Ritual of Magic (Academy of the Damned Book 2)

by Veronica Shade

  I don’t want to give up on Zoey, don’t want to accept that she’s not coming back, but having a roommate wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would be safer having another person around. I should bring that up to Ms. Brewster.

  But what should I do now? About Mr. Stewart and everything else?

  I wash my face and dress and try to remember what else I heard last night. Something about the statues, the ones in the hedgerow. I can’t remember the details, though.

  My phone is lying on the floor next to my bed. It must have slipped out of my pocket when Mr. Stewart brought me up. I check the battery, and it’s dead. Of course.

  I plug it in, but I’m too anxious to wait around. After digging a pair of sunglasses out of one of my drawers, I head outside. It’s not terribly bright out, but enough to cause some pain in my brain-damaged state. I need to take it easy and get some rest. If I don’t, I could risk serious injury, so I make a mental note not to stay on my feet too long.

  Once I’m outside, I walk around casually, as if I’m just taking in the fresh air after the storm. I’m not even sure what day it is at this point, but it must be Saturday or Sunday considering there are quite a few people outside doing their own things.

  I wave to a few girls who pass by with a blanket and their writing notebooks. I wish my life was carefree enough that I could sit around writing poetry for an afternoon. But no, I have to keep getting caught up in mysteries and murders and conspiracies.

  I walk around one of the statues in the middle of the yard, one I know I took a picture of before. I’m certain she has moved. Now, her right arm is raised and her left arm is lowered, as though she is running in slow motion. I can’t tell if her face has changed, but I will once my phone charges.

  I look behind her and nearly screech when I see a footprint in the sodden ground. I slap my hand over my mouth and try to act cool. I can’t believe I don’t have my phone! I mean, I guess I can’t prove that the footprint isn’t from a person, just some student who passed by. But from the angle, it definitely looks like the statue took a step forward.

  “I know you moved,” I whisper to the statue. “I just wish I knew why, or how. You can trust me, you know. Give me a sign or something.”

  I wait, but there’s no response. Not that I really expect one. If the statue in the grotto doesn’t trust me enough to reveal the truth to me, then there’s no way any of the others will.

  A howling makes my heart jump to my throat. The gate’s securely closed, and there’s no white wolf stalking around on the other side. I look around the yard, but no one else seems to have heard anything, or at least to be bothered by the howling if they had.

  At another low growling, I turn to the hedgerow. I can’t see them, but I know the beasts are in there...watching me.

  I wrap my arms around myself and hesitate before taking a step toward the bushes. There’s more growling as some of the branches move. But I know they can’t leave the hedge. They can’t attack me or hurt me, no matter how close I get—as long as I don’t actually go in. I don’t know how, but the monsters that live inside the hedgerow are bound to it. Their only job is to protect the school from interlopers.

  I take a few slightly more confident steps toward the hedgerow.

  They can’t hurt me. They can’t hurt me. They can’t hurt me.

  If I say it enough times, maybe I’ll eventually believe it.

  I get so close to the hedgerow, my nose nearly touches the leaves of the evergreen branches. It’s too dark between the brambles to see anything inside, but I can hear someone breathing. I wonder if they are just on the other side…

  “Look out!”

  I flinch and let out a pained hiss as a football bangs into my right shoulder. A group of students runs toward me.

  “Sorry!” one of the guys calls out. He then holds up his hand. “Little help?”

  I look around, but I don’t see the ball anywhere.

  “I think it went into the hedge,” a girl says, pointing. “Right next to you. Can you grab it?”

  She must be crazy to think I would go into the hedge. But they are all looking at me expectantly. I look back at the hedge, but I have no idea where the ball went.

  “I don’t know—” I start.

  “To your right,” the guy says. “Should be just inside. You can probably grab it.”

  I take a few steps to my right and then kneel down. Sure enough, I can see the ball just inside the edge of the bushes. It’s within reach, so I hold my hand out tentatively. My hand is shaking so badly, I don’t think I will be able to grab hold of the ball.

  “You see it?” someone yells.

  “Yeah,” I call back.

  Get it together, Whittaker, I whisper to myself through gritted teeth. All I have to do is reach in and grab it. I dart my hand forward, but I’m sure I can feel the hot breath of one of the hedge beasts on my wrist and quickly draw my hand back.

