Supernatural Academy: Freshman Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  A mighty explosion rocked the world. The earth rumbled. The night sky turned white. Radiant light, like a supernova’s, blinded me. I cried out, threw my hands over my face and buried deeper into the bush, its branches tearing at my naked legs and arms.

  I waited for death to wrap its arms around me and take me to Trey. I would miss Disha, and Rowan, but I would see Trey again, at least.

  Except death didn’t come, only quiet and a sharp branch that poked my butt with the ferocity of a hunter’s spear.

  “Ow!” I scrambled out of the bush, fighting to keep my shorts on as the depraved branch tried to steal them.

  Blinking, I let my eyes adjust. White stars winked in my retinas for a long moment before I was able to make out my surroundings again. When I finally did, the orange glow of large leaping flames drew my attention.

  “Shit!”

  I ran toward the fire. Smoke rose into the air, painting serpentine streaks against the black backdrop of the night sky.

  Something was on fire, but what?

  As I got nearer, the answer appeared before my eyes: a pyre of flames, coiling and swirling around the Enlightenment Fountain like a merry-go-round on steroids.

  Enthralled by the mesmerizing fire, I gradually came to a stop and gawked. Heat radiated from the conflagration, lapping at my skin like a cat’s tongue. I shrank a bit, but couldn’t tear myself away from the savage spectacle.

  “What are you doing here? Get back!” Macgregor came out of nowhere and pushed me backward just as a huge whip-like flame pulled away from the inferno and lashed at us.

  We went sprawling over the grass and rolled away from each other. A small crater smoldered in the spot where I’d been standing.

  “Run!” Macgregor said, springing to his feet faster than any man his age should be able to do.

  I didn’t hesitate and obeyed him this time. He joined me as I ran, casting a shimmering shield around us. I peered back just as another lash of fire struck at us. It hit the shield, making it flicker. Red and orange embers rained around us, sliding down the dome of our protection.

  We ran and ran, leaving the angry fire-beast behind.

  Macgregor only stopped when we got back to the dorm area. There, he turned and stared back the way we’d come.

  “What was that?” I said between sharp intakes of breath.

  “I don’t know,” he responded. “Though I might have been able to find out had you stayed where I left you.” He said the last words through clenched teeth.

  Shame flared in my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  He faced me, carefully scrutinizing me from head to toe.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, real concern in his expression. To his credit, he didn’t even glance toward my wrists.

  I nodded, having the bothersome impression that maybe he wasn’t as bad as I thought.

  “Good. Now, go and stay inside your dorm until I come back.” He jostled me along. “And stay there!”

  “I will,” I promised as I ran back with Trey’s urn hugged closely to me.

  Once I was safe inside the Freshman Dorm, he took off again, headed back toward the fountain.

  Damn it, Charlie, you idiot! You almost got yourself and Rowan’s father killed.

  I whirled away from the door, angry at myself, which is when I noticed the trail of blood leading from the door to the back of the common area.

  A foreboding feeling nestled at the pit of my stomach. I followed the trail as it snaked around an overturned loveseat.

  Behind it—shirtless and pressed against the wall—was Rowan, sitting in a puddle of his own blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  SPRING SEMESTER

  EARLY MARCH

  “Oh, my God, Rowan.” I fell to my knees beside his bloody shape and set Trey’s urn to the side. One jagged gash cut across Rowan’s chest from his right pec to his abdomen. My brain going a million miles a minute, I grabbed the closest thing I could find, a couch throw pillow, and pressed it to his chest to try to stop the bleeding.

  “Just… hang on. Oh god. How did this happen?”

  He ignored my question, waving a weak hand. “The healing spell... from Henderson’s class.”

  Oh, shit. Of course. What was I thinking?

  I pulled the bloodstained pillow away and channeled my magic. The glow of my cuffs lit up his face, highlighting just how bad off he was. Sweat dappled his forehead and darkened his hair and his eyelids drooped heavily as if he were battling for consciousness. Pale and hollow-cheeked, he seemed to be suffering not just from blood loss but from the horrible curse that had now spread to his hands and neck. His skin was choked with veins.

