Witches Gone Wicked: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Womby's School for Wayward Witches Book 3)

by Sarina Dorie

  I pulled away just enough to see the vivid azure of his eyes reflecting the brilliance of a thousand cloudless skies. He was so handsome, more so than I remembered.

  “This never happened,” I said.

  “Not yet.”

  “But it will? When?”

  The old mischief returned to his eyes. “When you find me.”

  “How? When?”

  “When the time is right. After you’ve broken the curse.” He rubbed the back of my hand against the rough stubble on his cheek.

  “What curse? Your curse? Do I need to rescue you?” I asked.

  “No, rescue yourself first. Find out about Alouette Loraline.”

  My biological mother.

  He leaned closer. “One more kiss.”

  He covered my face with kisses that brushed against my flesh like butterfly wings. His fingers whispered over my shoulders and throat and breasts. A breeze tickled my hair against my neck, bringing with it the perfume of faraway places. He kissed me, and it was like that night when he’d kissed me in real life.

  My belly fluttered with magic.

  The breeze blew harder. Goosebumps rose on my arms. I knew what was coming. Dread settled in my stomach like a lump of lead, crushing the pleasant sensations of magic that had been swelling. Wind blustered against the covers. I turned my face away from the fury of air. One of the dolls on the shelf fell to the floor. Books crashed from the bookcase. I twisted to hold on to Derrick. I wasn’t going to let him go this time. The tornado would not take him away from me like it had in real life.

  When I looked again at his face, it was no longer Derrick. It was Felix Thatch.

  I flinched back. Wind whipped around us. Stuffed animals flew across the room. The walls groaned like they were about to be torn apart.

  Thatch smiled. “Draining your powers doesn’t have to be unpleasant.” He pulled me closer. His lips inched toward mine.

  I screamed.

  My own screaming must have woken me. I sat up in the darkness, disoriented until I remembered I was in my new room in the women’s dormitory at Womby’s. I was sweating buckets and panting. It had started off as such a happy dream. Why did it have to end with Thatch? Sure, my subconscious probably found him alluring in that sexy, off-limits professor sort of way, but there was no way in hell I would want to kiss him in real life.

  He wanted to drain me of all magic.

  I hugged my knees, remembering Derrick. What had he said exactly? His words were hard to grasp with the more ominous shock of Thatch afterward. I had some kind of curse to break. He didn’t want me to look for him. Was this an actual message from him or one from my subconscious mind?

  Three seconds later, pounding thundered against my door. I snatched up the cell phone from underneath my pillow and activated the flashlight.

  “Who’s there?” I asked.

  “Felix Thatch. Who else?” he snapped.

  His timing was uncanny. I prayed this had nothing to do with the dream. I really didn’t want to talk to him right now.

  Wait a minute. Had I missed my magic lesson? I glanced at the shutters. No light showed through. It couldn’t be seven o’clock. I considered changing the app on my phone so I could see the time, but the ray of light coming from the screen made me feel safe against the bogeyman of my nightmares.

  “Open this door,” Thatch said.

  I looked down at my pink Disney princess tank top and shorts. “Um, I’m not decent.”

  “I’m not going to shout at you through a block of wood.”

  No, he’d probably shout in my face.

  “Okay. Coming.” I grabbed my sweater draped over the chair at the desk and pulled it over my head. I hugged the cell phone to my chest as though it might shield me from his wrath.

  I hesitated at the door. “Are you going to drain me?”

  The air tingled around me, tasting like electricity and starlight. The wood creaked and groaned ominously. I jumped back. It flung open, smashing against the stone wall with a loud crack. He held his black wand in his hand, light glowing as brightly as a ninety-watt bulb. He wore a tweed suit, his hair as immaculate as ever.

  The door leaned crooked against the wall, the bottom hinges barely hanging on to the wood.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  I flinched back. “Sleeping.”

  He jabbed an accusing finger at me. “You stay out of my head and stay out of my dreams.”