  “Come on!” someone yells, and I know I am looking like a total idiot.

  “It’s stuck on a branch!” I yell back, trying to save face. “But I got it!’

  I know I can do this. I reach in, and the ridges of the ball press beneath my fingertips.

  “I got it!” I yell, but as I try to pull back, something—someone—steps on my arm, and I scream. Somehow, I pull my hand out and stumble backward, thankfully pulling the ball with me. I end up flat on my bottom, clutching the football to my chest for dear life.

  I’m panting up a storm when I find myself surrounded by the students who were tossing the ball in the first place.

  “What happened?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Did you get bit?”

  I’m not sure who is asking what, but I scramble to my feet and wipe the grass and leaves from my butt.

  “No,” I say. “I didn’t get bit. It wasn’t a beast. There was… Someone was in there.”

  “What do you mean, someone?” one of the girls asks as she takes the ball from me.

  I look down at my arm, and I think I see a very faint imprint from the bottom of a dirty shoe. I point to it.

  “Someone, a person, stepped on my arm,” I say.

  Everyone makes skeptical faces and arguing noises.

  “I mean it,” I say. “I felt someone step on my arm.”

  “Who would be in the hedge?” one of the guys asks.

  When I don’t immediately have an answer for him, he steps toward the hedge and uses his earth powers to part the bushes. As the light streams into the normally darkened space, we see birds and beasts flee and night-blooming flowers shut their petals.

  “See,” the guy says. “Nothing.”

  “I know what I saw,” I say as I rub my shoulder where the ball hit me. Then I remember the whack I took to the back of my head, and I have to wonder…

  “Whatever,” the guy says, tossing the ball from one hand to another. “Wanna join us?”

  “No thanks,” I say as he and the rest of his group run off to resume their game of toss.

  Did I really feel someone step on my arm? Concussions can make you see things that aren’t there, or at least alter what you do see. It’s probably time I go lay down. I need to let my brain and body heal.

  When I get back to my room, I sit on the bed and toss my shoes aside, but one of them hits a small paper bag. I can’t remember what it is, so I go over and pick it up.

  Ritual of Magic is scrolled across the front, and then I remember Gillian gave me a few things to bring home with me. She wanted me to set up a meeting between her and Ms. Brewster. Fat chance of that happening. I don’t even want Ms. Brewster to know I was there. But no sense in letting the sage go to waste.

  I pull the sage bundle out of the bag, along with the jeweled lighter. Holding the sage to my nose, I take in the earthy scent. My grandmother always smudged her house on the evening of a full moon. She didn’t always use sage, though. Cedar was her favorite. She also used palo santo or rosemary. Kind of depended on what exactly she wanted to smudge away. />
  I flick the lighter to make a flame and then hold the sage to it. Once I have a good bit of smoke going, I walk to each of the four corners of my room, starting in the east.

  When I’m in the east corner, I say, “Thank you, goddess, for the rising sun that lets us make each day new.”

  I repeat a similar incantation in each corner, asking for the goddesses, not just Hecate, to not just cleanse the room, but bless it as well.

  I end at the door, smudging around it and saying, “As I enter the world, may I stay grounded and always seek truth, knowledge, and wisdom.”

  Then I turn to the bathroom to put the sage stick out in the sink since I didn’t plan ahead and bring a smudge bowl, but when I do, a puff of smoke hits me in the face, causing me to choke and cough.

  “What the—” I start to ask as I wave the smoke away.

  When it clears and I can see again, everything is…different. The bathroom is still there, but there’s no toilet or shower, just some buckets of water and some plain-looking bars of soap.

  I hold the sage stick tightly as I stumble out of the bathroom. The dorm also looks different. The windows don’t have blinds, but thin lacy curtains. The bedding is different, and the clothes that are strewn around the room are definitely not mine.

  I turn and pull the door open and run out of the room.

  “Ivy!” I call. “Krista!”

  But as I start down the hallway, I have a feeling I won’t find them. Lots of people mill the halls, but I don’t recognize any of them. And they’re all dressed like something out of a Civil War movie.

  “No, no, no, no,” I mumble to myself as I look from one person to another as I stumble down the hall.

