by Sarina Dorie
“Stop,” he said, his voice gruff. “I don’t want to hear another word. This is too much sappy Christmas niceness. I’m going to be ill from it all.” He pointed to the girls. “You three. Huddle together. It’s bad enough I have to waste magic on you as it is, but I won’t allow you taking up so much of it when we travel.” He attempted to be his grouchy self, but I could tell his heart wasn’t into it. He smiled at me as he waved an arm around the students, lassoing them together with a coil of gray smoke.
“Merry Christmas!” I called after them.
The four of them twisted in a blur of color before turning gray and evaporating like mist. The cold quiet pressed in on me. Their absence made my chest ache with longing for … I wasn’t even sure what I wanted. Was it Thatch? He was never going to want me. I knew that now.
It didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Well, that was an interesting Christmas,” Mom said.
Christmas didn’t feel complete yet. I had given something to Felix Thatch that felt meaningful, to replace something he had lost. I had connected with my students and experienced a breakthrough with Hailey. But Christmas wasn’t just about giving things to people you liked.
It was about doing good things for people who needed it. There was one last person I had never been able to do anything nice for. Thatch had tried to give me the magic words to get on Vega’s good side, but it hadn’t worked. She’d thought I had been making fun of her. I didn’t understand what I’d done wrong.
I turned to my mom. “Have you ever heard of a spell that goes ‘if you don’t got that swing, it don’t mean a thing’?”
“What?”
I repeated it.
“That isn’t a spell. That’s a song. And that isn’t how it goes.” She snapped her fingers and sang in the same lovely voice that had sung me lullabies as a child. “‘It don’t mean a thing if you ain’t got that swing.’ I think Duke Ellington sang that.”
Huh. So Vega’s weakness was a song? No wonder she’d gotten mad and thought I was making fun of her if I hadn’t even gotten the lyrics right.
Two days later after Thatch brought me back to work, I found a stocking on my bed full of coal. Inside was a note in Thatch’s handwriting that simply said: Bah humbug. From Santa.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The Ghost of Vega Present
I almost didn’t set the Duke Ellington record I’d wrapped in Christmas packaging on Vega’s bed, wondering if the gesture was worthwhile. After her numerous displays of contempt, I doubted anything would change, but I had to try. I left the package on her bed.
Later that day I found her sitting on her bed reading a magazine. She’d pulled out her coffin and used it as a stand for a wind-up phonograph. Old music crackled from the speaker, Duke Ellington singing “It Don’t Mean a Thing.” I took it she liked the record. I tried to hide my smile, lest my joy make her more cranky than usual.
She flipped a page in the magazine, not looking up. “I’ve decided there’s no use teaching you to be a strong, ambitious, or powerful witch like myself.”
I unpacked my bag from my trip. “I know. That’s fine. I decided I wasn’t going to ask you anymore.”
She lifted her nose into the air. “And I don’t condone gift-giving, but I’m keeping this record to make up for all the times you’ve annoyed me.”
“That’s fine.” I set a Tupperware container of seven-layer bars on the desk.
“Would you stop being so nice and agreeable?”
I returned clothes to my wardrobe. “Sure.”
“See, there you go again.” She snapped the book closed. Pink flushed to her porcelain cheeks. “Thatch warned me about this. How you’d be sweet and try to make me feel guilty. And you’d do that thing with your eyes. Ugh.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I’m just being myself.”
I had a lot of work to do now that I was back. In twenty minutes I would be hosting my first study club before school started up again in two days. I was actually excited about getting to spend time with students. I didn’t have time to dwell on Vega and her dour mood.
She pointed an accusing finger at me, the tip of her long nail as crimson as blood. “I tried to scare the nice out of you, but it didn’t work. I tried to humiliate the nice out of you, but I failed.”
“Failure is the best teacher,” I said, trying not to crack up.
She ignored the comment. “Thatch and I agree on one thing. If you’re going to survive the Fae, you need to toughen up. Only, you’ve made Thatch go soft. All you have to do is bat your eyelashes at him and bribe him with pastries. I will have you know, you can’t bribe me. I’m going to make you work for your education.”
I shrugged. “Okay. I’m fine with that.”
Her smile turned sinister, and she cackled. “Do you know what lengths I went to in order to test you? To ensure you toughened up?”
I had a feeling she was talking about more than delaying my bus and putting rocks in my bag. I thought back to what else it could be. There was only one lesson that could have been harsh enough to toughen me up.
“You were the one who pushed me into the Pit of Horrors?” I wanted her to deny it. She could be a bitch, but I didn’t want to believe she was truly psychotic.
Her lips curled into a smile, sinister delight in her eyes. “I knew you’d eventually figure it out. Do you know what Thatch said when he found out what I’d done?”
I stared at her in shock. All this time I’d thought it was Hailey who had pushed me. She had denied it multiple times too. I felt bad for accusing her now.
“You could have killed me!”
“Exactly. That’s what he said.”
“No, you almost killed me. Seriously.”
