Spell Linked (Ravencrest Academy Book 2)

by Theresa Kay

  “Helen left her to be raised by shifters, the pack she was friends with as a teenager. She left instructions with them to contact Basil if Selene ever manifested, which she clearly did.” He pauses. “You know what the Coven Council would do were they to find out shifters had raised a witch, particularly one from a prominent lineage. It was best that Selene be admitted here so she could be under the protection of OSA while we figured out a more permanent solution.”

  “And the reason the Andras family hasn’t been notified, the reason she’s listed only as a distant relation given permission to use the name?”

  “It is a delicate situation. I was not certain what Nikolas would do,” replies Burke.

  She sighs and shakes her head. “I’ll do what I can, but I have to notify them. I don’t have a choice.”

  “I understand. Do what you need to.” He sends a sad smile my way. “I do apologize that this could not be done on your own terms, but after today’s events, it is for the best.”

  I nod stiffly. I understand why he’s doing this, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make my own request. Turning to Vivian, I ask, “Can you give me until the end of the quarter? Before saying anything to them I mean.”

  “I suppose I could wait,” she says. “But why? I understand that it might be awkward for a bit and you might receive more attention than normal for a while, but isn’t knowing your family a good thing?”

  “I already know my family,” I say in a low voice. “George and Aileen Monroe are my mom and dad. Nikolas and Thea Andras are strangers.”

  “But the monetary benefits alone—”

  The door opens again, and Ms. Anderson rushes in. “So sorry I’m late.” She glances at Burke. “I saw Callahan storming through the halls. Did everything go okay?” He nods, and Ms. Anderson lets out a sigh of relief. Her gaze falls on Vivian. “Selene is every bit the wonder with sigils as I said she was, right?”

  “She is, yes.” Vivian gives Ms. Anderson a small smile then nods at Burke. “I’ll make sure Callahan doesn’t try to push this any further.” To me, she says, “And I’ll delay for as long as I can, but if I’m asked a direct question, I can’t lie for you.”

  I nod in acknowledgment. “Thanks.”

  Vivian links arms with Ms. Anderson. “I believe you owe me a tour. That was the agreement for me rushing over here to save your star student, right?”

  The slightest bit of pink appears in Ms. Anderson’s cheeks. “That I do.” She darts a glance back at Burke. “Will everything be all right if we go?”

  Burke waves a hand toward the door. “Go ahead. Basil and I will work something out.”

  Vivian and Ms. Anderson leave the room, and the door’s barely shut behind them before Basil turns to me, his stare intense. “What do you see when you look at sigils?”

  “Um . . .” My gaze darts to the sigil on the paper and then to Basil. “The form of it?”

  He shakes his head briskly. “No, no, no.” He taps at his chin with one finger. “I’m not phrasing that correctly. Tina said you asked about the names of the sigils in class. What did you mean by that? What do the sigils say to you?”

  I point at the sigil I drew earlier. “This one is Silence.”

  Basil’s mouth drops open. “There hasn’t been a witch who could read the true names in decades.”

  “The true names?” I ask.

  “Sigils are written in the language of the fae. There are some who can read them, but most cannot.” Basil shakes his head. “But the books . . . You never showed any inclination, any ability . . .”

  “What point are you trying to make, Basil?” asks Burke.

  But Basil’s full attention is on me, and he appears to not even hear Burke’s question. “The books I gave you last quarter, none of them ever . . . spoke to you like the sigils?”

  I think back to the stack of books he gave me, trying to remember anything at all special about them, and draw a blank. “No?”

  He nods to himself. “She’ll need special instruction. Extra lessons in sigils. And I can’t trust it to . . . no . . .” He seems to be speaking to himself more than to anyone else in the room. “We’ll need to . . . no . . . I need to do some research. I had some suspicions, but this doesn’t fit, not if she can’t read the books.”

  “What suspicions?” asks Burke.

  But Basil has gone off on one of his tangents, half mumbling to himself.

  “Basil, pay attention,” says Burke.

  The old man startles, his eyes going wide, before smiling. “Sorry. Sometimes I get lost in my own head.” He taps his knuckles against his temple. “Too much information, not enough space.”

  Burke gives him a fond smile. “So . . . your suspicions?”

  “One of my original theories was that Selene’s birth father may be from one of the fae-touched family lines, though they live almost exclusively in Europe or Asia,” says Basil. At my blank look, he explains, “Remember I mentioned some influxes of fae blood into witch lines around three centuries ago? Witches from those families are more likely to be able to read the language. They have a natural affinity for it, but if you can’t read the books . . .”

  A realization hits me. Basil gave me the stack of books after I’d been particularly pushy about asking questions about my birth parents. They weren’t anything special besides being old and were mostly about history Basil and I had discussed in class, but there were a few of them in languages I couldn’t read.

  The books must have been some sort of test.

  That I apparently failed.

  Basil shakes his head and pats my hand. “It was only a guess, dear. I didn’t want to get your hopes up at the time.”

  I shrug. “It’s okay.”