  “No, you stay out of my dreams.”

  “I wouldn’t be in your dreams if your subconscious didn’t pull me into them. Learn to control yourself.”

  “But how? I don’t know how to do magic. You’re supposed to teach me.”

  “You’re going to release unspeakable evils upon the school and murder people just like your mother did.” He turned away, muttering to himself. “The only difference between you two is she could teach.”

  I ignored the insults. “Hey, are you going to fix my door?”

  He didn’t answer.

  It wasn’t like Mr. Dramatic Entrance had needed to magic it open. I hadn’t locked it. I hadn’t thought I would need to. Now I did.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Daughter of a #$%itch

  My cell phone alarm went off at six o’clock. A few minutes later, I realized my iPod was missing from my nightstand. Someone was stealing my things. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Thatch had done so in the middle of the night after breaking down the door just to make my life one more level of difficult. I probably would have lost my cell phone too if I hadn’t tucked it under my pillow.

  I hadn’t found an outlet for it in my room yet, and I was going to need to recharge my phone soon. I would rather have poked my eyes out than ask Thatch where to find an outlet. I figured I could ask one of the other teachers I had met at dinner the night before. It was hard to imagine I was missing it, though. The outlets had to be hidden with magic. This school was hardcore about keeping electronics off-limits to students.

  My room reminded me of something a schoolmarm might have lived in two hundred years ago. Two single beds shared a nightstand that held an oil lamp and nubs of candles. An empty bookshelf hung above each bed. Two wardrobes filled the space across from the foot of each bed. I’d chosen the bed farthest from the window and placed a few things on the desk underneath the window. The walls were gray stone, and the beds wood with gray sheets on top. It was the kind of colorless, blah room that could drive an art teacher crazy. I had to do something about it soon.

  I dressed and prepped in the restroom down the hall that I would be sharing with the other female teachers in this wing, and then wandered the twisting Victorian passageways into the main corridor and down to a kitchen built by hobbits if size was any indication of who worked there. Only being four foot ten, I fit right in.

  On the other hand, I really wished the kitchen had been stocked with Pop-Tarts, granola bars, or some other kind of instant food. No one was there, but breakfast was half prepared on plates as if ready to set out. I sat at a stool at the table, eating a slice of toast I slathered with blackberry jam. The bread was dense, like the yeast hadn’t risen properly, and the jam was tart, but it was still more edible than dinner had been the night before. Any minute now I expected a kitchen maid to come in and finish preparing the meal. When she didn’t, I left and took my toast with me to munch on the way to the dungeon.

  I arrived at Thatch’s room five minutes early, hoping to show my teacher how eager and willing I was to learn. He sat at his desk, writing in a black leather book. He didn’t crack a smile when I walked in.

  The “magic lesson” consisted of a stack of books on the antiquity of the school and the history of Witchkin that I was to read before school started so I would know more than the new students.

  “Read the book on lucid dreaming first.” Thatch tapped the smallest book on the top of the stack. “I will not tolerate an uncontrolled subconscious mind.”


  Right. Neither of us wanted another pornado dream.

  Coming up from the dungeon, I paused on the landing before the ground floor, resting the stack of books on the banister. Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. My gaze fell on the nearest portrait, one painted in a Neoclassical style.

  A woman in a pointed hat and a high-necked gown reminiscent of the Victorian era stared out from the painting. She was tall and regal, her cheekbones high and her nose elegantly sloped. She wore an emerald snake across her shoulders like a feather boa. The head of the reptile reared up with the jaws open to bite a raven gliding into the frame. Another serpent spiraled around her arm, the contrast of green with her black sleeve creating an undulating pattern that reminded me of my striped stockings. Her smile was mischievous, her eyes the pale green of an icy pond. Her fair features were startling against the midnight of her hair.

  She held herself with a confident serenity, despite the way the animals around her attacked each other. That was the kind of witch I wanted to be: the calm in a stormy sea of chaos. The slight lift to her chin hinted at a strong will and a defiance she wasn’t afraid to let others see. I was like that. I wanted to be a great and powerful witch.

