Root Rot Academy: Term 3

by Rhea Watson

  “Jack, surely you don’t believe this? You know me.” Not even a little. “I’ve had serious issue with your termination, and I’ve petitioned Iris time and time again to have—”

  “You disappoint me, Benedict,” I told him coolly, appraising him as I might a repeat offender sulking in front of my desk again. Below the calm surface, a storm raged, both my hands in rigid fists behind my back. Benedict’s face flashed bright red, and he flinched as though I’d struck him. Not yet—but I would have loved to demonstrate what fresh horrors a responsible sadist could inflict with the right tools. “I look forward to watching them throw away the key to your six-by-six cell.”

  “They’re windowless, beeteedubs,” Gavriel added with a flash of teeth. “Enjoy.”

  “The right to accuse before a witness of this council has been fulfilled,” Antoine remarked in a deep, authoritative boom. “Ash Cedar, also known as Benedict Hammond—”

  “That is not my name—”

  “You are hereby remanded into the custody of this council for further questioning and resolution.”

  “But—”

  “Because you are the sole caster of the academy’s ward,” Antoine continued, seeming to enjoy steamrolling over the weaselly worm’s objections, “I request that you remove it or face further charges. You will then be shackled and escorted to the Trentmore courthouse to await transport to London for your scheduled hearing.”

  “This… I… You…” Clamping his lips together in a thin line, Benedict rounded on Alecto, his rage shifting to contrition in seconds, just as practiced as me—perhaps even better—at masking the storm. “Alecto, you know what we have is special.” His cheek twitched at another of Bjorn’s snarls, the vampire baring his fangs and sizing him up for what would inevitably be a fatal attack. “It’s sacred. Please don’t mistake my—”

  “The petitioner has requested no contact with you until your hearing,” Antoine interjected dryly, cutting off Benedict’s rapid-fire begging before it got him killed. “Gentlemen, see that he removes the ward so we can wrap this up in a timely manner.”

  As the red guards of the high council swarmed and escorted Benedict to a nearby window, presumably for him to lower the ward, their wands at his back, I took Alecto by the shoulder. A restrained touch, all things considered, because I desperately desired to sweep her into my arms and whisk her away from all this. But she needed to stand on her own two feet. So, I held back, let go, hoping that my presence alone might calm her.

  Because with Benedict’s back turned, she shook violently. Her breath stuttered, her eyes watered, and her mask cracked. Given their history, she wished to accuse him of something else—and rightfully so. Unfortunately, two credible witnesses to her assault was more than enough to have him fired and locked away for a few years; this charge would stick.

  Time was still very much needed to craft an ironclad case for her parents’ brutal murder.

  I’d already ordered Donovan to start the paperwork, his little birds on their way to Canada to gather evidence about the Corwin-Hammond feud. We’d nail the bastard, yes, but it had to be done right so he never, ever saw the light of day again.

  I ducked down to kiss her temple, her whole body aflame, overstimulated and raw like an exposed nerve.

  “I’m so proud of you, little one,” I murmured against her skin. She closed her eyes and sucked down a deep, fortifying breath.

  “Thank you for being here,” she whispered back. I scoffed: like I would be anywhere else right now than by her side. Sure, she had Bjorn and Gavriel to support her, but I’d never forgive myself if I missed another second in her quest to bury Hammond. Not a chance.

  “Of course.”

  “You could have gone to serve Iris.” Her brows furrowed. “You’ve been building that case for ages—”

  “This is where I belong.” And this was where I would always be: at her back, supporting her every step of the way.

  “Ward’s down,” one of the red guards called, another closing a window, the rest circled around Benedict.

  Who suddenly vanished with the telltale whoosh of teleportation.

  Materialized in front of Alecto and me, sneering.

  Grabbed her arm.

  Then disappeared again before I could stop it, the exhale of magical transport gusting across my face—and Alecto’s scream tearing through the ether.

  26

  Alecto

  The first rule of being kidnapped: never let the psycho take you to a second location.

  Because that was where he planned to kill you.

