Dread Delight: Rosewood Academy for Witches and Mages (Darkly Sweet Book 2)

by Juliann Whicker

  I walked, not down to the polo field, but I wanted to. A dozen times I turned away from that direction. It would be ridiculous to return his umbrella in the rain. The way he touched my face, so gentle, like I was something precious, in a good way… I blinked rain out of my eyes and realized that I was in the garden, standing in front of the tower where we’d sung at the top of our lungs, all the songs I knew and sang so badly. He sang worse. And louder.

  I whirled around, heading towards the dining room. I wasn’t thinking about Drake. I was dating other guys, Barry, Lester, Lars… Lars. I should have asked him on a date. He’d been all chatty and everything. It had been the perfect set-up. I should have asked if I could go to the circus with him. It might be fun. I was serious about dating other guys. Really.

  I ate dinner to the remembered sound of rain pounding on my umbrella, Drake’s eyes full of wickedness as he bent forward to kiss me. People pointed and giggled at me, my mustache, but it seemed to come from far away.

  I had to get it together. I wasn’t there to fall in love, but to procure a husband. I could do it. No problem. I went right to bed after that. I was too dizzy and maybe sleep would help me be less stupid about Drake.

  Chapter 11

  Mage

  Helium. If I could harness it in an invisible container, I could have the appearance of levitation without using actual magic. Blackheart would be impressed. Wind effects, music, lights…

  I ducked down behind the bookshelf, the dry wood blackened with age and smelling of dusty mice. There it was again. A footstep far along the corridor, a dry brush like a slipper and maybe the shush of velvet dragged over the stone floor.

  The sound came closer then changed direction as I heard a low mumbling. Someone must have come to retrieve a text of some kind. I’d spent most of the night sneaking around various levels of the immense suppository of documents and treaties, looking for the Devil’s Law. I needed to see who signed it, other than Penelope Rose. I needed to know what Darksider she’d worked and slept with.

  So much research and such an excitingly racy story. No wonder Penny loved Telenovelas so much. An image overwhelmed me of Penny standing in the doorway of her room, cascades of golden curls falling over the long, lace robe, the robe that seemed determined to fall off Penny. It was bespelled, I’d bet my life on it. Maybe had even belonged to the seemingly proper and prim Madame Rose.

  There wasn’t any magic in this ancient, vaulted space. No spells would work, no enchantments, no walking throughside, nothing but human skills like agility, treachery and avarice. Luckily I had all the human vices and then some.

  My soft black shoes made no sound on the stone beneath my feet and then when I saw a light ahead, it wasn’t difficult to scramble up the bookshelf and leap up to the black tubes that conditioned the space keeping it at the precise temperature and humidity for those precious documents.

  I hung there in my all black super soft yet well-gripping ninja suit, watching the old mage with the longest white beard I’d ever seen, carrying an old book, and shuffling along in a robe that looked like it was made out of a blanket, flowers and vines all tangled over it, like the blanket I’d gotten for Penny’s bed. A whirl of images went through my mind, Penny in my bed, what it would be like to be in bed with Penny, in her bed, wearing nothing but her blanket, and then he was gone, the glow of his candle dimming as he turned through the maze of bookcases.

  I cleared my mind and dropped down, a perfect aerial to the top of the nearest bookshelf. I ran along them, leaping carefully over the gaps until I reached an alcove. Folders of metal, glass, wood, and other materials hung on racks that circled the space. The folders probably enclosed the rarest documents.

  This was it. I could feel it. I pulled a small spray bottle from my fanny pack, because that’s what cool thieves wear, and sprayed a fine red mist ahead of me. It should have showed motion sensors or trip wires, that sort of thing, but instead it set them off. Oops.

  Sharp bars slammed up from the ground, nearly skewering me and sealing me in the alcove with the documents. I took a deep breath and pulled out my small penlight. The battery would drain quickly in this room. It wasn’t magic, but tech was disrupted by whatever they used to keep out the spellwork.

