Her brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “There’s the smile I wanted to see.”
I looked at the fluted glass. My mother would be pissed if she saw me drinking champagne. She didn’t even really approve of the bartending workshop put on by Professor Medulla every academic year. However, after all these years as Headmistress, she couldn’t deny it was useful for spies to know their drink, so she grudgingly allowed it.
I twirled the delicate stem of the glass between my fingers. What Mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “Thanks, Miss Iris.”
She patted my shoulder. “It’ll be alright, love. There are many fish in the sea. No need to limit yourself to the boys at the academy. I made the mistake of falling for wannabe spies far too often when my dear ole dad was the headmaster.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a wonder daddykins didn’t expel half the initiates during my senior year of high school. To say I was not subtle with my flirting would be an understatement.” She gave me a sly smile.
“I heard he was majorly protective, just like Mother.”
Miss Iris nodded. “Your mother pales in comparison. My guess is that Daddy only put up with all the flirting because he knew so many hunky, bad boy shifters attended my high school. Heaven forbid his daughter fall for the one sect of magicals my father doesn’t particularly like—the old relic.”
I chuckled at the thought of a younger Miss Iris making her way through the students at Spellcasters. We’d both been raised at the academy, albeit decades apart. Still, between growing up at the academy and having prestigious parents in the espionage field, we shared many similar experiences. Although, I had to admit that dating around wasn’t really one I could relate to. While Miss Iris liked to serial date, that wasn’t my cup of tea. “I don’t think I have to worry about bad boys falling all over me. I’m far less charming than you.”
Miss Iris’ eyes crinkled at the corners. “Consider yourself lucky, love. And don’t worry about Jackson. Someone else will come around and make that boy look like a speck of dirt on your shoe.” She pursed her lips in an annoyed expression. “I don’t care if it is a tradition for the Grind and Crucible year students to ignore the Culling year until after Imbolc—that boy has got to be one of the stupidest ones alive. It’s a miracle that they admitted him to the academy.”
I snorted. “I second that.”
A table across the café called for Miss Iris. She stood and gave me one more consoling rub on the shoulder before scurrying off and seeing to them.
My eyes fell to the books I’d borrowed from the academy library. I’d spread them out in front of me, a decoy for what I’d really come to Potions and Pastries to do.
Which was sulk in peace.
As the headmistress’ daughter people at the academy always seemed to know too much of my business. While most of them wanted to help, I just wanted to be alone and outside the family suite. After a few days of sequestering myself in there, I had needed to get out, and the café had been the most welcoming option.
I swirled my champagne as the questions I’d been asking myself for days began playing in my mind once more, like a broken record.
Had Jackson been using me to bolster his chances of ranking as junior spymaster for his Grind year? Did he really think of me as an ice queen? Was he into that perfect brunette I sometimes saw him studying with? Had he even liked me at all?
The last question hurt the most. Growing up in a college for spies meant that my mother had always been very protective of me. I hadn’t had many friends and those I did have were strictly regulated.
Jackson had been my first boyfriend, and likely Mother wouldn’t even have allowed our relationship to progress if he’d been of normal age for a first-year student. But as luck would have it, Jackson had skipped sixth grade and we were both seventeen when we started dating. Perfectly legal, so mother had approved—albeit as long as I adhered to a strict curfew.
I sighed. I hated not knowing the answers. Although I did take some solace in knowing that if Jackson had been using me for a better ranking, he hadn’t succeeded in earning the coveted position of junior spymaster for the next Grind year. Honestly, I doubted that he’d even get sorcerer spy, the middle level, when everyone else in his class learned their rank next term. He’d have to settle for emissary spy because, despite my help in studying, his magic lacked.
A bell chimed, interrupting my musings. Right in my line of sight, the door to Potions and Pastries Café opened, and a massive, muscular man with a five o’clock shadow and deep-set eyes stalked inside. He paused just past the threshold of the room, his eyes sweeping left, then right, assessing everything in a manner that reminded me of my mother. Then he seemed to catch sight of what he was looking for and plowed forward with predator-like intensity.
