Ritual of Magic (Academy of the Damned Book 2)

by Veronica Shade

  “That’s true,” I say. “Their ancestors were persecuted and oppressed in England, so they came here looking for new opportunities, or so I’ve heard.”

  “Do you doubt the stories?” Gillian asks, arching an eyebrow sharply.

  “I don’t have a reason to doubt them,” I say cautiously. “But I think there’s more to the story than I’m being told. I mean, there’s more than one side to every story, right?”

  Gillian nods. “For being such an integral part of Salem’s history, people associated with La Voisin have very little to do with the village. Those of us involved in community engagement and tourism have tried to get them involved many times. But they always brush us off, if they talk to us at all. It’s a shame. There’s so much they could tell us about Salem’s early days. But every time we’ve tried to approach La Voisin house, we’re met with hostility.”

  I think about Jaxon’s response to Gillian and can only imagine the reception she must receive when she knocks on the front door.

  “I’m new here,” I say, acting innocent. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. But I love history, and the chance to go to school here in Salem was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

  “So what brought you to my shop?” Gillian asks, changing the subject as she glances past my shoulder. She touches her crystals one at a time. “You’re not a tourist. And if you’re interested in Salem’s history, my shop wouldn’t be the one to visit. What made you stop by?”

  I shrug and casually turn to look around the small shop. There are shelves filled with boxes of tarot cards of every style, and a shelf next to that is lined with candles of every color. Some of the candles are labeled with a specific purpose such as for love or money or luck.

  There’s a table with stacks of cloths for altars or to protect tarot cards when doing a reading. There’s another shelf of essential oils, some that are pure and some that have been mixed into “potions.” I pick up one labeled Remember, but there are no ingredients listed, and I don’t want to open it lest I then have to buy it. I place it back on the shelf with the others.

  “I was just curious. I mean, I read my horoscope in Allure magazine every month. It’s pretty accurate. So when I saw your shop, I just thought maybe there was more to it. Maybe I should get some lavender for good luck or some sage to clear out the bad juju in my dorm room.” I laugh as though I’m joking.

  Gillian smiles as if she knows that there’s more to my story. “As I said.... I have something for everyone.” She reaches to a shelf behind her and picks up a bundle of sage. She places it on the countertop next to the crystals. Then she hands me a lighter studded with orange crystals. “You’re definitely surrounded by a negative energy. You should burn this in your room. It won’t fix the problems that you’ve had with your roommates, but it will help clear the air a little bit.”

  My heart races. I smile and try to pretend like what she said was simply good advice. But how does she know I’ve specifically had problems with my roommates? Both of them have gone missing, possibly both killed. Giselle returned as a ghost, but I have no idea what happened to Zoey. Maybe burning the sage, letting the smoke clear the air a little, will do me some good.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’ll take them. How do you know so much about magic or…the spirit world, I guess?” My voice sort of trails off. I’m not sure how to ask her more questions without revealing myself. I need to be careful.

  “It’s in my blood,” Gillian says. “My mother and my grandmother both have the sight better than I do. I’m just more of an empath. A very strong empath, but just an empath. I can sense emotions, feelings. I can get a sense about people. But I can’t read your mind or see your future.”

  “What are you sensing about me?” I asked.

  “Usually, I charge to do a reading,” Gillian says.

  “Oh,” I say, and I feel my face blush. “Of course.”

  “But I can tell you that your heart is in need of some serious healing. You have a heart wound.”

  I try not to make a face, remembering that Ivy said the same thing when she first met me. But Ivy is a real witch. For Gillian to see the same thing, there must be some truth to her powers.

  But according to Ms. Brewster’s teachings, empaths shouldn’t exist. I mean, we all have some measure of empathy, but for it to be strong enough for her to know about the pain I carry…? That’s too much. Too specific.

  She can’t be a witch, but she’s more than a mere human. What did Krista call the selkies? Dark fae? What other beings exist that I don’t know about? Could Gillian be some sort of fae? Or something else entirely?

  Gillian picks up one of the crystals and then turns her head and exhales. She holds the crystal over my heart and draws a symbol in the air. “You made some progress in healing your past,” Gillian goes on, “but not quite enough. Keep working, though. You’ll get there.”

  She draws the crystal up between my eyes and makes another symbol, then she goes back to my heart.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Just a little energy healing in your aura,” she says. “I’m connecting your heart to your third eye so you can see the path forward.”

  As strange as it sounds, I can feel something like tiny shocks of static from my forehead to my heart. I’m sure it is nothing more than the power of suggestion. She can’t really be healing my heart wound…can she? I wish I had someone to talk to about this.

  Finally, Gillian nods and gives me a smile. “I hope that helps.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “That…helped, I think. Are you sure you don’t have any ties to La Voisin Academy?”

  I have to find some way to figure out if she’s a witch. She just knows too much.

  Gillian laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t even know what they teach there. Is it just a private high school or something?”

  I nod. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Tell you what,” Gillian says. “I’ll give you these for free if you can get me an introduction to the headmistress.” She pushes the sage and jewel-encrusted lighter toward me. Then she hands me the mirror. “And put this in your window, facing out. It will help reflect any negative energy that might be directed toward you—either accidentally or on purpose.”

