Witches Gone Wicked

by Sarina Dorie

  “What are you doing in my bed?” a deep voice growled.

  I blinked my eyes. I felt like Goldilocks and standing over me was a bear. Or someone with a bearlike personality. I sat up.

  She was dressed in 1920s flapper attire, complete with a short bob of glossy black hair. I would have mistaken her for Catherine Zeta Jones when she’d starred in Chicago, except that this woman was so emaciated and pale.

  “You,” she said. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  “Hi, I’m Clarissa Lawrence.” I yawned and extended my hand, trying for politeness despite the circumstances. “Good morning. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Out of my bed!” She pointed at the other bed with a long-lacquered nail.

  I vacated my bed and sat on the other one closer to the window in case she tried to slash at me with her nails. She seemed the sort that would.

  She waved a hand at the door, still falling off the hinges and leaning against the wall. “What did you do to the door?”

  “Nothing. Mr. Thatch did it.”

  “That fucktard!”

  My eyes widened at her language.

  She turned away. She gestured with her hands, pushing and pulling at unseen forces. The door thudded closed. The metal hinges groaned in complaint before mending. The air smelled burned and sharp with fruity undertones. I stared in wonder. It took me a moment to remember to breathe.

  “That was cool. Thanks. Um, so, you’re my roommate,” I said. I tried to figure out a way to broach the subject of who she was without epic awkwardness. “So … what’s your name?”

  Her high heels clicked on the wooden floor as she paced, ignoring me. “It’s bad enough I didn’t get the tower. Jeb promised me the private tower. I’ve put in the years. Josephine Kimura has no right to that room.” She threw up her hands in disgust. “To make matters worse, I then find out I have a roommate. Not just any roommate, but little Miss Raven Bait herself. What was that senile old bat thinking?”

  I rubbed my eyes. It was too early for this.

  “So, I’m glad you’re here, actually,” I said. Okay, not really glad, but it was convenient. “I wanted to talk to you about furniture and decorations. It’s kind of plain in here. I thought I would put up some paintings and—”

  Her eyes glowed red. “If I have to look at anything else pink, I will tear out your heart and paint the walls with your blood.”

  Instinctively, I shrank back. I glanced around. There wasn’t any pink in the room. Except my suitcases in the corner.

  And my hair. And the Disney pajamas I wore. What could I say? It was hard to find adult-sized pajamas for a four-foot-ten woman.

  She stormed out. I sighed in relief at her departure. My roommate made Bellatrix Lestrange look friendly.

  The sky was gray with the coming of dawn, but I decided I might as well get up. I considered jogging on the school grounds where it was safe, but I had too much work to do. Because I wanted to fit in and look like an authentic witch, I dressed in black-and-white striped leggings under a black dress.

  The clothes I had set in my laundry basket next to the large standing mirror the night before were gone. I hoped the roommate from hell hadn’t burned them.

  On my way to my classroom, I stopped by the kitchen. I heard chopping and stirring before I stepped through the door. I thought I caught sight of someone at the stove, but the moment I set foot inside, the busy sounds of cooking ceased.

  “Hello?” I called.

  No one answered. Eggs sizzled in a pan on a wood stove. I wondered if I’d scared someone off. I grabbed a biscuit and munched on it as I wandered toward my classroom. The bread was so dense and dry I had to guzzle half the water from my water bottle to keep from choking. Along the way to my classroom, I decided to stop in the principal’s office to see if Jeb was available to discuss the Raven Court’s presence so close to campus. I hesitated in the doorway, seeing my new roomie at Mrs. Keahi’s desk.

  “I don’t care if he’s busy. How dare he do this to me!” my roommate shouted.

  Mrs. Keahi sat behind her desk, scowling. “You’re going to have to talk to your department head, dear. Professor Thatch is the one who approved the decision with the principal.”

  I silently backed away and tiptoed to the teacher mailboxes next to the staff room to wait. In my box, I found the in-service agenda for Thursday and a note from Jeb. From the formal tone and legible handwriting, I guessed the note had been written by Mrs. Keahi.

