Supernatural Academy: Freshman Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  She assured me that the trip to Savannah was another attempt on Macgregor’s part to cure Rowan. The Underwoods had powerful relatives in the coastal city, including a great uncle by the name of Everett Underwood who was supposed to have renowned healing powers. Apparently, the old man hated Macgregor which was the reason they hadn’t gone to him sooner and why Rowan had gone to see him on his own.

  “There is hope,” Disha had insisted plenty of times. “Don’t despair, Charmander. And maybe once he’s cured, you two can finally get your freak on because, I swear, all the sexual tension between you two is killing me.”

  Killing her? Yeah, right. Killing me!

  Rowan and I hardly said hello in class or when we inevitably ran into each other around campus, but every glance we exchanged seemed charged with electricity, which made things so much harder for me. I’d even tried a few spells to help take my mind off him. They’d been weak, little charms that lasted only a few minutes and left me feeling worse. I didn’t dare try anything stronger, for fear of forgetting him altogether.

  God! I was pathetic.

  Back in my room, I flung my towel and book on the bed and paced the length of the room, silently praying Rowan’s great uncle could come up with a permanent cure.

  Rowan. Rowan. Rowan.

  Here I was, thinking of him again, even as a more pressing matter loomed over me, the reason why I was stuck here on campus while everyone else partied their eyeballs out.

  “What is wrong with you, Charlie?! You’re about to lose Aradia’s Cuffs and all you can do is worry about Rowan who, by the way, is not worried about you. Get a grip.”

  Awesome. Now, I was talking to myself. Not that it was much different from talking to Trey’s urn.

  I stared down at the cuffs. They flashed for an instant as if to reassure me, as if saying, No matter what Macgregor or the dean try, we’re not going anywhere.

  And maybe that’s why I wasn’t worried. Macgregor was still hell-bent on taking the cuffs from me and restoring them back to the museum. Apparently, he’d found some kind of spell that would do just that. The only caveat… it had to be performed during the vernal equinox, which happened to be right in the middle of spring break. Joy, joy.

  Macgregor didn’t give a damn I was now excelling in my classes or that the cuffs had chosen me. He just wanted to get his way, even if he didn’t gain anything from restoring the artifacts back to their glass boxes.

  Maybe he’s only trying to keep the cuffs from falling into the wrong hands, a backstabbing voice echoed inside my head. Answorth had tried to kill you for them, after all. Macgregor might be trying to save your life.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d had that thought, or the first time I’d pushed it away, because the Aradia Cuffs had chosen me. Not Georgia. Or Macgregor. Or Answorth.

  They’d chosen ME. Charlotte Sofia Rivera.

  Eat your heart out, Macgregor “Douchenoggin” Underwood.

  I needed these cuffs to stay alive because, if nobody else had noticed, magical things tried to kill me on a regular basis and, without them, I was a sitting duck. These cuffs weren’t going anywhere. Equinox spell or not.

  I passed the next couple of days in the same fashion: sunbathing and reading, then feeling as if someone were watching me. As I meandered around campus passing time between sacked meals from the student cafeteria, I cast around for Rowan, hoping to see him at every corner. He was not there. It was just my wishful thinking.

  On the fourth day, there was a knock at my door, bright and early. I’d barely finished taking a shower and getting dressed, and they’d already come for me more than three hours early. I figured they weren’t leaving anything to chance, or waiting till the next equinox.

  When I opened the door, I was surprised to find Counselor McIntosh beaming at me, her fat ferret draped around her neck. Irmagard was wearing a pair of drawstring shorts in a psychedelic pattern, leather Jesus sandals, and a bright yellow tank top. A multicolored band the width of my thumb circled her head and beads and feathers adorned her necklace.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hello,” she responded, holding up two fingers in the peace sign and marching into my room. She glanced around with a frown as if she didn’t approve of my organizational skills, but hello… I’d seen her office, and my humble mess had nothing on hers. She turned her blue eyes on me once more. “My sister had to attend other matters, so she put me in charge of things today.” She glanced down at my wrists.

