White Witch

by Trish Milburn

  “Hello, can I help you?” a woman with short, deliberately messy red hair asks.

  “Yes, I’m Emily Taylor. I need to enroll my daughter, Jax.”

  “Great.” The woman extends her hand. “I’m Mrs. St. John, the guidance counselor. If you all would like to take a seat, I’ll get the necessary paperwork.” She points toward a table in the corner. My fake mom and I slide into adjacent, hard plastic chairs.

  Fighting the urge to fidget, I instead scan the outer office. One off-white, concrete-block wall is filled with plaques and a drawing of the school. The one behind the receptionist’s desk holds the school’s bell system and a fire extinguisher. The hallways are quiet except for the squeaking of an occasional pair of shoes as someone passes outside.

  “So, where are you all moving here from?” Mrs. St. John asks as she takes a seat in one of the empty chairs.

  “Birmingham, Alabama,” my mom answers.

  “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

  “It’s so beautiful here, very peaceful.”

  The compliment succeeds in diverting the counselor’s attention away from what would logically be her next question, what my faux mom does for a living.

  A pang threatens when an image of my real mother hits me unexpectedly. Paulina Pherson, sitting in her studio, putting the finishing touches on one of the ethereal fairy paintings that made her famous for something other than being a powerful witch. Her face glows with pride and a serenity I’ve not seen anywhere else before or since. My heart squeezes, making me want to massage the pain away. But that’s impossible. After all this time, I still miss her, the person most like me, with a ferocity that makes it feel like her death only happened yesterday.

  I shift in my seat, reaffirming contact with the present, not a past that can’t be changed with any amount of powers. Mrs. St. John doesn’t need to see the sadness on my face and wonder about its cause.

  “Jax, that’s an unusual name,” Mrs. St. John comments.

  “I’m named after my father.” I use a little more of my power and force a fleeting pained expression to pass across the face of the stranger beside me, counting down the minutes until this disgusting subterfuge is over. “His name was Jack.”

  “He died when Jax was just a baby.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  As I’d expected and planned, the topic of a dead father quiets Mrs. St. John and causes her to focus on finishing the necessary paperwork quickly.

  “I’ll need to get a copy of Jax’s school records.”

  The nameless woman hands over the folder filled with forged documents I gave her on the way into the school. These, unlike the fake ID I used to secure my camping space, show my real age of sixteen. “I’ve home schooled Jax up until this point, but I thought a normal high school experience would be good for her during the last few years before college.”

  Not fidgeting proves difficult as Mrs. St. John looks over the records showing I’m an excellent student. At least my GPA and the fact I’ve been taught at home aren’t lies.

  “Impressive. You’re going to be a wonderful addition to our sophomore class, Jax.”

  “Thanks.” I try for sincerity mixed with teenage boredom.

  “Though I see you’ve not taken any physical education classes. We’ll have to get you in one of those.”

  I groaned before thinking.

  Mrs. St. John smiled at me. “I know girls your age often don’t like P.E., but it’s a requirement for graduation.”

  I dreaded the days of humiliation ahead but tried to convince myself that it was just another part of this normal existence I wanted so much. Plus, there was no one here to disappoint with my unexplained total lack of a sports gene something no other witch suffered. It was just something else that made me stand apart from my family, one more thing that made it dangerous to live in their midst.

  I force my mom-for-a-day to glance at her watch. “Is there anything else I need to do? I hate to hurry, but I have a meeting in Asheville later this morning and I need to get on the road.”

  “No, I think Jax and I can take it from here. I believe all we need to do now is make out her class schedule.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I say as I stand. “I’m going to walk Mom out.”

  “Okay.”

  I accompany the woman to her car, picking my way through her brain as we walk, telling her to return to her campsite and remember nothing. Only once she’s inside her RV will she pop out of the mind control and wonder where in the universe her morning has gone. With any luck, Mr. Fisherman won’t return to the campground before his wife.

  For good measure, I compel the unwitting stranger to lean over and kiss me on the cheek.

  “Have a good day, dear. I’ll be home around five or six.”

  I watch as the woman gets into her car and drives from the parking lot. Only when she rounds the corner of the building do I return to the school. A strange giddiness still laced with anxiety zips through me. I’m almost an official student. Just a few more minutes and I can relax.

  I bring my hand to my warm forehead. After today, no more magic. The risks are just too great.

  When I step back inside, I pause and stare down the hallway. Lockers line the far wall. A giant, hand-painted banner announcing the homecoming football game covers the area above the lockers. A large display cabinet facing the office is filled with trophies, pom-poms and framed photos of various sports teams. I smile. Normal, it’s all so blessedly normal.

  On my way back into the office, I spot a tall guy standing at the front desk, his back to me. He has to be at least six-three, maybe more. Despite my grades, I’m no good at judging heights or weights.

  He offers a “thanks” to the school secretary then turns toward the door. The rotation of the earth screeches to a halt. Did everyone else on the planet suddenly fall over at the abrupt lack of revolution?

  The eyes of the hunter stare back at me—the hunted.

