When she wiggled her fingers, a strange warmth spread through my chest. I started to protest, but then all my bad feelings were whisked away like leaves in a stiff breeze. A feeling similar to opening presents on a Christmas morning, when my mother was alive and my father actually cared about me, flooded my chest.
I was happy. Almost giddy.
A giggle escaped my lips, and I clamped a hand over my mouth. I wasn’t just happy. I was high. “What did you do to me?”
Irmagard ignored my question. Standing up and walking to an ancient rotary phone, she murmured something about “... understanding the necessity under the circumstances.”
I fought another giggle, the joy nearly bursting in my veins. I felt like singing, skipping. Was I drugged? If I was, I never wanted to come down. I stood up, then twirled around. The fat ferret wandered up, and I scooped him into my arms, twirling him, too.
I felt so good.
“Hello, little buddy. What’s your name?” I kissed the ferret’s nose.
“Yes, send him in,” she was saying, though I wasn’t paying too much attention. My dance partner wanted out of my arms, but I had decided to keep him.
Irmagard set the phone down and stood beside the desk, watching me dance with a withered expression on her face.
“Your guide is on his way. He’ll get you situated. In the meantime, while you’re feeling so... jolly, I think it best if I give you some news.”
“Hmm?” I dropped my ferret dance partner, but nothing could quash this mood.
Irmagard sighed. “Your friend, Trey Goodwin, is dead. He was killed by one of the subversives who attempt to snatch up young talent and use them in causes to thwart the Academy. Your friend’s body has been collected and cremated. Dean Underwood thought this would be the best course of action. The ashes will be delivered to your room.”
“Okay.” I knew I should feel sad about what she was saying, but all I could feel was extreme happiness. I grabbed one of the feathered hats from a pile next to the chair and tried it on, grinning.
“Also, the building where you lived has been condemned and destroyed. You cannot return there. It was structurally unsound, and from what I understand, full of rats.”
“Rats!” I pressed my hand to my mouth, giggling again. There were questions I should be asking, hundreds of them. I could feel them piling as high as Irmagard’s magazines, yet all I could do was giggle.
“Oh, my. I think I’ve overdone it. You are quite delirious.”
“You’re telling me,” I said, before falling into the chair in a fit of laughter.
The door opened and footsteps headed our way. When I glanced up, one of the most attractive young men I’d ever seen was staring down at me.
His jaw was angular, his eyes intense and brooding. Dark brown locks fell around his perfect face in such a way that made them seem effortless messy. His outfit was similarly styled, sloppy chic, in a plain, white V-neck tee and jeans. A very expensive and ancient looking medallion hung at his throat.
The jewels in that thing alone could pay anyone’s rent for a year.
I stared at his physique—he did not skip gym days—and smiled.
Trey, I’ve met the one, I thought.
“You are a hottie,” I confessed, knowing that I should be embarrassed, but unable to feel any of it.
“And you are sauced,” he said, unamused. “Counselor McIntosh, I believe you have over-served our guest.”
Her hands fluttered about like trapped birds. “Oh, Rowan. Oh, dear. I have, but I can’t turn it off now or she’ll feel rather bad, I’m afraid. Best to let it wear off. She’ll be fine in the morning.”
Rowan. One of the men from last night. He glowered as if he didn’t agree with Counselor McIntosh’s assessment of my condition.
“Can you take her, dear?” Counselor McIntosh asked Rowan. “I have an eleven o’clock appointment with some very disgruntled parents.”
Rowan acquiesced, gesturing that I should follow him, but I was quite enjoying the way the colors were dancing on the upper stained glass windows at the moment. He took my arm and led me out of the office like a mother with a child who would not leave the toy store.
“Of all the people,” he muttered, weaving me around Irmagard’s piles.
“Where are we going?” I asked giddily.
He glanced at me. “You’re going to see my father.”
“Your father?” I suppressed another giggle. “Is he mad?” I made a pouty face. “Are you mad? You seemed a lot nicer last night.”
