is stronger than I anticipate and I end up knocking the TV from the wall entirely. It smashes to the floor and shatters.
“Damn, what?” a boy shouts as he jumps out of the way just before being hit by the falling TV.
“Did it just leap to its death?” one of his friends says with a laugh.
But one by one, as everyone looks around to try and figure out what happened, their eyes fall on me, and I wonder if I have a big “my fault” sign on my forehead because somehow everyone seems to know I knocked the TV down even though I am on the other side of the room.
“Sorry,” I say with an awkward smile. “I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”
“Oh my God!” Giselle says as she walks into the room. She crosses her arms and sticks out her signature hip. “What the hell? You idiots know I have a permanent reservation on Monday to watch my shows.”
Of course, no one is about to defend me. The stupid noob who can’t control her own powers. Giselle sees me and scoffs.
“It would be you,” she says, shaking her head. “What’s your problem?”
“It was an accident,” I say, trying to play like it’s no big deal.
“An accident?” she asks. “You could have killed someone. You just killed my whole day. What are you even doing here anyway?”
“Chill out. I’m just going to class.”
“No, what are you doing here at all?” she clarifies, signalling to the La Voisin school around us. “You don’t belong here. Practically a mundane. No, worse. A mortal. This school isn’t for you. You are so far out of your league.”
“Umm, yeah,” I say. “It’s a school. I’m here to learn. Just like you.”
“Ha!” she says, walking past me and into the room. “You wish you were like me. But you aren’t good enough to lick the fairy dust off my heels.”
I glance down at Giselle’s shoes. She always wears the tallest, pointiest heels, even if she’s wearing jeans. I shake my head, not wanting to continue this dumb exchange. I pick up my bag and walk out.
“That’s right,” Giselle calls. “Run, Okie girl. See ya’ in my room later.”
I stop at her calling me “Okie,” an insulting term for someone from Oklahoma. Worse than calling someone trailer trash. I turn back to her.
“That’s Oklahoman to you,” I say through gritted teeth.
This only makes everyone laugh more.
“Whatever, honkey,” Giselle says, flopping down onto a couch facing the broken TV. “Or should I say turkey? You speak poultry right? Gobble-gobble!”
Everyone breaks out into laughter, and my face burns so hot that it feels like someone is holding a flame to my ears. I have no idea how she found out where I am from, but I’m suddenly terrified she knows exactly who I am.
How long before everyone knows I killed my boyfriend?
Of course, my name and face have been all over the news. Anyone with a smartphone could find out about me easily.
I run out of the common area, my body shaking. I need to get away from here, far enough that I can’t still hear the laughter. Holding back tears, I push past other students and try to get to the door, but it feels so crowded all of a sudden.
I turn down a hallway I haven’t explored yet and see a door at the end of it to the outside. I run out and up some stone steps. The lawn is so much larger behind the house. Some distance away looms a wooded area, so I head toward it. I just need to get away, breathe in some fresh air.
Once I reach the area, however, I realize it’s not wooded. Just...overgrown. Like an old stone pavilion with a wrought-iron decorative ceiling.
I step up into it and am amazed at the size. There’s lots of room here. The walls and ground are covered with moss. I leave footprints in the moss, but there are no signs that anyone else has been here.
Damn. How is that even possible?
The pavilion is a little damp from yesterday’s rain, but it’s a great little place to get away. I step deeper inside and gasp when I nearly run into a statue.
Maybe I shouldn’t go any deeper. I tug my jacket around my neck. The statues around here are so creepy. Still, I don’t want to go back to the school yet, so I step closer to explore a little more.
There are two pedestals here, but only one has a statue on it. And unlike a lot of the statues outside, this one is not clawing to get away. He’s just standing there, with a sad, thoughtful expression on his face. I look down to see if there is a name on the pedestal, but there isn’t. What is the deal with the statues anyway? I keep forgetting to ask about them.