  “In charge…” I echoed doubtfully, trying not to sound rude. It seemed to me the one in charge of my “cuff situation” was Macgregor and no one else.

  She seemed to catch my meaning and winked. “In charge of making sure you make it out in one piece.”

  I swallowed. “You mean… the spell is dangerous.”

  “Oh, no.” She clucked her tongue and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “The spell is harmless. It’s Macgregor we’re worried about.”

  I blinked. Well, that was reassuring.

  The ferret climbed down her torso and started digging in her shorts pocket. I stared at the animal, but Irmagard went on unfazed.

  “I need to get you ready, then make sure you’re on time,” she said. “The vernal equinox is exactly at eleven fifteen AM, and Macgregor must speak the last word of the spell not a second past that time. If he fails to do that because we’re late or any other reason, there’ll be hell to pay, I assure you. So let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.” She winked again and walked out of the room.

  I trotted after her, closing the door behind me.

  “What do you mean get me ready?” I asked.

  “Nothing much, just cleanse you from all possible hexes that might interfere with the spell. Students hex each other for all kinds of silly reasons. The other day I had to help a boy whose ex-girlfriend was trying to teach him not to cheat.” She held a finger up, then let it go flaccid.

  “Oh,” I said, catching her meaning, surprised that she would recount such a story. I stifled a laugh, imagining how embarrassing that must have been for the poor guy to admit.

  “The word cleansing doesn’t sound fun,” I said, wondering if she’d tried to give me a laxative or something.

  She petted her ferret and, giving a careless shrug, said, “Nothing to worry about, it’s a piece of cake.”

  It turned out that “cleansing” was indeed a piece of cake, but it was also ridiculous. While in her office, Irmagard smoked a pipe and blew the smoke straight at my nose, ran raven feathers from the top of my head to the tip of my toes, let her ferret sniff inside my ears, rubbed a chicken egg against my forehead then cracked it over a bowl and, finally, when none of the crazy rituals revealed any hexes, prepared a cup of Angelica root and fennel tea for me to drink.

  The brew looked and probably tasted like ferret pee, but Irmagard made sure I drained the cup to its last drop. When that craziness was done, she guided me outside and led me toward the hedge maze.

  “We’re not going in there, are we?” I asked, panicked as I remembered the water nymph that nearly drowned Rowan.

  “No, dear, we’re going by the sundial,” she said, veering off to the right.

  Good. I’d been past the sundial. It was harmless, or it had seemed so until I saw Macgregor Underwood standing next to it, dressed in a black suit as if he were going to a funeral.

  My funeral, he was secretly wishing, I was sure.

  “Underwood,” Irmagard said, nodding in his direction.

  “McIntosh.” He inclined his head back, then glanced at me… or, should I say, at the cuffs. I was worth less than the dirt under his Berluti shoes, a ridiculous brand I hadn’t known existed until I came to the Academy.

  The sundial—a large copper plate with time markings in Roman numerals and a metal wedge to cast a shadow—sat between us, its patinaed surface making it appear aquamarine under the noon sunlight.

  Underwood checked his wristwatch, a golden monstrosity almost as wide as my cuffs. He pressed a button o
n the side, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

  “Step aside, please.” He gestured toward Irmagard. “It’s nearly time.”

  My stomach contracted with nerves, worry suddenly unleashing from wherever I’d kept it corralled. What if Macgregor succeeded and removed the cuffs? What if I went back to being a mediocre student and I lost my scholarship? What if—

  I should run, I thought, bolt as far away from Underwood as possible. That would at least buy me some time until the next equinox. They couldn’t kick me out as long as I wore Aradia’s Cuffs, right?

  I took a step back. Macgregor’s eyes widened as he comprehended my intention. His right hand went up, fingers clenching. I froze on the spot.

