Scholomance 3: The Devil's Academy

by Logan Jacobs

  We skipped lunch and headed down to the secret room behind the study hall bookcase. We read by candlelight for hours, and I was one the verge of giving up when I came across a small brown leather book without a title.

  When I opened the front page, I noticed it had been ripped in half. Only the top half remained, and my eyes skimmed over the handwritten cursive.

  This diary belongs to…

  And then the page ended. Whoever had access to these books clearly didn’t want me or anyone else to find out who this diary belonged to. I cursed under my breath but shoved the journal into my pocket anyway.

  “What’s that?” Morgana asked with red-rimmed eyes.

  She was the only one who’d stayed up to keep searching. The others had all fallen asleep, and I allowed it because I knew they were still exhausted from the last game.

  “It’s a diary,” I replied.

  “Well, who does it belong to?” she questioned. “It must be someone important if you’re taking it.”

  “Lilith,” I answered.

  “What?” she gasped. “You mean you found her name, and you didn’t say anything?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “The first page is missing. I don’t know who it belongs to.”

  “Then how do you know?” she asked with her head tilted.

  “Just a feeling,” I sighed. “Come on. Let’s wake up the others and go to bed.”

  “Cole--” she started to say, but I stood up and roused the other witches from their sleep before she could argue. Then I convinced them all to go to bed, even Morgana, while I stayed down in the cellar.

  I didn’t plan on leaving this room until I found some answers, and I’d read the whole damn diary if I had to.

  Chapter 15

  The diary had been difficult to get through. Not because it was a challenging read, but because more than one page had been torn out from the journal. Once I felt like I was beginning to understand this mysterious witch, something would abruptly end, and by the time I reached the final page, I had more questions than I started off with.

  The only thing I really learned was this woman had been at the top of her class and often came down here to study alone. She was seen as an outcast herself, which I could relate strongly to. Her name was never mentioned, but deep down, I knew it was Lilith. Whoever she was, she must have had some kind of connection with me, so I’d just need to dig a little deeper to find out exactly what that was.

  I shut the diary and rubbed my tired eyes. I knew I’d only have a couple of hours to sleep before our private lesson began, and I mentally debated what to do. I could either catch a little bit of sleep or grab some fresh air on the grounds and wait for the others to arrive, and I finally decided to leave this dusty cellar and take in the brisk morning air.

  Before I left the secret room, though, I stared hard at the covered painting. I reached out and snatched the fabric away, but once again, the woman from the picture was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where the hell are you?” I whispered.

  No answer came, so I sighed, tossed the cloth back over the empty portrait, and headed up the stairs. I made my way down to the castle doors, and as soon as I stepped outside, a cool breeze swept across my skin. I took in a deep breath and relished in the crisp early morning air. The sky was slowly growing lighter, and when I walked across the green-gray grass, frost crunched underneath my boots. A pale sun was rising on the horizon, and the sky was a dark mixture of gray, orange, and pink.

  For me, it was a perfect morning.

  As I walked toward the black forest, I thought more about the woman from the painting who looked just like me. I also pondered about the Wicca who had been brought back from the dead. The way she’d looked at me with pure terror in her eyes made me think the two were connected somehow. The woman in the painting had to be Lilith, and that was her diary.

  But what connection did she have with me? Who was she? I’d come to this place with no recollection of where I was from, so was she an ancient ancestor of mine?

  I knew asking Theodora would be useless. She wouldn’t give me a straight answer, even if I pushed and pestered her.

  I sighed and continued to stroll around until I heard a group of voices coming from the gates. When I looked up, I saw my coven, the opposing Scholomance team, and Professor Crimson walking as a group toward me. Crimson was wearing a striking red gown that stood out against the muted colors around her, and the rest of the witches wore their hair pulled back and heavy black cardigans over their blouses and miniskirts.

  “Good morning, Professor,” I greeted when the group came to a stop before me.

  “Cole,” Crimson purred. “It’s good to see you up and at ‘em already.”