  I thought that was what his spring break trip had been about, getting a cure from his great uncle. Apparently, it too had been a failure.

  Tossing those thoughts aside, I forced my scattered brain to focus on the wound. Muttering the spell was easy, but taming my energy was not. I watched the spell stitch the wound in a jagged line. It would help stop the bleeding, but it was far from perfect.

  Rowan winced in pain.

  “Sorry!” Lord, I was botching this.

  “My… pocket.” He pointed to his jeans.

  Ignoring how awkward this situation was, I dug into his pants’ pockets. A smooth object grazed my fingertips and I latched on. When I pulled it out, I found a glass vial with dark blue liquid sloshing inside.

  He held out a wavering hand. I uncorked it and gave it to him. He drained the liquid in one gulp. As I watched, the pain drifted from his features and his posture relaxed. This time, when he stared up at me, his eyes were able to focus.

  “Thank you,” he finally said.

  I bit my lip. “How did this happen? The ground was shaking and there was a fire outside. Your father and I…”

  “My father’s still out there?” His eyes darted behind me toward the dark windows. The glow of the fire could be seen in the distance.

  I put my hand up as if to stop him from running off, though it didn’t seem like he could even manage to stand. “Rowan, you are in no shape to go out there.”

  His brow furrowed. “My magic’s gone, anyway. I couldn’t even lift a finger to stop whoever was trying to take the portal.”

  “Take the portal?”

  A tense expression passed over his face that made me realize he’d just revealed something without meaning to.

  “Rowan, the fountain, is that the portal?”

  His answer came out slowly. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

  “Okay, but let’s just say I figured it out on my own. I just saw it ringed in fire, for Pete’s sake. And, when I touched it that day, it made me see things.”

  He nodded, swallowing thickly. “It’s the epicenter of magical power for the Academy, primal magic that runs on its own fuel and feeds every Supernatural being. Plus, it also connects us to the network of portals all over the world. But, you can’t just access it. Unless, you’ve been granted special access by the High Council, it takes a very special item, a sort of key, to be able to travel through the network.”

  “A key,” I said, slowly putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. “Is that… is that why Answorth is after my cuffs?”

  Rowan nodded.

  Thoughts swirled in my brain. So these bangles on my wrists were more than just high-powered magical batteries? And I’d been wearing a key that could unlock world travel and vast amounts of magic?

  The places I could go. The things I could see and do.

  That also explained why Macgregor wanted them back so badly.

  “But why would Answorth want to travel between portals?”

  “Some of the world’s most powerful magical items are stored in guarded places with the only access being a portal. They have to be or any magical creature would snatch them up. If Answorth can get the portal to work, he can steal those items and become unstoppable.”

  “It’s always about power,” I murmured.

  “Yeah,” Rowan said as he sat up
a little, wincing at the effort. “Also, he could shut our portal down, leaving the Academy basically without magic. It could cripple everyone here, knock down all the school’s defenses. Think of anything bad that could happen, you name it, and Answorth accessing that portal will make it happen.”

  “That’s why he was willing to cut my hands off to take the cuffs.” I stared down at them, realizing that the items on my wrists had to be among the most wanted, most dangerous in the world. That was why Macgregor was desperate to get them off me. Maybe he did have my best interests at heart, after all.

  Rowan tenderly touched the giant scar on his chest, then gazed out the window. “If my father doesn’t come back in five minutes, I’m going out there.”

  “No, you’re not. He made me promise to stay here and the same goes for his gravely injured son. I’m sure he’s fine.” I glanced over my shoulder, too. The firelight had diminished, giving me hope, but why was it taking Macgregor so long?

  “Answorth deserves to rot in hell for what he’s done,” Rowan said.

  “You saw him at the fountain?”

  He shook his head. “But we know it’s him. After what he did to you…” his eyes traveled from his chest to the faint burn scars on my wrists.

