“I agree with you about there being no demon here,” Jaxon says, “but...this is something I don’t have experience with. This is way beyond any student. You really need help from someone higher up.”
“Who?” I ask. “I don’t know anyone in the witch world besides who I’ve met here at school. And I don’t think I should talk to too many people here about it because I don’t want it to get back to Ms. Brewster.”
“What about my mom?” he asks. “She’s an elder, and very powerful. I would trust her.”
“No disrespect, but I don’t know her.”
“Well, you’re going to have that same problem with all elders. You don’t know any of them.”
I sigh. He’s right about that. Aunt Nellie is the only elder I know outside the school, and I only met her today and spoke to her for a few moments. I don’t really know her either. I have no allies outside of my little circle of friends.
“So what should I do?”
“Keep all this to yourself for now,” he says. “If anyone else hears about this, they’re going to jump to the wrong conclusions fast.”
That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time.
“And until you find an elder to help you,” he continues, “I don’t know what to say about your experiences with...ghost Giselle.”
“Do you think there is anything we can do in the meantime?”
“CW, CE…” he says, referencing the cryptic paper. “The only lead we have would be Duncan Stewart. Though, I have no idea how any of this is connected.”
“Me neither, but this is what Giselle was working on when she died. I can’t help but think there’s a connection.”
“Fine,” he says with a nod, pushing back to his feet. “We keep an eye on Mr. Stewart, but I don’t know what we’ll be looking for.”
“Just keep an eye out. Learn what we can. We already caught him trying to burn the notebook. We just need more evidence that he’s up to no good.”
“That’s right,” Jaxon says, nodding as though he’s starting to put together the same pieces I already have. “He was trying to burn the notebook. There had to be something in there he didn’t want anyone to find out. It was all about the statues, right?”
I nod.
“Weird, though. Who would care about those old things?”
“I guess that’s what we have to find out.”
Jaxon then stretches and yawns. “Yikes, I need to hit the hay. Try to get some rest. Maybe things will make more sense in the morning.”
“Good idea.” Without thinking, I lean in and give him a hug.
I pull away quickly with a smile, trying to convey that the hug was just between friends, but at the same time...it felt nice.
“Night,” Jaxon says as he leaves and shuts the door behind him, and I’m glad he’s gone before my emotions get the better of me.
Chapter 21
After filling Ivy and Krista in on the plan to keep an eye on Mr. Stewart, I spend all my time between classes watching him from a distance. The teachers don’t have a terribly heavy teaching load—each one only teaches two or three classes a day—but they have office hours, mentor times, and they need time to study their own arts and plan for classes. All the other teachers always seem busy, rushing here and there, and students always have to make an appointment or text them to meet up for anything outside of class. But Mr. Stewart spends a lot of time in his office. And hardly anyone just drops by to chat with him or get extra help. It seems like students only visit his office when they absolutely have to.
“What do ye want?” he asks one of the other Craig witch students who stopped into his office as I just happen to be standing nearby. I’m not near enough to be noticed, but close enough that the voices from the office carry on a breeze.
“Umm...I’m just worried about the upcoming fire test,” the guy says, his voice shaking a little.
“Ye’ll do fine.”
“But I can hardly control a candle flame, much less conjure fire out of midair.”
“That sounds like a conjuring problem,” Mr. Stewart says. “Not a fire witch one.”
“Yeah,” the guy says. “I went to Ms. Boucher first, hoping she could help me. But she said my conjuring skills in other areas are fine, so I should talk to—”
Mr. Stewart scoffs. “Ms. Boucher…” he grumbles. “Fine, here.” There’s a loud thump. “Flame and Spark: The Art of Fire. Read it.”
The guy opens the hefty tome and flips through some of the pages. “And then what?”
Mr. Stewart sighs. “And then what what?”
“Umm...and then...should we practice or something? How is this going to help me pass the test?”
“Look, if ye cannae pass the test after reading this, I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to help ye.”
“Okay.” The guys sounds utterly dejected. “Thank you for your time, sir.”
Mr. Stewart only grunts in response. The guy leaves the room, the book too big to even fit into his bag. There’s no way he’s going to be able to read that by the end of the semester, much less be able to digest the book down into something that will be able to help him.
No wonder no one comes to Mr. Stewart for help—he doesn’t really give any.
As I pass by his office and head toward the main stairwell, I pause. I can smell the same sickly sweet scent on the air that I smelled when Giselle died. I look around, wondering if Giselle’s ghost is stalking me, but I don’t see anything. As I look up at the carved sigil over the stairs, and I watch as everyone else uses the stairs without tripping, I can’t help but back away slowly.
I head to the old servant staircase to go to the next floor where I happen to have a class with Mr. Stewart. I want to make sure I’m not late. Even though I’m pretty much tailing the guy, I want to stay as far off his radar as possible.
I slip into the class, find my seat, and have my book and papers ready before he walks in.
“All right,” Mr. Stewart says as he walks into the class, “when I call yer name, come up and get yer papers from yesterday.”