  The note said:

  My secretary informed me of your encounter with the Raven Queen’s servants. Please refrain from leaving the school grounds unless accompanied by a powerful Witchkin such as a Celestor like myself or Mr. Thatch until further notice.

  J.E.B.

  I needed to go to the internet café and print my lessons. It was going to take me forever to remember all the vocabulary for each project and make tests from scratch. If only my phone could get a good internet signal in the Unseen Realm to connect to Google Docs.

  As desperate as I was, there was no way I was going anywhere with Thatch, and I didn’t know what a Celestor was. Jeb had said he could chaperone. I would ask him.

  My roommate was still ranting in the admin offices when I peeked in again, so I made my way to my dorm room to pick up books and then headed to my classroom. The walk down the hall and up the stairs felt like it took forever.

  I selected Lucid Dreams and Subconscious Messages from the top of the stack. The surprise of a roommate yelling at me had distracted me from writing down my dreams and meditating. I couldn’t even remember my dreams now. I would get to the journal tomorrow. Meditating might not be so difficult now that the door was repaired and I didn’t think Thatch was going to sneak up on me.

  I skimmed the other exercises in the book. Anchoring and being able to tell the difference between reality and a dream seemed pretty important if I was going to avoid Thatch sex dreams. I practiced the observation exercise for a while, but there was only so much one could do while awake. The thickest of the books, Wards and Protective Charms for Advanced Magecraft, intimidated me with all the pictures of Celtic runes I couldn’t read, and I was lost reading Elementia Magic Volume II: Thunder, Lightning, and Weather Magic so I moved on to one of the skinnier books.

  My chair was hard, and the sunshine called to me, so I brought the smallest book outside and read it on a bench under an oak tree. The shady tree made me think of my mom—or fairy godmother—and I patted the tree like I would pat an old friend on the back. Oak gave Mom the most strength.

  “Pardon me, but you don’t strike me as someone with a tree affinity,” a man with a hint of an accent said. He might have been Greek or Transylvanian. Immediately I thought of Dracula.

  I glanced around. A shirtless man with a tan pushed a wheelbarrow across the lawn toward me. He definitely wasn’t a vampire from the way he basked in the vitamin D. A heap of weeds were piled inside the wheelbarrow. He smiled jovially.

  “My mom—well, my adoptive mom—has a tree affinity.” I shaded my eyes to see him more clearly.

  A gap showed between his front teeth as he grinned. Between his dark features, ripped abs, and excess of body hair, he resembled a Greek god.

  “Aren’t you here a little early?” he asked. “Classes don’t start until next week.”

  “Other teachers are arriving this week too.” Though I wished my roommate hadn’t.

  His mouth made a little O and understanding crossed his face. “I’m sorry, I thought you were a—pardon me.” He laughed.

  My face flushed with warmth. “A student, I know. I get that a lot.” That was one of the problems with being young and petite.

  He dusted his hands off on his brown pants and extended one to me. “I’m Sam. I tend to put my foot in my mouth. Or hoof, rather.”

  I stood to take his hand. As he shook mine, I realized the pants I’d thought he wore were fur. I stared for a beat too long. He coughed.

&nbs
p; “Oh, you’re Satyr Sam,” I said. I’d overheard some of the teachers talking about him the night before at dinner.

  He sighed in exasperation. “Why can’t people just call me Sam?”

  “Sorry, I’m new to this school.” As if that explained my social awkwardness. “I’m Clarissa Lawrence.”

  He scratched his chin, studying me. “You look like someone. Wait, don’t tell me. Did you have a sibling at our school?”

  Dread settled in my gut. “I don’t think so.”

  “Your parents went here?”

  “Something like that.” I hoped he wouldn’t recognize me from the portrait. I didn’t need one more person to hate me. “Hey, by any chance do you know who the teacher is with short dark hair? She’s my roommate and just arrived this morning, but she didn’t introduce herself. She may have been a little … distracted.”