  “But Basil does bring up an interesting point,” says Burke. “I believe our search for information about your powers should start with identifying your birth father. Even knowing his family line might answer some questions.” He presses his lips together. “There is, perhaps, an opportunity for you to find some more information. I, uh, have heard you are attending a party at the Andras’ estate.”

  “The only people who know that . . .” I blink at him and cock my head to the side. “Tristan told you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Burke clears his throat awkwardly. “Tristan . . . watches over you. At my request.”

  What the hell?

  “For how long?” I ask in a flat voice.

  Burke’s gaze falls to his desk as he rubs the back of his neck. “It was for his benefit as much as it was for yours. I thought he could do with some interaction with someone outside his normal social circle.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “Well—”

  “Since the beginning,” says Basil. “I told Desmond I thought you and Tristan would be good together.”

  “So, you two were playing matchmaker or something?” I stare at Burke with widened eyes.

  “I was putting someone I trusted in a position to watch over you,” says Burke in a dry voice. “I admit I underestimated the . . . volatility of your reactions to each other.”

  Basil beams. “I was playing matchmaker.”

  I rest my forehead in my palm. Tristan was spying on me twice over last quarter, for both his mother and Burke. What am I supposed to do with that information? It certainly explains a lot, but not everything, certainly not the kiss. And apparently he’s still spying for Burke. Is that why Tristan was so hot and cold and then suddenly all anxious to be friends? The idea that his awkward little speech wasn’t genuine stings. Was all of his recent friendly behavior faked?

  “So . . . what? You told him to take me to the party so I can poke around my grandparents’ house?”

  “No,” says Burke. “He came up with the idea for taking you to the party on his own. It was not until he told me about it that I considered the idea of asking you to take a look around during the party. Nikolas and Thea will be busy with their guests and . . .”

  My ja
w drops. “Seriously?”

  Burke’s lips thin, and his expression tightens. Clearly the prim and proper director isn’t used to asking for something so ill-mannered as using the distraction of a party to snoop through the host’s things.

  “The party is an ideal situation,” says Basil. “If Helen left any information behind, this would be our best chance at retrieving it.”

  “So, you want me to drag Tristan around to—”

  “No,” says Burke. “I would prefer he not be involved in that portion of the evening. In fact, I would prefer he not know about it at all. Were you to be caught . . . Well, you are their granddaughter. But if Tristan were to be caught, I am unsure what his family would do, not to mention what your family would do.”

  He has a point. Playing dumb or even using the ‘long lost family’ card would work for me, but definitely not for Tristan. Knowing what I do about the witch world, I imagine the repercussions for him would not be pleasant, no matter which family they came from.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but fine. I’ll do it. I’ll search the Andras’ house to see if I can find any information that might be helpful.” I sigh. “How will I know where to look though? If their house is anything like the St. James estate, it probably has a million rooms.”

  “Don’t worry,” says Basil, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I’ll take care of that problem.”

  A little over a week later, the Saturday of the party arrives. The second I wake up, nerves take over, and now that stupid party—the one my idiotic self agreed to go to—is only hours away, and I have no idea what I’m doing.

  What the hell was I thinking? Why did I agree to this?

  Basil still hasn’t told me how I’m supposed to know where to look for things.

  I don’t have anything to wear. When I asked Adrian about the dress he promised, he only winked and said it would be here. It’s very much not.

  And I haven’t really said much to Tristan since finding out he was spying on me for Burke. Well, nothing beyond general greetings and stuff about classes. I’m not exactly mad at him, but since the idea that he may have faked everything hurts more than I’m willing to admit, and I’m never quite sure if I should kiss him or punch him . . . I’ve kind of been avoiding him.

  Which might make tonight a teeny bit awkward. As if it wasn’t going to be awkward enough . . .

  This is a fancy party attended by the elite of witch society. I’ll be surrounded by power and money and attitude . . . What have I gotten myself into?

  I’m going to make a complete idiot out of myself. That is, if anyone does more than mistake me for a servant, because there’s no doubt in my mind, my level of class is probably below those of any employees of my grandparents’ household.

  Of course, that’s only a worry if I make it to the party and not something I should bother worrying about right now.

  The best thing for me to do is concentrate on the one thing I might be able to do something about: my wardrobe issue. An illusion spell isn’t an ideal solution, especially since Isobel isn’t here to help, but it’s the best option I have. Anything at all would be better than showing up in jeans and flip-flops.

  I think.

  I eye the pathetic clothing options I have spread out on my bed. This is never going to work. Even if I was skilled enough to cast the illusion spells, nothing I have is anywhere near good enough for an event like this.

  Maybe I should just back out . . .

  Isobel returns from lunch to find me pacing back and forth across our dorm room, still in my pajamas with every item of clothing I have strewn across my bed. She tosses an apple my way.

  “You need to put something in your stomach or you’re going to make yourself sick,” she says.

  “Too late,” I say. “My stomach is a no vacancy zone. It’s completely filled with nerves.”