  Teleportation and I had never been friends. From my first taste of it during my academy days, the whole process always left me nauseous, like I’d been carsick for hours with no end in sight, and tonight was no different. Coming out of magic’s claustrophobic embrace, my head spun and my eyes rolled back in my skull, the world trembling at my feet. As soon as Benedict’s bone-crushing grip loosened, I staggered forward and crumpled onto one knee, gasping, desperately sucking down air to fight the queasiness.

  The room came into focus faster than I would have liked.

  He’d brought me to what looked like an attic, the air thick, dust kicked up at our sudden arrival, hazy sunlight spilling through a rounded window ahead.

  It was night in Scotland.

  Now it was day.

  Or morning.

  Or sunset.

  Or something—but he had dragged me out of the country.

  Into a steepled attic… with a noose hanging from the highest point in the ceiling.

  The thick rope knotted and ready to go.

  My mouth went dry. My throat clammed up.

  Nope. Not today.

  A floorboard creaked behind me, and I frantically crawled forward, calling on every drop of magic in my bottomless well to get the fuck out of there. While I hadn’t teleported since I first learned how, the process remained the same: an intense amount of concentration and all your power. Transporting matter through space required a certain skill set I’d always thought I lacked since it made me feel like death, but if I had to choose between just feeling like it and actually dying, I’d take the feeling every damn time.

  Eyes shut, I summoned everything I had, power pulsing, the drums of magic pounding between my ears. Difficult as it was, fear and survival instinct channeled what should have been scattered and unstable into focused and singular, and when I cracked one eye open, the world slid to the left.

  Ah, yes, hello horrific dizziness—

  A hand snapped around my ankle just as I escaped the noose, and Benedict’s weight tailed me through the tunnel of light, color, and ear-piercing sound.

  Teleportation was all about intention, akin to fae magic in a way. Intention, a clear mind, and purpose.

  I should have sent us back to Root Rot.

  Fort Dàn flashed across my mind’s eye first, my secret kink hideaway with Jack the only place in the world I could latch onto.

  While Benedict’s attic torture chamber had been thick and humid, warmed by a day of sunshine, the old stone fort was chilly and hard, the air almost painful. My first gasp burned, and the world spun harder this time, my brain trapped in a game of ping-pong, back and forth, careening around inside my skull. Vaguely, I recognized the long, narrow chamber Jack and I played all our scenes in, and as I struggled for balance, I prayed to all the gods and their ancestors that Benedict didn’t notice the chains.

  A low, rumbling warning echoed behind me, his fingers clawing at my ankle, and I kicked back, thrilled when my foot made contact with… something. Hopefully his face—his nasally howl suggested as much.

  Victory was short-lived, however, when the carsick sensation came screaming back into play, my knees weak and my gut roiling. I barely made it two steps before I collapsed, then dry heaved a whole lot of nothing onto the dusty stone. My bruised body shrieked against the convulsions, pain ripping through my midsection, followed by a flood of tears I so didn’t need right now.

  “You seem ra
ther out of practice, Alecto, darling.” Benedict materialized at my side, his aura suffocating, vile, and before I could crawl away, he fisted my hair and kneed me hard in the face.

  Stars exploded behind my clenched lids, followed by a high-pitched screech slicing like razor wire through my skull. Agony bloomed and sharpened, centered in the middle of my face—the fucker might have just broken my godsdamn nose. I exhaled a strangled cry as wet warmth oozed over my lips and dribbled onto the floor.

  “Where are we, anyway?”

  I wiped my bloody nose on Jack’s rolled-up jacket sleeve. This is where you’re going to die.

  Which of us was the you in that sentiment was still up for debate.

  Blinking away the churn, I snorted back the blood clogging my nostrils, then staggered upright. All this time, my replacement wand had been locked up somewhere—probably Iris’s office—but that didn’t stop me from hurling a cunctatus hex his way. A burst of periwinkle blue shot from my fingertips, the incantation meant to turn everything in your opponent sluggish: speech, movements, thinking.