  “Tall and evil-looking?” he asked. “Wears all black, usually in fringed dresses? Likes to kill small animals and possibly children?”

  “Um, probably.” I didn’t know the latter for a fact, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

  “That hot mess is Vega Bloodmire. She’s your roommate?” He whistled and shook his head. “If you can survive her, you can survive anything.”

  “Right.” Wasn’t she the one Josie had warned me about?

  He cheerily resumed his weeding, leaving me to feel even worse about my roommate situation.

  I tried to focus on reading about the history of the school. If I mastered the required reading, maybe I would be able to move on to real magic. I used the same studying techniques I had learned in middle school that helped me all the way through college. I got out my highlighters. Every time I came to a vocab word or definition I thought was important, I used yellow. For dates, I highlighted in pink, and for important names I used green. I read the headings and subheadings, text that was bold, text around pictures, and skimmed the rest. Then I reread what I’d highlighted. Time flew by.

  Chapter thirty-two, the second to last chapter, was torn from the book. I hoped I wouldn’t be tested on that chapter. It was about that time I wondered if Thatch had meant to give this book to me or loan it to me. The pages were brittle and yellow, the cover leather.

  I didn’t look forward to going down to the dungeon and asking. Maybe he wouldn’t be there, and I could leave a note on his desk.

  The dungeon was as dark and creepy as the last time I’d been there. Sconces lit the walls with blue flames that made the walls look even moldier. Water dripped somewhere in the distance. I had to walk through a dank and windowless classroom, down a hallway, and through a torture chamber I’d been told was the detention room, through another torture chamber I’d been told was Thatch’s relaxing room—it was Josie who told me, and I didn’t know how much of that was a joke—and to his office. A metal torture chair across from his desk shone under a chandelier; the focused lighting reminded me of a spotlight. His desk chair was a comfy cushioned one, modern with padded arm rests and made from a combination of metal, fabric and plastic that felt out of place in a dungeon.

  Behind the desk was a closed door that might have been a closet. Thatch’s desk was everything Jeb’s desk wasn’t. Files were stacked neatly in piles with a lesson plan book closed on top. An ink quill rested next to a blotter pad.

  Thatch wasn’t anywhere in the dungeons. Lucky me. I could leave a note, only there was nothing on his desk to write a note on. I hesitated, not wanting to intrude on his personal space.

  “Hello,” I called. “Felix Thatch?”

  No reply. I pulled open a drawer to see if he had Post-its. Something inside the desk screamed. I closed it quickly and tried another drawer. A hand reached out and grabbed my wrist.

  This time I screamed. I slapped the hand, but it didn’t let me go. I dug my phone out of my pocket. Before I could press it to the hand, it snapped away, and the drawer closed. My phone wasn’t even on.

  “Give me your Post-it notes, or I’ll touch you with the dark arts of electronics,” I threatened.

  I tried to open the drawer a smidge, hoping it would shove paper out at me, but no such luck. I opened the bottom drawer. This one screamed louder than the first. If I didn’t find Post-its soon, I was going to write a note on his blotter pad.

  In the bottom drawer, a black book rested on a heap of files. I considered closing the drawer, but I hesitated. Something inside me nudged my hand toward that book. Was it the intuition I usually ignored? Or my trouble-maker gene?

  I flipped back the cover. The book whispered, drawing me closer. I couldn’t make out the words. Patterns and symbols drawn in ink covered the page. I turned another page, the whisper momentarily ceasing and changing to something that sounded like another language. This drawing featured a serpent covered in scales made of runes. The detail was incredibly intricate. On the next page was a beautiful woman with long dark hair. Scrawling cursive covered her face, obscuring enough of her features I couldn’t tell who she was. The whispers of this page sounded more like French to me. Between the next pages of the book was a chunk of yellowing parchment that looked like it had been torn from another book.

  At the top it was labelled: “Chapter Thirty-Two.” I had found the missing pages from my history book! My intuition had led me here. Unwittingly, I’d used magic.