  Chapter Two

  I can do nothing but stare while my sluggish brain tries to grasp what I’m seeing. Standing mere feet from me is the guy who stalked me on the side of the road a few nights before. Someone whose mission it is to kill my kind, to kill me. The skin all over my body chills, my heart accelerates, and my body tenses for flight. Should I flee? Using enough magic to fight him off will surely draw my family. I’d rather take the chicken route and run.

  I search his expression for any hint of threat. Instead, I notice his medium brown hair, a touch too long and unruly in a wispy way. Dark brown eyes. A lean build, like a runner or swimmer, chiseled features. His dark blue T-shirt hugs his torso, accentuating the corded muscles in his arms. My skin heats as if I’m using my full power.

  I also sense a maturity at a level beyond his years. That makes sense if he’s been brought up in a family of hunters. Just like with witches, their training starts early.

  His eyes widen slightly, but at least for the moment, he doesn’t seem to realize who—or what—I am.

  “Jax?”

  I jerk at the nearness of Mrs. St. John’s voice. After slapping my fried brain into action, I look at the guidance counselor. The woman is struggling to hide her smile.

  A quick glance at the guy reveals only his back as he hurries out the office door. Something deep inside me wants to follow him, not to do him injury but just to be near him. A jolt of fear sears my veins. What is wrong with me? When did I develop a sudden and inexplicable death wish?

  Do hunters have some sort of ability of their own, something enticing that lures their prey close enough to kill?

  Even if he doesn’t connect me to the roadside incident, I realize trotting after him would be a touch on the strange side. And the name of the game is to be normal, not stand out, blend. Acting like a love-struck puppy doesn’t exactly scream blend.

  “Have you thought about what electives you’d like to take?”

  “I like art.” And would you happen to have classes in living without magic and how to re
late to boys who aren’t witches?

  Despite my first-day look of a Plain Jane braid, no makeup, and a flannel shirt worn over a bulky tee, the attention comes. I feel all the eyes following me throughout the morning, some curious, many admiring.

  Part of me actually likes the appreciation by the male population of the school—especially the awkward smile the gorgeous hunter boy offered me when I got up the nerve to look back to where he and a short blond girl were passing notes in our first-period history class. What girl wouldn’t? But if any of those guys could see what I really am, how long would they like me? My long, blond hair, light blue eyes, clear complexion—everything was bought and paid for by an ancient evil, and if I could shed them I would. Even if no guy ever looked my direction again.

  Okay, so maybe that wasn’t entirely true. I don’t want to be ugly, but being the center of attention has always made me uncomfortable. I wouldn’t mind staying attractive, but normal pretty, not supernatural pretty.

  After the first couple of hours of the constant barrage of compliments and offers to do my bidding, I’ve had enough. I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own books, opening my own doors, and finding my own way from History to Algebra to English, thank you very much.

  I’d like to believe the guys are only being nice, but I’ve been down this road before. Every time I ventured from the coven’s compound into surrounding Miami, guys of all ages stared and showered me with praise, trying desperately to get my phone number. Every time, I went home wishing I could look in the mirror and see who I am without the magic. I’m more than my packaging, but I’ve never been able to prove that to anyone.

  As the bell rings to end English class, I cave, drawing on just a touch of my power of speed to make it out of the room before anyone else. I dodge the guys who’ve been in other classes and the angry stares of my female classmates and duck into the restroom. Who knew being normal was so exhausting?

  When the door opens behind me, I spin, paranoid that one of the guys has had the nerve to follow me here. But it isn’t the owner of a Y chromosome.

  The blond girl with pink streaks in her hair who sat next to the hunter in History class strolls in. I’ve seen them together in the hall a couple of other times and wonder if they are a couple.

  Doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going to date him, no matter how much I might like to—if he wasn’t a hunter. Part of my suddenly pea-sized brain isn’t getting the message though. What was I thinking when I looked back at him in History class, then actually returned his smile?

  The other girl moves toward me, but I don’t back away. It won’t be the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of a threat from another girl, even though I’ve never made the first move on a guy.

  The girl gives me a once-over and smiles as she heads for one of the sinks. “Well, I don’t see any claw marks yet. That’s a good sign.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The girl proceeds to wash her hands but nods toward the hallway. “I keep expecting a cat fight. Nice job. I haven’t seen this much solidarity among the females of Baker Gap High since low-rise jeans were banned.”

  “And you’re here to deliver a message from the population at large?”

  The girl laughs as she dries her hands. “Me, heck no. I love anything that stirs up the status quo. Call it my personal motto.” She extends her hand. “I’m Toni.”

  “Jax,” I say as I shake Toni’s hand.

  “Figured that out.” Toni crosses her arms and leans against the sink. “I’m expecting a special issue of the school paper announcing your arrival.” She doesn’t sound bitter, rather like she thinks the entire idea is as absurd as I do.

  “Not much in the way of news around here, huh?”

  “You could say that.” Toni leans close, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You’re even bigger than the mayor’s annual ceremony to crown the grower of the biggest pumpkin in the county.”

  I snort, instantly liking this girl with the pink streaks. When Toni leans back and I spot the words on her T-shirt, I like her even more. The black T-shirt sports the words “Joss Whedon is my master now.”