I sit on the empty pedestal and take a few breaths of clean air to clear my head. I need to stop letting Giselle get under my skin. Why would I care if she’s mocking me for being from Oklahoma? I am from Oklahoma, and proud of it! I’m a Turkey Hollow turkey!
But who am I kidding? I know I’m a joke to these people. A hillbilly. An ineffectual witch. And soon they are all going to know I’m a killer.
I pull out my phone and tap in my name. Dozens of articles and videos pop up. I click on one of the videos.
“It is now believed that Madison Whittaker, the victim’s girlfriend, has gone into hiding,” says a female reporter in a bright pink blazer. “She has not been seen in days and was noticeably absent from the funeral. The house has been empty since yesterday, when this video of a known drug dealer was taken yesterday morning.”
The video moves to a shot of Mama’s friend Mac trying to leave the house before they knew there were reporters outside. Then, a picture of me and Beau pops up on the screen, and I have to stifle a sob.
“But why Madison has disappeared, no one seems to know. The police ruled Redbird’s death an accident. But is there more to the story?”
I shut off the phone.
“More than you can even imagine,” I mumble, stuffing it into my pocket. I grip the edges of the pedestal and dig the toe of my shoe into the moss on the ground. I look up at the mystery statue and see him looking back at me. “It’s nice here,” I tell him. “Quiet. Peaceful. I can see why you wouldn’t be clambering to get away. I’d like to stay here a while too.”
I guess I have lost my mind, since I’m talking to a statue. But it’s not like I have a lot of other people I can talk to. At least not freely.
“Madison!” I hear someone call.
I cuss, grab my bag, and start to run out of the grotto, but I cast one last glance at the statue. I’m such a dope! I almost feel the urge to apologize for running off. I get myself together and take off, exiting the grotto to run across the yard toward Jaxon.
“Hey!” I say when I reach him.
“Hey,” he says. “I heard you went out the back after some confrontation with Giselle. And you smashed the TV? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say, heading to the house.
“What were you doing?” he asks, looking at the grotto. “Is there something out there?”
“No, nothing,” I lie. After the run-in with Giselle, and having to room with her, I just need a place to myself where I can get away. “I was just getting some fresh air.”
And as crazy as it sounds, there’s something more, too. Some tugging I feel toward the status, and floating, sparking sensation whenever I’m near it. Even an urge to keep other people away from it. Including Jaxon.
Besides, I’m not about to tell anyone I felt a connection to a freaking statue. The last thing I need to do is give them another reason to mock me.
Chapter 8
“A witch’s powers are innate,” Ms. Boucher tells me as we stand in the yard across from each other. Jaxon is standing a few feet away, nervously chewing his thumb. “But it is sort of like how everyone is born with the ability to play basketball or a musical instrument. We don’t walk out of the womb dribbling a ball. If you want to play well, you have to practice. The only difference is that not everyone is born with the ability to wield magic. But for those of us who are, wonderful things can happen.”
Ms. Boucher waves her hands over her head, and a brisk wind rushes around us. At first, I think that is all she is doing, but then the sky darkens. As I look up, I see clouds forming in what was only moments ago a clear sky.
“Are...are you really doing that?” I ask.
“I can do much more,” she says, and one of the clouds floats down to hover just above the ground. Ms. Boucher touches the cloud, and it turns black as night. Lightning strikes from it, releasing a boom of thunder so loud I have to cover my ears. Then, the cloud starts to rain.
“Geez,” I mumble as she then causes the cloud to create a small cyclone. She breathes out into the cloud, and the temperature drops quickly. The rain turns to snow.
“Touch it,” she tells me. I step forward and cup the snow into my hands. The flakes are so soft they float away as I toss them into the sky.
Ms. Boucher waves her arms again, and the cloud starts to dissipate. It gathers around her and lifts her into the air. She floats above us, and my jaw drops. When she lands gracefully on the ground again, I can’t help but break out into applause.
“That was amazing!” I say.
“Oh.” She chuckles, blushing, and gives a small bow. “It has been a long time since someone was impressed by what I can do.”