  “Yeah, we wondered where you were,” Akira growled.

  “Aw, were you worried about your man?” Penelope sneered. “How fucking adorable.”

  “Shut it, carrot-bitch,” Akira snarled.

  “Enough,” Crimson sighed and rolled her red eyes. “Honestly, it’s like dealing with preschoolers all over again.”

  “Apologies, Professor.” Morgana smiled. “Akira is not a morning person.”

  “More like she’s not a people person,” Beatrix muttered loud enough for everyone to hear.

  The short-haired witch made a rude gesture with a sweet smile, and Crimson shook her head and pulled out her wand.

  “Do I need to separate you all and bind your mouths so you’ll listen?” she asked.

  “No, Professor,” everyone answered in unison.

  “Lovely,” she responded. “Now, let’s all get into a straight line.”

  Akira rushed to my side and made sure she was also next to Morgana. Faye was the one who ended up being next to Vesta, but she was also shoulder to shoulder with Penelope, and both looked pretty displeased about it.

  “For hell’s sake,” Crimson sighed. “You’re not going to catch merrow measles from each other. Now, the first thing we’re going to do is focus on controlling a dead Wicca. We learned how to raise one from the dead, but this will be a little different. Control and power over other Wiccas has always been a challenging task to accomplish… only Blood Pacts can allow total control over another Wicca.”

  She turned to look in our direction, and the corners of her lips turned up into an unusual smile.

  I smirked in response but didn’t say anything.

  “A dead Wicca, however, is nearly impossible to control,” Crimson continued, “and that is something you will need to do during the third game.”

  We all nodded and grasped our wands, and then Professor Crimson closed her eyes and began to shadow port us to only Satan knew where. We spun through the air, and we all came crashing down on the solid ground. I landed on my back, and when I stared up at the sky, I noticed the clouds were a deep purple, instead of the usual gray I was used to. The other witches groaned as they slowly sat up from the dirt, but Crimson was standing upright, and her red eyes wavered over the two groups.

  “Where are we?” I grunted as I sat up.

  “We’re on sacrilegious ground,” the professor replied.

  I stood up and looked around. We were completely surrounded by peculiar-looking graves that were made out of jagged red rocks, and none of the makeshift tombstones bore any names. A strange presence overcame me as soon as my eyes fell upon the mass of graves, and I felt as if the air was thick with regret and misery.

  “Satan,” Morgana breathed, and her blue eyes widened. “We’re in one of the prævaricatrix graveyards.”

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Yes, well spotted, Morgana.” Crimson smiled. Then she turned to me and folded her hands behind her back. “It is one of the five prævaricatrix graveyards. This one is the nearest to the academy, and I figured it would be a perfect place to practice. The graveyard is filled with treacherous dead witches. We care nothing for them, or their memories, so you may all take your pick. Of course, before we do that, you will need to learn how to control the dead.”


  Crimson gracefully glided over to a grave and lowered herself to the earth. Then she shifted onto her knees and began to dig into the dry dirt. After a moment, she pulled out the same ingredients she’d used yesterday from her dress pockets and placed them into the small hole she made. Next, she lit it all on fire, using the Illuminana spell, and then aimed her wand at the grave.

  “Vos!” she bellowed.

  The dirt beneath the grave parted, and a green-skinned witch with a bald head and no eyes and no teeth was lying in the grave with no coffin. Crimson bent down and ripped a strand of hair from the corpse’s scalp, and then she added the hair to the brew and took a small vial from her pocket. Next, she retrieved some of the potion from the hole and approached the dead witch, and finally she poured the concoction into the gaping mouth of her host and aimed her wand at the rotting skull.

  “Revenite,” Crimson incanted.

  After a moment, the corpse slowly sat up and turned her head around, and maggots, worms, and cockroaches were crawling in and out of her eye sockets and her mouth. She couldn’t see anything, and she tried to raise her hands to rub at her sockets.

