Wilde Magic

by K M Charron

  "Come to the Potions Room immediately. And come alone!" The voice inside her head commanded, its intensity making her body go rigid and her balance waiver. She steadied herself against the stone wall.

  Sydney hurried back to the tables, folded her robe, packed up her implements and grimoire, and placed them into her family’s compartment.

  The walk to her mother had Sydney pass the library, meditation, armory, Elemental training, and healing rooms. Stopping at the door, she attempted to collect herself. Perhaps if she could explain her poor performance, she’d receive some mercy.

  A voice called out making Sydney buckle. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get in here!"

  Shaky legs rushed her inside. The Potions Room was even colder than the rest of the Nest, necessary for keeping elaborate alchemical properties intact. Colorful tapestries adorned one wall, while shelves holding various tinctures, potions, and elixir-creating ingredients lined the other three. In the center of the imposing room were four tables used for concocting whatever the desired spell or curse required since some incantations needed the additional power of a potion.

  "I do not like to be kept waiting, yet you continue to make me do just that." Sydney’s mother stood tall with her hands on her hips. She was wearing rose-colored silk, which made her look all the lovelier, even if her nostrils flared.

  Syd remained in the archway.

  Her mother raised a finger, motioning for Sydney to step closer.

  Against the warning voice in her head––this time her own––she moved, holding her breath. She remained mute, knowing she should only speak when spoken to under the circumstances.

  "There must be something you’d like to say for yourself? Something that would make me less embarrassed to be High Priestess in the very coven you are apprenticing." She stared down her delicate, pointed nose at Sydney who didn’t know if she could find her voice. "Did you forget the conversation we had in the car? Do you not think I am serious?"

  "Um, I…"

  Her mother raised her palm. "Stop. Try again. Um is not acceptable for a witch of your lineage. A Lockwood is sure and confident in the words she speaks." She relaxed her arms, tilting her head as if to signal her readiness for Sydney to continue.

  "I apologize, Mother. I believed I’d prepared sufficiently, but I allowed my nerves to get the better of me.” She started to feel herself get wound up. Maybe it’s the added pressure of knowing you’d actually send me away or the electric shocks! Did you know a consequence was being added?" Of course, she knew. She was the High Priestess. It was probably her idea. Was she deliberately making the testing harder so she could send Sydney away? Her stomach turned.

  "The Masters held a conference and decided that this group of apprentices needed a bit more…incentive."

  Syd saw the gleam in her mother’s eyes and refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing Sydney's anxiety any longer. She steadied herself and allowed resentment to coat her words. "I’ll work harder." The scents of sage, rosemary, and eucalyptus were mixed in the air and made her woozy.

  A thin smile crept upon her mother’s lips. "You better get used to pressure and find some way to manage it. The year’s testings will only progress in difficulty and that’s not even considering the years to follow." She laughed suddenly. Coldly. "Tonight you moved some pottery on a tabletop." Her mother lifted slightly off the ground, her laced boots dangling, an inch of air beneath them, as she closed the distance, stopping a foot from Syd. "How are you going to fare when the challenges grow more difficult? When you have to reach into another witch’s mind or body? When you have to stare down a friend and fight?" She spat the word. "Are you capable of that?"

  Sydney forced her eyes to remain locked on her mother’s despite her urge to hang her head in shame, which would be far more intolerable to her mother. "I understand, but it wasn’t just me, the others—" A powerful blow sent Sydney back, the wind forced from her lungs, her legs swinging up into the air. She gasped, landing with a light thud on a tabletop, her fingers gripping the edge to stop her momentum.

  Her mother remained in her spot, now across the room. "Do not speak to me of others. My only concern is with my daughter. You represent this family and therefore me, and you will see to it that you do better if you hope to find any prestigious place within this coven. Or perhaps you are content with mediocrity.”

  Sydney regained her breath and pulled her back straight. With her chin held high, Sydney spoke through gritted teeth, "I will earn my place here. You will be proud to call me your daughter. I swear it."