When I get my paper, I’m probably the only person glad to see a bright, shiny C+ staring back at me. In my old life, I was a straight-A student, but now I'm so overwhelmed that as long as I’m passing all my classes, I’m happy.
I sit back in my chair and realize that he only called the names of about half the students. Some of the students who didn’t get their papers back begin whispering to each other in worried voices.
Finally, one daring young lady raises her hand. “Umm...Mr. Stewart, I didn’t get my paper back.”
“Oh?” he asks sarcastically. “Maybe that’s because my eyes were so offended by the pure blatherskite ye submitted I couldn’t bear to finish looking at it.”
Everyone goes so silent, I don’t think anyone is even breathing.
“That’s right,” Mr. Stewart says. “If I didn’t give ye a paper back, it’s because it was so bad I set it on fire to torment the devil himself with.”
One person snorts a laugh, and then a few other chuckles follow suit.
“Ye think this is funny, Mr. Chester?” Mr. Stewart asks, singling out the snorter. “Then why don’t ye get the hell out of here before I toss ye out on yer worthless arse.”
“But...I didn’t—”
“Get the hell out of my classroom!” Mr. Stewart roars as he throws a book across the room toward the student, who quickly grabs his bag and flees the room. “Anyone else want to get smart?”
We all sit, stock still and quiet as church mice.
“That’s what I thought,” Mr. Stewart says after an agonizing minute. “Now, if ye failed the paper, stay after class for an additional quiz over the readings to make up the points.”
“But I have—” one of the girls starts to say, but a quick look from Mr. Stewart, and her mouth clamps shut.
“As for everyone else,” Mr. Stewart continues, “the quiz will be extra credit, so if ye need the points...Ms. Whittaker...I advise ye to stay as wel
l.”
My cheeks burn red, and I slink down into my seat. I can’t believe that calling students out over their grades in public can possibly be legal, not to mention simply good teaching. Everyone is demoralized and embarrassed. Even people who passed the paper and don’t need extra credit don’t seem to appreciate the fact that they are doing well being pointed out. As a former cheerleader, I know that peer envy can be a brutal thing.
Mr. Stewart gets out his book and starts on the day’s lecture as if he didn’t just admit to setting student papers on fire and cuss a student out the door.
With a temper like that, I have to wonder if Mr. Stewart just lost his temper with Giselle and pushed her down the stairs. But that would be impossible since witches can’t kill. And if he had killed her, he should have lost his powers. Though, I haven’t seen him use his powers since...well, ever. And when Ivy, Krista, Jaxon, and I found him burning Giselle’s notebook in the hedge, he seemed to have a hard time getting the fire under control once Krista made it flare up. We all assumed that, after we left, he used his powers to douse the flames. But what if he didn’t? What if he only used mundane means?
After class ends and I stay for the quiz, which I surely bombed, I nearly burst out of the room to try and find Ivy. She’s the best at reading people. If anyone knows how to check if Mr. Stewart still has his powers, it’s her.
“Ms. Whittaker,” Ms. Brewster says as I rush past her.
“Sorry!” I say, thinking that she is chiding me for running in the hall.
“Please follow me.” She heads down the hall toward her office.
I gulp as I follow her. I guess she actually wants to talk to me about something.
“Please, sit.” She motions to a chair at her desk as she closes the door behind me. Then she moves to her own chair and looks at some papers spread out before her. “First, I must commend you on the progress you have made since coming here. Your work is...well, average, shall we say. But considering the significant learning curve you have had to overcome, average is still more than I had expected. Congratulations.”
“Thanks…” I say. Her compliment sounds backhanded, but I try to give her the benefit of the doubt. I did have a steep learning curve, and she didn’t want to admit me at all. The fact that I’m catching up and holding pace with my classmates is something I should be proud of.
“I think we got off to a difficult start,” she says as she straightens the papers and pushes them aside, then folds her hands in front of her. “This whole year has been a challenge, though you wouldn’t know that since you arrived so late.”
I stay quiet. I wouldn’t know anything about difficulties facing the school.
“Enrollment is down,” she goes on. “People are not seeing the value in honing their powers. Some people think they can educate their children better at home. The audacity.”
“Mortal parents often distrust schools too,” I say.
“Exactly,” Ms. Brewster says. “It’s as though the foolishness of mortals is influencing witch society.”
“I can only hope they see the error of their ways before it is too late,” I say to appease her.
Ms. Brewster nods. “You must know that I truly want you to succeed,” she says, leaning forward. “You might think I was pushing you too hard, as if I were trying to force you to leave. But I had a feeling you were not the sort of girl who gives up. I knew you could do it. And look at you…”
She smiles, and there are crinkles around her eyes, the only thing belying her possible great age. “I’ve heard you are the person most likely to complete the potion for the Soul of Loss. Three out of four items? Won’t that be exciting when you put every other student—and me—to shame when you finally complete it."
“Oh no,” I say. “I don’t want to shame anyone. I just want to be your mentee. The chance to learn from you directly, Ms. Brewster? That would be life-changing!”
She barks a small laugh. “Yes, I suppose it would be in your case. I was only thinking it would give some lucky student a bit of a step up. But for you… Yes, I can think of no one here at the school more in need of such an education. Or so worthy.”
