Law and Disorder (RIP Magic Academy Paranormal and Supernatural Prison Series Book 1)

by E Hall

  “But can’t the magical community put a stop to it?”

  She grabs my arms. “We are the magical community. Our parents have no idea. We arrived here to all of these sudden changes. Since we had the commencement ceremony, it seems like some of the professors and the chancellor are fighting against it, but for how long? How long until we’re no better off than the inmates in the Iron Tower?” Yassi starts pacing.

  “So everyone was tricked. By who? Who has that amount of power?”

  “The gates around campus look the same but you noticed the barbed wire and magic, right?”

  I nod. “So everything looks normal from the outside.”

  “Exactly. Then in here they’ll slowly take away our freedoms, suppress our abilities, and—”

  “But why?”

  “They probably want to strip us of our power so we’re no longer a threat to the non-magicals.”

  “Well, I don’t have any powers so why was I brought to the Iron Tower by a rogue djinn? Why am I here?” The sensation of anger when I faced the djinn wells and resurfaces, reminding me of that surge of energy. My magic?

  Yassi lifts and lowers a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  As she exits, I remember I have a roommate, Bree. “Any idea where my roommate is? I didn’t meet her downstairs.”

  But Yassi is already gone, leaving me with her comment about how things are going to get worse.

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  Chapter 10

  ★

  I wake up to a tinkling sound and a flash of light as I open my eyes and the door closes.

  “Bree,” I call softly to my roommate.

  I pad across the room. There’s no sign that she was here, except when I pull the heavy curtains open, the center of her mattress shimmers. I brush my hand over it and come away with a light dusting of sparkle on my fingers.

  After dressing in my school-issued uniform—the socks are itchy—, I check my schedule and reference the campus map on the back. Several girls, including Yassi, chat in the entryway downstairs.

  “Good morning,” they chime.

  Yassi links her arm in mine and asks, “Ready for your first day?”

  I nod. “And I’m ready for breakfast.”

  “Good, because I want waffles, and I’m hoping Wyatt is in the dining hall,” she says with a smile.

  After we do not eat waffles because they’re only serving porridge and with no sign of the elf or Bobby Gold, Yassi walks me to the biggest building on campus: Hawthorne Hall. It’s five floors, complete with spires and turrets. It reminds me of a castle. Ivy clings to the stonewalls and the windows reflect the morning sunshine.

  “You have period one with Popperwell. Lucky you. Last year, I had Derrington first thing in the morning.” She makes a sour expression. “For Popperwell, sit on the eastern side of the classroom because he has a hard time hearing out of his left ear.”

  “Good to know.” I glance around at the other first-year students, filtering up the stone steps and under the pillared archway. From atop a hill, bells chime from a stone chapel.

  “Gotta run. See you at lunch. Good luck,” Yassi calls as she races toward her class.

  From across the lawn, a group of elves troop.

  As the bells continue to chime, I square my shoulders and take a deep breath, ready to begin my magical education.

  ☆

  The busy first day brings me swiftly to the end of the week. There are increased restrictions with each day, tighter rules, and the guards started to patrol the perimeter rather than relying on the barbed wire to do the work of deterring anyone from trying to leave.

  My bonus class, the seminal seminar, seems to be bogus because every day when I show up to the appointed room in Nightingale Hall, no one is there. My roommate still hasn’t made an appearance either. More than anything, I want to tell Chelsea everything and maybe get a hug from my mom. I can’t call her (apparently, the campus is a technology-free zone, meaning students had to do everything the old-fashioned way, or the magical-way as the case may be). My wand is little more than a lousy stick with a crack in the handle.

  The only upsides are Yassi (because she’s awesome) and Dewey Dunkle (because he’s hilarious). He’s a dwarf and has the same schedule as me minus seminal seminar. Through this crazy chaos, he somehow manages to make me laugh even though sometimes I want to cry. Not because I see JJ wherever I go and he glowers at me like I’m actually a criminal, but because day by day, we’re treated more and more like inmates. Because we are. I search my mind, trying to figure out a way to notify my parents, but the gates are locked. The walls fortified. No phones or technology to be seen.

  I contemplate going to the administration office, but if I never see Storch again, I might just stay alive. That woman is wicked.

  There was the chancellor who seemed nice enough. Maybe if I explain my situation someone will understand. I march toward the administration building when a shadowy figure appears down the path, looking like a storm on a perpetually dreary day. The misty morning doesn’t help.

  I turn and start walking the other way only to hear JJ’s footfalls pounding closer. “West wants to see you,” he says.

  “Funny, I was just going to look for him.” The note I received from Filbert telling me I’m in danger and that I should run comes to mind. Should I run from JJ? I hesitate on the path as he starts walking.

  He looks at me expectantly. “West won’t want to be kept waiting.” The comment stands in contrast to his strong jawline, dark lashes, and the particular set of his lips that bring to mind one word. Kiss.

  If this were another life where we were on the streets of Paris or some romantic place, I’d swish my fancy skirt, loop my arm in his, and we’d eat chocolate and stroll along the Seine, listening to the street musicians. Yes, I’ve read way too many period romance novels. I needed a break from the pressure of constant scholastic achievement.