  "See that you do." Her mother waved her hand, dismissing her. "Or I’ll have no choice but to have a plane ticket with your name on it. One way."

  Sydney’s blood boiled, a tell-tale sign that she should storm off before she did or said something her mother would make her regret.

  She straightened before fleeing, a fire in her belly so hot that it made her fists clench. It wasn’t until she was far down the hallway that the anger softened and a dull ache nestled inside her chest, leaving her overwhelmed with heartbreak.

  Ainsley

  Chapter 17

  The shock from Ainsley’s dad’s video—of his claim that five girls were victims—must have been all over her face because she could sense Harper looking at her for the third time.

  There was no way she could do this here in front of her. Ainsley closed the laptop and popped her earbuds out.

  "Oh, good, you’re finished. I hope whatever was on there was helpful, or at least made you feel a bit better.”

  Ainsley readjusted the pillow under her head and contemplated how very wrong Harper was. "It was exactly what I was searching for." Which was the truth. She had wanted to figure out what her dad was hiding, and now she had a place to start. There were other videos she still needed to watch though, not to mention the other files she had access to now and his emails to sort through, but she couldn’t get into them with Harper nearby. It was too risky.

  Harper hefted a stack of books and hugged them to her chest. "I wanted to apologize. I’ve been a coward. Sydney and the other girls practically attacked you before, and I did nothing. What kind of friend does that? I suck." She hung her head, her long brown hair concealing her shame.

  "You don’t suck. You’re actually pretty awesome. Sydney bullies people to get what she wants, but she doesn’t scare me." Just thinking about the way Sydney walked around like an entitled princess made Ainsley’s nostrils flare and skin prickle.

  Harper loaded the books into her bag before locking eyes with her. "That’s just the thing. You should be."

  Ainsley waited for a smile, something to let her know Harper was joking. When none came, she said, "What are you talking about?"

  "Sydney and her group are popular, and yes, they intimidate most of the school, but it’s the way they do it that you should be aware of."

  "You’re not making sense." Ainsley moved to their mini-fridge, grabbed a glass bottle of ginger ale, and twisted off the cap.

  "I know, sorry," she said with her soft, southern twang. “This is going to sound a bit…wonky." Harper paused, inhaled, and placed her palms on her knees. "Most of the students around here believe that Sydney and her cronies have some sort of underground connections and that's why they always get their way. Like, they’ve tapped into some divine well of power."

  Ainsley waited for the punchline. None came. "You can’t be serious?" She took a sip noticing Harper’s face remained tense. "Oh my God, you are serious. Come on!"

  Harper raised her arms. "I know how it sounds, but I’ve also witnessed a few things that, I don’t know, are odd."

  How sad that this group of spoiled, bratty teens could evoke actual fear. "Like?" She played with the label on her drink bottle.

  "Like, whenever any of them want something, they seem to get it. Last year Ava bombed a math exam and should have failed the course, yet somehow, she passed the class with a ninety-five. I saw the exam paper that was handed back. It was a red-pen nightmare. Then,
suddenly, it was all just a mix up with her test and her test alone, but I don’t buy it. Ava is clueless about math. And then, Khourtney tried out for the lead in the school play but was cast as Cassidy Jerome’s understudy instead. Well, Cassidy came down with a brutal rash all over her face—practically forced her eyes closed on opening night. She had to be was rushed to the hospital. Lo and behold, Khourtney gets to play the lead role after all. And Langston had no history of playing Lacrosse before coming to Ashcroft, yet somehow he’s team captain?" Harper gave Ainsley a knowing look that she supposed was meant to convince her that something shady was going on.

  "That’s your evidence?" She cocked her head. "None of that is proof of anything. As for Langston, that sounds like favoritism, maybe even nepotism. But it certainly doesn’t seem serious enough to infer mob connections or…what did you call it? Tapping into divine power?" She did her best not to laugh outright. “Cassidy could have had an allergic reaction to something in the makeup, and you can’t be the only hacker on campus. My guess is Ava found someone to crack the math teacher’s records and, ta-da, instant pass.”

