I couldn’t wait for graduation to come, so I could finally talk back to Mrs. Finnick without feeling her wrath for a week afterwards. There were a lot of things I wanted to tell a lot of teachers, tell a lot of students, but now was not the time. I had to hold my head down, to keep as much peace as possible. There were too many people who hated me, too many things that could go wrong. Too much fire in my belly that could hurt too many people. Too many things for too little satisfaction.
The rest of the class went by at a snail’s pace, as it usually did, and when the bell rang for lunch, the students couldn’t get out fast enough. It was only outside of the classroom that I was grabbed and pushed against a wall, two icy blue eyes glaring into mine. I found myself vaguely aware of my imperfect eye color. It wasn’t like Margot’s, perfect and uniform. No, my eyes were nothing like that. It was as if whoever made me couldn’t decide on which color would be best, so they’d added all of them instead of one.
“I bet you like Mrs. Finnick picking on everyone,” she hissed, her face too close to mine. I could smell her chewing gum. “Do you find it satisfying to see her torment everyone else? You know, just because you hate your life doesn’t mean you have to stand by to see someone else make us hate ours. If I were you, I’d go to the headmistress and rat on that bitch.”
Margot had her forearm pressed to my throat, threatening to steal my air. I didn’t fight her. What was the use? Everyone would just hate me more if I hurt their precious Margot. She was untouchable.
“I find it funny that you think I have any power to get Mrs. Finnick reported.” I wasn’t panicking. I knew how this went already. Margot was very uncreative with her bullying methods. It was always the same… the same insults, the same rumors. The feeling in my gut was not fear or panic, it was resentment. I hated Margot, and I wanted to burn her arm until it blistered. But I didn’t, because I knew that once I did fight back, everyone would be talking about it. I didn’t want to be the subject of any more rumors.
Margot’s thin lips spread into a cruel smile, her pearly whites on display. “Everyone goes on and on about how powerful you are, but I don’t see that power. I’ve never seen that power. I think it’s just a lie that you made up to seem special. But guess what, loser, you’re not. And—”
“Get your hands off her, Margot,” Damien’s voice boomed from the crowd, and the next thing I knew, his head was visible next to hers as he whispered in her ear. “The only loser here is you. Don’t you understand that Lia can turn you to ash with the snap of her fingers? I’ve been told that it’s not a very pleasant death.”
Margot’s nostrils flared as she let go of me and turned to Damien. He didn’t back off, didn’t so much as blink when sparks circled her hands. “Are you sure you want to talk to me like that, Jensen?”
Damien grinned, making an expression that I have never seen on his face before. It was on the brink of madness. He grabbed her hand, and as soon as he did, the sparks disappeared and she yelped. Didn’t she know about his magic? Of course, she did, but she didn’t think it could actually affect her. She was the most powerful sorceress in the school—according to her followers, no one could stop her. No one but Damien.
“Get the hell out of here, Margot,” he spat. “And leave Lia alone. She didn’t do anything to you, and it’s time you leave her the hell alone before I do something to you, instead.”
“Is that a threat?” There was a crowd now. I shifted uncomfortably. I didn’t fight back for this reason. I wasn’t afraid of Margot; I wasn’t afraid of anything except myself. I wasn’t afraid of anything any of them could do. It was what I could do that was the real problem.
“Damien,” I started, but then there was a hand on my arm, pulling me to the side. It took me a moment to realize that it was Wendy, her scowl looking like something that nightmares were made of.
“Let him do this,” she suggested. No one seemed to notice us disappearing into the crowd—every eye was on Damien and Margot.
“He shouldn’t be fighting my battles,” I protested as she led me out of the front doors of the school. She didn’t seem to notice the drizzling of rain.
“Exactly.” Wendy turned on me, poking me in the shoulder with her index finger. “You should be fighting your battles. It’s not our job to get you out of it.”