  Instead, I stomp after JJ, cursing my bad luck and the stubborn and confusing attraction I seem to have in his presence.

  JJ leads me to an office in a formidable brick building. Candles burn in scones on the wall and the wooden floor is well-worn. Yassi could come in and spruce things up.

  Dust and cobwebs fill the corners of the room filled to the brim with books, parchment, and odd devices that gleam in the low light.

  Deep in thought, the chancellor sits behind a broad oak desk with his fingers steepled.

  “Sir,” JJ says. “You wanted to see us?”

  Us?

  West looks up and smiles slightly.

  “It’s worse than I thought,” West says.

  JJ folds his arms across his chest and leans against the wall as if to say duh.

  “Hope, JJ. Don’t lose hope,” West replies.

  I cat my head between them trying to make sense of what they’re talking about. It’s not Gibberish, but I don’t follow.

  As if sensing this, West says, “Maija, you’re not just any witch. You are the witch.” His gaze holds mine as though this should mean something.

  “That’s news to me.”

  “You are the one they’ve been waiting for. The wish witch.”

  “The who? The what?” I tilt my head in question.

  “Your wish is the power they desire. Not a stone or a crown as in the past. No, they want you. With your wish, you can give them anything they desire.”

  “Um, in case my teachers haven’t reported to you, I’m not all that, um, powerful or proficient. If you give grades here at Riptivik, I’m probably failing. Not something I’m proud of since I got a perfect score on my ACT...” I trail off as West continues to gaze intently at me.

  “You are new to the magical world, I understand. This must all seem very strange to you.”

  “You can say that again.” Deep down I want to ask more questions, but I’m afraid if I do I’ll seem even more stupid than I already am when it comes to the magical world.

  West presses his lips together as thoug
h concentrating on something outside this room. “Trust me, you are in danger.”

  “This is going to sound strange but someone gave my cat a note saying that very same thing.”

  JJ shifts from foot to foot.

  “It was you?” I ask.

  “It’s true,” West says. “You’re only lucky that JJ was able to locate you first. We have to be careful. Do not tell anyone that you’re a wish witch. But you need to know so you don’t give up your wish.”

  I recall my birthday wish and wonder if I already did. Now is not the time to ask.

  “In that case, shall I keep looking after Maija?” JJ asks.

  West nods. “Absolutely.”

  I do a double-take. More questions flood fast and furiously at me. “You’ve been looking after me?”

  “Of course.” I almost think his eyes sparkle but it must be a trick of the dim light.

  West leans in. “I’m going to ask a lot from both of you. Maija, I need you to get close to two people. Find out everything you can but don’t give yourself away.” He speaks authoritatively.

  I let out a long breath. “Do I have a choice?”

  He slides his head from side to side.

  I shrug in surrender. “Okay. Who?”

  “Agnes Storch and Bobby Gold.”

  I balk. “My first question is isn’t that illegal?”

  “It’s not a crime if you don’t get caught,” West says simply.

  My brow ripples. “That sounds sketchy. My second question is, why?”

  “They’re somehow connected to the enemy.”

  The ripple deepens. “You want me to spy on the head of administration at Riptivik? I’m pretty sure the chancellor isn’t supposed to ask that of a student.”

  “You’re not just any student.”

  “No, that’s right. This is a reform school. I’m an inmate.” Irritation about how my life has turned so sharply in an unknown direction makes me fume. Heat and tension build under my skin.

  “That’s just it. Forces are at play that are unclear even to me. The OMM has bound my hands, removing my influence on the board of trustees.” He shakes his head in dismay. “But I think that is part of the design. This is something that I’m not meant to solve on my own.” He looks pointedly at JJ.

  I let out a long breath. “Does this mean turning this place back into an academy?”

  “And more importantly, being free. Will you do it?”

  I nod slowly.

  “Just don’t give yourself away.” West levels me with his gaze. “And keep your particular talent a secret.”

  I stagger backward.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make sure Storch doesn’t banish pie from the dining hall.” West almost smiles.

  “Is he serious?” I ask JJ as the door closes.

  “About the assignment or the pie?” When JJ speaks he somehow steals the air from the room.

  I shake the fuzz out of my head and then cock it to one side. Did he make a joke?

  JJ’s gaze drifts over me. His eyes dim like he’s not pleased with what he sees.

  Story of my life. I’ve always had to prove myself. I’ve never just been accepted—strive harder, achieve more. The bar for perfection has always been impossible for me to reach. I’m a witch who can hardly use her magic and it would seem to JJ that I’m not good enough for him either except he has to look after me.

  I gaze down at my purple Converse sneakers—the only reminder I have of my life before. Would I wish myself back if I could? Maybe. Would I wish myself to be the most popular, smartest, coolest girl? It’s tempting.

  JJ’s cold hand lands on my chin and he lifts it so we’re eye to eye again.

  “Whatever you’re thinking? No.”

  He must read my thoughts but does he mean the use of my power or the other thing—how I’ve never quite measured up? Probably not that.