  “Now, this next part is the portion you’re all unfamiliar with, so watch closely.” Crimson grinned, and then the fiery redhead pointed her wand at the undead Wicca. “Praecipio tibi ut facias.”

  A deep red smoke seeped out from the tip of Crimson’s wand and began to swirl around the risen witch, and then the mist went up to her nostrils and into her eye sockets and mouth. The Wicca started to cough, and green bile spurted out from her mouth, but luckily for the professor, the putrid liquid missed her by an inch.

  “Get up,” Crimson demanded.

  The undead traitor gingerly pulled herself up from the soil, and I noticed she was wearing nothing but tattered rags and no shoes. Parts of her skin were missing, and we could see her yellow bones peeking through the holes in her clothes.

  “Tear off your right arm,” Crimson ordered.

  The zombie witch grunted before she curled her bony fingers around her right arm. She gently pulled it out of her socket and let it fall down to the earth, and then she gurgled and swayed back and forth with only one arm.

  “Wicked cool,” Akira muttered.

  “See?” Crimson smiled. “It’s not that difficult. Now everyone head over to a gravestone and bring your own witch back from the dead. Feel free to have fun and be creative… oh, and please be sure to kill them after practice."

  “How?” Ivy asked as she ran her hands through her short, dark hair with the blue streak.

  “I know I’m not wasting a portion of my soul on one of these bitches,” Penelope said with her arms crossed.

  “Oh, do I really need to spell it out for you?” Crimson sighed. “Watch me.”

  Then the professor stared back at her undead slave and smiled.

  “Hit your head against the gravestone until your skull caves in,” she ordered.

  The Wicca groaned and slowly turned around, and she began to hit her head against her own gravestone over and over again. We heard her bones crunch with each hit, and finally, she fell forward and back into her grave.

  “See?” Crimson said. “There’s nothing to it. Now, off with you. I don’t need to hold your damn hands. You’re not children.”

  She handed us each a portion of the ingredients we needed, and everyone quickly split off to find their own grave.

  I came across a small, red headstone, and as I studied the rock, I sensed a strange presence beneath my feet. I could practically feel claws reaching up to the surface to snatch at my ankles, so whoever was down there had been tormented horribly before she died.

  Whatever act of treason she committed, it must have been terrible.

  I cleared my throat and pulled out the ingredients before I quickly dug a reasonably sized hole into the earth and placed the elements inside. Next, I lit everything on fire, and when the concoction brewed, I took a vial and collected a reasonable amount. Then I muttered the spell to dig up the witch, and the earth parted for me in one swoop.

  When I peered down into the open grave, I saw a pale witch that was partly decomposed. Strings of mahogany brown hair were attached to her rotting scalp, and she’d been wearing some kind of white tunic splattered with brown stains. I was disgusted by the smell and appearance, but I forced myself to reach down and parted her green lips. I let the brew flow down her throat, and then I took a step back.

  “Revenite!” I said.

  The corpse’s eyes flickered open, and they were a deep red as she stared right at me and slowly sat up. Then she groaned and tried to stand, but her bones were too brittle.

  Still, I wanted to see if I could make her stand up.

  “Praecipio tibi ut facias,” I muttered with my wand pointed right at her.

  A cloud of red smoke swirled around the dead witch and seeped into her mouth and nostrils. Her eyes glowed an even brighter shade of ruby red, and she stared right at me.

  “Stand up,” I commanded.

  She groaned as she gingerly pulled herself up, and when she finally stood up in the grave, her bony knees wobbled from the effort. I could see her kneecap bones sticking out from her skin, and they were slowly cracking.

  “Take a step out of the grave,” I ordered.

  The resurrected witch parted her mouth and took one step out of the ditch, but as soon as she did, her kneecap snapped, and she went falling forward into the dirt.

  I chuckled as she struggled to stand back up, but I knew it was useless.

  “Well done,” I heard Crimson say from behind me.

  “Thanks,” I said as I turned around to face her.