  Benedict deflected it, slashing his wand through the light with a murmured protection charm, barely catching it in time. His lip curled as I backpedaled toward the narrow doorway.

  “You’re strong,” he sneered. “Your mother was strong.”

  Gods, even now it hurt to imagine her facing him—an abusive piece of shit who thought he had owned her since they were kids. Still fighting the teleportation churn, I slumped through the doorway and braced on the crumbling stonework, legs weak but heart more determined than ever. Everything I had gone through since literally crashing into him in a tower stairwell had turned it to titanium. I wasn’t the same Alecto anymore—not the one who crawled across the bathroom floor to hurl after our first encounter, and not the one who sobbed over Alice’s corpse, refusing to give her up.

  This scumbag scared me—but in the way everyone feared a psychopath with nothing to lose. He was a bully. Unpredictable. A practiced liar and a bigoted charmer.

  I see you, Benedict.

  I see you for who you are.

  “Why did you have to kill her?” I croaked, slowly tuning out the whumping pain in my nose, adrenaline numbing it to a low grumble instead of an earthshattering boom.

  “Because she needed to be freed,” he gritted out. The warlock stared at me like I was stupid, like I didn’t remember that he had already explained this in disgusting detail. Worst of all, his tone, his expression, his huff as he threw his hands in the air said he believed the garbage he spewed. “Don’t you understand? I saved her.”

  I shook my head, pity chipping into the hatred. “You’re fucking delusional.”

  “Mind your tongue,” he snarled, and I ducked, shrieking, when an explosion of neon green shot straight for me. The hex’s heat sizzled overhead even after it struck stone, blowing a massive chunk off the wall. Dust and debris misted over me, and I power-shambled into the shadowy corridor outside.

  Jack and I hadn’t done much exploring of the crumbling old fort; we stuck to the playroom and the staircase leading up to it because from what I’d gathered, it just wasn’t safe. Open ceilings and holes in the floor. Fire-forged walls ravaged by time and the elements. If I’d had the chance, I would have gone for the stairs, narrow and steep as they were, just to take cover on the ground floor, but Benedict’s lumbering figure blocked my way, filling the corridor, seething, snarling, charging after me like a rabid wolf.

  So, I ran. I pushed and pushed—until the footsteps stopped.

  Behind me, he stilled, arms at his side, surrender in his black eyes.

  “Come away with me, Alecto,” he urged, sounding just as tired of all this as I felt. “We can start over. Be who your mother and I were meant to be—”

  “You’re disgusting,” I said flatly, still catching my breath, magic gathering in my palms as I eyed his wand. “And sick in the head. And pathetic.” My laughter echoed through the darkness, the corridor lit only by the moonlight slanting through the spotty roof. “You’re just a pathetic little man throwing a tantrum because he can’t have the toy he wants.”

  Scowling, Benedict suddenly peeled off his massive robes, then carefully rolled up his sleeves. Shit. Shit. I hurriedly did the same, tossing Jack’s jacket aside, ready to rumble, magic warming in my core.

  “D’you want to know why I cut them into pieces?” he asked, posing the most disturbing question I had ever heard so fucking casually, like he was in the middle of a spellwork lecture.

  My gut bottomed out, and I slugged down the rush of bile that nearly choked me. Eyes locked on his wand, I raised both hands as Benedict shifted into a dueling stance, all the while trying and failing to tune him out, to focus on a duel that I honestly might not win.

  He waited, really drawing it out, until I finally forced my gaze back to his face. Then, head cocked, the bastard smirked.

  “Because they’d burn faster that way,” he crooned. “Kindling burns quicker than whole logs, no? It was really very practical, if you think about it.”

  The visual of that—my parents as kindling—made me want to curl up in a ball and cry.

  I screamed instead, another banshee shriek for Benedict fucking Hammond to add to his collection of bad memories, then shot first. Fired off hex after hex, the derelict corridor alight with offensive magic. He deflected and dodged; I went too far, too fast, for him to do anything but defend himself.