Rowan frowned. “Last night, my father wasn’t forcing me to babysit dubious witches.”
Huh? I knew there were also questions I should ask about that, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
As soon as we were out of the room, he shut the office door, whirled me around and snapped his fingers.
All the bad feelings Irmagard’s spell had spared me from came rushing back in a wave.
The wall of pain, embarrassment, and sadness hit my heart like a freight train. I gasped, clutching the wall as icy fingers of sorrow dug into my heart. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to fight the sobs that shook my chest.
The pain. So much pain. Trey. Oh god.
I could barely breathe. The pain pressed on my chest like an anvil, crushing my heart into pieces.
When the intensity subsided a little, I glanced up at Rowan. He had done this to me. Counselor McIntosh had said it should wear off slowly. He gave it all back to me in one blow.
I stared up at him through my tear soaked eyes. “Why?”
His unaffected gaze drifted away as his jaw remained fixed. “Best to deal with these things head-on. No use putting it off. Rip the Band-Aid off so to speak. Now, let’s go. You do not want to keep my father waiting.”
One thing I knew for certain, Rowan Underwood may have been hot, but he was mean through and through, and I would never let him see me vulnerable again.
Chapter Five
FALL SEMESTER
EARLY SEPTEMBER
Sorrow was a dagger piercing the center of my heart as I followed Rowan down a long corridor, away from Counselor McIntosh’s office. I wanted to cry, curl up on the floor and bawl, but I wouldn’t let this Rowan guy see me that way. He was cold and uncaring, a rich brat with a heart made of ice.
Besides, he knew the way out of this labyrinthine hell they’d brought me to.
He would take me to Trey… to his ashes, and he and I would get out of this place and go back home. They couldn’t have demolished our place overnight. They were lying.
Whatever building we were in, Counselor McIntosh’s office must have been at the far end because we’d crossed several corridors already. As we went, I tried to focus on my surroundings, doing my best to push grief aside for now. I was strong, and I wasn’t giving this guy the satisfaction of thinking otherwise.
The corridor we walked along was wide and decorated in a very Victorian style. A plush crimson rug ran beneath our feet. Paneling and scrollwork covered the walls just like in Counselor McIntosh’s office, except here, they were dust free and reflected the light from the many sconces affixed to the walls. Someone spent a lot of time polishing that wood, for sure.
Oil portraits and black and white photographs sat in gilded frames, displaying stuffy old dudes or groups of people. Students, maybe? This was the “Academy,” after all. As I remembered from a news feature I’d watched a while back, the place was old—even if, we, regular humans had only learned about it ten years ago—so lots of Supernaturals must have studied here throughout the years.
I still remembered the day I learned about the existence of Supernaturals. I’d been seven years old, eating my breakfast at the kitchen counter, while Mom and Dad got ready for work. A panicked announcer had interrupted the traffic news on the radio to report that a band of Supernaturals had requested an audience with the president.
Of course, at first, everyone had thought it was a hoax. It wasn’t until the president himself backed their au
thenticity that people started to believe. And, even after that, it took lots of seeing for most to truly start believing.
Supernaturals had been sick of living in the shadows and had decided the world needed to embrace them.
Oddly enough, there’d been no panic. People had actually been excited to find out the creatures from their fiction books were actually real. Of course, their numbers were negligible since only a small amount of the population carried the special Supernatural DNA and they regulated themselves with Magical Law Enforcement to make sure no bad guys hurt humans or stole all our money. I’m sure it would have been a different story if we’d started running into Shadow Puppets and vampires at every corner, or warlocks starting robbing our banks.
And yet, they were dangerous as I clearly saw last night.
Now, I was in the presence of many witches and warlocks. I glanced around, trying to see if some of the other Supernatural creatures roamed the halls, but I didn’t see any werewolves or zombies. Maybe they were hiding. Maybe they had their own school. Either way, I was glad none were around. Witches I could handle. A werewolf, not so much.