  I should check on Penny’s spell. No, I should focus on finding the document as quickly as possible and somehow escaping this mess. I scanned through dozens of documents. ‘Trade rights with Lithuania.’ No. ‘Exchange rates between Day and Dark, American’. No, although interesting. ‘Prohibited Arms List.’ I was already well familiar with that. Had a copy of it at Huntsman Manor. My penlight was already starting to fade when I got to the section with ‘Treaty of Four Houses’. I was getting closer. I was certain that the next treaty would be the right one when my penlight went out.

  I searched my pack and came up with a small flare. Well it wasn’t like I was surprising anyone at that point. I yanked the end and it came to life, blue sparks a danger to all the precious documents and my own handsome face. But I was right. Only two documents later, ‘The Devil’s Treaty’. Hm. I hadn’t expected it to actually be called that. I thought it was a nickname. It wasn’t possible that the devil actually had something to do with it. No, of course not. No one would deal with the devil. The Devil of Darkside was a powerful sorcerer who had been at it for centuries, holing up in a castle and reigning in diabolical beneficence over his subjects. His domain was whatever he said it was, and no one argued, at least not for very long.

  I opened the metal file, hinges creaking while I held the flare far away so it wouldn’t catch the document on fire. I needn’t have worried. There was no document.

  I started laughing even as the lights came on. I dropped the flare and crushed it with my heel, forgetting my delicate slippers. Ow. I kept grinding until it stopped burning, but my heel wouldn’t be the same for days. I turned to the keeper who had caught me and stopped laughing, instead smiling my most charming smile and sweeping her a bow.

  “Madame Occulus. Such a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

  She peered at me, no doubt looking through the charcoal smeared across my cheeks. “Huntsman?” Her wrinkled eyes widened and a half-amused smile crossed her lips. “What an honor to be burgled by someone of such consequence. You’d think you’d pay someone to do it for you.”

  I sighed. “I should have. Jasper isn’t going to like it.”

  “Burgling or getting caught?”

  “Both. Are you going to throw me into a dungeon or something? If you are going to keep me captive, I should warn you that I’m extremely irritating and particular when it comes to holding quarters as well as vittles.”

  She snapped her fingers and the bars lowered back down into the floor. She turned, gesturing me. “We will discuss the matter while you have breakfast.”

  I closed the metal file and hung it back in its place, swept up the remnants of flare back into my pack then followed her down the corridor between ancient bookcases. I was almost familiar with it after spending the night crawling around its depths.

  Maybe I’d be forced to dust it for a decade as my cruel punishment. Think of the things I could learn. I wiped the smile off my face and tried to look innocent when she glanced over her shoulder at me. Her shoulder-length gray hair was as no-nonsense as her gray slacks and cardigan. Neat, efficient, simple. She would be at home in a human library, art gallery, anywhere the affluent gathered and tried not to look crassly rich. My father hadn’t ever taught me that particular skillset.

  I twitched to adjust cufflinks I wasn’t wearing. Diamonds. We stepped out of the dark depths, ancient oak doors swinging closed behind us as we ascended the broad pale stone steps. I magicked away the charcoal on my face and removed the headgear, rolling it into my fanny pack. I ran a hand through my hair, making it a little more perfectly mussed, less matted to my sweaty head. I sent the sweat rolling off my head and wiped it on the headpiece, all while enjoying the immaculately curated paintings.

  Why was it, when faced with a
priceless oil painting, I had the immature urge to pull out a marker and draw a mustache on it? Penny would only approve if I owned it. Markering on someone else’s priceless painting was bad manners. I would have to go to an auction sometime. No, too much work just to draw a mustache, although… That’s what it was. Penny in a mustache. She was my priceless work of art and I’d put a mustache on her. What if I didn’t make it back to school for Pas de Deux? Would someone else put his hand around her thigh and lift her over his head? No. Of course not. At the very least I could bribe Madame Occulus with some of the Huntsman documents. I’d have to get my father’s permission.

  She opened the door to a small suite with a sitting room and a glass enclosed garden room. The light that slanted through the glass made me nervous.