  Until I tripped.

  Until my stupid fucking shoe hit a hunk of fallen roof and I fumbled.

  Then he had the upper hand.

  Then he showed me why he had been hired to teach spellwork in the first place, a master at his craft, effortless with a wand and dementedly skilled with the assortment of magic he flung my way. On the defensive, I backtracked as carefully as I could, picking around more debris, hands up to protect my face. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, I ducked right and into another room—one I had hoped would be like the playroom.

  Nope. Zero rooftop coverage greeted me, completely open to a calm, starry night, and I nearly careened into a huge hole in the floor, which would have resulted in a, oh, two-story drop onto more stone. Yelping, I skirted around it, heart in my throat and adrenaline buzzing like a swarm of wasps.

  The concentration to teleport—gone. I couldn’t manage it twice in one night anyway, not without proper rest and recovery, which meant when Benedict sauntered into the doorway, I had nowhere else to go. Up, down, or into the belly of the beast. Hands up, offensive magic burning in my palms, I risked a glance down at another nearby hole.

  Could I make that drop without shattering my ankles?

  “Alecto?” Benedict tapped his wand against his palm, toying with me, just a smug cat playing with the mouse before he gutted it. “Tell me… Do you still dream of fire?”

  “Don’t you fucking dare—”

  “Incaendium,” he purred. One elegant wave of his wand, one incantation—and the room went up in flame. Never mind that stone repelled fire. Never mind that the spring breeze howled through the fort’s corridors.

  This was magical hellfire.

  And it spread fast.

  His dark silhouette disappeared on the other side of the inferno, the fire blazing along all four walls, ten feet tall in seconds. It snapped and snarled, slowly inching closer, and for a moment, I just stood there.

  Frozen in fear.

  Just that little girl again about to wet herself in bed—

  “No.” I raised both hands skyward, the heat scorching up my legs, burning in my cheeks, singing the ends of my curls, and then shouted, “O-opus auxilium!”

  Not exactly the most elegant spell I had ever cast, but it did the trick. Simple. To the point. A rush of white light zoomed way, way up, stopping when it saw fit and exploding into a pulsing red and blue orb. A call for assistance. My guys had to be searching for me, and if they didn’t see the magical SOS signal, someone from the high council or Donovan’s crew would.

  I didn’t
have to last forever out here with him.

  I just needed to survive long enough for backup to arrive.

  You can do this. With a determined nod, I shed fear like snakeskin, then yanked Jack’s collared dress shirt up to cover my nose and mouth. Eyes watering, fire literally closing in for the first time in twenty-six years, I randomly picked a hole in the floor and rushed to its jagged edge…

  Closed my eyes.

  Took a deep breath.

  And jumped.

  27

  Bjorn

  One moment she was there, and then the next… gone.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Gavriel snarled, his exposed black wings quivering with a smothering rage that made the air in Hammond’s classroom spike hotter. The monster in my chest roared to life, bloodlust pounding, pounding, pounding, murder on the brain and gaze fogged over with a red mist.

  We had been so—damn—close. It wasn’t what Alecto had always imagined, but no matter the reason, we had been on the brink of locking Benedict Hammond in a hole. Shackled and chained and abandoned to rot in his own misery.

  And then he just… took her.

  Stole her.

  My fangs sliced into my lower lip, battle drums booming, a metallic scent rising around me, spurring on the bloodthirsty animal I’d become.

  We three weren’t the only ones to react: the high council warlocks hopped to immediately, barking orders and sprinting out of the classroom. After all, a violent fugitive had just escaped with his accuser, his victim with undeniable proof—testimonies from Gavriel and I that somehow carried more weight than Alecto’s word alone.

  Honestly. Sometimes the legal system felt more ancient than my bones.

  The classroom cleared quickly, security warlocks in their deep red uniforms calling to one another like bloodhounds trying to scent out a fox, baying and crying into the night. We three remained as the dust settled, Gavriel trembling with a rage I’d never witnessed, a malice in his silver gaze that frightened even me.