Academy of Magic Collection

by Angelique S Anderson et al.

  Sebastian stares into my face, earnest. His eyes are the ocean, everchanging, and right now, they remind me of the pieces of green sea glass I’d find at the beach as a kid—opaque and worn but endearing, nonetheless. I wonder if this is how he looked as a child—the gentle little boy from before things went wrong, from the days when his parents were happy and a butterscotch candy was just a butterscotch candy.

  “You really mean that, don’t you?” I whisper.

  He puts his arm around me, and I lean my head on his shoulder. “Are you implying that my glorious take-down of my uncle’s first Butler wasn’t enough to prove it?” he teases.

  I giggle. “I’m not so sure it was a take-down, but if you say so.”

  We’re interrupted by a rhythmic thumping making its way toward us. Crutches. I look up and see Kash’s heart-shaped, worry-creased face peering around the curtain that shields us from passersby.

  “Oh, Bee, I’m so sorry,” she bursts when our eyes meet. “I wanted to tell you everything, but I was so afraid.”

  As she steps closer, I see her ankle is hurt again, encased in a plastic, protective boot this time. After the way Jupiter forced her to dance, I’m not surprised.

  “It’s not your fault, Kash,” I reassure her, reaching out to take her hand. She balances her crutch beneath her armpit to meet me halfway. “Jupiter Raventhorne lied and manipulated you—and it doesn’t sound like you were his first. I’m sorry you had to go through that alone. I wish I’d been there for you.”

  She nods and tries to smile. “Thanks, Bee …”

  “So, do I even want to know what happened there?” I ask, pointing down at her boot. It’s hard to miss, a sort of elephant in the room.

  “I aggravated the sprain and broke a couple of toes, but it’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be fine.” Kash sighs then and looks down at her damaged foot. “Although it does seem like I’ll be out of the dance recital for sure now—and will be wearing the finest in orthopedic footwear to graduation.”

  “Graduation,” I groan. I wash my hand over my face as if I could wipe away the terrible reminder. “I’m not a Muse anymore. I won’t be graduating now. I don’t know what I’m going to tell my grandma …”

  “You don’t have to tell her anything …”

  It’s my grandmother, crowding into the tiny space. I knew there was a possibility she’d show up here to help the Board of Nine, and it seems she has. For a moment, I gape, staring at the face I know so well. Her wavy hair may be cut shorter than mine—not to mention dyed lighter, to hide her grays—but our eyes are the same, and so are our hearts. Like Jupiter Raventhorne said, she and I are alike.

  “Oh, Bianca, my darling girl,” she murmurs, crossing toward me.

  Sebastian stands to let her take his place beside me. She immediately wraps her arms around me. I close my eyes and breathe in her gardenia perfume, imagining we’re someplace else—that we’re home.

  “Your parents are on the train from Westchester as we speak,” my grandma tells me. “They’ll be here as soon as they can, too … Are you hurt? They told me you aren’t hurt. Is that true?”

  “No, I’m not hurt,” I whisper. I pull away, putting distance between us before she can. After everything that’s happened, I don’t think I can bear to feel her body tense and cringe when I tell her the truth. “But I’m not a Muse anymore. Clio drained my powers to reverse the prediction in her Lost Scroll. She said the stars ordained it … I let the family down.”

  There is no tension or cringing, though. My grandmother just reaches for my hands and squeezes. “I already know about your lost powers, Bianca, and you haven’t disappointed me. You never have—and never could.”

  I look down at the tops of her hands. They’re more spotted and wrinkled than they used to be, but they’re just as warm and twice as soft. “But I’m the last Harper, and I’m not a Muse. Everyone expected so much from me.”

  She shakes her head and chuckles, dismissing my fears like they’re nothing—trifling concerns, the same as picking out a color to wear or what to have for lunch. “And you’ve surpassed all our expectations, Bee. You always have, trust me. You’re a fine young woman—kind and smart and caring. An excellent granddaughter, daughter, and—I suspect—friend.” She pauses at that last part and glances up at Sebastian and Kash, urging them to nod to prove her point.