She shrugged. “You figured it out. I knew you would.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I’m Celestor. I saw your future. I knew you would be fine, just like I knew you would be fine when I delayed your bus. I wanted to see how you were going to get back to the school. Too bad that pansy-ass Thatch insisted on finding you.” She plucked the magazine from where she’d dropped it, pulling it away from a book she’d been hiding inside of it. Probably one of her precious yearbooks.
I slammed my bag down on my bed. “Did you also call the Fae that almost killed me?”
“I didn’t call the Fae. I only damaged your mother’s wards so they might notice you. And hit you with a suggestion charm so you would think it was a good idea to use magic. It was subtle. You could have resisted, but you didn’t. You summoned a Fae on your own.” She tapped a long red nail against the leather cover of the book she’d been reading. “How’d you get out of that one?”
“Thatch chased her off.”
She scowled. “How disappointing. You had to be saved by Professor Fucktard again.”
She tossed the book onto my bed. The book opened to the title page. I saw what book she’d been reading. Horror crept over me.
Alouette Loraline’s diary.
The Cheshire Cat couldn’t have grinned more mischievously.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Confessions
I held my breath, waiting for Vega’s threat to come. I considered diving in and snatching up the book, but it didn’t matter if I did. Either she’d already told Thatch, or she would soon. I couldn’t hide it from him. Then again, maybe it was best I didn’t. He might need those answers in the book more than I did.
The swing music played in the background, the volume too loud in the enclosed setting. Suddenly the room felt stuffy.
“I imagine Thatch wouldn’t approve of you having that book,” Vega said. “He would say you were putting yourself in peril. He’d say you were playing with fire, and you were going to get burned.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“I haven’t decided. On one hand, it would be entertaining to witness Thatch lose it. Alternately, it might be more interesting to see what
you do with the knowledge. Do you start a war, or do you save the world?”
“Have you tried to see the future?” That was a Celestor kind of thing to do.
She held her hand out, using a showy flash of magic to make the book rise and levitate just under her outstretched hand. “I’ve scried and attempted astrology, but neither have revealed any concrete answers. All I know is that our destinies are tied together, and I’m meant for greatness.”
“Do you understand what Loraline was researching?” I asked.
She snorted. “Of course I do. It’s the title of her journal: The Fae Fertility Paradox. The only part I can’t understand is how she did it—the parts in Old High German. I considered teaching myself another language over the winter break, but I decided it wasn’t worth my time. I don’t want to help the Fae have children—and I don’t want to have children myself—so I’m not particularly enticed. Thatch on the other hand, he might be interested if he thinks he can save his sister.”
A sinking sensation weighed down my gut. Those yearbooks she’d checked out from the library… . She’d left them in our room on purpose. She’d wanted me to find them, either to make the connection between the Silver Court and the Fae Fertility Paradox, or to make the connection between Thatch and his sister. She’d been leading me down a path with breadcrumbs all along. Now I was trapped at a witch’s cottage.
The swing music faded out, the only sound the rhythmic crackling of empty vinyl.
“But you care about that sort of thing, don’t you? You have to care because Alouette Loraline was your mother. The mother you never knew.” She smiled. “You want to follow in her footsteps, to finish her unfinished business.”
“No, I don’t,” I said.
She snorted, unconvinced.
I wondered if Vega knew what Loraline was … if she understood what I was. Panic swam up in me. Thatch finding the book was less dangerous than Vega knowing what I was, but even that held danger.
If Vega had considered teaching herself Old High German over winter break, did that mean she had discovered the book before winter break? She still hadn’t said if she’d told Thatch. If she had, he probably would have chewed me out by now. That meant I was safe from him, but not from her.
“How long have you known?” I asked.
She flicked a finger at the book, the page turning. “Since the first time you showed me the book and tried to trick me into helping you.”
“And you haven’t told Thatch yet?”
Vega smoothed the curled edges of her bob out of her face. “If you want to fix the world, you’re going to need to learn how to survive first. That means you need to be as powerful as Alouette Loraline, only savvy enough to outwit your enemies—which she failed. You need to stop at nothing to get what you want. Are you prepared for that?”
I crossed my arms, trying not to let my shaking hands give away my fear. “No, I don’t believe that. My mother’s ambition was her downfall.”
“Her ambition is your beginning.” She rose, the book following her like a dog on a leash. “When you’re ready to tear out human hearts and dabble in forbidden magic, you’ll need me.”
Revulsion swelled in me. “Thank you for the offer, but no. I’ll pass.”
“You don’t get a say in this. I’m your mentor. I’m here to help. Get used to it.” She drummed her red nails against my wardrobe as if bored. “I’m going to give you a lesson you’ll never forget.”
I lifted my chin high and fought the urge to wipe my clammy hands on my skirt. “You aren’t my teacher anymore. Thatch is my teacher. You don’t need to test me.”
“Despite what Thatch might say, I take my job as an educator seriously. I’ll decide when I’m done teaching you.” She strode closer.
I inched back.
“We’re going to see what you’re made of. Your friends can’t save you this time. Thatch is on an errand in the Morty Realm. Josie is away on holiday with her family. It’s just me and you.” She twisted her wrist around in a circle. A smooth length of polished black wood appeared in her hand.
