Supernatural Academy: Freshman Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  Fists clenched in a effort not to punch Rowan’s nose in, I walked around the coffee table and headed for the door.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” I heard Disha say behind me.

  “It’s for the best,” Rowan replied.

  I ground my teeth so hard, they creaked. Red flashed in front of my eyes, and I felt ready to explode from fury. Picking up my step to avoid making a scene, I walked out of the lounge area into the corridor and promptly ran smack into somebody.

  The pain of something like an ax splitting my chest in two nearly dropped me to my knees.

  My vision went black. Images popped inside my head like a slideshow on steroids. They moved so fast I barely could make sense of them. First, there was a dark shape, a man’s silhouette against a bright background. That was followed by tattered fabric floating as if in a pool of water, then a skeletal face with a tarnished crown on its head.

  The metallic smell of blood flooded my senses, making me want to gag.

  My hand flew out. I got hold of something, fighting to recover my control. A hand squeezed mine, grounding me, keeping me from the dark pull of those images in my head.

  I came to with a gasp. Had I fractured further? Dean McIntosh had warned me weird things might keep happening to me.

  A man’s face hovered in front of me. “Blimey, are you all right?”

  Eyes as blue as an iceberg stared into mine. I stepped back and took in the person I’d run into. He wore a black suit—a teacher, for sure, since that seemed to be their dress code—and appeared to be in his mid-forties. He had blond hair and dark lashes, and his eyes were serious but his lips seemed ready to break into a mocking smile.

  Disha and Rowan came out of the lounge area and stared at my hand locked in the man’s. I pulled it away and stuck it in my pocket.

  “Professor Answorth,” Disha said. “I didn’t know you were back from London.”

  “Ms. Khatri. Mr. Underwood,” Professor Answorth said, inclining his head and giving Rowan a forced smile, though his expression softened when he focused on Disha. His British accent was almost entrancing and did nothing but improve his good looks. Was every teacher in this Academy an ex-supermodel or something?

  “I see you’ve met our new classmate,” Disha said. “Charlie, are you okay?”

  “Oh,” he said, turning his attention back to me. “Charlie Rivera, correct?”

  “You know her?” Rowan asked with an air of distrust in his voice.

  “No, dear chap,” he said with annoyance at the stupid question. “Dean McIntosh sent an email to all the staff. A new student starting this late in the term is unusual, but I hear I can expect good things.” His smile fell on me, but the icy chill still ran down my spine as memories of those dark images replayed in my mind.

  “It’s good to meet you, Ms. Rivera,” he said. “I look forward to seeing you in my classroom. Maybe I can help you release your... repressed powers.”

  Great! Apparently, Dean McIntosh had told everyone I was repressed or something. Was that as bad as it sounded? From the contempt in Rowan’s face, it appeared so.

  Professor Answorth straightened his jacket, then, with a wave goodbye, kept on his way.

  When Rowan walked off, there was no wave, but his expression suggested he’d have liked to give me a raised middle finger.

  Back at you, Douche baguette!

  Disha rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, Charbroiled. I must fill you in on all this male drama.”

  And again, Disha’s arm hooked through mine as she led me God knew where.

  Chapter Eight

  FALL SEMESTER

  EARLY SEPTEMBER

  “Don’t just stand there gawking in the hallway, Charmander. Come in and shut the door.” Disha waved me in as she settled on her queen-sized four poster bed.

  But I couldn’t help but gawk. If I thought my room was nice, it was a roach motel compared to Disha’s. Hers was double the size and decked out with furniture twice as nice. Seriously, her chest of drawers must’ve come from Queen Victoria herself, judging by its elaborate carvings and polished sheen. And were those twenty-four karat gold drawer pulls?

  When I walked forward to get a better look, Disha popped up to close the door behind me. Perhaps she was worried I might slip out. And her worries were not unfounded. Her desire to make me her new BFF made my stomach squirm. She may have saved my life, but I still wasn’t sure about her motives.