  Apparently, Thatch hadn’t wanted me to find this chapter. I opened my book to the appropriate section and placed the pages inside. Immediately the torn section crinkled, and the paper shifted. The parchment kneaded together before my eyes. The seam where it had been torn healed itself. If only people healed that easily.

  I set the book on the desk and reached to close the leather journal where I’d found the missing pages. The ink drawing that had been underneath the parchment caught my eye. The rendering reminded me of the portrait of my mother in the hallway, a witch in a Victorian gown. A snake twisted around her body, the head striking out at a raven. More birds circled the figure. Designs in the background incorporated pentagrams and runic writing.

  When I held my hand over the drawing, the paper felt as though it vibrated with electricity. Inhaling, the ink smelled like blackberries and starlight. Magic was at work here, but what it meant, I didn’t know.

  A deep voice from the doorway made me jump. “Why are you going through my desk?”

  I slammed the drawer closed. Thatch stood in the doorway, his lips pressed into a line and his nostrils flaring. I couldn’t blame him. I was being a sneaky snoop.

  I tried not to act suspicious, but my voice squeaked. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to … um … I was looking for Post-it notes so I could leave you a note.”

  He withdrew his wand from the pocket of his old-fashioned vest. The tip of it fizzled with blue sparks. That didn’t bode well. He strode forward.

  “My eggs were burnt this morning,” he said.

  “Um.” I watched his wand with trepidation. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

  “I don’t need to. You’re going to tell me.” I backed away until I bumped into the wall. “I’m sure it’s going to somehow be my fault for being born.”

  He touched the tip of his wand to each drawer of his desk. The drawers clicked and thudded as though bolts were locking in place. “You need to stay out of the kitchen. It interrupts the brownies.”

  “This is the second time someone has mentioned brownies, but I haven’t seen any set out yet.”

  His brow furrowed. “Set out?”

  “To eat.”

  “I’m not talking about food. I’m talking about sprites. Household hobs. Brounie or brùnaidh. They aren’t meant to be seen. Every time you go into the kitchen and interrupt them, they have to hide.” He stepped closer.

  I slid along the wall away from Thatch, afraid to turn my back to leave. “I didn’t know.” I had a lot to learn if I was ever to become a real witch.

  “Is that all you have to say?” He loomed closer to me
. His wand reminded me of a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

  “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, let me know.” I slipped around the desk, putting that between us. I bumped into the edge with my hip and sent a stack of files and the papers inside to the floor. “Sorry.”

  He eyed the mess with annoyance. With a flick of his wand, the papers flew back onto the desk, arranging themselves in order. “Your reason for setting foot in my office, uninvited?”

  I snatched up my book, brandishing it like a shield. “Can I keep this book? Or do I need to give it back?”

  “It’s on loan from the school library. Teachers can keep books as long as they need.”

  Craptacular! A library book. I was in so much trouble. The librarian was going to kill me when she saw the highlighter.

  My mouth went dry. “Is this checked out in your name?” I prayed it wasn’t.

  He leaned across the desk. With one of his long arms, he easily reached across the expanse between us and tore the book from my hands. Gloom settled over my soul. I was going to get in trouble for highlighting and stealing back those pages.

  He opened the book to page one. His jaw dropped as he stared at the highlighted pages. “You’ve defaced a limited edition. What kind of black magic is this?”

  “It isn’t magic. It’s called a highlighter. It helps you study the material.”

  He waved his wand over the page and muttered low enough under his breath that I couldn’t understand what he was saying. The spell reminded me of the ones on the pages of his journal. Electricity tingled in the air. My senses grew confused. I tasted Baroque music and smelled midnight.

  Yellow, pink, and green ink dribbled off the parchment and rolled onto the floor. He turned the page and waved his wand over it. More ink dribbled out. He turned another page before flipping through more chapters of my highlighting skills and groaned.

  I giggled. It’s not that I thought it was actually funny. I just tended to giggle when I was nervous.

  He shoved the book at me. He pointed at the door with his wand. “Get out. This is a waste of my time. One of your new friends can help you undo what you’ve done. If you have any.”