  “It’s true, Bee,” Kash says.

  “There, see?” my grandma tells me. “All you’ve ever had to be is yourself. We’re so proud of you, Muse or not. You don’t need a Brightling diploma for me to know you’re special.”

  The warmth of her hands seems to spread up my arms, across my chest, and into my heart, melting away the icy knot of fear pounding beneath my ribs. Finally, I can smile. Finally, I can breathe.

  “That reminds me,” I say as I look up at Sebastian. “You said Mundanes are already scrubbing graffiti off the buildings, right?”

  He nods.

  My pulse quickens. Clio told me to dream … Was that a hint? Is it possible she could have …?

  “Gram, when the Mundanes attacked the academy, where was the Board of Nine?” I ask her quickly, practically shaking her hand in my building excitement.

  She seems taken aback, unsure what to make of my question. “Well, they stood among the turrets. They had to scatter Jupiter’s ravens before they could inspire the Mundanes to stop attacking.”

  I gasp and choke on a laugh. I knew it. I felt it. It’s true. And the other scenes I saw—those, too, will come to pass someday. While I marvel to myself, Kash, Sebastian, and my grandmother exchange confused glances.

  “Bianca, darling, maybe you should lie down,” my grandma says, patting the mattress behind my back. “You’ve been through a great trauma—maybe the stress has been too much.”

  But I shake my head. “You don’t understand … I Saw it—I know what happened,” I tell her, my words gushing forth like the fountains that will someday be rebuilt at Brambleton. “Clio took one power away from me, but she gave me something else. I think … I think I’m a Seer now.”

  My grandmother’s eyes widen with surprise, but then she grins and nods approvingly. Her shoulders straighten, and she takes a deep breath, swelling with pride. “My granddaughter, the Seer,” she says softly, as if testing out the phrase and finding it satisfactory. “I could get used to that.”

  And by the pleased, peaceful expression on her face, I believe she could—and already has.

  I look up at Sebastian next. “I may not be able to graduate from Brightling, but maybe there’s a special school for Seers I could look into …?”

  “A school for Seers?” Sebastian repeats. He crosses his arms over his chest, and his mouth broadens into that familiar half-smile. “I may just happen to know of one.”

  Also By Amanda Marin

  THE CRIMSON SASH SERIES

  North to Nara

  Sky to Sea (coming January 2020)

  Flicker to Fire (coming August 2020)

  Acknowledgments

  My sister, Emily, once made an offhand comment about the existence of “man muses.” Little did she know the can of worms she’d open with those words—what started as an inside joke ended up planting the seeds for this story. Thanks, Emily!

  I am also grateful to the amazing team at Enchanted Quill Press. Thank you for working so hard to bring these fantastic box sets to life—and for including me in the journey on this one!

  And, of course, many thanks to you, reader. I truly hope you’ve enjoyed reading Bianca’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  About the Author

  When Amanda was a child, her father traveled frequently for business, always bringing back a book as a present for her. Whether she was getting lost in the pages of a tale about far-away knights, girls with supernatural powers, or kindly giants, she was quickly hooked on stories.

  Nowadays, Amanda writes books of her own. She holds degrees in English from Salve Regina University and Boston College, and she currently works
in marketing. Her favorite things include Starbucks lattes, lazy summer afternoons at the beach, and stories with characters that make you go “awww.” She lives in New Hampshire with her family and furbaby, Snickers the Poodle.

  Stay in touch!

  Website: www.amandamarinwrites.com

  Facebook: amandamarinwrites

  Instagram and Twitter: amarinwrites

  Get access to additional news, bonus content, giveaways, and more by signing up for periodic updates from Amanda Marin: https://bit.ly/2HOVnGj

  An Academy Witch by Ashley McLeo

  Chapter One

  “It’s over, Diana.”

  Suddenly, the fuzzy clouds I’d been gazing at while the May morning slipped by came into sharp focus. I blinked and shook my head to clear it before turning to my boyfriend.