  “No, Ms. Rivera,” he chastised. “Bad idea. This is for your own good, whether or not you choose to believe it.”

  Holding me in place, he checked the time again, without taking his eyes off the dial. My heart raced. The cuffs throbbed as if in protest. I gathered my magic and tried to push outward like I’d done with Answorth, but nothing happened. Underwood was too strong for me, too practiced.

  After a few interminable seconds, he gave a barely perceptible nod, then glanced at the sundial. Satisfied, he began the incantation in a flat tone that revealed no emotion.

  “Accipere clavi fons et accipere sua potentia,” he said succinctly.

  I waited, teeth clenched, for something to happen.

  Nothing.

  I exchanged a glance with Irmagard. She shrugged, cocking her head to one side. Still frozen, I waited for Macgregor to repeat the spell. Instead, I witnessed a major, wizardry tantrum.

  “Damn it all to hell!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air and releasing me from his magical grip.

  He stared down at me with ill-restrained anger, then, in the most undignified way I’d seen from him, he stomped away, though not before pointing a finger at my face and saying, “I’m not done with you, Rivera.”

  Irmagard and I watched him leave.

  “Oh boy, that man is intense,” she said once he was out of earshot.

  I frowned at her. She’d made the word “intense” sound rather suggestive.

  “Oh, don’t look at me that way, young lady,” she said. “It’s not like you are immune to the many charms the Underwoods have to offer.”

  My mouth fell open. How did she…?

  Irmagard tapped her nose and smiled. “Nothing escapes my notice, Ms. Rivera. You’d do well to remember that.”

  Then she strolled away, leaving me staring at the cuffs and wondering why Underwood was so bent on getting them back. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have hundreds or even thousands of similar artifacts in the museum. It wasn’t as if Answorth hadn’t burned who knows how many of them while he pretended to be fae.

  Something more than Macgregor was letting on was going on here, and I was going to find out what.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  SPRING BREAK

  EARLY MARCH

  Later that night, I was sleeping in my bed, having my recurring dream of Rowan and I kissing, his body molding against mine in a deliciously intimate way, when suddenly, I was on the floor, butt up in the air, the bed bucking like a wild horse.

  No, correction: the entire room bucking like a wild horse.

  What the hell?

  The lamp rattled on the night table until it crashed to the floor, so did the alarm clock, which read half past two. My desk slid from side to side as if on skates. The sheer curtains danced like ghosts in front of the window. My textbooks on the built-in shelves thumped to the floor one by one—all while I huddled on the spot, arms over my head, raw screams tearing from my throat as if I were on a roller coaster from hell.

  Shit!

  I’d never heard of earthquakes in Georgia. No, scratch that… mega earthquake in Georgia because this had to be in the scramble-your-brains-into-next-week scale.

  Except something told me I wasn’t in the middle of an ordinary earthquake.

  An instant later, my suspicions were confirmed as a wave of kaleidoscopic light broke through the window and swept across the room like some sort of visible sound wave, then everything went still.

  For a long moment, I stayed on the floor, tightened into a frightened snail, fearing that aliens or at least a battalion of Supernaturals would smash through the window like a Mission Impossible SWAT team.

  They didn’t.

  Only stillness and silence followed.

  Warily, I rose to my feet and glanced around. My room was a disaster area, with all the furniture clustered by the door. It was as if someone had picked up the building and tipped it to one side before setting it down. What the hell had happened?

  Trey!

  I ran to my desk and breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted his urn at the very edge of the desk but safe.

  Fearing another shake-up, I decided to get out of Dodge. Taking the urn, I climbed over the bed and, setting my feet against the wall, pushed it away from my only exit. I opened the door and peered into the hall. The emergency lights were flashing but, other than that, everything appeared normal, though deserted.

  Crap! Was I the only one who’d witness this mess? I certainly hoped not. Maybe there was a staff member somewhere who could explain.