  “How did you get all this?” My eyes drifted from the expensive white duvet to the crystal chandelier hanging over her bed to the closet stuffed with designer clothes and shoes. On the wall opposite the large windows, a fancy desk held the entire contents of a drugstore makeup counter in scattered piles. Above it, a mirror ringed by exposed lightbulbs looked like something out of a Broadway dressing room. I mean, the room had mood lighting.

  The space seemed more like a set of MTV’s Cribs than a college dorm room.

  Disha glanced around as if she’d forgotten she went to sleep in the Taj Mahal each night. “Oh, this? Daddy had furniture shipped in. Anyway, tell me, how did you get off on such a bad foot with Rowan? He looked like you boiled his bunny or something.”

  “You mean he isn’t that charming with all the new girls?” I said in mock surprise, picking up a shiny black high-heeled shoe from the floor and examining it. How girls clomped around in virtual stilts all day baffled me.

  “Do you like those?” Disha asked, nodding at the shoe. “You can have them. Or better yet…” She ran to her closet and disappeared in the fabric folds. When she reappeared a few moments later, she was clutching several items.

  “Makeover!” She waved a handful of dresses and skirts like pompons.

  “No. Oh, no.” I backed up, but bumped into the wall as she plied me with cashmere tops and flowery scarves.

  After I refused most of her clothes, the only way to get her to stop trying to dress me was to agree to take three tops, two pairs of shorts and a pair of really kick-ass black Converse All-Stars that she swore she had in three other colors. I hated taking charity, but she insisted, and if I was going to avoid the mockery I’d suffered in high school, I needed more than one outfit, besides the very nice and dorky school T-shirts from Dean McIntosh.

  “I’m going to dig out more,” she said, jumping on her bed once again.

  I tucked the clothes in a bag she’d given me, a reluctant smile on my face.

  “And tomorrow,” she added, “we can tackle your hair.”

  I touched my brown ponytail self-consciously. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “Nothing,” Disha said, throwing back her luxurious curls. “You’re a total babe. It’s no wonder Rowan stares at you.”

  “Stop it,” I said. I’d spent the last hour trying to forget his painfully handsome face. “He stares at me to know how to construct his voodoo doll in proper proportions. What was the dude drama you mentioned earlier, anyway?” I settled on the tufted chair across from her bed.

  “Oh, yeah.” She leaned forward, laying on her stomach, propping her head up, and kicking her feet back like we were in a made-for-TV movie. “So, get this. Apparently, there’s a lot of bad blood between the Underwoods and Professor Answorth, the teacher who helped you in the hallway. Rowan told me his dad thinks that Professor Answorth is behind the breaks in security.”

  No wonder Rowan seemed to get meaner when he saw my hand in the Professor’s.

  “If you ask me,” Disha said, “I think the Underwoods suspect him because he’s a Lesser.”

  Lesser. That word again. I frowned. “What exactly is a Lesser?”

  She stared at me as if I were from Mars.

  “In case you haven’t realized it,” I said defensively, “I didn’t grow up in your circles.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “You mean the outside world doesn’t know the difference between Lessers and Supers?”

  I shrugged and marveled at how disconnected from the real world she was.

  “Well, let me educate you. It’s r
eally easy.” She put out her right hand. “Witches and warlocks… Supers.” Her left hand went up next. “Everyone else… Lessers.”

  “That sounds... awful,” I said, wondering if my comment would make her decide she didn’t want to be my BFF anymore. Though that would be fine, even if I was starting to like her. Anything that smelled of discrimination, for whatever reason, wouldn’t fly with me.

  “I know,” she said. “I know some very nice vamps and succubi.”

  I sighed in relief, glad she wasn’t a bigot, then asked, “So, what is Answorth exactly?

  “A fae,” Disha said.

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I gestured toward my ears. “But don’t fae have—”

  “Pointed ears?” Disha interrupted. “They do, but he uses a glamour to disguise them and some of his other non-human features. Mind you, Charmander, you shouldn’t believe everything you see.” She tapped her nose.