A shifter of some sort. One who likes to be totally aware of his surroundings. Maybe he’s part of the Society of Spies?
It wasn’t unusual for shifter spies to come to Wandstown for missions that necessitated more than one type of magical. I’d spotted dozens visiting over the years and they were always easy to recognize. Unless they were bird-shifters, they were always crazy muscular and seemed to prowl when they walked. Up close I could sense the primal energies coming off of them. And this guy’s vibrations were especially strong.
I was just wondering what sort of shifter he was when he marched toward where Miss Iris stood facing the computer, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and began kissing her neck like he wanted to eat her.
She let out a surprised squeal, which morphed into delighted giggles and playful bats for him to step back when she realized who it was.
Heat rose in my cheeks. I’d heard she had a new boyfriend, one from out of town. While Miss Iris having a new boyfriend wasn’t unusual, this guy seemed different from her usual taste. He was too . . . gruff for the cheerful café owner. And he was clearly very forward.
And a shifter.
Daddykins definitely doesn’t know about this guy. He’d have a conniption.
Miss Iris let out another squeal. Hearing the happy sound caused my eyes to cloud with tears. Although I was glad she was happy—her last relationship had sucked—I couldn’t handle seeing such romance at that moment. Jackson had been my first real boyfriend, the guy I’d given everything to, and just seeing people kiss was enough to make me feel like I’d never find that again.
I had to get out of the café.
So I scooped the books into my bag, gulped down the rest of my champagne, and slipped out the door.
Odds and ends Mother had requested that I pick up in town jostled in my bike basket as I rode home. The celebratory glass of champagne bubbled through my veins with each pump of the pedal. While I’d be lying if I said I had forgotten about Jackson, I had to admit, Miss Iris had been on the money.
Memo to self: If anyone breaks up with you three days before your birthday, champagne is necessary.
I turned left at the academy’s drive, whispered the password, and waited for the haze of blue magic—my mother’s magic—to allow me entry. Once the blue cloud retreated, the towering iron gates cracked right down the middle of the prophetess, the academy’s insignia, and creaked open. While I waited for the gates to part enough for me to slip through, I gazed down the green drive. Most of Spellcasters Spy Academy’s driveway was treed, although if one looked past all the foliage, they would catch brilliant blue flashes of the lake, the gold spires that decorated Merlin Amphitheater, and the wildflower-dotted lawn on which my mother and I sometimes played croquet.
Also known as the lawn on which Jackson broke my heart. I scowled at the unwanted thought and pushed it away as I began pedaling down the drive.
Five minutes later the trees broke and the academy, my home since I was five, came into view. As always, the stained glass window situated over the massive double doors caught my eye first. It was as large as the Rose Window of Notre Dame and just as beautiful in its portrayal of dense woodland in all shades of green.
I waved to the
gargoyles sitting atop the buttresses, their stone visages contrasting with the blue tops of the towers they guarded. As a girl I’d named the statues—all forty-six. Henry and Heidi had always been my favorite, mainly because they sat outside my bedroom window.
I biked around the corner of the academy to the academics’ tower and hopped off my ride. Leaning the bike against the building, I grabbed the bags of groceries and toiletries Mother had requested and entered through an ivy-concealed side door. Nine flights of stairs later, I reached the top of the tower and stood before my family suite. I was a tiny bit winded from the extra weight I carried up the stairs but otherwise felt strong. It was a good sign. All my working out was going to pay off during the Spellcasters entrance exams next week.
“Diana Wake,” I said, and the door swung open at the sound of my voice. My family suite expanded before me, all gleaming dark woods, rich brown leathers, and navy colored furnishings of Mother’s choosing. Passing through the sitting room and into the kitchen I set to work, putting away the groceries and then laying out the exquisite handmade toiletries my mother favored on the table. I was not allowed in her private bath, not even to put stuff away for her. Once, long ago I’d dared to push that boundary—never again.