  Barefoot, wearing only a pair of skimpy shorts and a tee, I stepped into the corridor and ran on tiptoes toward the common area where I found the framed pictures hanging askew on the walls, and the sofas and chairs packed against the back of the room. Everything was deathly quiet, and only the hum of the emergency lights filled the air.

  My breaths came in short spasms as I slowly stalked toward the double glass doors that served as the dorm’s entrance. I was desperate to get out in the open, worried about being buried alive or attacked by shadow puppets, vampires, werewolves or whatever creatures had decided to come and get me this time. Could it be Answorth back for more?

  When I was close enough to see my own reflection on the glass door, something appeared to move behind me. I whirled, my free hand raised, cuffs flaring with power. The common area was empty.

  There’s no one here, Charlie, I reassured myself.

  As I began to lower my guard, a violent rapping shook the glass door.

  I screamed and whirled back, hand at the ready once more.

  Macgregor Underwood stood on the other side of the glass, his door-rapping fist paralyzed in midair, his wide eyes fixed on my glowing cuffs.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, cautiously taking a step back and holding his palms up. His voice was muffled by the glass, but I could still hear him. He glanced at the urn with a frown.

  I swallowed and lowered my hand. My heart slowed. The glow around my wrists dimmed.

  “I’m… I’m okay,” I said.

  He nodded, then walked closer and tested the door. It didn’t budge. It was properly locked as it should be. All residents had an access card, and security engaged automatically after the door swung shut.

  Tension apparent in his movements, Macgregor held his hands toward the building and, after a few seconds, nodded approvingly.

  “The spells held,” he announced.

  Spells? Something about the way he said the word made me think he was talking about more than just the normal spells that protected the entire school.

  Had he placed extra spells on my dorm to protect the freaking cuffs?

  I bet my panties he did.

  Anger flared in my gut. I didn’t care if the extra spells had likely saved my life. I was tired of this. Someone needed to explain what was the deal with the freaking cuffs.

  I opened my mouth to say something but realized Macgregor was moving away from the door.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” I demanded.

  “Stay put,” he said. “The building is protected. You’ll be safe in there.” He rushed away.

  “Hey, hey!” I went for the door handle. A jolt of electricity hit me. It snaked up my arm and sent me careening backwards.

  “Shit shit shit.
” I shook my hand, air hissing through my clenched teeth. It hurt like hell.

  When the pain passed, I stared at the door, fuming. He’d locked me in. The nerve.

  But no freaking way I was staying in here. Macgregor’s spells might have survived the first attack, but a second one could easily bring the building down on my head.

  With a deep breath, I focused on the door and aimed my hand at the handle. Magic tingled across my body, marching its way into my chest, gathering into a dense ball that grew and grew. My ribs expanded until I felt like an overblown balloon, then the cuffs throbbed, letting me know it was time to let go.

  I did.

  A current of power blasted from my fingers, hitting the metal handle then spreading over the glass, forming what resembled an iridescent spider web. It flickered for a moment, then slowly disappeared.

  Huh? Had it worked?

  I inched closer to the door, anticipating another jolt. For a tense instant, my hand hovered hesitantly over the handle, then, donning my courage, I touched it with one finger.

  No electric jolt came.

  At once, I pushed the handle. The door opened, which was all the excuse I needed to go after Macgregor but not before carefully setting the urn on the sidewalk.

  Dewy grass met my feet as I ran across the lawns that fronted the student dorms. The overhead lights that normally illuminated campus at night were out. Buildings loomed at either side, their shadow-filled windows staring like huge, vacant eyes.

  Looking straight ahead, I kept on, ignoring the voice in my head that said I should turn back.

  A flash of movement several yards ahead caught my attention.

  Macgregor.

  I veered left, squinting into the darkness. He was headed toward the center of campus, toward the fountain. I thought of calling out to him, but I never had time to make up my mind because the ground shook, and I spilled sideways, landing on top of a bush.