  I gripped my scars self-consciously. “It’s nothing compared to what you’re going through.” My gaze traveled the length of his curse-ravaged body. “What did your great uncle say?”

  Rowan dropped his gaze. “Nothing good. How I got lucky enough to be the recipient of an unbreakable curse, I’ll never know. He did give me that potion. Helps with the pain. Most days.” He stared at the empty vial in his hand.

  So the curse not only sapped his magic but left him in pain. No wonder he’d been so hard to deal with. And the alcohol at the party had to be self-medication.

  I reached out, touching the back of his wrist with my fingertips ever so gently. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe, if your dad can get these cuffs off, we can give them to you. They’re pretty powerful.”

  The expression on his face was so tortured it hurt me just to witness it. He flipped his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine. The feel of his skin sent chills down my body.

  “Charlie, I still meant what I said about staying away from me. Either I’m going to be cursed forever, or…” He trailed off.

  “Rowan, whatever crazy thing you’re thinking of doing, you don’t have to do it alone. I get that you’re trying to protect me, but honestly, have you seen the stuff I’ve managed to stumble into all on my own? I think protecting me is an unrealistic goal at this point.”

  I laughed a little at this, but Rowan didn’t. Concern played on his features as his thumb traveled the length of my hand. “If I had magic, I could help you. I could help a lot of people. Like this… I can’t be normal, Charlie. I’d rather die.”

  I winced, but how could I blame him? I’d felt the same thing when I’d thought I might lose my hands.

  When my eyes trailed up, Rowan was still staring at me, the intensity in his gaze like a magnetic force drawing me closer. My lips tingled at the thought of his mouth on mine. I didn’t care if the world burned down around us. I needed Rowan right now.

  Frantic footsteps outside made us pull apart. Macgregor Underwood thundered up to the door and through it.

  “Rowan?”

  I felt his hand slip away from mine. His eyelids drooped, revealing how much staying conscious cost him.

  Macgregor ran over and stooped over his son. “What’s all this? You’re bleeding!”

  “He got hurt,” I mumbled, standing up.

  Useless and impotent, I watched as Macgregor levitated his son and whisked him out of the room. Snapping out of it, I went after them.

  Macgregor gave me a sideways glance that said I wasn’t welcome, wherever they were going. I opened my mouth to say I wanted to be with Rowan, but Macgregor beat me to it.

  “You’ve done enough, Ms. Rivera.” He gestured toward Rowan’s jagged scar. “He needs special care right now.”

  Heart shrinking with the harshness of his words, I stopped and watched them leave. When they were gone, I stood alone with Trey’s urn in my arms, feeling as if the weight of the world might crash down on me at any moment.

  Chapter Thirty

  SPRING SEMESTER

  EARLY MARCH

  After the attack, the Enlightenment Fountain was left a charred mess.

  I saw it the morning after the explosion. The lion had lost its head. The turtle was scattered in pieces across the blackened lawn. The other three statues managed to remain in one piece, though they were cracked and stained with soot.

  There had been no happy gurgling of water, no little rainbows sparkling in the sunlight. The water was gone, evaporated in the inferno, and the bottom of the fountain was filled with nothing but broken pieces of marble and ash.

  But by the time classes resumed, no one could have suspected what happened. Dean McIntosh had come back from wherever she’d gone and, together with Macgregor, magically restored the fountain and the lawn to its previous grandeur.

  I’d watched them from a distance, sitting on the steps that led to the library, while the cuffs vibrated lightly against my skin as if happy the portal’s facade was being set to rights.

  As I’d observed their progress, my mind whirled. I knew where the Academy’s portal was. Few people possessed that information. Should I be worried I’d joined their ranks? Would this new knowledge be my undoing?

  During my two remaining days of spring break, I hadn’t sunbathed again and my thrift store novel completely lost its charm. I could do little else but think of the portal, the cuffs, and, most importantly, Rowan. I hadn’t seen him since Macgregor had levitated him out of the dorm, and no one had bothered to let me know how he was doing.