  “Please sit. Would you like tea or coffee?”

  I sat on the edge of a very uncomfortable cream chair and took the cup of tea she handed me. I inhaled orange bergamot and smiled at her. “Very nice. Madame Occulus, as charming as this breakfast is…”

  Just then the old man wearing a blanket came in pushing a cart full of the most exquisite breakfast. Penny would have annihilated its contents in a matter of seconds.

  She took a cup of tea and sipped from the rose china daintily, reminding me of Penny. Did anything not remind me of her? “Mr. Huntsman, I believe you were searching for a particular treaty, the Humanity in Darkside treaty. I have a deal for you. I’ll forget all the lawlessness of this attempted procurement as well as give you precisely what you want. All you have to do is run a little errand for me.”

  “Errand?” I raised an eyebrow and took a bite of quiche. I was hungry. And tired. And irritated that I hadn’t gotten a glimpse of that all-important signature. “You are trying to hire me for a job? How peculiar. I don’t believe anyone’s ever attempted that before. I should warn you that I won’t be a proper employee.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “I’ve been following your work. While independent, it isn’t out of alignment with what I desire. I’ll be direct since it’s clear that you’re very impatient to return to classes. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

  “That’s extremely thoughtful of you.”

  The man with the blanket leaned down and kissed Madame Occulus on the cheek before he turned and left.

  “Thank-you, dear. Would you like to stay for this discussion? Perhaps you could give the young man some helpful tips.”

  He laughed and shot me a glance from his ancient eyes that made me sit up straight and grip the arms of the chair. “No, my dear. If the rumors are true, he won’t need any help from an old wanderer like myself. I’ll check on the chickens.”

  He wandered away while I stared after him. There was something vaguely familiar about him. I didn’t want to know. Probably.

  “You were being direct.”

  She swallowed her sip of tea and nodded, steepling her fingers then staring over them at me. “The Darkside ambassador has requested retrieval of a human.”

  “You want me to take a human out of Darkside, no, the Darkside ambassador wants a human removed from Darkside?” I stared at her. “Why?”

  She smiled demurely and my skin prickled. “He’s caused some trouble over there. It seems he’s developed some rather unseemly habits.”

  “Why don’t they kill him?”

  “They haven’t managed to do that.”

  “So you want me to go retrieve a human that Darksiders haven’t been able to kill? And here I thought you’d have something deadly dull in mind. I accept. When do you need him by?” I stood and brushed the crumbs off my fingers.

  “Don’t you want to know any more details?”

  I shrugged. “I assume you’ll give me whatever I need to know. As in where this fascinating bit of humanity is and his skillset.”

  She held out her palm, blew on it, and a bubble popped into life then floated over to me. Very pretty. The bubble showed a scene from nightmares, a man with straggly long hair standing in front of a jagged castle, sky green behind him with tornado funnels forming amidst lightning and the ground in front of him bursting up as bodies crawled out of their shallow graves.

  “Huh. That’s a human?”

  “The Darksider who took him kept him as a pet, but it seems the pet learned how to murder his mistress and take all her powers. He’s not supposed to have a trace of mage blood. If you could capture him alive, it would be interesting to learn all about his fascinating metamorphosis.”

  Did he have scales? I bent closer to the bubble. No, just filth. So hard to tell sometimes. “If I retrieve him, I’m keeping him. Is that a problem?”

  She smiled serenely. “For your experiments. Yes, that’s perfectly suitable. I do hope you don’t make a mistake. It would be a pity to put him down.”

  I shrugged. “It happens. Putting dangers to society into the ground is one of my most well-developed talents.”

  I stood up, tucked the now hardened ball into my fanny pack and bowed to her. “If there isn’t anything else, I have class to attend.”

  She stood with me, smoothing her wrinkled hands over her slacks. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again very soon. You do realize that you could have simply requested the documents through the usual channels.”