  Rembrandt would have applauded the way the artist used the lighting to make the woman’s face glow. Transparent washes had been used to capture the subtle hues of veins and blood in the skin tone. The artistry was masterful, though I couldn’t find an artist’s signature.

  When I looked away from the portrait, I would swear the snakes were slithering in the painting, but when I looked at it directly they remained still.

  “The resemblance is uncanny,” a voice said to my right.

  I jumped. I hadn’t heard the teacher come up from behind me. “Professor Rohin… .” Shoot! I couldn’t remember the rest of his name. He wore a navy-blue turban and the kind of full beard that would make a lumberjack envious. I guessed he was middle-aged, if Witchkin aged like normal humans. I’d met him briefly the night before at dinner.

  “Darshan Rohiniraman. Everyone calls me Professor Ro, or Pro Ro.” He leaned closer. “Even the teachers at my last school.”

  A nervous laugh escaped my throat. He stood a little closer than I was comfortable with. I discreetly shifted the books on the banister and scooted back. Maybe it was the turban, but I had a hard time not imagining Professor Quirrell from Harry Potter.

  “I take it you’re related?” he asked, nodding to the picture.

  “Well, I don’t know.” I swallowed. “Is that… ?” I studied the face. Was it like my own face?

  “Former Headmistress Alouette Loraline.” He looked from me to the painting again. “She was your mother?”

  “That’s what they tell me.” Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement from the painting again. It was the raven. I would swear it had moved.

  Pro Ro scratched his beard. “You never met her then?”

  “No.” Yet, the moment I’d gazed at this portrait, I had thought she was beautiful, confident, and powerful, all qualities I wanted as a witch. Somehow I’d missed the evil vibe until now. The all-black attire, raven, and snakes that gave her a sinister air should have been a giveaway.

  “I hear she was a formidable woman. I never encountered her up close myself.” He eyed me with open curiosity. “Pardon my asking, but what made you decide to seek employment at Womby’s of all places, at her former school?”

  “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?”

  “She died here, didn’t she? Or disappeared under mysterious circumstances, rather.”

  “So, she might still be alive?” I thought of Derrick. He had disappeared mysteriously—if one considered a tornado mysterious. The idea of seeing him made me feel hopeful. I wasn’t sure what to think about my mother. If what everyone said about her was true, the idea of meeting her someday shouldn’t have sparked such joy in me, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know who she was and where I came from.

  “Pardon my saying so, but I should hope, for all our sakes, she isn’t alive,” Pro Ro said. “I think we all have our theories on what may have happened to her. She made people’s lives miserable here when she turned.”

  “Turned?”

  “To the dark side.”

  I laughed. “You make her sound like Darth Vader.”

  “I imagine she made quite a few enemies. I can only guess how unwelcome you must feel.”

  I shook my head. I was not going to be the unpopular teacher. I’d already experienced my fair share of being an outcast in high school. Things were supposed to be different now that I was an adult. I was with my peeps. Surely they would see I was one of them. Eventually.

  Pro Ro readjusted his turban. “I saw how warmly Mrs. Keahi treated you yesterday at dinner. Professor Thatch and Ludomil weren’t much better.”

  That was an understatement. Ludomil Sokoloff, the head custodian, had refused to talk to me. Mrs. Keahi, the elderly secretary, delighted in informing me my budget for art supplies was twenty-five dollars and I would be out of a job next semester if the school didn’t receive more funding from the generous pockets of rich Witchkin families.

  “Julian Thistledown and I had an interesting conversation about Professor Thatch last night.” Pro Ro waggled his eyebrows and stepped closer. “And his relationship with your mother.”

  “No way!” He could not be saying what I thought he was.

  Pro Ro leaned in closer. “Apparently, he was quite the teacher’s pet. Or headmistress’s pet.”

