Nothing was permanent. Nothing lasted.
Boy, I could use a hit of whatever spell Irmagard had given me in the counseling office right about now.
Emotions swirling in my chest, I rushed toward the Enlightenment Fountain and leaned against its outer wall. The size of a backyard swimming pool, the fountain was round and robust with water spraying out of the center and five animal statues ringing around it. The marble beasts all contorted in different positions.
A lion with its paw outstretched was closest to me. It was regal and aloof and—according to one of the many brochures I’d briefly perused—symbolized ferocity. Next to it was an eagle, its mouth open and talons out in what appeared to be an attack. It represented freedom.
I walked around the basin to get a better look at the other three statues—a woman with one arm, her face blank as if stupefied. I couldn’t remember what she represented. A turtle standing on two legs, the front two up as if in defense. It symbolized protection. And the last, a fish with bulging eyes that stood for adaptability.
The fountain sure had character and felt like each of its creatures must have some elaborate story centered around it, some sort of Academy lore I should learn. Maybe I needed to carefully read the entire pile of material Dean McIntosh had given me, but who had time for that?
I went on staring at the creatures, all so strange, so… puzzling. Yet, I was drawn to them.
Obeying a strange impulse to dip my fingers in the water, I reached out.
As soon as my skin brushed the surface, a jolt snapped through me.
Just like before, my vision darkened and the slideshow of horror ran in my mind’s eye showing me every terrible magic event I’d experienced since the attack—Smudge Face, the lich, the werewolf, that same dark, faceless figure from when I ran into Answorth. Trey being slashed across the chest, his face going slack.
A scream stuck in my throat, choking me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. Was I fracturing further? Was it the fountain?
Something bashed into me, knocking me off my feet. When I stumbled forward, my hands went out to catch my fall, breaking my contact with the water.
The images stopped. My eyes fluttered open, and I sucked in a huge gulp of air.
When I glanced up, no one was around, but then I spotted the dark shape of a man cutting a swift path across the quad away from me.
And from behind, that person looked distinctly like Rowan Underwood.
Chapter Nine
FALL SEMESTER
EARLY SEPTEMBER
I was freaked out enough to almost talk myself out of going to Professor Answorth’s office, but I was no chicken. If living on the streets had taught me anything, it was to be brave. Not as brave as Trey had been, but brave enough to find his killer, plus the lich monger.
What could the posh professor do to me for asking a few simple questions?
Nothing.
Even as I hurried to the Humanities Building and tried to focus on its ornate facade, the image of all those Supernaturals—or were they Lessers?—trying to get to me became stuck on repeat inside my head. My spine tingled, and without meaning to, I glanced back toward the fountain. I wasn’t sure what was up with that thing. Was it possessed or something? Because it wasn’t me. I wasn’t possessed. Been there done that with the Shadow Puppet, and that felt completely different.
A group of students walked out of the Humanities building as I made my way inside. One of them was laughing after she blinked her eyes at a guy’s backpack and it started bouncing up and down.
“Quit it, Olivia,” the guy said in a tone that actually sounded as if he was happy the girl was messing with him.
I shook my head, then stopped to get my bearings. Inside, the building seemed more utilitarian than what I’d seen so far. It was still fancy, but the foyer was not some grand affair, just a simple space with some benches and planters. It quickly branched into halls leading to offices and classrooms.
Squinting my eyes and wiggling my nose, I tried to tap into magic to somehow discern the way to Answorth’s office. Nothing happened, unless I counted feeling stupid. Apparently, I was starting to buy Dean McIntosh’s story about my Supernatural DNA. There was more than disappearing ibuprofen now. There were also visions, so maybe she was onto something.
I resigned myself by reading the directory on the wall rather than the magical GPS I wished I had. Answorth was the first name on the alphabetical list. His office number was 1015.
Making my way down the hall with a sign that read 1000 to 1015, I took several deep breaths and told myself there was nothing to be afraid of. I was just going to have a friendly talk with my professor. I was in his Mentalism class, after all, and visiting him during office hours was natural. No problem.
Even if he could turn me into a mindless zombie with a twiddle of his fingers.
Every office I passed had a number and a plaque with the teacher’s name on the door. I expected to see or hear some activity, but the hall was deserted, permeated by an eerie silence that gave me the creeps.
Professor Answorth’s office was at the end of the hall, its door closed just like all the others. His sign read “Julian Answorth, PhD.”
I knocked, wondering if he was a PhD in the real world or only in the Supernatural one. What could he possibly be a doctor of in the Supernatural world? Magical brain surgery?
I knocked again with a bit more insistence. No response. Rubbing the back of my neck, I surveyed the empty hall, then tried the doorknob. It turned.
Inching the door open, I called, “Hello? Professor Answorth?”
There was a quiet creak as the door swung wide. The office was dark, its only illumination the sunlight seeping through a set of wooden blinds.
With one final scan of the hall, I stepped inside, my eyes drinking in Answorth’s domain. There were the usual shelves filled with books, and a desk with one leather chair behind it and two out front for visitors. But that was where “usual” stopped.
I was drawn to the shelves first, which contained books, but also some very interesting “bookends.”