My heart races as she showers such unexpected praise upon me. I’ve been working so hard, feeling so overwhelmed. I’m grateful she’s noticing my hard work in spite of my middling grades.
Her words feel genuine. There’s no sense of duplicity or lies hidden behind her words the way I often sensed them in Mama. I’m starting to think that coming here was the right choice after all.
“However,” she continues.
I gulp. Why did there have to be a but?
“There is one area of concern. Giselle.”
“Oh?” I can’t help but say.
“Giselle’s death was a terrible tragedy. Such a sudden blow to not just all of us here at La Voisin, but throughout witch society.”
I nod. I hadn’t really considered that, but I haven’t had any contact with witch society outside of La Voisin, so I have no idea what their larger conversations or concerns are.
“I’m afraid I terribly misspoke before,” Ms. Brewster continues. “When Giselle’s parents said they wanted to know what happened to their daughter, they simply meant how such a tragedy could occur in what should be the safest place for their child to be. As do I! But the truth is, this world is a dangerous place, and accidents happen. Giselle’s death was a tragic accident, and I never should have burdened you with insinuations otherwise. I apologize for any anxiety my words may have caused you.”
An adult—the most powerful witch of all witch-kind—is apologizing to me. My words hitch in my throat. Even my own mother never apologized for the shit she put me through over the years. She always saw herself as a victim just as much as, or even more than, me. I nearly choke as I try to accept the apology.
“Th-thank you,” I say. “That means a lot.”
“Well,” Ms. Brewster says, sitting back, “I don’t want you to get bogged down or distracted by things beyond your abilities or control. Your studies are flourishing, child. Stay focused, and you just might surprise us all.”
I nod, but now I feel...something. A hint of warning behind her words. She either knows—or at least suspects—I’ve been spending time investigating Giselle’s death. Does she know I have the notebook? That I’ve been deciphering the weird code? That there’s a ghost trying to get me to help her?
She couldn’t possibly know any of that. And if she did, why would she put me off from trying to learn the truth?
As she continues to smile, all I see is a concerned principal who knows I’ve been distracted lately. She needs me to focus.
“I understand,” I say. “There’s just been so much going on. So many things. So much to learn. Not to mention making friends and learning about witch society. It’s like I walked through that mirror in my room into a whole new world.”
“In a way, you did,” Ms. Brewster says. “Living among mundanes is exceptionally hard for young witches. You mother simply couldn’t guide or prepare you for this life. You need us. And I’m beginning to suspect that we need you as well. Every witch is a valuable member of the La Voisin family.”
“Thanks,” I say, a warm fuzzy feeling tickling inside.
Ms. Brewster stands and holds out her hand to shake mine. “Good luck, Madison. And do stop by if you need anything.”
I shake her hand and give her an appreciative smile. “Thanks again.”
I turn, and the door opens automatically. As I walk through the doorway, I see Ms. Brewster nod as the door then closes on its own.
I shake my head. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to use magic so casually.
“Hey,” Ivy says, rushing up to me. “I heard you were looking for me. What’s up?”
Oh, right. I had been looking for her. But after that talk with Ms. Brewster, I’m not sure if I should keep up with this investigation. I really need to study.
“I...I had a thought about Mr. Stewart,” I say. “But never mind. I’m sure i
t’s nothing.”
“What thought?” Ivy presses as she follows me down the hall.
“Just...what if someone killed Giselle and lost his powers and we just didn’t notice because he didn’t use them very often?”
“You mean could Mr. Stewart have lost his powers and we didn’t even realize it?” she asks.
“Is that possible or just crazy?”
When she doesn’t answer, I stop walking and turn to face her. She’s stopped walking to.
Ivy crosses her arms. “It’s a bit out there, but I suppose it’s possible. I mean, I’ve never met anyone who was stripped of their powers. I always assumed they would then feel like a mundane or a mortal. But I suppose they could simply register as a very low-powered witch.”
“Would you be able to sense if Mr. Stewart lost his powers?” I ask.
“I’d have to do a rather in-depth reading. Get...rather close and personal. But yes, it is possible.”
“Get close to him?” I shake my head. “Forget it. I don’t want to risk getting caught.”
“Well, why don’t we put it on the bottom of the list of things to try,” she says. “Look, I’ve got to go. Talk to you later?”
I nod, and she trots off. I go to my next class and try to focus, trying to push away all thoughts of ghosts and murders as far away from my head as possible.
But it doesn’t work. Something’s going on around here, and as dangerous as I sense it is to get involved, I can’t walk away from this without answers.
Chapter 22
Lightning flashes and thunder crashes and water lashes at my window. The terrible storm wakes me with a start. It’s been a long time since I’ve been afraid during a thunderstorm, but this is the first thunderstorm I’ve experienced since Beau was killed. I’m not going to get any more sleep tonight as long as the wind continues to howl.
I sit up in bed, my back against the wall, and I pull my knees to my chest. The light from my phone lights up the room as I first check the time—two forty-five a.m.—and then check the weather.
Curse of Stone (Academy of the Damned Book 1) Page 20