After crossing several more closed-in corridors, we made it to one with huge windows on one side. I was surprised to see daylight seeping in since all the dim-lit sconces elsewhere had made it feel like night time.
I squinted at the sun breaking through the tall, glass panes. Each window, one after the other, had to be about twenty feet tall. Beyond them, a manicured lawn as large as a football field sprawled in all its green glory. Stone paths cut through the field, lined by perfect bushes and colorful flowers on either side, while a huge fountain sprayed water into the air. Past the fountain was a line of stately buildings, and further still, a forest of thick trees stood grand and luscious as far as the eye could see.
The wealth was extravagant, sickening even. How many meals had Trey and I missed since we’d become homeless? How much did this stupid Academy spend every day in upkeeping and watering their useless lawn?
Finally leading me through a massive open area, Rowan crossed past a grand staircase. His leather shoes squeaked on the white marble floor as he picked up his pace, but I reluctantly slowed down to admire the elaborately carved banisters, the gigantic crystal chandelier that hung between the two sets of stairs, and the grand entrance set right under the second-floor landing.
“If you’re casing the joint, don’t bother. The anti-theft spells are legendary.” Rowan said over his shoulder, an impatient expression on his face. “C’mon, girl. I don’t have all day.”
I bit my tongue to hold back a well-deserved insult, realizing that arguing with this jerk would be a waste of time. As soon as I had Trey with me, I would be out of here, so why waste my breath? He’d seemed decent enough last night, but first impressions couldn’t always be trusted, at least not mine. I’d thought Trey was an airhead the first time I met him, then discovered his goofy behavior was only a coping mechanism to deal with all the shit life had thrown his way.
Beyond the fancy foyer and across another hall, Rowan finally led me to a carved door with a nameplate on it reading, “Dean Underwood.” There, he knocked twice, then went in, leaving the door ajar for me to follow.
I hesitated for an instant, then stepped inside, inhaling deeply and telling myself I would soon be out of here.
Once inside, the door closed behind me. I glanced back, thinking I’d find someone standing there, but nope. Magic was more convenient than that.
Slowly turning my gaze forward, I took in the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled to the brim with books, and the large desk that dominated the office. Rowan stood next to the desk, hands at his back.
Behind it, a middle-aged man of about fifty—Macgregor Underwood, I assumed—sat in a high back chair. He had gray hair at his temples, a Roman nose, and thick eyebrows. Piercing blue eyes assessed me with cool detachment.
“What is your name?” he asked.
I pressed my lips together, my gaze sweeping over the desk, searching for anything that may contain ashes: an urn, a box, a bag… There was nothing.
“I asked your name,” the man repeated.
Why should I give him my name? I didn’t trust these people. For all I knew, they would turn me over to social services. I was still six months shy of eighteen, and these kind of people were always trying to “fix” your life just so they could feel good about themselves. Besides, Counselor McIntosh had known Trey’s name, wouldn’t they know mine, too? I bet this was just some sort of power play.
“See what I mean?” Macgregor Underwood said to no one in particular. “It’s so unfortunate what life on the streets can do to a young person’s mind. And they think sorcery is evil. Illicit drugs are the bane of our society. ”
I had never done drugs in my life. At least, Trey and I had exercised enough common sense to stay away from them, but this man could believe whatever he wanted. I wasn’t here to perform tricks for him. Tricks were his job, and he could keep his circus, for all I cared.
“Where’s my friend?” I demanded.
Rowan and his father exchanged a glance.
“Counselor McIntosh did hit her with a powerful soothing spell,” Rowan said with a shrug.
And you undid it, you jackwad!
If anything had truly addled me, it was the abrupt change. Joy to complete misery in a finger snap. My chest still felt tight as if I was about to have a heart attack or something.
“The hippie lady said you would give me my friend’s… ashes,” I said.