  "I’m just saying that there are a lot of privileges for that group. Oh, this is worse.”

  Harper's face was so grim that Ainsley tried to take her seriously.

  "Right before spring break last year, Emmie Yearling started flirting with Langston, who if you don’t already know, is Sydney’s boyfriend. Anyway, word must’ve gotten back to Sydney."

  "And what? Emmie came down with a screaming headache? An impacted molar? The horror.”

  "No. Emmie was found roaming around school grounds early one morning before classes. She was in her nightgown, her hair a mess, mumbling incoherently to herself. She looked completely out of it. She kept yanking on her hair and slapping herself in the face." Harper’s eyes were wide, gleaming with fresh fear. "I saw her myself, I even tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t look at me or answer. She just kept mumbling about being sorry and never doing it again. Someone finally got Headmistress Chambers who escorted Emmie to the nurse’s office."

  Ainsley squeezed the bottle between her hands, the feeling of the cold glass soothing. She didn’t want to admit it, because it made no logical sense, but she was getting a tad weirded out the more Harper filled her in. The memory of her self-writing pen popped into her head, but she tamped it down. This wasn’t a Grimm’s fairytale, it was high school.

  "That still doesn’t prove anything. Emmie could’ve been high or had a nervous breakdown. Maybe all this voodoo-crazy-power talk around school about Sydney and her little clique was enough to push an already mentally fragile and stressed-out student over the edge.”

  "Maybe, but when the headmistress dragged Emmie away, I looked around and saw Sydney and Ava standing together, front and center, with giant smiles on their faces. I got the creepiest feeling like they were responsible, and they wanted us girls knew it.”

  “Was Emmie okay afterward?”

  “She didn’t come back for a month. She went to the hospital for a few days and then went home to recuperate. She stays far away from anyone in that clique now." Harper reached into her bedside drawer and pulled out a package of cherry Twizzlers. "I eat candy when I’m stressed, and I think this qualifies."

  "Why are you stressed? You didn’t do anything." Ainsley attempted to sound reassuring, but Harper’s lack of involvement might not matter if there was even a speck of truth to what she was claiming, just her association with Ainsley could get her into trouble.

  Harper ripped open the bag and yanked out two strands stuck together. "Just talking about them stresses me out. It’s like… Well, I worry that they’ll know somehow. They always seem to have inside information. Anyway, that’s why I haven’t stood up for you, and I’m sorry." She flung the plastic bag of licorice toward Ainsley. "Want some?"

  The sweet candy scent permeated the air and made Ainsley’s mouth water. She’d never been one to turn a little sugar therapy down. She reached into the package, removing a few pieces. "Aside from that instance, which is probably a total coincidence, they’re just a bunch of spoiled teenagers. Do you really think they have actual otherworldly powers?"

  "Yeah, I do."

  Ainsley’s stomach fluttered. It was the concrete way Harper said it. The unease on her face.

  “Well, what am I supposed to do about any of it? I still haven’t even figured out why she instantly hated me, not to mention Tiana and her friend with the black hair."

  "That’s Naomi Struthers. She’s equally horrible."

  "I just want to go to my classes." And figure out more about my dad’s investigation. "I didn’t sign up for this level of drama."

  "I know. Just be careful."

  "Ominous." She drained her ginger ale. "I’m not going to cower before Sydney or anyone else in her little posse, no matter what they may be capable of. I don’t see how they could’ve gotten Emmie to freak out like that unless they drugged her. Is that even possible?”

  Ainsley couldn’t think of any other logical explanation for what Harper described. Maybe Sydney or Ava slipped her some crazy drug that made her lose it or pushed her into a breakdown. Was this the connection her dad had been looking for?