There were several decks of tarot cards, a crystal ball with murky depths, a jar full of small bones, a turban with a red jewel affixed to the front, half-burned candles, a 3D model of a brain with parts that could be taken out of its skull cradle, and more.
Were these the tools of a mentalist? They appeared more like a cheap fortuneteller’s knick-knacks.
Turning from the shelves, I listened intently for footsteps and, when I heard nothing, I moved toward the desk. A large tome lay open on its surface, a full cup of tea to the side. It seemed Answorth had left in the middle of some light reading. Though, hadn’t he just gotten back from London?
Squinting, I leaned over the book. Keeping my hands at my back to avoid touching anything, I took in the illustration that filled the entire left page.
A lich.
My heart quickened as I recognized the skeletal features, its teeth bare as if in mockery. Tattered clothes floated behind it and skeletal hands held a scepter.
The headlines on the other page read “Conjuring and Controlling a Lich” and “Vanquishing a Lich.”
When a violent chill cut across my back, I decided I’d seen enough. Rushing out of the office, I eased the door shut behind me.
Heart still sputtering, I walked down the hall, relieved to find it empty.
I was down by office 1011 when there was a laugh, the door opened, and someone came out.
“You are certainly right, my dear fellow,” a man said.
I froze as Answorth stepped into the hall.
Catching my presence out of the corner of his eye, he turned and blinked in surprise.
“Ms. Rivera,” he said, closing the door to the office he’d just vacated. “What brings you to this side of campus?”
“I… I was looking for you.” I hooked a finger over my shoulder to indicate his office. “But you weren’t there, so I was leaving.”
“Well, I’m her
e now,” he said with a smile. “Come, let’s go back. I hardly get any visitors during my office hours. That’s why I was chatting with Professor Fedorov. Nice chap. From Saint Petersburg. You’ll have him Junior Year if you make it that long.” He gave me a cheeky wink as if he meant the comment as a joke, but I shivered all the same.
He herded me back toward his office, and I saw no other alternative but to go with the flow.
As we walked in, he flipped the switch and four lamps came on, one in each corner. He also turned on the desk lamp and promptly sat in his chair, inviting me to take a seat across from him.
I sat and, trying not to over-act, I let my eyes rove around the room, frowning slightly. I paid special attention to the shelves as if I’d never seen them before.
“Fascinating artifacts, wouldn’t you say, Ms. Rivera?” he asked, noticing my interest.
I nodded.
“I’ve collected them over the years,” he explained. “They’re curiosities that Regulars believe help with divining people’s thoughts and future, but you and I know better than that, don’t we?” He winked again, drawing an involuntary smile from me. His blue eyes caught the light from the desk lamp, and they practically sparkled.
He was good at setting people at ease, or was it his skill in mentalism working on me? I sucked in a breath, determined to stay cool. My eyes landed on the huge tome that rested in front of him.
His gaze fell to the book as well. “Something else that’s fascinating is liches.” He pushed the book in my direction, flipping it so I could read. “Not for the faint of heart. It says here,” he pointed to a paragraph down the middle of the page, “that it takes very powerful magic and deep knowledge of the creatures to be able to control them.”
With a pensive expression on his face, Answorth stood, strode to the window, and opened the blinds. He peered out at the woods behind the building, rubbing his chin, lost in his own thoughts, likely wondering who could have taken control of the old, undead king. Either that, or feigning it so I wouldn’t suspect him.
“At any rate,” he said, snapping out of it. “What brings you to my office, Ms. Rivera? How can I help you?” He returned to his seat, giving me his full attention.
“Well…” I trailed off, casting out for something to say. He’d distracted me to the point that I couldn’t remember my excuse for visiting and, instead, I found myself saying, “Professor, I thought you might know about this...vision I had.”
He lifted a blond eyebrow.
“I mean… I don’t know if that’s your area of expertise,” I said. “But I thought since you teach Mentalism, you might be the right person to ask…um… you know, since the visions are in my… head.” I shut my mouth.
God, let the ground split and swallow me whole. Apparently, being homeless had done a number on my social skills.
He nodded sagely, oblivious to my blunders. “I can try to help, Ms. Rivera. Visions are definitely a subject that pertains to my studies. Tell me about them, please.” He beckoned with one hand.
“Um,” I paused, painfully aware of my screw up.
I had to tread carefully here. I couldn’t trust any of these people. For all I knew, he’d played some mind trick on me already, and that was the reason I’d turned into a loose-tongued parrot.
“It’s only happened once,” I lied, speaking carefully. “And maybe it’s not a vision, but more like a magical memory. I keep seeing the lich and this werewolf that attacked me.”
I figured Dean McIntosh would have told the entire faculty how I ended up at the Academy, so it was probably safe to mention the werewolf. I did leave out the part about the dark figure that seemed to accompany the images, which was what made me think they were visions and not just memories. That dark figure was nothing like the Shadow Puppet. I was sure of that. It felt infinitely more evil than that, and I had a feeling it was responsible for what was going on here.