  Jackson was staring intently at the ground and ripping out clumps of grass. He didn’t look like he’d said anything at all. Had I been on the verge of dozing and dreamed it up?

  I twisted to lay on my stomach and perched on my elbows, trying to get my bearings. “Did you say something?” I reached out to stroke his arm, but he pulled away.

  “I said the time has come for us to break up.”

  My heart stuttered. “Excuse me?” The pitch of my voice sounded high, almost frantic. I cleared my throat. “Are you serious right now?”

  Jackson nodded, his eyes still on the ground as he pulled grass out of the dirt like his life depended on it.

  Oh no, he didn’t.

  I shot up from the blanket we’d been lounging on, and a dozen people turned to stare as I crossed my arms over my chest. No longer were the newly minted second years enjoying their precious days off before their upcoming summer internships. No, they were all staring at me, probably wondering what was happening.

  Well, here’s their answer.

  I flipped my thick, blonde hair over my shoulder. “You’re breaking up with me?” I didn’t bother to lower my voice. If Jackson wanted to be an idiot, I wanted everyone to know it. “You realize that I’m too good for you, not the other way around, right?”

  A few people sniggered. Jackson shot them a death glare before finally meeting my eyes. “I can see how most people would think that. You’re the headmistress’ daughter and a shoo-in for the next initiate class, but that doesn’t change my decision.” His tone strengthened as he spoke.

  Pain radiated through my heart, but I couldn’t let him see that. I lifted my chin a touch and placed my hands on my hips, asserting dominance just like Mother had taught me. “I demand to know why.”

  Jackson remained sitting on the blanket, although his spine had straightened, projecting that he wasn’t as relaxed as he let on. “I’ll be starting my internship in a few days. It’s in Chicago, and then I go home for the rest of the break. I won’t be returning to Spellcasters until July and I’ll be way too busy to even call during my internship.”

  “That’s not a reason to break up! People are apart for two months all the time. It doesn’t mean that they throw away their relationships. Cut the crap and tell me the truth, Jackson.”

  His jaw tightened, and he stood so we were face-to-face and squared his broad shoulders. “Fine. I’m breaking up with you because you’ll be attending Spellcasters soon. And you of all people know that Grind and Crucible year students do not date initiates.”

  My mouth fell open. What the shit?

  I stared at him. He’d pulled himself together and was no longer shrinking beneath my gaze, but something still wasn’t right.

  Then I spotted it. Jackson’s tongue was drawing a small circle on the inside of his cheek. It was a tic that always gave him away when he lied. One that even Spellcasters hadn’t been able to train out of him yet. His mother had pointed the tell out when we met at the Yule celebration. Since then, I’d noticed the tic many times when Jackson tried to get extensions on deadlines that he’d procrastinated.

  I shook my head. “I still don’t believe you. The only reason upperclassmen don’t date initiates is because they aren’t sure they will be around at the end of their Culling year.” I arched an eyebrow. “At least half of the recent Grind and Crucible students thought the same thing about you when you began your first year.”

  Jackson winced, and although my heart was slowly breaking, I suspected that I’d just cut him even deeper than he could possibly cut me. After all, Jackson had grown up coddled. Whereas I was the daughter of Headmistress Pricilla Wake—a woman some students referred to as the battle-ax behind her back.

  And I wasn’t done yet.

  “Are you saying that I, the one student to apply to Spellcasters Spy Academy in the last fifty years who actually grew up at this damn school, won’t make it through the Culling year? I’ve been training for the entry exams for over a year, Jackson. And when I get into Spellcasters you can bet your ass that I’ll study even harder to ensure that I excel. ” My voice rose with every word. If anyone hadn’t been watching us before, I was sure that they were watching now.

  Jackson extended his hand, as if to take mine and console me, but I batted it away. I didn’t want his pity.

  “You’re just too weak to tell me how you really feel,” I said. “No surprise there. I’m not even a student yet and I could probably hex the hell out of you.”

