by Cecy Robson
I storm forward. She opens up her mouth to say something except she never gets a chance. I punch her so hard in the face she drops her staff. Be it my lack of balance or the unbearable weakness in my legs, I fall forward and on top of her, my common sense kicking in enough to shove her away from her staff.
We’re not fighting like kids on the playground, those who smack and bat their hands. We are literally beating the shit out of each other, kicking, clawing, punching—her long fingers digging into my hair and scratching my scalp as she yanks me forward and nails me in the nose.
Stinging pain shoots between my eyes, instantly making me see double. If I’m being honest, I can’t fight. Celia is the brawler. But I’ve seen her in action enough times to learn how she wins. She doesn’t stop, throwing the weight of her body into each strike, and she doesn’t give up, making each strike harder, more vicious. So I don’t curl in a ball and beg for mercy, or crawl away crying. My elbow comes down on her face, again and again between punches.
The Lessers are screaming, hands blindly sweeping in trying to pry us apart. Yet even as they’re separating us, we continue to kick, my stubborn will ensuring the last strike is mine. I’m dragged back, spitting mad. The last image I see as I’m hauled up the hill is what remains of the marsh. The weeping willows collapse into the simmering water as Agatha’s magic shatters apart.
~ * ~
Once more, I’m in the principal’s office. The principal isn’t happy. Neither are “Mom” and “Dad”. Aric drags his hand across his face as Principal Vieve gives him the deets on my smack-down with Agatha.
Celia sits rigid, with her hands clasped over her lap. She’s trying not to react and keep her expression neutral. But I recognize that familiar, “Jesus, Taran” look she always gets when I engage in less than stellar activity.
“An assault against a Superior is cause for dismissal,” Vieve says. Her voice maintains that smooth and relaxed tone, but the stern inflection behind it is as obvious as the mud and muck coating my hair. Her attention flickers my way. “It also gives Agatha cause to challenge Taran to a duel.”
“Let’s go then,” I begin, only for Aric to cut me off.
“That’s not going to happen,” he says. Yet he isn’t talking to me. “A direct challenge against my mate’s sister will be construed as an insult against me and an act against my Pack.”
“I know,” Vieve responds.
She’s not regarding Aric in a challenging way, at least not so directly his wolf would respond with force. But it’s clear she’s not happy about having to deny Agatha the pleasure of hexing me to possible death.
“However, I can’t ignore the insult on my end either,” she responds, turning back to me. “Taran, you punched Agatha in the face, demeaning her in front of Lessers who she must continue to teach.”
It’s one of those moments when “she started it” wouldn’t work and neither would flipping her off. So instead of yelling and cursing which I’m damn good at, I tell her off the best way I know how. “Agatha chose Paula first. You know Paula, right? The one who every Lesser here regards as pitiful? The one who works harder than anyone else, yet has spent years trying to conjure magic most young witches master before puberty?”
“Yes, I know her,” she responds, her expression unreadable.
“Well, did you also know Agatha flung her into a marsh infested with crocodiles which she enchanted to resemble infected vampires? And that she then hypnotized her so she’d see her greatest fear?” I don’t give her a chance to respond. “Want to know her biggest fear? It’s her mother dying. The one person who’s always believed in her and told her she could be so much more.” I grip the sides of my chair. “Agatha didn’t care. She made it so Paula would watch the person she loved most mauled to pieces.”
My voice quiets as I remember how hard Paula cried when she told me. “Agatha didn’t choose Paula because she thought Paula would do well, or to give others hope they could survive this twisted test. She picked on someone weaker to instill fear. You call that effective teaching? I don’t. I call it bullying and harassment. Agatha might as well have stolen her lunch money while she was at it.”
Vieve’s full pink lips press together, her way of demonstrating her distaste. But it’s Aric who speaks. “Is that true?” he asks, even though he can already scent it is.
“Like you, Aric, our kind doesn’t discuss our training methods. Perhaps if Taran would have actually studied our rules she would realize as much.” She leans back into her throne-like chair, analyzing me closely.