Rowan’s mouth tightened as if he were repressing a smile at the term I’d used for Irmagard. His father lifted an eyebrow and seemed slightly amused as well. I got the feeling they didn’t respect her, which probably meant she was twice the human being that they were.
“Well?” I said.
Macgregor Underwood stood from his chair, pulling on his cuffs.
“Ms. whatever-your name,” he came around the desk, walking in front of his son without even saying excuse me, “as the Dean of Admissions, I am obliged to register you as an Academy student, which I cannot do without a name.”
My mouth went dry. Register me? What the hell?
“I suspect that as well as others of your ilk,” he continued as my brain did somersaults, trying to understand, “you have no interest in joining our fine institution. And though I would very much like to leave you to your own devices, I’m also obliged to try to persuade you.”
“Persuade me?” I repeated dumbly. “But I’m not...” I trailed off.
“A Supernatural?” he said, that haughty eyebrow raised again. “Yes, I realize you don’t know what you are, but trust me, we do. You fractured yesterday, which is the reason that Quake and his friends came after you. Also, the reason I was there.”
Fractured? Quake? Could this guy speak English?
Rowan seemed to see the confusion in my face because he sighed tiredly, then explained.
“What my father means is that your supernatural powers manifested for the first time yesterday. ‘You fractured,’” he made air quotes, “because your powers have been repressed for who knows how long, and you finally cracked under their pressure.”
He paused, then said, “Oh, and a ‘Quake,” he made air quotes again, “is someone who can vibrate so fast, they can break just about anything with their touch. The one you met yesterday came to snatch you. Subversives like him have locator spells all over the city to help them detect new magic. They actively recruit Supernaturals in this manner to grow their ranks for criminal purposes. They’re not good people. You’re lucky we were there to save you. Trust me.” He finished with an annoyed huff as if he’d only gone through the trouble to explain everything because it gave him the chance to make me feel inferior and inadequate.
After doing my best not to call him something ugly, I said, “Whether or not I’m a… Supernatural, I have no interest in staying in this place. You people killed Trey, the only family I had, and now you expect me to… go here.” A puff of air blew past m
y lips. “No, thank you. Just give me my friend’s ashes, and I’ll be on my way.”
I held Macgregor Underwood’s gaze, even as part of me begged me to avoid confrontation.
“We didn’t kill your friend,” Rowan said.
His father ignored him, and so did I.
For a moment, I thought the man would argue, but instead, he shrugged. “Your loss, our gain.” He turned to Rowan. “Get the urn and drive her out of campus.” He sat back down and proceeded to ignore us.
I waited for Rowan to retrieve the urn from wherever they were keeping it, but he just stood there, staring at his father with a conflicted expression on his face. He probably hated to be stuck with the task of getting rid of me, but he shouldn’t have worried. I had no intention of letting him drive me anywhere.
I crossed my arms and stubbornly stared at the front of his desk.
After a tense moment during which his father continued to ignore him, Rowan finally started walking toward the door.
Before he made it there, though, there was a knock, the door opened, and Irmagard McIntosh came in. She had changed and was now wearing slacks and a blouse, rather than a flower-print skirt. She’d combed and pinned up her hair and removed the beanie, too.
“Dean McIntosh,” Macgregor Underwood said, standing.
Dean? Wasn’t she a counselor?
“Underwood. Rowan,” she said with a smile. “Is this our new student?” she asked, turning to me. “Irmagard told me she’d be here.”
Wait, she wasn’t Irmagard? I was confused, something that happened often in this place.
Still holding a smile, she walked up to me and took my hand in hers. “Hello, dear. My name is Lynssa McIntosh. I am the Head Dean of this Academy.”
I pulled my hand away, unaccustomed to having people touch me. Normally, they gave me a wide berth and leered at me the way Rowan and his father did.
Peering closer at her face, all I could figure was that Dean McIntosh had to be Irmagard’s twin sister. Weird.
Supernatural Academy: Freshman Witch Page 4