One glance at the clock told me that I’d stayed in Wandstown longer than I’d expected. It was already past our normal six o’clock dinner hour.
Mother wasn’t home, but that was shrug-worthy, even on my birthday. It wasn’t unlike her to work late. After all, running an elite spy school was not an easy task, and like all things she committed to, my mother took it seriously. But she had mentioned celebrating, so I knew she’d be home—eventually. And while I’d developed a great deal of patience and could wait for her to arrive, my hunger definitely could not.
I’d recently learned that many people my age didn’t know how to cook for themselves. It was a concept that I found preposterous. My parents were busy with their careers, so I’d learned how to prepare a meal long ago. And if I didn’t want to do that I could always go down to the academy cafeteria and pick something up. Today, however, I didn’t dare with the latter option.
Even though the students were gone for the summer, I wouldn’t put it past the entire staff to ask about Jackson. And I didn’t want to deal with that crap. I opted for a simple meal of charcuterie and sat down with a cup of tea to drive away the lingering haze of champagne. After I finished my meal Mother still hadn’t shown up, so I took a risk and snuck into her personal library, grabbed two of her forbidden tomes, and tiptoed into my room.
The first leather-bound volume was a relatively small book of incantations that I’d stumbled across two weeks before. Most of the spells after page ten were way too advanced for someone at my level. Still, that didn’t stop me from looking and enjoying the scent of sage and something unnamable but enticing that the book gave off. I flipped all the way to the middle of the book and stopped on a harmless incantation meant for summoning items that I’d tried once before without any luck.
Might as well give it another try, I thought glancing about the room for an object to summon.
I decided upon a small, hollow globe that my father had bought me on our family trip to Paris last year. It was just light enough that weight wouldn’t be an issue if I got the spell to work.
Squinting in concentration I extended my hands and imagined the object flying toward me. “Voco!”
As it had the one other time I’d tried the incantation, the globe stayed firmly put. I loosed a frustrated breath and tried again. And again. And again. After the fifth time, I gave up. Something about this spell was still beyond me, which was annoying but not unfathomable—I supposed.
I took a seat and opted for a change of pace. Cracking open the thick spine of an advanced potion text, I sighed happily. This was Crucible year stuff, material I would not learn until my third term at Spellcasters—at least not officially. Unbeknownst to Mother, I’d been sneaking peeks at this particular potions book every chance I got for the last six months.
Potions fascinated me. It was akin to the chemistry that I had learned in the fancy human high school I’d attended but way more interesting. The discipline explained how things came together; it made things that seemed impossible happen; and there was a potion for nearly any problem. I sometimes dreamed that after my spying days were over, I’d return to Spellcasters and become Potions Master.
But when I took in the page I’d opened the book to, my heart stuttered and a sliver of fear sliced through my joy.
A necromancy potion.
This potion, among a few others, was one that would cause Mother to bust a gasket if she caught me reading it. But even that formidable threat wasn’t enough to stop me from devouring the page, step by step.
Holy crap! This one calls for cured pixie or elven blood! Where the hell does someone get th—
The door to my room burst open, and Mother flew inside, her face red and chocolate brown hair flying out of her neat bun.
I leapt from my chair and positioned myself in front of the books. “Mother! You scared me!”
“Pack an overnight bag, Diana. We must go.” Mother’s chest heaved as she forced out each word.
My heart began to race, but I didn’t move a muscle. I couldn’t risk her noticing the forbidden tomes just behind me. “Why? What’s going on?”
Mother was halfway out the door when she stopped dead in her tracks.
“It’s your father. Something’s happened.” Her voice broke at the end, a rare sign of emotion that made my heart launch into my throat. “Now, hurry and do as I say. We must go to him immediately.” With that she strode out of the room, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
Chapter Three
Portraits of ex-spymasters flashed by as Mother and I ran down the corridors of Spellcasters.