Aric shifts in his seat to look at me. “And what did you see?”
“What do you think?” I ask, turning away when my eyes burn.
I don’t have to explain. He knows what I fear. It’s the same fear he holds when it comes to Celia.
“Like weres, we train ours to battle the very worst, at our very worst,” Vieve says as a way of an answer.
“I’m not passing judgment,” he answers, keeping his voice low and as hard as his expression. “But you’re dealing with Taran. She’s not a witch or a werebeast.”
“But she is someone who assaulted a teacher,” Vieve responds with equal force. “How would that have gone over in your Pack? Would the perpetrator even be allowed his next breath much less stand before you?”
If she expects to stonewall Aric it doesn’t work. “Taran is different from us,” he reminds her.
“And I’ve made allowances given she’s not one of us,” Vieve counters. “That doesn’t give her permission to behave as she wants.”
She rounds on me. I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to hang my head in shame and express my remorse. Too bad I don’t have any. Instead I meet her perfect face, willing myself not to leap across her pristine desk and pummel her. She must sense as much, her chin tilting ever so slightly which on Vieve is the equivalent of me screaming and flailing my arms.
As if to remind me who’s head bitch, she tugs on my leash. The bind around my arm tightening hard enough to make me flinch. But this time I don’t. “I didn’t behave the way I wanted to,” I tell her.
“Really?” she begins, her brow lifting so slightly, I barely catch it.
“No. If I had, you’d be sweeping up Agatha’s remains with one of your brooms.” I ignore Celia’s groans, and Aric’s too, standing despite the tug on my arm insisting I sit and remain far beneath her. “I get that you’re in charge, and that the Superiors are to lead and teach us as it suits them. Just like I understand that all this bullshit stress is designed to take us to our breaking point so we train our bodies and mind to push past our fear and react. I get it, because I’ve done it a thousand times over since being dragged into this world.”
Vieve’s voice is so laced with anger her power sparkles the gemstone on her talisman. “Then you know how imperative it is that every last member of our coven learn what you’ve learned, the hard way to survive,” she says rising, She lugs me forward with a magical pull of the bind. I fall across her desk, my forearms smacking hard against the slick wood.
“Genevieve,” Aric warns.
Celia growls, that deep growl she does before her prey literally loses its head.
We ignore them, glaring at each other. “There’s a difference between teaching to perform under stress and what Agatha did today,” I bite out through my teeth, ignoring the tightening around my arm. “Agatha wasn’t taking Paula to her breaking point, she attempted to break her—break all of them by starting with who she thought was the weakest link. Maybe she is. Maybe she isn’t. But what Agatha did was wrong.”
My neck muscles strain as the bind digs into my skin, causing my sickly blue veins to bulge against their white landscape. “You want me to learn. You want me to do the work. I have,” I remind her. “But I won’t ignore my nature. Today, that nature compelled me to protect Paula. Weak or not, right or wrong—I don’t care. You can expel me. I’d rather burn to embers. But no way in fuck will I allow someone like Paula to be treated like she’s nothing.”
My head is spinning. It could be something Vieve is doing, some evil hex that will make me sprout six tits, or it could be because every time I inhale, I can still smell Gemini’s body cooking and falling away from his skeleton.
Time passes as my focus wavers in and out. But just when I’m certain I’ll hurl, the nausea recedes and Vieve’s grip on my arm releases.
As gracefully as I can, I edge away, watching her straighten. Something changes in her expression. Not that she appears any less pissed.
“Your tactics are designed to protect your sisters, but also the innocent,” Aric reminds her. “Just as we weres guard and defend the earth and its human populace.”
“I already made my decision, Aric,” Vieve says, making it clear that nothing he says will change her evil plans.
“You think you know so much,” she tells me, her precious blue stare morphing to steel. “Because of your experience and the courage you pretend to wield.” She ignores my scowl. “So be it.” She walks around her desk. At first, I think she’ll walk toward me. Instead she glides toward the high windows that look out to her sacred garden. “Did you read your High Tasks?” she asks, keeping her back to me.