“I never ask you to—”
“Lia, you’re our friend and we love you. You think we’ll just stand by and let that witch torture you? Never in a million years will we let that happen. Frankly, I find it insulting that you think we won’t jump in. And it’s fine, it is. But it would be nice if you fought with us. It’s your war, your battle, your enemies. We will stand with you, but you have to start standing up for yourself. You’re the most powerful witch in this damned place. Are you just going to allow Margot to push you around like this?”
I glared at Wendy. “I know that I can take her all by myself, Wendy, but you might want to think about the reasons I don’t do it instead of the reasons I should. My magic is out of control, and if our fight has to turn into a duel, I will kill her—and probably most of our audience. I am not getting my magic stripped because I was an idiot. I am not getting it stripped without me at least trying to keep it under control.”
“Maybe your magic is out of control because you don’t protect yourself.” She shrugged.
“What?”
“Your magic has to protect you because you don’t,” she explained.
“You sound like the headmistress,” I huffed.
“Then maybe I’m right.” Wendy looked over my shoulder to the entrance of the academy, then back at me. “Damien isn’t going to be around forever to protect you, and if he doesn’t, your magic will. You have to stand up for yourself, Lia. Margot gets away with that stuff because she knows you won’t fight back. She knows that you won’t hurt her and maybe, just maybe, you should. Give her a blister or two—hell, burn her bottle-blonde hair off. And if you don’t want to use your magic, use the fire in your belly, instead. Tell her what you want to tell her and make her back the hell off.”
“It’s not that easy,” I insisted.
“It really is.”
Chapter 7: Library
The library was a quiet place.
Not because of the constant shushing of the librarians, like we were used to in movies, but because there weren’t many students who ever bothered hanging around. If it wasn’t for research on Mrs. Finnick’s class, the library was mostly barren.
But I spent a lot of time in the library. Not only did it have every book my heart could desire, but it also had peace and quiet—something not even my tower had when Fiona was around. Fiona avoided public places as much as possible and until she found out that the library wasn’t as crowded as I always claimed it was, she’d leave me alone whenever I was there.
I greeted the librarian behind the front desk with a smile and a quick nod. Her spectacles were impossibly small and sat low on her nose. I doubted that she could actually see through them. She smiled back at me. I was probably the only student who got that reaction from her. Ms. Howard was known for being a broody and generally annoyed character. No one really liked her, but I always thought she was just a little misunderstood. I could relate to her.
Listening to the squeaking of my shoes on the hardwood floor, I found my usual reading nook in the back of the library. It was dark, with only a single reading light to illuminate the whole corner. I tossed my backpack on the unoccupied chair and deflated on the other. This was my thinking corner. Damien called it my “brooding corner,” and he wasn’t wrong. Many people took showers to brood, but I could never waste that much water. No, I did my best brooding in the library, surrounded by books containing stories far more interesting than my own.
I replayed the events that occurred over the past couple of hours. I had nearly burned the forest down and needed a teacher to help me out of it. I realized that I needed help, then. For years, I’ve tried to manage on my own, but it was clear that I couldn’t. I needed help
, and Mr. Henry was as capable as any to do just that. In fact, he was more capable than most. His water magic was one of the only things that could put out my flames—his water and the headmistress’ manipulation of air.
But would it be enough? What did he know about my magic, anyway? It was the complete opposite of his. I supposed it was better than not having any help at all. God knew I needed all the help that I could get. I was afraid—afraid of my own magic, and that was no way to live. I refused to be controlled by my own magic. That was not an option. It was either that or be stripped of my magic entirely, and if I had to choose, I’d choose not having my magic at all. Even though I knew the tales of horror that came with that decision.
Our magic was connected to our souls, our very being. It was a part of us, like our own thoughts. I’ve never seen a sorcerer stripped of magic before, but I’ve heard it was the most heartbreaking thing to see. I tried not to think about it too much. If I didn’t get control of my magic, was I going to be a shell? Was there going to be nothing left inside of me? If it was for the good of the people around me, for the innocent that might feel the extent of my flames one day, would it be worth it? One person doomed to a lifetime of hollowness was a small price to pay for the safety of everyone around me.