“Where are we going?” I gestured to the door that led to where our car was parked.
“We don’t have time for driving—or even flying,” Mother replied. “I’ve informed Professor Tittelbaum of the situation. He’ll be delivering us to a suburb of Boston.”
As my father was a sorcerer spy, and had sustained an injury while on duty for the government, it wasn’t likely he would be seen at a normal hospital. The PIA, or Paranormal Intelligence Agency, usually took supernatural spies to other supernatural medical providers. Specifically, Spellcasters alumni who could handle gruesome injuries and wouldn’t ask too many questions.
“Who lives there?”
“Your father is in the care of the Wardwell family.”
That family’s information popped into my head, and my eyebrows knitted together. “But they’re an active spy family based in Connecticut, right?”
“Yes, but this is a different branch. They’re not legacies.”
I considered that perplexing information as we burst into Alice Kyteler Hall. Professor Tittelbaum was already waiting for us in the center of the large room, lines of concern creasing his thin face.
“Did you receive the photos?” Mother barked.
My eyes widened. Mother was notoriously tough on students to prepare them for the rough and tumble world of espionage outside the academy. However, she always treated her staff with the utmost respect and rarely raised her voice toward them. And definitely not to Professor Tittelbaum. His magical talents and good-nature made him an incredibly valuable professor.
But the professor seemed to anticipate her anxiety and took her tone in stride. “John Wardwell sent many. I should have no problem getting you there.”
I exhaled a breath that I hadn’t realized I had been holding. Professor Tittelbaum was a warper, a rare and talented breed of witches who could transport a person from one place to another in a second. Some master warpers were even able to transport people through time. Professor Tittelbaum did not possess that skill, but he was still an excellent warper, able to teleport people to sites he had not personally seen by using just a photograph.
“Let’s get moving then,” Mother instru
cted.
Professor Tittelbaum closed his eyes and I noticed that his hands were shaking. My stomach clenched at the sight.
I’d seen the professor create warpholes at least three other times during his employment at the academy. Never before had he looked so shaken. A lump formed in my throat. Is he reacting like this because he knows what happened to Father?
Before I could spiral into an abyss of worry, there was a burst of energy that blew my hair back. Suddenly, a warphole, black in the middle and bright white around the edges, swirled open in front of us. “Shall I keep it open while you’re at the Wardwells, Headmistress?” the professor asked, straightening his round-framed glasses.
“No. Mr. Wake likely won’t be making it back tonight. We’ll drive home as soon as possible. Until then, Professor, you’re in charge.” My mother grabbed my hand and without another word we stepped through the warphole.
Stifling heat engulfed me and was followed by a sensation of walking through a steam room. And then, not two seconds later, we emerged on the other side of the warphole into an arid space smelling strongly of astringent and coffee. I swayed on the spot, a bit disoriented after the change in temperature and the barrage of strong, discordant scents.
“Headmistress Wake!” A woman with long black hair and vibrant blue eyes appeared at my mother’s side. She wiped her hands on a towel before tucking it into a thick canvas apron. “That was a speedy arrival. Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Alice Wardwell. My son and husband are seeing to Mr. Wake now.”
My mother took Alice’s hand and gave it a perfunctory shake. “Show us to him.”
It appeared that we hadn’t landed in an actual healer’s office but an entryway to a home. I took in our surroundings keenly as Alice led us through the large house, a habit Mother had instilled in me. No matter where I went, I always knew the direction of the nearest exit and windows, should I need to leave quickly.
As we marched through the home, one particular door caught my eye. It bore a handmade sign that proclaimed it was Alexander’s room. Tennis rackets surrounded Alexander’s name and for some reason the sight of such a normal object slowed my racing heart slightly. I took my first full belly breath since leaving Spellcasters.
Academy of Magic Collection Page 98