In general, I rack my brain trying to remember all the witchy stuff I’m supposed to know for each class. But I don’t have to now. The High Tasks are spoken of in whispers between chants, meals, and those rare moments the Superiors are out of earshot. They are the equivalent of your witch boards. Three tasks that must be completed in order to graduate and earn Superior status within the coven. It takes a shit-ton of magic, power, and even more focus to achieve them. According to Paula, most in our class will never make it and leave the compound in disgrace.
“Yes,” I answer.
I don’t go in to detail, especially since I can feel the weight of Celia’s and Aric’s scrutiny. They’re not familiar with the High Tasks, and they’re not supposed to be. It’s one of those, “If I tell you, I’ll die,” kind of deals. Seriously. The hex attached to spilling the details will blow me to smithereens.
She looks at me then. Knowing where she’s going, I expect her to smile. One of those wicked smiles bad guys get when they’re squeezing you by the proverbial nuts. Vieve doesn’t smile. Yet the way she regards me is almost worse. “Pick one. Perform it. And you’ll be allowed to return.” Her eyes flash from with the bright yellow light of her talisman. “If you fail, you’ll have your wish and be allowed to burn.”
Chapter Twenty-two
One chance, or I’ll meet my eventual fate.
I not only know how to make my bed, here I am lying in it, tangled in the sheets, and suffocating myself with the damn pillow.
But this time, I’m not alone.
Paula, Merri, and Fiona, sit across from me. I’m in their room because not only did Vieve require the impossible, she’s making me spend the next few nights here until I get it done. I’m not allowed any contact with my family, or anyone outside the coven.
Paula skims through the leather bound texts that list the High Tasks while Merri and Fiona flip through old notes from Lessers who have actually passed. These girls have been nice. None of the other Lessers opened their doors with arms outstretched lovingly. After watching me in a fistfight with the most feared instructor, I suppose they fear expulsion by association if there’s such a thing.
I wasn’t surprised, expecting ridicule and nasty comments. Yet as word spread I’d have to perform a High Task way ahead of schedule, they began to regard me like one of those deep sea creatures no one knows the name of, but everyone is afraid to approach.
The laughs at my expense, and eye rolls I anticipated never came. What I saw was fear and a whole lot of pity. Which, incidentally, did nothing to boost my quickly deflating confidence.
“What about the Vanishing?” Paula suggests, glancing up from her reading. Ordinarily, Lessers aren’t allowed to see the text until close to their graduation period which, for the four of us, is a long way off. But Vieve made the exception, permitting me access and any help that came from my peers.
“The Vanishing sounds doable,” she adds. “I mean, how bad can it be if it goes wrong?”
“Pretty damn bad,” Merri says, scratching at her bald head. She started out with jet black hair down to her butt. That changed after we mixed our first snapdragon potion last week. Whisker of Boar or whatever she added went horribly wrong. She cursed herself so badly the only hair she’ll grow for the next year is on her feet, and by the looks of it, girlfriend needs a cut.
“My sister told me that her roommate, Karen, had this second cousin on her mother’s side who overdid the Vanishing,” Merri continues. “Instead of disappearing, she turned inside out.” She holds out her hand. “Seriously, her guts spilled out of her and all over the front foyer, and her own hand was doing its best to push out her beating heart. She didn’t pass, in case you’re wondering, and it took like a week and a half to put her back together.”
I blink back at her. “Okay, so I’m thinking no to the Vanishing.”
Fiona swallows hard. She’s thin, and so tall she has to tuck her head to pass under doorways. I haven’t spoken to her much, but she’s trying to help me and that means a lot. “What about Soaring?” she suggests. “You get to fly. That sounds cool.”
Merri shakes her head. “Nah. My sister told me that some Lesser in her Rune-reading class did Soaring. Crazy freak sprouted wings and fangs. She did fly,” she adds, thoughtfully. “But it took them a few days to find her and when they did she was in a field munching on dead rats.”