  “Come on,” he says in his accented voice that never fails to give me those stupid flutters inside. Even right now. They go into overdrive as his hand lands on the small of my back and he guides me out of the cottage. I tell myself it’s because this new world I’m now a part of just got even more strange and dangerous.

  ☆

  It’s Friday evening and I have so much homework, I declare, “I’m locking myself in my room all weekend to catch up.” My futurism teacher received notification during class that if we fail there are dire consequences of losing what little freedom we have.

  “I hear the library has a dungeon if you’re serious about that,” Dewey says. His brown eyes sparkle with mirth.

  “Ha,” I say dryly but smile at the same time.

  Yassi says, “I was going to say you’ll get used to the load just before graduation—that’s what the mastery students always said anyway. But we now have school-instituted weekend lockdown and there are no longer mastery students—we’re here indefinitely so it’s not like you have much of a choice.”

  Dewey Dunkle’s eyes widen.

  Yassi nods. “Yep, I heard. I’m sure they’ll figure out a way to restrict my abilities before long but that’s what Miss Mayweather was fretting about this morning.”

  “What am I supposed to do if I have a teacher that’s a no-show?”

  “Who? Can I see your schedule?”

  I pull the card out of my bag and point at Professor Arrowsmith’s name. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice this before. See this asterisk?” she says. “That means it’s a celestial class. At night when the stars are out.”

  I feel my face blanch. “Does that mean I’ve been missing a week of classes? I assumed it was right after sixth period.”

  Around a mouthful of starchy slop, Dewey says, “The good news is it’s been cloudy the last few nights so maybe you didn’t miss much.”

  “I’ve never had a night class, but he’s probably right,” Yassi says. “From what I’ve heard, Arrowsmith is an, um, interesting character.”

  “She’s choosing her words carefully and being polite,” Dewey says.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “I swear by Great Gregor’s Mighty Axe, she lives in the attic in my dorm.”

  A voice with a deep register says, “I’d say she’s unique.”

  Yassi brightens at the sight of Wyatt, lowering to the table.

  “I’ve never had Arrowsmith as a teacher, but she led a stargazing workshop at camp and she’s all of those things: interesting, weird, unique…” Yassi says, counting off on her fingers.

  “She’s never in her classroom,” I say.

  “No, probably preoccupied with all the clouds lately.”

  “It is almost autumn. Well, whatever. You’ll know her when you see her. She wears a shawl.”

  “And beads.”

  Yassi clears her throat. “Also, she paints her face, but only during celestial events.”

  “As I said, she’s weird,” Dewey says. “And she’d probably tell you that remind her of Imogen Hawkes.”

  “Imogen who?” I ask.

  “I was assigned her for my historical figure study—a witch famous for her knowledge of the stars. And a megastar—”

  “Practically everyone in the magical world has heard of her. How could you not?” Yassi says, tapping her chin and examining my face.

  Dewey digs through his bag and pulls out a thick book. He flips to a glossy page with a sepia-toned image of a woman wearing an old-fashioned gown with a plunging V-neck. Her cheekbones are strong, she holds her head high, and her almond eyes lift as though staring at the heavens.

  Yassi’s roommate, Audra, along with Philomena, a she-elf, joins us at the table.

  Audra follows Yassi’s gaze from the woman on the page to me and back again. “Is that Imogen Hawkes?” she asks.

  Dewey nods vaguely, staring starry-eyed at Audra, nods absently, having forgotten about the book and me.

  “She was the subject of the last great prophecy,” Wyatt says thoughtfully.

  “And there’s something about her that reminds me of you, Mai
ja,” Yassi says. “Something about the eyes.”

  I shrug.

  “Isn’t there a saying in the human world about them being a window or something?” Dewey says while staring deeply into Audra’s.

  Just then, the book slips from Dewey’s grasp and clatters to the floor. Pink-cheeked, he quickly recovers by taking a bite of his slop.

  Conversation shifts away from Imogen Hawkes and my worries about my homework load to a debate between Yassi, Wyatt, Dewey, and the others about what’s better...

  “Crystals are better than amulets,” Yassi says.

  “Tarot is better than palm reading,” Audra asserts.

  Dewey shakes his head as though they have it all wrong. “Doughnuts are superior to bagels.”

  “You’re always thinking about food,” I say, joking.

  “I won’t argue with that. In case you were wondering, cupcakes are better than muffins,” he adds, nodding. “And everything is better than this.” He drops his fork on the plate.

  We all agree on this and debate fries and onion rings, ice cream flavors, and so on until we run out of food combinations. Then Dewey says, “I’ve got one, video games are superior to books.”

  “That’s where we differ,” I say and we erupt into laughter and the merits of books—Dewey is alone in his love for video games.

  I glance at his old textbook on the table between us with the image of Imogen Hawkes. Our features differ—her lips turn down slightly and I’m all bright smiles. My cheekbones are slightly more defined and her brow is pronounced, however, I’m a bit unsettled about how Yassi was right. The glint in her piercing matches mine. What’s almost stranger is it gave the year she was born, which was hundreds of years ago but not when she died.