  I swallow. Who would be wanting to send bad energy to me?

  I shake my head. “I don’t think I’d be able to make good on that deal,” I say. “I have no idea how Ms. Brewster would feel about me bringing a stranger to the school. I’ll just pay for these.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Madison, “ Gillian says, waving me off. “I think we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I couldn’t charge a friend for such basic items.”

  My mouth drops open before I can stop it. “I never told you my name.”

  “Didn’t you?” Gillian says, the smile and seeming sincerity never leaving her face. She puts the items in a paper bag with a woven handle and hands it to me. “I must’ve heard your friend say it.”

  I give a slight nod and take the bag wordlessly. My senses are on high alert, the hairs on my arms standing on end. I don’t feel as though I am in danger, but I definitely didn’t tell her my name. If I didn’t already think there was something strange about Gillian, I certainly did now. I open the door, the bell jingling above me.

  “Wait,” Gillian says. “If you’re wanting to learn more about Salem Village and the history of La Voisin Academy, you’ll want to check out the historical society. If you keep heading up this road, you’ll come to a wooden fence. On the other side is an old white church. It’s quite small, and it was once used as a school and a meeting house. That’s our historical society headquarters. It closes rather early, like four o’clock or something. But someone should still be there. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

  “Thanks,” I say, both unnerved and grateful that she’d just told me where to find what I was looking for without me telling her. “Is there a library?”

  Gillian starts to gather her crystals and
put them away. “Of course. There’s the Salem library, but they only have items related to Salem. The archives, old newspapers, lots of pictures. They aren’t open very often, and you have to make an appointment. If you’re looking for a proper library where you can actually check out books and use the Internet, you would need the Danvers Public Library, which is downtown.”

  “I’ll make an appointment for the Salem library, then,” I say. “But I’ll head over to the historical society now.”

  “Good luck,” Gillian says. “I look forward to seeing you again. Be careful, I think there’s a storm brewing.”

  I give a nod and open the door, the little jingling sound sort of waking me up as if from a dream.

  As I step outside, and the smells of sage and oils clear from my nose, I realize what she was talking about.

  While I was in her shop, dark clouds were gathering overhead.

  Chapter 15

  The clouds above move quickly, dark and churning, like tar in a cauldron. A heavy lump forms in the pit of my stomach. An aching, familiar pain.

  At one time, I thought this stone in my stomach that grew after Beau’s death would never go away. But as I feel it now, I realize it has been gone for weeks.

  The realization makes me sad. I thought I would never heal from Beau’s death. The death I caused. But no one, not even the most powerful witch, can slow the passage of time. Instinctively, my heart started to heal. I was coming to terms with Beau’s death, moving on, whether I wanted to or not.

  But the violent storm ramping up now brings all my feelings, all my pain, rushing back. The wind, the lightning, the thunder. The storm warnings no one would heed. The drums and cymbals from the marching band, the roar of the crowd, the hoots and hollers from my fellow cheerleaders. It all washes over me like a wave threatening to drag me back out to sea.

  A heavy hand clasps my shoulder.

  “Hey,” Jaxon says.

  I jump, pulling away, and his eyebrows knit together, creating a pucker on his forehead.

  “Are you okay?” He raises his hand toward me, a bright green bottle in hand.

  I reach out to take the drink from him. The cold condensation nearly causes the bottle to slip from my grip.

  “No,” I say and look back toward the growing storm. “I think we need to get back to school. Now.” I take a step, but Jaxon grips my elbow.

  “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go to the historical society. The cashier at the convenience store told me where it is. Let’s go while we’re here. I don’t want to have to come back to this stupid town tomorrow.”

  I look up at the sky, unable to ignore the warning I feel prickling the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck. Now I do feel a warning of danger. I look back toward Gillian’s shop and find her looking out the window at me, frowning.

  Go back, she mouths to me.

  I nod. I turn back to Jaxon.

  “No,” I say, pulling my arm from his grip but then grabbing his jacket and dragging him with me. “No, let’s go. I have a bad feeling. The air...” I say, hoping that if Jaxon won’t listen to me, he’ll at least heed the warning of my witch abilities. “The air doesn’t feel right. I can feel the electricity. We need to get back.”

  “It’s fine,” Jaxon says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and tugging me down the street. “It won’t take long to just see what the guy at the historical society has to say. Then we can get back to the school. I promise it won’t take long.”

  I sigh, not at all comfortable with this plan. But as I glance back up to the sky, the clouds are not as black as before, only a mottled gray. I look back at Gillian’s shop, but she’s not in the window anymore.

  I shake my head. I’m probably making the storm out to be more dangerous and menacing than it really is. I hold my arms tightly around me, gripping the handle of my bag from Gillian’s shop.

  “Oh, man,” Jaxon says with a laugh, his arm still around my shoulder. “That quack didn’t get you to buy anything, did she?”

  “No,” I say. “She gave this to me for free.”

  “Why?”

  “She was just being friendly. Welcoming me to town.”