  “The others are still struggling, but I think they’ll get the hang of it soon,” she mused.

  I nodded and stared at Crimson.

  “What is it?” she asked as she arched a bright red eyebrow.

  “I had a question,” I replied slowly. “It doesn’t have anything to do with controlling the dead--”

  “Then why ask an irrelevant question?” she cut me off.

  “Because it’s distracting me.” I shrugged.

  “Well, kill your host first,” she tutted. “Then ask whatever it is you want to know.”

  I turned back to my undead Wicca, and I saw she was still crawling on the ground with one leg. Now that I accomplished what I had to do, I focused all my energy on her.

  “Sit up and snap your neck until your head comes off,” I ordered.

  The ghoulish witch sat up slowly and placed her hands over her head. Then she snapped her neck all the way around until her head popped off and rolled back into the ditch, and the rest of her body collapsed motionless onto the ground.

  “Should I put her back in?" I asked.

  “No.” Crimson shook her head. “Just leave her. The crows can eat her.”

  I nodded, and the professor folded her hands in front of her. Then she smiled at me and tilted her head.

  “What is it you wanted to ask?” she questioned.

  “Well,” I said slowly, “it has to do with bringing back tethered souls.”

  Her red eyes widened in surprise, and she just stared at me for a long, silent moment.

  “That’s ancient magic,” she finally responded. “It requires a combination of soul magic and necromancy.”

  “Can it be done?” I asked.

  “Only by an elder Wicca,” she replied.

  “Like Theodora?” I pushed.

  Her red mouth tightened into a line, and I knew I got as far as I could. Then she shook her head and looked away.

  “Theoretically speaking, it could be possible,” the evasive professor murmured.

  Before I could say anything else, the redhead whipped around and stared at the other students. Everyone was messing around with their subjects, and Crimson clapped to get their undivided attention.

  “Well done, everyone,” she called out. “That’s enough for now, we should be returning to class now.”

  Everyone nodded and killed off thei
r undead witches. Then we were shadow ported back to Crimson’s classroom, and we took our seats.

  “Well, that was fun.” Akira grinned. “How did you kill your victims? Mine still had her tongue, and I made her bite it off and choke on it.”

  “Oh, that’s very creative,” Morgana gasped with wide blue eyes. “Now I feel a little bland with my choice.”

  “Well, what did you do?” Faye asked.

  “I told her to rip out her heart.” The brunette shrugged.

  “I--” Faye started, but then the table next to us began to snicker.

  I glanced over at the opposing team, and Penelope grinned before she rolled her eyes.

  “What the hell are you smiling at?” Akira snapped.

  “At you brownnosers, obviously.” The orange-haired witch smirked, and her table laughed as she leaned forward and smiled nastily at each of us. “Do you really think Professor Crimson was impressed by your skills? Grow up. It’s all about survival, so who gives a broom-flying fuck how you killed the undead. We all managed to do the task, and that’s all that mattered. You’re no better than us.”

  Penelope then turned to glare at Morgana, and her lips pulled up into a wolfish grin. “I expected only the nerd to be bragging about her accomplishments, but I guess I was wrong. You’re all just as pathetic and needy.”

  “Oh, shut the hell up, Penelope,” Vesta spat, and her silver eyes burned with rage. “You’re just miserable because we’ve beat you at both games.”

  “How about we settle this outside--?” the ginger witch started to say, but suddenly, we could all feel eyes on us.

  We turned to see Crimson staring at us with a scowl on her beautiful face, and she didn’t even need to tell us to shut up. We could all read her expression, and we shut our mouths.

  Other students started to fill up the classroom, and we had a typical lesson. Crimson went into detail about reading bones and other interesting talents, but they had no relation to the games.

  By the time class was over, I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept a wink last night, and all I wanted to do was climb upstairs and head to bed. I collected my books, and my coven waited for me by the door. The opposing team glared at me before they swept past, but I only chuckled under my breath and shook my head.