  Jackson’s chin wobbled, and at that moment I couldn’t understand why I had been so attracted to him. For the first time since he’d shown up at the academy, I saw the handsome rich boy I’d given my heart to as he really was: A weakling who needed way too much help from me to get through his first year of spy school.

  He seemed to catch himself, and all the muscles in his body tensed. “There’s no need to be nasty, Diana—”

  I stuck my palm in Jackson’s face, unwilling to hear whatever he had to say. Hadn’t he done enough? Judging by my irregular heartbeat, I thought so. Thank goodness I’d taken acting at my fancy human high school. Otherwise, I’d probably be sniveling, and allowing him to pat me on the back. The last thing I wanted was to look weak.

  “Actually, Jax, I can see that you’re doing me a favor.” I shook my head and looked him up and down like he was something gross that the cat had dragged in. “You’re right, we don’t belong together. What would people think if I was still with you and earned the head junior spymaster position at the end of my Culling year? It would be a bit of an embarrassment, wouldn’t it? Students of that caliber deserve partners who can keep up.” I began to turn, but Jackson reached out and grasped my wrist, stopping me.

  “Yeah, right.” His words had taken on a hard edge that he sometimes exhibited when he was embarrassed. “You won’t find anyone as good as me. What did you call me, again? A hotter, younger Brad Pitt?”

  I froze. Although my back faced him, I could picture the smarmy look on his face as he threw my words back at me.

  “Not many people like an ice queen,” he continued, his voice morphing into a malicious whisper. “Or someone who needs to compete all the time. You were lucky that I found you charming. I doubt anyone else—”

  I yanked my wrist from his grasp as I spun around and thrust my hands forward. Purple magic flew from my palms, tossing Jackson through the air. He landed twenty feet away, flat on his back, and groaned.

  Tears began to prick in my eyes, blurring my reasoning as well as my vision. I searched for something to say but a lump was rising in my throat and I didn’t want to risk releasing a sob. So I settled for flipping him the bird before marching across the academy lawn. As I strode toward my tower—my sanctuary—I was intensely aware of the dozens of voyeuristic eyes watching me every step of the way.

  Chapter Two

  Three days had passed since Jackson broke up with me, and despite my bravado and sass during the actual event, depression had finally settled in.

  Like, hard.

  “Here you go, love.” Miss Iris, the owner of Potions and Pastries Café and one of my favorite people in Wandstown, set a glass of champagne on my table.

  I ar
ched an eyebrow. Witches were more lax about alcohol than regular humans, and Wandstown residents were no exception, but I knew one witch who didn’t approve of underage drinking.

  Miss Iris chuckled as she sat across from me and pushed her long brown hair back over her right shoulder. “I know your mother doesn’t appreciate a good glass of bubbly, but seeing as it’s your eighteenth birthday, I think you deserve to celebrate.” She extended her hand and laid it over mine. “Plus, sometimes bubbly soothes the heart.”

  I sighed. “Am I that obvious?”

  She pulled the flower-pattern curtains that hung in her window all the way to the side. The spring sunshine poured in, dappling her cheery café with light. Even though I felt glum, I had to admit that the ambiance lifted my spirits a bit.

  “No, love. You’ve always been a stoic one, even when you were a wee thing. It’s hard to tell when you’re in pain,” Miss Iris answered. “But a new grad was in here a couple days ago yammering about your breakup. Frankly, I can’t believe that the boy had the balls to see it through just before your birthday!” She shook her head and tutted. “Some men are real pieces of work. Believe me, I would know, I’ve dated plenty of them.”

  She paused, as if assessing what to say next, and then leaned across the small, circular table and patted my hand. “The next time that boy comes in, I’ll make sure he’s aware of how to treat a lady—or else.”

  Miss Iris mimed cutting Jackson’s throat. The action was so out of character for the café owner—who had such an abhorrence to violence that she couldn’t even hurt spiders, which she despised—that I had to laugh.