Answorth nodded. “Those must have been two very traumatic situations for you, so I’m not surprised the images of what happened keep rearing their ugly heads—not to mention you’re still fracturing. But you shouldn’t worry too much about it. Just give it some time. Now that you’re being trained to use your magic and when you’re done fracturing, these visions should stop. Also, consider that you’re in a new environment. It’s a big change for you. Lots of stress, though I have no doubt you’ll be just fine in the end.”
His words sounded confident as if he had peered into my future and had seen me rocking those Academy T-shirts Dean McIntosh had given me, while walking around campus with a big smile on my face and a train of adoring friends who wanted me to help them with their homework.
Despite myself, I found my heart feeling lighter and more hopeful about the prospect of staying here.
“Thank you, Professor Answorth,” I said. “I’ll give it some time.”
“Good, good,” he said, smiling. “Time heals everything, Ms. Rivera, even the worst wounds.” His smile fell a little as if he were remembering something which time hadn’t fully healed for him.
So much for suspecting Professor Answorth. He seemed far too kind to be responsible for nearly killing a student.
A few minutes later, I left the Humanities Building. It was a beautiful day out, and I hadn’t spent much time amongst the lush flower gardens. Almost absently, I found myself drawn to a hedge garden I’d seen on my way here. Its entrance was a gravel path lined by two rows of miniature bushes in the shape of upside-down cones.
I strolled in, relishing the sunlight on my face and thinking of all that had happened to me in the expanse of four days. Trey’s loss felt like a huge welt on my heart that even time’s healing qualities wouldn’t be able to bandage, much less get rid of. What would I do with his ashes? Keep them? Toss them into the wind? Neither option felt right.
The further I walked, the taller the hedges grew, and I realized the garden was actually a labyrinth. I took a right, making a mental note, determined not to get lost.
After a few more turns, I heard footsteps. Someone was following me.
My heart sped up as I pictured another lich, its bony hands reaching for my neck. What if I couldn’t find my way out? And what in the world had made me come in here in the first place? A mind trick from Answorth?
Quickly, I inserted myself between two tight hedges. Their branches scratched my face and arms, but I clamped my lips shut, held my breath, and stood as still as humanly possible. I waited, peering between the tightly-packed leaves.
Gravel crunched lightly under someone’s careful steps. My heartbeat picked up as my overactive brain worried about worse things than a lich or a werewolf, something like a zombie that could suck my brains and infect me so I would crave brains, too.
Then the threat entered my line of vision.
It was Rowan Underwood.
Chapter Ten
FALL SEMESTER
EARLY SEPTEMBER
I watched, barely breathing as Rowan Underwood slunk through the labyrinth, his dark eyes searching.
He was following me. I knew it was him at the fountain. What was his plan now? Get me alone and jump me? I’d marked him as a jerk, but maybe he was the one attacking students, letting in liches, and wanting to erase evidence. He must think I knew something, and visiting Professor Answorth, a Lesser, couldn’t have helped my case.
Trembling with rage and anticipation, I tracked his movements as he stalked down one path, circled around and walked back the other way, his feet crunching quietly on the gravel.
Good, he’d lost me. If I was lucky, he’d go away, and I’d get the hell out of this maze. That was, if I could find my way out. In the commotion, I’d forgotten what turns I’d taken to get myself here.
Rowan came back into view, his eyes still searching, his expression even and calculating. I tried desperately not to notice his perfectly tousled hair and the vee of skin visible above his white T-shirt. Sun glinted off his medallion as he turned. He was so handsome it made me angry. He probably got everything
he wanted with a wink and a smile, not that he needed charm since he had money and a father on the payroll.
He had everything, and he was trying to push me out? Me, who had literally nothing but an urn of ashes containing my only friend!
Fists clenched, I fought the urge to rush out and punch him in his Hemsworth-brother face.
Suddenly, the ground shook, trembling like an earthquake was splitting the maze in half. But, instead of cracks forming in the ground, the hedges began to shift. As I watched, the high shrubs lifted up like giant green arms and slammed down in different positions.
“Shit,” Rowan said, whirling. He held his hands out as if getting ready to either perform magic or slap box some bushes.
The greenery I’d shoved myself into began to rise, clawing at my skin, dragging me upwards with its branchie fingers. I tried to scramble out, untangling from twigs that tugged at my shirt and weaved into my hair. I broke branches with my hands, bending and twisting as my feet lifted off of the ground.
“Hey!” Rowan yelled, surprised or angry, I wasn’t sure, but he raised his hands at me ready to throw a spell.
I twisted violently and broke out of the remaining branches. Hitting the ground hard, I gasped for breath as Rowan ran over.
“Stay back!” I grabbed a handful of gravel and threw it at his eyes.
He ducked, throwing his arms over his face for protection.
Scrambling up, I took off down the first path I saw, and ran straight into a dead end. When I whirled around, Rowan blocked my way out.
“Leave me alone,” I said, casting about for an escape. I could try to slip through the hedges again, but these looked exceptionally dense. Climbing over wasn’t an option as they were nearly ten feet high. Plus, the ground was still trembling, letting me know the hedges were still moving.
“Charlie, stop.” He held his hands up, chest heaving. His eyes darted around as if searching for something. “We need to get out of here.”
Supernatural Academy: Freshman Witch Page 8