  “Guess I should have hung around, then,” Jaxon says, opening his own bottle of soda and taking a long swig.

  “Why?” I ask. “You don’t believe in that stuff.”

  “Well, in the right hands, some of those items can be useful,” he says. “We do use essential oils and herbs and crystals and stuff, like in that potion we made.”

  I nod. Maybe that’s all it is. The items in Gillian’s shop are useful to witchcraft, but she doesn’t have the means to use them. I sigh and let Jaxon lead me toward the old church where the historical society now resides.

  The building is just as Gillian described. It looks like something out of Little House on the Prairie. The low fence around the old church is rough and a bit haphazard. Not really designed to keep anyone in or out, just to mark the property line. There is a small archway over the sidewalk entrance to the front of the building. As we approach, I see the times posted on the door. The society closes at four p.m., as Gillian said.

  “Early quitting time,” I say, looking at my watch. “It’s already three forty-five. We only have fifteen minutes.”

  “What can I say?” Jaxon shrugs. “Humans are lazy.”

  I shake my head but follow him up the stairs and across the porch, then through the double doors into the building.

  Inside the building—which is one large open room—is rather dim. There are several tall narrow windows on either side of the room, but they don’t let in much light. Several tables and display cases are set throughout, and taxidermied animals fill some of the space as well. A bald eagle is strung from the ceiling, a large black bear stands on its hind legs in a corner, and a raccoon the size of a Boston terrier crouches by one of the windows.

  I shake my head in disbelief as I approach it. Is this how big raccoons were before the pilgrims arrived and began slaughtering them in huge numbers to send the pelts back to England?

  “Can I help you?” asks a voice.

  Jaxon and I both turn toward the voice. It belongs to a man who must be in his late sixties or early seventies. His eyes are clear, but he has almost no hair on the top of his head, only a ring of white around the outside like a monk. His white and gray bushy eyebrows, alone with his button-down shirt and a corduroy jacket with leather patches on the elbows, make him look like a college professor.

  I give the man a friendly smile and hold out my hand. “I’m Madison,” I say. “I am a local student and want to learn more about the area. I only arrived a couple of months ago.”

  The old man takes my hand. “A pleasure,” he says. “I’m Mr. Vaughan, the docent volunteer. Do you attend the local high school? Or the community college?”

  “La Voisin,” I say.

  The man’s once warm-and-friendly demeanor turns cold and guarded. He lets go of my hand and wipes his palm on the edge of his jacket before he crosses his arms.

  “I see,” he says, the geniality gone from his tone. “And what exactly can I do for you?”

  I am a little taken aback by his sudden shift in attitude. Gillian also seemed to have a negative opinion of the academy, but she was not as hostile as this man. Why did everyone seem to have a negative opinion of the school? I know Ms. Brewster keeps to herself, but the mansion is still part of Salem's history.

  “I was just wondering if you had any information about the La Voisin Academy or the academy’s founders.”

  “I would think that the academy’s library would have more information on that than I have here,” the man says.

  “It has some resources,” I say. “But I was hoping to get other points of view.”

  The man’s eyebrows go up, and he gives me a slow nod. “Well, I appreciate that you are on a quest for truth.”

  He crosses the room, leading me to an old-fashioned desk, one that closes and locks with a key, and he pulls a keychain out of his pocket
with so many keys I wonder how it doesn’t drag him to the ground. Amazingly, he finds the exact one he needs—a very small, simple-looking key—and he turns it in the desk’s lock, folding the writing table portion of it down.

  “You’ll find some things about the La Voisin Academy here,” he says. “But the school and its administrators have always been secretive. I don’t think you will find much.”

  At that, the door creaks open and thuds closed, and we all turn to find a middle-aged woman walking in and waving to Mr. Vaughan.

  “Excuse me,” the docent says. “Let me know if you have any questions. But we will be closing in a few minutes, and you can’t take anything with you.”

  I give him a nod. “I understand.”

  Once the docent leaves us, Jaxon lets out an annoyed huff. “That guy is so weird.”

  “At least he was helpful,” I say.

  We each pick up a book from the desk and flip through, but they don’t say anything about the academy specifically...until I open the front cover of one of the books and see that it’s stamped with the academy’s name and logo.

  “It looks like these are some of the schoolbooks that the academy used in the old days,” I say. I look at the cover and see that it’s just an old English primer, the type that might be found at any old school, even mundane. “But it doesn’t say anything about La Voisin specifically.”

  Jaxon nods, and we continue rifling through the books.

  “I think having a small memorial for the boys would be appropriate,” I hear the woman say in a low voice to Mr. Vaughan.

  “I understand your concern,” Mr. Vaughan replies, patting the woman on the shoulder. “But the Halloween festivities are supposed to be fun, a time of celebration.”

  The woman takes in a shuddering breath and sighs, like she’s trying to keep from crying. “Well, my son wanted to celebrate that night as well. But he can’t, now can he? There can be a time for fun and a time for safety.”

  Jaxon’s gaze meets mine, and he shakes his head. “She’s probably one of those people who think Halloween celebrations honor the devil,” he says with a chuckle.