At least, that was what I told myself when my mind did wander that far off. It was for the greater good. Why else would the council do such things? They took the most dangerous sorcerers and sorceresses and stripped them of their magic. I doubted they were doing it just for the hell of it. They knew how special magic was to the caster. They knew… I knew… The thought of having my magic stripped, despite how much I despised it, was horrifying. I gulped. No, better things; other things. I had to think of anything else.
Damien, yes… I let my mind wander. It was a maze in my head. It felt as if New York City had taken up residence in my head and built mazes for me to navigate through. It was loud and busy. It was overwhelming.
I found Damien in the maze, grinning at me with that stupid smile of his.
Damien wasn’t necessarily handsome, but he had a pretty face. Yes, pretty was a good way to describe it. He had boyish good looks and neatly cut hair styled to perfection. He was the sort of guy you’d see on a football team, had the academy allowed sports—but it was too easy to cheat when there was magic involved.
And he’d stood up for me against Margot. I replayed the scenario in my head. He had taken the heat for me. He’d turned the attention away from me so I could get away. He didn’t care who saw him and what they said to him. No, he was just happy to help me out of an uncomfortable situation.
Was Wendy right? Was Damien going to leave one day? Was I going to end up having to fend for myself? The thought made my stomach turn. I couldn’t imagine that. Damien was my best friend. Though, best friend was a term used loosely. We were all friends because we couldn’t get other friends, and although it was nice having people around who could relate to your problems, these people weren’t my friends by choice. At least, they weren’t at first. We were forced together, and we’d learned how to tolerate each other.
Damien and Nina were the only ones I felt actually chosen to be my friends. Nina because she was Nina, and that said enough in itself. She was just a general sweetheart. And Damien… Damien felt like my only real friend. Fiona was a ghost, and she avoided people as much as possible. I could understand her isolation; I felt like that every day of my life. But it was nice to have a friend that stuck by you, who defended you.
Damien was that friend to me.
I remembered having a crush on him as a child. He was the biggest kid in school, and I knew that he could beat up anyone who tried to pick on me. And he was nice and let me borrow his crayons. As we grew older, I didn’t know what had become of that crush. Perhaps there was no such thing as a crush. Perhaps it was all just one giant myth. Maybe I just didn’t know what it was.
Many things had faded over the years. Damien was no longer the biggest kid in class and I… I lost control of my magic. Things didn’t seem right anymore, and my feelings had changed. Or perhaps they didn’t change, perhaps I changed. Perhaps I had grown up and found a whole new meaning in the word “crush.” The point was that it was no longer the same. Sure, we flirted from time to time, but that was it. There was nothing more.
Did I want more? Did he want more? Would it have been so wrong to want more? No, it wouldn’t have. We were both 18, old enough to think clearly. And I did have feelings for him, I knew. It was just a matter of which feelings those were.
“Lia.” His voice rang through my thoughts and I was pulled back to the present.
I felt lightheaded, as if an airplane had landed too fast and my body couldn’t process the air pressure just yet. My ears rang and it took me a moment to realize where I was and, in some ways, who I was. A wave of reality washed over me, and it was a strange feeling. All I wanted was to get back into that headspace and forget about the reality. Daydreaming about the issues in my life were much easier than actually facing them for real.
When I had full control over my head again, I found Damien lounging on the chair where my backpack was. It was now discarded on the floor.
“That seat was taken,” I teased, nodding toward the backpack. The bag was old and had a few tears too many. It didn’t feel right asking the headmistress for a new one, so I made do, fixing it with needle and thread whenever a new tear arose. The fact that my sewing skills were worse than my magic skills didn’t help the overall look of the backpack, though.
It was pretty much the patchwork of Victor Frankenstein. Sometimes, the threads didn’t even match the color of the backpack. Still, nothing fell out of it, and I was able to carry as much stuff around as I wanted. It was a comfortable thing, that backpack of mine. It had memories, it had character. It was special to me. I didn’t appreciate the fact that he just tossed it on the floor, but I didn’t say anything about it. I knew I was silly to be sentimental about a backpack.