  Ew. I puked in my mouth a little. It was bad enough I found him attractive and I didn’t want to, but the idea he might have been my mother’s lover was icky. That made my pornado dream almost incestuous. What if he was my father?

  The stabbing sensation I’d felt in my lower abdomen the night before during dinner returned in full force. Was Pro Ro the cause? I’d been seated next to him at dinner.

  He scratched his beard as he looked from me to the stairs. I’d been so distracted by our barf-worthy conversation I hadn’t heard the voices.

  Felix Thatch strolled with another teacher up the stairs, speaking in a hushed voice. The history teacher, Julian Thistledown, was simultaneously bookish and brawny. As golden rays of sunlight splashed onto the hunky beefcake in his gold-and-turquoise robes, he glittered like a vampire in a Stephanie Meyer’s novel. His beauty stole my breath away as much as it had the first time I’d met him.

  “I’m just saying she isn’t—” Julian halted when he saw me. He cleared his throat. “Miss Lawrence, we were just talking about you. My, aren’t you a ray of sunshine, as always.” He attempted to smile, but he looked too flustered to manage a genuine one. “I found a few sets of colored pencils in my classroom, and I was telling my department head—” He cast an annoyed glance at Thatch. “—how much I thought you would appreciate them, especially considering how limited the art budget is. But he said the rules are to turn them in to my department.”

  Thatch gripped the colored pencils in his hands, his knuckles white. “If a teacher comes to me with additional supplies to share, I am to divide them between other teachers in my department. You can ask your department head if she has come across extra supplies for you. We have separate budgets.”

  Just when I thought Thatch couldn’t get any worse I had to hear this. For the freakin’ love of God, would it have killed him to give me those colored pencils? This wasn’t about me. It was about the students. Didn’t he see that?

  I seriously hoped he wasn’t my father. There was no way I wanted to be related to such a despicable man.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Spider Faux Pas

  I kept forgetting my classroom wouldn’t have a computer. Even a Stone Age computer that ran on magic would have been fine. All I needed it for was to take attendance, enter grades, and calculate the math for the grades for me, send in referrals, send updates to parents, and design worksheets. Doing research on the internet would have been a nice
addition. Not to mention all my lesson plans were stored in Google Docs, and I’d just learned how to use Google Classroom. Without the internet, I would be spending hours recreating lessons, my syllabus, and warm-ups instead of studying magic.

  I’d never been to a school that hadn’t provided a desktop and internet to the teachers. I had left my laptop at my mom’s house, along with everything else I couldn’t fit into the two suitcases for my dorm and the three boxes for my classroom. Dust covered the previous teacher’s hanging file folders in the corner. I would probably need more.

  I resumed cleaning and preparations from the day before, working like a madwoman. If I didn’t get this done before the other teachers arrived, they would have even more reason to think I was inexperienced and didn’t know what I was doing—both of which would be true.

  Josie Kimura, one of the other teacher’s I had met at the staff dinner the night before, swung by at noon. Her loose, bohemian-style dress, patched together out of orchid and mauve fabrics, matched the purple streak in her black hair. She was only a few inches taller than I was, but her lavender witch’s hat gave her the illusion of height. Her ample bosom was endowed with the kind of generous curves I lacked.

  She greeted me with a friendly smile. “Hey, girl. Jeb said you might need some help getting set up.” She removed her black rimmed glasses and wiped them off before replacing them on her nose. They made her look like a hipster version of Velma from Scooby-Doo.

  “Yes! Thank you,” I said. “Do you have time to help me hang up some art?”

  She slid a wand made from blond wood out of her long sleeve and pointed at my pile of posters. “Show me where these bad boys go.”

  I held up a poster of Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss and pointed to the spot I wanted it. She muttered a string of magic words, her brow furrowing in concentration. The incantation sounded Japanese, and she looked Asian, but she’d said she was from Seattle. I knew from watching too much anime with Derrick that her last name meant “tree” in Japanese. I wondered if she was like my fairy godmother and had a tree affinity.