  Finally, the afternoon before the recommencement of class, I lost it and marched into Macgregor’s office, determined to find out what I could.

  After I burst through the door, the all-mighty Dean of Admissions glanced up from his paperwork and fixed me with his cold, blue stare.

  “Let this be the last time you barge into my office, Ms. Rivera,” he said.

  For once, I held his gaze. “Where is Rowan?” I demanded.

  He set his pen down and assessed me for a long moment. Finally, he said, “You really care about him, don’t you?”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  I almost mocked him out loud, but I managed to bite my tongue. I wanted to see Rowan, and antagonizing his father wouldn’t accomplish that.

  He rose, wearily pushing away from the desk, and came around. As he stood in front of me, I could see the huge circles under his eyes, the rumpled state of his shirt under the black jacket, and the way the graying hair at his temples stood on end as if he’d been running his fingers through it over and over.

  “Follow me,” he said and walked out of the office.

  I stood frozen for a moment, before whirling around and rushing after him. He led me toward the infirmary. I frowned. I’d already gone there, the only logical place for a sick person on campus, but the place had been empty. I’d concluded that Macgregor had taken him elsewhere, home most likely. Apparently, I’d been wrong.

  As we entered the empty infirmary, I glanced around the vacant beds, wondering if Macgregor was playing a mean joke on me. I was about to ask him just that when he whirled his hands toward the ceiling and a large, circular section dislodged from it.

  Gaping, I watched a cylindrical structure detach from the ceiling and silently descend toward the floor. Soon, there was a spiral staircase in the center of the room. When Macgregor climbed the first step, I realized it was an old flight of stairs made of stone and wood with an intricately carved handrail.

  Halfway to the top, Macgregor peered down, giving me a raised eyebrow. I snapped out of it and climbed after him, wondering how many more such secrets the Academy hid in its many corners.

  Holding my breath, I took the last step and emerged in a room as big as the on
e below, except much different. Here, the walls weren’t sterile white, but made of polished wood. Instead of harsh fluorescent fixtures overhead, there were metal lamps that hung from the ceiling, bathing the space with a warm, gentle light. Where the room below had windows, this one was closed in, its far stone wall fronted by a massive, wall-to-wall set of shelves and worktable.

  A myriad of jars, canisters, candles, tinctures, amulets, and mortars and pestles occupied the shelves. Thick tomes rested on the worktable and on the floor. They were stacked waist-high, many cracked open, their yellowed pages brimming with words and illustrations from another time and place.

  Of course, there was a second infirmary. Not one for feverish or dehydrated students, but for terminally cursed ones.

  My eyes wavered with tears as I finally allowed them to drift toward the farthest bed in the room. A canopy of thick fabric hung over it, glowing from within.

  Macgregor approached the bed and gently pushed the canopy aside.

  The tears that had pooled in my eyes spilled at the sight of Rowan’s paralyzed, floating shape. He was hovering a few inches off the bed, wearing only a pair of white, linen pants. His skin glowed as if it were bioluminescent, making the dark veins that trellised his skin stand out even more. The scar on his chest was almost gone, and only a faint mark remained.

  “What… ? Is he… ?” I didn’t know what to ask—not that my constricted throat would allow me to form the right words.

  “I’m forcing him to rest, buying him a bit more time,” Macgregor said as he regarded his son, fists tight at his sides, impotence painted clearly on his features. “He’s a hardheaded, proud boy. He should have told me about this earlier. If he had, he wouldn’t be in this shape. We would have had more time to find a cure.”

  Even as he said the word cure, I felt his hopelessness, as if he believed it was already too late for that.

  “There has to be something that can help him,” I said. “Maybe… the portal. It’s all-powerful, isn’t it?”

  Macgregor regarded me with narrowed eyes. I tried to look innocent, like a person who didn’t know she was wearing the key to one of the most powerful magical portals in the world. I must have done a good job because he glanced away, sighing and shaking his head.