“No way,” I say. “Everyone must be amazed by what elders like you can do.”
“Not exactly,” she says. “For people raised in witch families, all of this is familiar. I may be the oldest Grier witch, which is why I am the coven elder, but there are Grier Legacies more powerful than I am.”
“What’s a Legacy?” I ask.
“People with direct family lines going back to the Mayflower,” Jaxon says. “So people with the last names Brewster, Glenn, Craig, and Grier.”
I nod. So, Ms. Brewster is a Clan Elder and a Legacy. No wonder she is the head of the school. She must be the most powerful witch out there.
“And that was just a demonstration of my air element powers,” Ms. Boucher says. “There are other powers we all have access to through spells and rituals, regardless of element.”
“Can you...actually control a storm?” I ask Ms. Boucher. “Like stop a tornado?”
She nods, though it seems to make her a little uncomfortable. “I can. But we all must be careful not to interfere too much with the natural order. Tornados, wildfires, tsunamis… They all have their place in nature.”
“But if you can save lives,” I say, “why wouldn’t you? Like, if you could stop a tornado from destroying a town, killing people, ruining their lives, don’t we have a duty to step in?”
“Do you know how many witches have lost their own lives after using their powers to save a mortal?” Jaxon asks. “Almost every witch hysteria in history started when some witch revealed herself after saving the life of a mortal.”
I shrug. I know what he’s saying is true. I’ve read through more of the school’s history book. And even mortal histories of witches, and assumed witches, often talk about witches using their “powers” for healing or something before being discovered and executed. Isn’t that what happened to the slave Tituba, which set off the Salem witch trials? She used her powers to protect one of the townswomen from evil, then that woman turned around and accused Tituba of witchcraft.
This seems to be a sore spot for Jaxon. Maybe for people raised as witches, they are taught more about the very real dangers of detection. Maybe people in his family tree were executed. I get it.
Still, I can’t help but wish I could have done something to save Beau. Even if it meant revealing to him that I was a witch, it would have been worth it. I’m sure Beau would have kept my secret. H
e would have done anything to protect me. He never would have hurt me. But how can I explain that to Jaxon?
“Well,” Ms. Boucher says. “Why don’t you show me what you can do, Madison?”
She steps back to give me space.
“Umm…” I chuckle, a little embarrassed. I’ve never used my powers for an audience before. Well, I did in front of my mama and grandma before, but not people I barely know. And rarely on demand. Usually there is an emotional reason for me to use my powers.
Ms. Boucher points across the yard to a branch that fell from a tree. “Can you pick that up from here?”
I nod and turn to face the branch. Actually, I can do a lot more than that. Yet, for some reason, I don’t feel like I should show her my full strength. Ms. Brewster said that my powers would be weak at best. What would she think if she knew just how strong I was? Would she be afraid? Angry? What does it mean that my powers are so much more than weak? I’m not sure I’m ready to learn the answers to these questions yet. I am only just now learning about witches. I need to take it slow.
I exhale, and my breath mingles with the air to form a stiff breeze. The branch shakes a little and then flips over. I look at Ms. Boucher, and she and Jaxon are sharing a glance.
“Good,” Ms. Boucher says. “Can you do a little more? Lift it into the air?”
I strengthen the breeze, causing the branch to roll across the yard.
“Now, bring it back,” Ms. Boucher says.
I am momentarily flustered at the new command. I tug the wind back suddenly, but I pull a bit too hard and the branch flies toward us. I duck with a cuss, and Ms. Boucher leans out of the way. But Jaxon reaches up and practically plucks the branch out of midair as it zooms past him, keeping it from going through a nearby window.
“Whoa!” I say, jumping to my feet and running to him. “I’m so sorry! How did you do that?”
“Sometimes our powers kind of overlap,” he says. “You use wind to cause a branch to levitate. But as an earth witch, I can control the movements of the branch itself.”
Curse of Stone (Academy of the Damned Book 1) Page 7