  I hesitated before I grinned. “I’ll be certain to consider that next time.” If only it weren’t so boring and slow. It took twenty-four hours at the earliest to receive documents that had to be layered in protective spells and have special deliveries arranged. I would make the most of it. If I had the document in my possession, I could research more thoroughly than the simple signature check I’d been planning in my burgling. I needed to be more competent, not rely so heavily on my magic. That was Blackheart’s claim to fame, being absolutely phenomenal with or without magic. I needed to be as good as them. Better. I needed more practice doing deadly dangerous stuff. And luckily enough I had an opportunity handed to me on a platter.

  Chapter 12

  Witch

  I was as stupid about Drake the next morning. I had him for my Pas de Deux partner, and just looking at him made me blush. He grinned at me, his eyes on the mustache I’d slept in. It had been a little rumpled in the morning, but I’d conditioned and rewaxed the tips. I’d curled Señor Mort’s whiskers at the same time.

  I didn’t talk to him. I couldn’t. Every time I looked at him, I thought about the almost kiss as well as him kissing other girls, and blushed or tried not to strangle him. What was wrong with me? So many things. I was acting as ridiculous about him as everyone else.

  He held me above his head, walking sedately while his hand pressed my thigh, his other beneath my armpit. So not helping me keep my mind off him.

  At the end of class, I dashed to the locker room, sinking down on the bench with my head in my hands. I sat there for a long time but when I raised my head, another girl stood there, staring.

  I smiled at her brightly. “Hi! You have a beautiful arabesque.”

  She nodded because she agreed with me. “Are you okay?”

  I swallowed. “Great. Just a little woozy, I guess.”

  “You blushed every time you looked at Drake.”

  I nodded because I agreed with her. “Is that weird?”

  She tilted her head from side to side, her dark gleaming bun perfect, each hair slicked in place. “He seems to find you quite amusing. You should know that all the girls he kissed in his recent spree know perfectly well that he means nothing by it. Whatever he did that has you blushing like a five-year-old meant nothing other than amusement to him.”

  I stared at her. It was along the lines of what Wit said, but this girl seemed sincere. “I know. I mean, I know in my head, but it doesn’t translate to how I feel.”

  “Still,” she said, reaching forward to flick the ends of my mustache. “You probably shouldn’t wear that just because he told you to. It makes you look really pathetic.”

  I pressed my lips together. She didn’t seem cruel, just straight-forward and direct
. Honest. “Oh. Thanks for letting me know.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Most people don’t thank me when I tell them what I think.”

  “Most people don’t tell me what they think, they just throw stuff at me.”

  She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Yes. People are so undisciplined. You have so much discipline, never cursing anyone back. You must have experienced a vast amount of discomfort in your upbringing.”

  “Vast would be one word for it. How about you?”

  She shook her head. “Moderate. My mother doesn’t have so much Darksider in her, and my father even less, so I was only required to recite poetry for half an hour before each meal.”

  “What poetry?” I asked, unlocking my locker and pulling out my cute uniform.

  “Tennyson.”

  I sighed. “My step-father preferred Longfellow. I think it’s interesting that each mage seems quite fixated on a single poet. There are so many poets.”

  “Yes, but each poet speaks to a particular sort of mage. Keats, for instance is much more…” She trailed off and put her hands in front of her. “And there she lulled me asleep, and there I dreamed—Ah! Woe betide!—The latest dream I ever dreamt on the cold hill side.” She shrugged. “My father was more melancholy than most mages. Longfellow is for Chemis mages and Sophis mages prefer Tennyson. Other poets fall into either camp, but there isn’t a lot of crossover.”

  “How strange.” I dressed quickly but carefully to ensure my mustache stayed in place.

  She nodded. “I’ve always thought so.” She turned away then hesitated. “There’s a rumor going around that if you can keep the mustache on your face for twenty-four hours, Drake has agreed to kiss you. Other girls are going to try and remove your mustache so that they can be the one he kisses, also so that you aren’t.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  She shrugged and left the locker room. For a Freshman she had a lot of self-assurance. I was almost immediately attacked when I came out of the locker room. I had to duck and run, my arm over my mouth and nose as I dashed to Linguistics.