  “I like your shirt.”

  Toni looks down. “Thanks. It’s part of my very own Whedon Worship collection. Stick around, you’ll see them all.”

  “How many do you have?” After all, most people our age hadn’t been viewers of Buffy or Firefly. We’d been too busy teething and learning to read when the shows first aired.

  “I’ve lost count.”

  Meeting another Whedon fan seems like a good sign. Maybe my luck is finally turning in a better direction.

  The door opens again and a pack of populars comes in dressed in the latest brand-name styles they can’t even buy in this town. Gossip Girl wannabes. Okay, so maybe not so much with the luck changing.

  They notice me and their eyes narrow in unison, as if they are all sharing one brain. Okay, that is truly creepy. And I know creepy when I see it.

  “Oh, goody. It’s Liv, Stacy and Brianna,” Toni says. “Or, as I like to call them, the Three Brainless Wonders.”

  I nearly choke trying not to laugh.

  “I see you finally found yourself a little friend,” the one with shoulder-length cocoa hair says in a snide tone as she reapplies lipstick.

  “Yes, and one who is about to knock you off the pretty throne. My life is complete.” Toni looks at me. “This is Stacy, who thinks she is queen of all she surveys.”

  “You’re such a loser,” Stacy says. She spares me a down-her-nose glance. “Be careful, new girl. Loserdom is like a disease. You can catch it if you get too close.”

  “Really? I heard the same thing about bitchiness.” Wow. That zinger arrived on the train from nowhere.

  Toni hoots and gives me a high-five.

  Another of the pack, this time a girl with the type of long black hair with which I tried and failed to cloak myself, points a finger at me. “You have so just made a mistake. Don’t even think you’re coming into our school and getting what you want.”

  Toni leans forward. “Don’t worry, Liv. Nobody else wants Thad.”

  The expression on Liv’s face turns murderous as Toni laughs and guides me toward the door.

  “Yeah, that’ll make me some friends,” I say, though I’m on the verge of laughing, too.

  “Trust me, you don’t want that bunch as friends. They’d turn on you in a second if they thought you wore the wrong color for the season.”

  “Why do I feel like I’ve wandered into every teen movie I’ve ever seen?”

  “What, you didn’t see the cameras and director when you walked in?”

  I laugh. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Being normal.”

  “Oh, honey, if you think I’m normal, you must have just dropped into Baker Gap from the planet Neptune.”

  Does the witch aristocracy of Miami count? Probably more alien than Neptune.

  I fall into step beside Toni, thankful I’ve found an ally who doesn’t judge based on appearance. Seems she’s the only one. But then she has pink streaks in her hair.

  The glares of the other girls burn into me like hot iron, and the adoration of the males nearly suffocates me. If they only knew what I could do to them, they’d all back away in fear. I rein in my emotions. Normal equals no magic, and no magic means I can’t pin any of the people staring at me to the ceiling.

  Our route through the corridors leads to the cafeteria.

  “Oh, goody, you’re starting school on Alpo and fruit cocktail day,” Toni says. “Will your good luck never cease?”

  Another laugh escapes me, and I let the stares and murmurs of our other classmates fade away. I have the makings of my first friend, and that’s enough for now. I accept my foul-smelling lunch and follow Toni to a table by the bank of windows that look out toward a wooded area behind the school.

  When I sit down, I stare at my food. Actually, calling it food is too complimentary.

  “Really, n
o one has died from eating this stuff,” Toni says. “There was that one incident of mass nausea, but . . .”

  I raise an eyebrow and pick up the safest looking thing on the plate, a cornbread stick. “School lunch, the perfect diet plan,” I mutter before taking a bite.

  The energy of the stares coming my direction changes. One stare. I somehow know he’s entered the room.

  “Hey, Keller,” Toni says as she waves at someone behind me. Then she gives a more demanding look and motions for the person to sit with us.

  Even before Keller reaches us, I can tell from the movement of energy around me that it’s him, the hunter. I tense, ready to defend myself. I try to relax, to remember he’s given no sign that he knows who or what I am. But my heart rate kicks up as I hear his footsteps approach.

  “Prepare to be dazzled by my uber cool cousin,” Toni says as Keller reaches our table.

  “Toni,” he says with a warning tone in his voice.

  His voice, I love the rich sound of it. I could listen to him read a biology textbook all day. I’ve never reacted this way to a guy before, and I’m finding it frighteningly intoxicating.

  And shameful. Am I any different than the people who’ve been staring at me all morning, seeking out glances at Keller based on his looks alone? His being a hunter sure isn’t a big attraction.

  “Jax, Mr. Suave here is my cousin, Keller Dawes.”

  The amount of self-control it takes to keep from smiling ear to ear at the knowledge that Keller is Toni’s cousin, not her boyfriend, proves truly amazing and not a little scary.

  I swallow and make myself look up at him. “Nice to meet you.”

  He nods without much expression. “You, too.”

  “Dude, sit down,” Toni says. “I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at your giant self.”

  “I’m not a giant,” Keller hisses under his breath as he sinks into a chair between Toni and me.