“Is that any way to talk to your knight in shining armor?” Damien raised an eyebrow, his lips twisted into a smirk. Ah yes, he just loved to refer to himself as a knight whenever he managed to get me out of an awkward situation—which happened more frequently than I cared to admit. For a week afterwards, he insisted on being called Sir Damien, rescuer of damsels and dropper of pants, or something equally as stupid.
I gave him a once over, lifting an eyebrow at his blue uniform. It was neatly pressed, but I would hardly refer to it as armor. “You call that an armor, sir knight?”
“You don’t know what’s beneath this blazer,” he defended, and I took my chance, giving him the most seductive smile I could conjure. Damien wasn’t overly built, but I had seen him shirtless on many occasions. He wasn’t bad to look at, not at all.
“Maybe you should show me sometime,” I suggested, feigning ignorance. So, what if I wanted something more than flirting? So, what if this led to something more? Didn’t I deserve that? Didn’t I deserve that much?
Damien’s face flushed and it took me a whole second to burst out laughing. I got a glare from the librarian and I quickly shut my mouth. Damien looked ready to retort, but I interrupted him.
“Relax, Dame,” I winked, throwing my legs over the armrest of the chair I was sitting in. “You don’t have to show me right now. We wouldn’t want the librarian gawking and mis-stamping her books, now do we?”
“You think you could handle what’s underneath?” Damien recovered. I chuckled. I enjoyed this. The playful flirting, the jokes between us and us alone. This was nice. This was exactly what I needed after a long day.
“Have you seen my magic?” I pressed, grinning. “I can handle anything.”
“You’re not very good at handling your magic, though.” The blow hit hard, and I tried to take it in the lightheartedness as it was given. Still, it was a little too sensitive, too raw, too real. I immediately lost interest in the flirting. It wasn’t his fault; it was mine. I was being overly sensitive.
I tos
sed a small cushion his way and now it was his turn to laugh. He caught the cushion midair and tossed it back at me. “Am I wrong?” he asked, grinning.
He didn’t notice my face fall as replied, studying the tassels on the cushion. “Not exactly, no.”
Chapter 8: Familiar
“Close your eyes and find the fire inside,” Mr. Henry said, lounging underneath a tree while. He watched me with one eye closed, his hands behind his head.
We were in the clearing where he’d found me the day before. The circle of black grass was still visible where I burned it, and I made a conscious effort to stay away from the area.
“What?” I crossed my arms, my face contorted in confusion. I had switched my uniform out with a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that was a few sizes too big. My feet were bare. That was Mr. Henry’s idea. Something about feeling the Earth’s power beneath me. I didn’t pay much attention to what the reason was; all I could think about was how cold my feet were.
He sighed, throwing his head back to examine the clouds above. It was a drearier day than the day before. “We all have our powers inside of us. It has a home, a place where we can go to find it. Mine, for example, is in the very back of my head. The waves are crashing on a beach, larger and wilder than anything you’ve ever seen. It’s not some tropical getaway, it’s a storm—the sort of storm that causes shipwrecks. It’s not as calm as the waves I control. It’s the raw power, the raw magic that flows through our veins. Once you know where to locate it and what form it’s in, it will be easier to control.”
“And how exactly is knowing all this going to make it easier?”
“Think of it like the problem child in the family. Controlling the kid is out of the question, because no matter what you do, he or she will go out of their way to disobey. But if you can find the root of the problem, the thing that is making the child act out, it’s easier to figure out how to fix it and make things easier for the kid.
“Your fire is the problem child. It’s the kid that sneaks out in the middle of the night to go to parties, the child that refuses to do chores or demands an allowance without earning it. This child backtalks and curses like a sailor, doing everything in its power to sabotage the people’s lives around him.” Mr. Henry closed his other eye, making himself comfortable under the tree. “Now, find the root of your problem and then we can take it further. Sit down, close your eyes and go searching for that fire.”
Enchanter Witch Academy Page 4