  It was possible that drugs or drug trafficking could be the reason for Daphne’s disappearance. Maybe she knew too much, caught someone dealing, or possibly even overdosed. Maybe whoever was responsible had to get rid of her body. Was Darren dealing or a drug mule? He did have a car. She supposed there could be an underground drug ring happening in Danvers. Even small towns usually had a dealer or two, didn't they? It would explain how Sydney and her circle had so much money and influence.

  Her body grew hot suddenly. It seemed to sense the connection before her brain did. Could drugs, or more accurately—a drug ring, be the reason why her dad had acted so bizarrely.

  She plastered a smile back on. She was not about to share any of this with Harper. The less she knew, the better. "I still think it’s a little farfetched to believe that this group has so much power and control. Don’t the teachers or the headmistress step in?"

  Harper was already on her sixth Twizzler. With her mouth full, she said, "It’s not as if they’re obvious about it. It’s usually subtle stuff that can’t be traced back to them. I know you just met Justin, and while he does seem like the nicest, most normal one in their group, I’d still be cautious if I were you."

  Her dad’s notes flashed in her mind. Rich and powerful. Cover-up. Protecting Ashcroft students.

  Maybe Harper had a point?

  Ainsley squeezed her eyes shut. What was she thinking? She was ridiculous even to consider believing any of this. Being more guarded couldn’t hurt though, not because that group had any crazy power, but more as a reminder to keep out of trouble. If she got kicked out of Ashcroft, she would never figure out why her dad had killed himself.

  So why was she sitting here? It was only seven, plenty of time to get downstairs and check the visitor log for her dad’s name. Find out, once and for all, if he’d even been here. She burst up from her bed and grabbed a hoodie.

  "Where are you going?" Harper asked in an alarmed voice.

  "Out for a walk to clear my head. Thanks for the computer help."

  "Anytime."

  She was thankful that Harper didn’t spring up and ask to go with her.

  While sprinting to the stairwell, her mind buzzed with everything that Harper had said and the intensity with which she seemed to believe it. Ainsley huffed as she traveled down each floor. For the number of times she was going to take the stairs a day, she hoped she’d be in better shape soon.

  Since Ashcroft included almost exclusively heritage buildings, she was sure most of them had visitor logbooks to keep track of how many people toured. It was a lame way for the school to keep track of who was roaming around campus among their prized students—as if trusting people to sign their name was going to ensure anyone’s safety—but she appreciated their low tech method right now.

  If her dad ha
d been investigating missing girls, it made sense that he would visit the public areas of her dorm. She reached the bottom of the stairwell and opened the door to the lobby, pausing to eye the front desk. Her heart leaped when she saw it unattended. The logbook lay opened on the counter, and she quickly scanned the dates. Her dad might’ve been here in the second or third week of January if Daphne went missing on the twelfth.

  She examined the brief lists finding nothing from the thirteenth to eighteenth. Her fingers trailed over the handwritten names on the nineteenth. How could there be nothing here? He’d been gone so much in January.

  Her breath hitched, her finger stopping on a name in slanted, messy cursive. Of course. Her father used a pseudonym when he was working cases. There it was in black and white in front of her: Joel Blackwood. He altered his first name from Joe to Joel and took her mother’s maiden name, Blackwood. Her heart surged. He’d been here, where she stood, touching the same book. She combed through the next few pages but didn’t see any other sign-ins for him.

  "What are you doing with the logbook? That’s confidential."

  Ainsley dropped it and took a step back. "It is? Sorry, I just found out a friend visited last winter. I was trying to see when she’d come." Ugh, it was a lame excuse. Most people used a neat new technology called texting to verify things of this nature, but the sagging jowls and crepey flesh on her neck told Ainsley that the receptionist was old enough to buy it.

  The woman walked around the counter to face Ainsley, snatching the book from the counter and narrowing her gaze. "Then I suggest you contact her. This is not for students’ eyes."

  "Then maybe don’t leave it on the counter where anyone can see it." Two could play this game. What was with all the attitude around here?

  Ainsley visited all the buildings she could before ten o’clock curfew. Her dad had been to five buildings between January nineteenth and twenty-first. Her stomach bubbled with excitement.