  “You have nothing to worry about. If you don’t like it, if something goes wrong, I’m sure Tristan will be willing to leave. I get the impression these parties aren’t exactly his cup of tea either.” She grabs my shoulders to stop my pacing. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I will not be fine.” I fling my hand toward the bed. “I don’t even have anything to wear. Adrian promised me a dress, and it’s not here. How the hell am I supposed to fix that problem?”

  “He said—”

  Someone knocks and Isobel walks over to open the door. She lets out a sigh of relief when she sees the girl standing there with two boxes: one large and rectangular, and the other looks like it might hold shoes. “I knew Adrian wouldn’t let you walk into the lion’s den without the proper armor.”

  “He cut it a little close though,” I say.

  She thanks the delivery girl and takes the items before shutting the door and turning to me with glee in her eyes. “Let’s see what he picked out.”

  I grab the box from her and take it over to my bed then slide the top off. Holy crap. Tucked within semi-transparent sheets of tissue paper is a dress in a shimmering deep, dark gold color with an intricate black lace overlay on the bodice. I gently lift the dress from the box so I can see the whole thing. The fitted top flows into a full, floor-length skirt, and the lace from the front extends to the rear where it stops almost indecently low and leaves the entire back of the dress open.

  Isobel sucks in a breath. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” I hold the dress up to my body, forcing a smile onto my face. “I’m going to look like an idiot. I’ve never worn something like this.”

  “Nonsense,” she says. “Stop thinking about things like that. Where’s the confident, in your face roommate I’ve come to know and love?”

  “I don’t even want to look at the shoes,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time I wore heels.”

  Isobel rolls her eyes then opens the shoe box and pulls out a pair of strappy heels in a matching gold color. Thankfully, the heels are short enough that I might manage to not break my neck in them.

  “Well, that’s better than I expected.” I release a slow breath. “And one less thing for me to worry about.”

  Isobel sets the shoes down, takes the dress from me, and gently places it back into the box it came in. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  I let out a dry chuckle. “Really? What if my powers act up? What if I get caught snooping around?” I pause. “What if they hate me?”

  “You’ll be there as Tristan’s date, not as their granddaughter. You can blend into the background and ignore everyone if you need to.”

  “I somehow don’t think it’s going to be quite that simple,” I say, letting out a sigh.

  There’s another knock at the door, and both Isobel and I straighten and share a confused look. Who could that possibly be? Isobel opens the door to reveal Basil on the other side.

  He beams at us as he shuffles into the room. “Oh good, I was hoping to see your dress before I did the spellwork.”

  Spellwork?

  Basil leans over the open box and brushes a finger over the shimmery gold fabric. “Yes, I can work with this color.” He removes a pendant from his pocket and moves it toward his mouth as he whispers. When he pulls the necklace away and holds it up, the pendant is a matching gold color shot through with narrow veins of black. “Perfect.”

  Neither Isobel nor I respond, and he smiles at us again before holding the necklace out to me. “Go on, dear. Take it.”

  I take what must be a talisman from his hand. “What does it do?”

  “The spell on it will help you find what you’re looking for,” he says.

  “That sounds awfully vague,” I say. “What exactly does that mean?”

  He closes my fingers around the talisman. “The spell’s purpose is meant to be a little vague since we cannot be sure what you’ll find. It will help direct you where to go based on what you most need in a particular moment. Just rub your thumb across the stone to activate it. This spell is temporary and you will only get two, maybe three, uses out of it, so make them count.”


  I nod.

  “The underlying permanent spell is the dampening one. I don’t think you should be away from the school wards without something to hide your powers in case you attract the attention of the wrong people. A party full of OSA employees would most certainly contain the wrong people.”

  I let the necklace dangle from my fingers. “So, this is like the talisman you made for Helen?”

  “It is the talisman I made for Helen,” he replies. “I merely changed the color to match your dress so the talisman wouldn’t stick out. I wouldn’t have had time to redo the permanent spellwork on a completely new talisman. They aren’t particularly simple to make, you know.”

  I don’t actually know, but a glance at Isobel and her quick nod confirms it for me. “Okay. Well . . . thank you?”

  Basil pats me on the shoulder. “No need for thanks, dear. Just be careful.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Basil smiles at me before bustling out of the room, and my roommate shuts the door behind him.

  I spend the next hour getting ready. Isobel helps me with my makeup and twists my hair into a style that looks effortless but is really held up with so many bobby pins I might set off a metal detector. She takes the dress out and helps me step into it then carefully pulls the fabric into place and zips up the back before fastening the talisman around my neck.

  The dress fits perfectly and the shimmering fabric combined with my smoky eye makeup makes me look like some sort of femme fatale from an old school James Bond movie. The effect is . . . wow.

  Isobel grins. “You look amazing,” she says. Her face shifts into a more mischievous look. “I can’t wait to see what Tristan thinks.”

  Me either.

  Someone knocks at the door, two quick taps, and my heartbeat goes into overdrive. Whether from the idea of where I’m headed or the fact that Tristan is on the other side of that door I don’t know. I thought I was ready for this, but maybe not. Swallowing back my nerves as much as possible, I open the door and give Tristan my best not-nervous smile.