Her words reminded me of Julian’s just before he’d attacked me. My eyes remained glued on her wand. “What are you going to do to me?”
Vega on a good day was dangerous. Vega with my magic making her stronger was unstoppable. I needed to find a way to get out of the room and away from her.
“Test you. If you survive, you pass.” Vega cackled. “If you survive with all your limbs intact, you get an A.”
I feigned right and dove to the left, over my bed. She leapt into my path. In a sudden gush, wet wind gusted against me, pushing me back into the wall. Storm clouds gathered at the ceiling. Thunder rumbled, and lightning flashed, bathing Vega’s face in hues of blue. Even as the rain pelted against us, she was terrifying in a beautiful and dangerous sort of way.
The air smelled of starlight and floral perfume. I could feel Vega sucking at the energy of everything around her to fuel her magic. She waved a hand at me. The room twisted, and bursts of starlight clouded my vision. I tried to breathe, but I couldn’t. Air was sucked out of my lungs.
This was like Thatch’s transportation spell—only Vega’s magic tasted different. Her energy was darker, bitter and sweet at the same time, reminding me of the almond flavor of cyanide.
The room stopped spinning, and I stumbled into a wall. Cold seeped into my bones. My hand grasped onto a smooth rock. Vega stood before me, arms crossed. It was pitch black around us except where Vega’s wand lit the walls of some sort of cave. It took a second for my eyes to make out the alcoves in the walls. The smooth rock I’d grabbed ahold of was a skull. I wrenched my hand away. My heart hammered in my chest.
Vega strode over to an alcove, the purple glow of her wand illuminating the mummified remains of a corpse. We were in the crypt. I was going to become one more dead body if I didn’t survive Vega’s test.
I backed away. “You don’t have to do this. No one expects you to teach me and test me like this.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” With two quick strides her long legs brought her next to me.
My calves bumped into something hard as I scooted back. “I’m unteachable. There’s no point in teaching me how to be strong, ambitious, and powerful. Remember?”
“You’re right. Those goals are too lofty. I’m going to settle for self-reliance and survival.”
She shoved me, and I fell back into an enclosed space. I tried to sit up, but she pushed me down again. I now realized what she’d pushed me into. I’d failed to notice the coffin behind me in the darkness.
She slammed the lid closed. “Let’s see you get out of this mess on your own.”
Loud thudding reverberated next to my head. My stomach churned as I realized she was hammering the lid closed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
A Tisket, A Tasket, Someone’s in a Casket
I hyperventilated in the coffin, paralyzed with terror. I needed to figure out how to get out. I used the first spell I could think of—the cleaning spell. With a burst of yellow light, the inside of the coffin smelled like lemon.
That wasn’t helpful.
I pushed and kicked at the wood. Vega continued hammering. I had to calm down and think. I was using up all the air.
Focus on one problem at a time, I told myself.
I could use my affinity and shoot lightning out of me, but that would probably have started the coffin on fire. If I used lightning on Vega, she would be dead. I didn’t like my psycho roommate, but I didn’t want to kill her. Besides that, no one would know where I was if she died down here. I would still be stuck in a coffin.
I brainstormed every skill I possessed: rainbow vaginas, baking brownies, and knowing the different uses of basil in spells. I could get aroused and accidentally cause magic to happen like I had with the hands.
The hands… .
I had an army of lost souls at my disposal. Only, I hadn’t ever mastered that spell to amplif
y my voice. Then again, maybe I didn’t need it. They were also down here under the school.
“Hands!” I shouted. “I need you! Stop Vega from burying me alive.”
Vega continued hammering another nail into the coffin.
I tried again.
“What’s that?” Vega’s voice was muffled. “I can’t hear you.”
I continued shouting. Maybe I needed to be aroused. I needed pleasure for my touch magic. I did my best to grind up against the coffin, but death was not a turn-on.
The hands responded to emotion. I had to calm myself and conquer myself mentally and physically like I had in the meditations Thatch had been teaching me previously.
I took long, slow belly breaths and focused on my core and the red ball of magic within. I sank into myself and separated myself from the vibrations of the hammer and the thunder of noise inches from my head. Nothing happened when I tried to make my affinity increase in size or intensity.
I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, but I suspected I needed more than friction. In the past I’d gotten my magic to work when I’d thought of Derrick. I imagined his cute smile and blue eyes as I touched myself.
I reached inside my pants and stroked myself between my legs while I thought of Derrick. For the briefest of moments, I saw Thatch’s face, serious and brooding, making me feel conflicted and guilty over imagining him. Now was so not the time to grieve over which unattainable man I couldn’t have.
Just like Thatch had taught me, I pushed the distraction away and imagined what I’d like to do with Derrick when we were reunited. The crimson magic inside me danced for a moment before going still. No matter how I tried, I didn’t feel aroused. I couldn’t will my magic into working.
In a burst of anger, I punched the coffin with my fists. Pain flared in my hands, intense and hot. If I had been as skilled as Thatch, I would have transformed that sensation into energy my affinity could use, but the burst of agony in my knuckles stole my attention. Only when the throbbing died down was I able to gather that pain inside myself and cool it into a different flavor of magic.