  Pondering, I took her words to heart.

  Following her previous line of thought, she said, “Can you imagine if it’s a teacher letting creatures like that lich in? Marybeth could have died.”

  I could have died, I thought quietly. I was told I’d be safer here than on my own, but maybe not. Another reason my thirty-day trial might be coming to an end sooner rather than later.

  “So, what do you think Dean Underwood is going to do about this Answorth guy?” I asked.

  Disha sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “Rowan says they have no real evidence, just a hunch, and that Dean McIntosh trusts Answorth for some reason. They need real evidence, which is why Rowan’s confided in me. Because of my extra training with Dr. Henderson.” She worked her eyebrows up and down in a knowing fashion. “I’m the best trained freshman here. Plus, Rowan trusts me. Our families go way back.”

  Disha blew on her polished fingernails and buffed them on her shirt. I rolled my eyes. A sliver of her confidence could keep me going for a year, I swear.

  “So Rowan wants you to investigate?”

  “Yep.”

  She twisted her hair into a bun at the top of her head and somehow tucked it in on itself to secure it. The fact that the bun was both messy and still extremely attractive was sorcery in itself.

  “Rowan tells me things and I keep my eyes and ears open. No one talks about anything around him since he’s Macgregor’s son, but me…” She held her arms out as if to say What’s not to like?

  “And the great part is now you can help us,” Disha said excitedly.

  “Me?”

  “Just think about it. Who is less assuming, less of a threat, than you?” She gestured to my all-ness.

  Oh, geez. Here we went again. For a girl as smart as she seemed to be, Disha could be pretty dumb when it came to saying offensive things. So much for wanting me as her BFF. Apparently, she only wanted to exploit me.

  “Look, if you’re going to use me as some sort of stooge, a get out of jail free card, then I’m out.” I stood up.

  I’d seen this before. Who would be a better target than the poor girl? Beautiful Disha could break whatever rule she wanted and then pin it on me. Because, of course, I was a criminal, a thief, or whatever they needed me to be.

  As I made for the door, she jumped up. “Wait, wait. What did I say now?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You really don’t know?”

  “No,” she said, waving her hands as if in desperation. “I say things and they always come out wrong. I’m sorry. I didn’t have many… playmates growing up.”

  “Playmates?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “You know what I mean.” She flopped on the bed, appearing defeated for the first time. “We moved a lot. I had a private tutor and didn’t even go to school for several years. Then the ones I did go to, the girls were so... “

  “Rich? Stuck up? Bitchy?” I offered.

  “Yes! You get it.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m bad at this. I really am. My father had to literally pay people to attend my sixteenth birthday party. It didn’t hurt that he’d hired The Black Eyed Peas to play.”

  It was shocking to hear her confession. What I’d taken for popular girl meanness was just lonely girl awkwardness.

  And, boy, did I know about that.

  I sat back down on the bed beside her. With Trey gone, I literally had no one, and it sounded like Disha didn’t either. And how could I fault her for being born into wealth any more than I wanted to be faulted for being born into poverty? Besides, I needed someone else besides Trey’s ashes to talk to.

  “If I let you do my hair, can you promise not to make me into 2007 Britney Spears?”

  Disha sniffed and then giggled. “Your head is too oblong for a shaved style, babe.” She lifted my ponytail and let it drop playfully. “Will you help me with the investigation?”

  “Do I have to talk to Rowan?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then I’m in.”

  “Goodie.” She clapped her hands. Honest to God, clapped them.

  I laughed despite myself.

  Then she grabbed a curling iron. “Now, let’s see that hair.”

  An hour later, I was spectacularly coiffed and on my way to my room, having survived as much preening as I could stand. It did not escape me that both of my best friends had insisted on trying to makeover my appearance. Maybe life was trying to tell me something.

  Or maybe everyone else was way too fixated on physical appearance.