So far, Merri isn’t living up to her name.
Paula lowers her hand from her mouth. “It doesn’t appear your sister studied with a very promising class.”
Merri huffs. “Tell me about it. She lost an ear and part of her left foot before she graduated, but at least she graduated. I think about sixty percent of her classmates are now reading fortunes at carnivals, poor bastards.” She shrugs. “They were all lower-ranked like us.”
Sadness falls around us like an itchy blanket. For all I think I’m a freak, I’m starting to realize that I’m not alone. “We’re going to make it,” I say, because we all need to believe it. “We just have to keep going.”
They don’t seem so convinced, but as they exchange glances they smile. The motion is subtle, but I catch it.
“Well, that leaves one High Task,” Paula says, frowning as her eyes skim down the passage.
“It’s Mirror? Isn’t it?” Fiona asks, leaning forward.
Paula holds up a finger as she continues to read, alerting us she needs a moment. She flips the page, her eyes passing along each line.
“What’s Mirror?” I whisper to Fiona.
“You turn into something or someone else,” she explains, watching Paula with interest.
“Something?” I ask.
She nods. “It can be a beast, a dog, a crow, a rat—”
“Don’t be a rat,” Merri interrupts. “You know that chick who sprouted wings? One of the rats she was found chewing on was her roommate. She picked Mirror, God rest her soul.”
“I’ll be a cougar,” I say quickly, thinking I’ll be damned if I let someone eat me.
Paula purses her lips, placing the journal down. “I wouldn’t pick beast, not with so many weres in the area.” She points to a section in the text none of us can see, not that I think we’re supposed to. “According to rules surrounding Mirror, you’re supposed to fool someone close to you into believing you’re that someone or something else. You’ll lose your natural scent and inherit that of the being you choose, but weres can distinguish a true beast from a fake one. Their animal nature makes it easy for them.”
“What about another human?” I ask, thinking about all the weres occupying my house alone.
“That could work,” she says. “But this is one of those High Tasks people dread the most.”
I’m almost afraid to ask, but I still do. “Why?”
“It’s designed for the supernatural equival
ent of espionage, becoming someone else to gather secrets and information. In a Lesser, the spell is unpredictable. If it sticks, you’ll have at least twelve hours once you change to fool your target. But if it doesn’t, your form will dissolve as quickly as it comes. But Taran, I have to warn you, according to this, it’s painful. We’ll have to tie you to bed once you swallow the potion.”
I don’t mention it won’t be my first time tied to the bed, and while I’m not excited about feeling more pain, the thought doesn’t deter me. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“You’re not worried?” Paula questions. “About the pain, I mean. According to this, it’s like torture.”
The girls gasp as my vision sharpens. I don’t have to catch sight of my reflection to know my irises have turned almost white. “Let’s just say, I’m used to pain,” I tell them.
~ * ~
Three days. That’s how long it takes the four of us to chant enough to strengthen the herbs and plants we need for Mirror. I have to give it up to Fiona, Merri, and Paula. Our chanting was limited to the dead of night because this was considered an extracurricular activity.
It was colder than Frosty’s ass cheeks. Merri had an easier time because of her hairy feet, but the rest of us were chattering through our chants. By the time we plucked our herbs and plants (beneath the light of a full moon of course), we were averaging four hours of sleep a night and still expected to be at our best during class.
My sisters have been calling me, despite knowing I can’t call them back. They want me to know they’re thinking of me and praying for my success. I want to text back and tell them I love them, and I would if it wasn’t against the rules
I miss them and was pretty choked up when I heard Alice’s “Ergh” on my voicemail. I hope she’s okay and getting enough road kill to eat. Shayna left me a message telling me Alice isn’t doing very well and that they’re finding random body parts all over the house. A hand here. A leg there. But it was the nose sniffing around Celia and Aric’s bathroom while they were taking a bath that was especially disturbing.