  Either way, I’d only let Disha curl my hair and apply a little bit of lipstick. It had cheered her up and given me time to think about all she’d told me.

  When I’d experienced that episode in the hallway, it was Answorth I had bumped into. I hadn’t told Disha the visions I saw or the feelings. And yet, somehow I thought Answorth had been the one who pull me out of the visions. But maybe bumping into him had also been the reason I went into them.

  What did that mean? Were Rowan and his father right to suspect he was behind the lich attack? Was Answorth one of the bad guys? A subversive? If so, was it too much of a leap to think he had any connection to the people who had tried to kidnap me? If he was at all responsible for Trey’s death and my near-desiccation on my first day of class, I needed to know. Maybe this deal with Disha wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

  A large grandfather clock I passed made me aware that I’d missed lunch, which was fine considering my huge breakfast this morning. I’d been excused from my afternoon class because of my brush with the lich, so I had some free time. Apparently near-death experiences had their perks.

  Back in my room, I took out the clothes Disha had given me and showed them to Trey.

  “What do you think?” I pressed a pair of shorts to my body. “I think you would like Disha. She has a thing for hair and makeup, too. Plus, she’s pretty. Maybe you would have been into her.”

  I smiled sadly, then put my new clothes in my new closet.

  After that, I dug out all the pamphlets Dean McIntosh had given me. It only took me a few minutes to find Professor Answorth in one of them. There was a super short bio that said he had left his fae home at a young age due to a keen interest in humans and their occult arts. It also mentioned he was a Mentalism professor, which apparently meant studying things like psychic abilities, telepathy, telekinesis, and mind control, all pretty terrifying subjects in the hands of the wrong person. Below that, the pamphlet went on to list his office hours and location. He’d be in for visiting hours at two PM, thirty minutes from now.

  Perfect.

  I thought about telling Disha my plan, but realized it would be easier if she wasn’t with me. I could feign ignorance and ask more questions that way. What new student didn’t need guidance, especially one who’d had such a traumatic first day?

  As I went to put away the brochures, I spotted a picture of Dr. Henderson’s smiling face. He appeared just as charming as when I’d met him in his office. Curious, I read his bio and deduced he was some sort of magical prodigy who had graduated from the
Academy at the tender age of eighteen. After that, he’d traveled the world and studied at other Supernatural colleges around the world. He was known for creating his own spells and mastering those of old powerful witches and warlocks. Go figure. The Albert Einstein of the supernatural world. No wonder Disha was learning so much.

  With my plan as well thought out as it could get, I grabbed a muffin I’d swiped from the cafeteria and headed out.

  Down the stairs and out of the dorms, I walked across the quad to the Humanities Building, a grand structure on the north end of campus, right across from the Enlightenment Fountain, the massive, beautiful water feature that dominated campus.

  As I walked my way across several huge lawns, I stewed a bit, having second thoughts about what I was doing. What kind of noob would thrust herself into an investigation with a mentalist? Did I want to almost die twice today?

  I pushed my fears away. All I had to do was play it cool and make sure he didn’t suspect my ulterior motives.

  Right, and cool was my specialty.

  The weather was hot, but beautiful, another sunny afternoon in Georgia. The sun burned the top of my head, but I was used to that. Besides, I wouldn’t stay hot for long because the great thing about campus was that every building had air conditioning. The grass was watered daily, so it stayed green and luscious. Flowers in beds outside the stately brick buildings filled the air with perfume.

  You wouldn’t know, in a place this beautiful, that an ancient king might pop up to drain your essence.

  A boy whizzed past me on a skateboard, the wheels clacking on the pavement. I felt a terrible ache in my gut. My board had been left back in the abandoned building and I didn’t suppose Disha had an old one lying around.

  The ache was deeper than that, though. The skateboard reminded me of Trey, and my life as a homeless teen. Was it over? Would this trial period convince me to stay and let my old life go up in smoke? Well, it wasn’t like it would be the first time this had happened to me.