  Have I fallen through time somehow? That can’t be good! What was in that smudge?

  I look down and see I’m still holding the sage stick. I throw it down and stomp it out, hoping that if I stop breathing the smoke, the vision will end.

  “Hey!” a girl says to me. “You’re going to ruin the carpet!”

  “S-s-sorry,” I mumble.

  “You better find someone to clean that up,” she says, then she looks me up and down. “Who are you? Why are you dressed like that?”

  I look down and see that I’m still wearing my modern clothes, my jeans and shirt, while she is wearing a full skirt and a frilly top that goes all the way to her neck.

  “Hey,” she says again. “Can you talk? I better take you to the headmistress.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I say, and I bolt down the hallway to the servant staircase.

  When I pull the door open, I nearly run into a black woman who is holding a pile of linens.

  “I’m so sorry, miss,” the woman says with a curtsey.

  “It’s my fault,” I say. “Sorry.”

  I start to move past her, but then I see two more black women down the stairs, all of them looking at me curiously. I suddenly realize I’m not just having a vision, but have indeed traveled to the past.

  And I’m standing face-to-face with slaves.

  My stomach twists horribly. “I am…so, so sorry,” I say. “For everything.”

  I leave them looking confused as I leave the back staircase and head to the main one, once again brushing past the girl who accosted me earlier.

  “Hey! Stop!” she calls, but I practically fly down the stairs, pushing past people as I go.

  I figure there is no sense in trying to blend in or be invisible now. Everyone is looking at me.

  “Stop her!” the girl calls over the banister, but before anyone can react, I’m out the front door.

  And everything out here is different too...

  There’s a walkway, but no large fence or gate. And as I look to the side, there’s no hedgerow, either.

  I start to run toward the…cobblestone street? But I see everyone outside of La Voisin is dressed in pre-Civil War garb as well. I can’t go into town. I’d stick out like…well, like a modern woman in the 1800s. I might not be arrested as a witch, since witch hysterias were long past by now, but I could still be arrested for indecency or something. Plus, I don’t know anyone. I don’t have any money. Where would I go? What would I do?

  I’m not sure why I’m so scared. Who better to help me and understand what is going on than my fellow witches?

  “There she is!”

  I whirl around to see the angry girl stomping out of the building toward me, several burly guys by her side, and I can’t help but assume that old-timey witches might be just as closed-minded and dangerous as old-timey humans.

  I take off running across the yard. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to fly right now! I run around the building, through a back door leading into the house, and then come out the other side, hoping to lose them.

  I catch sight of the grotto, all the way on the edge of the property line, looking just as forgotten and undisturbed as it does in my time. I make a beeline for it and slip inside, hoping no one saw me. I stop and catch my breath, listening for shouting, hoping no one saw me.

  When I don’t hear anything, I take a few steps down into the grotto. I’m surprised when I don’t see my statue man. Huh. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen any statues outside either. This must have been before the statues were created.

  The way the people were dressed was similar to the old photo I found. Was this the same year that photo was taken, the first year La Voisin opened? I have no way of knowing unless I talk to someone, and I don’t feel safe doing that. All I want to do is get back home to my own time.

  Footsteps clack against the grotto stones, and I spin around. They must have found me. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  Then I see who the footsteps belong to, and I gasp.

  The statue man?

  But he’s not a statue now. He’s a living, breathing—and incredibly handsome—young man. Our eyes meet, and I’m completely lost for words. I must be dreaming.

  “Madison?” he asks.

  I open my eyes, and I’m on the floor of my room, lying on my back and in incredible pain. I lift my hand to my head and realize I must have hit the same spot that was already sore when I passed out.

  Maybe inhaling smoke when you have a concussion isn’t such a good idea.

  Chapter 19

  Ivy hands me a fresh ice pack, which I place behind my head. It’s the next morning after my travel through time, and I’m not sure what has messed with my head more—hitting it twice, or the vision with statue man.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go see Ms. Keen?” she asks. “You seem to have really hurt yourself.”

  “I’ll be all right,” I say as I sit up in the bed, Ivy sitting next to me. “I just need to rest.”

  “You’ve been resting quite a bit,” Krista says as she picks through my lipsticks in my desk.

  I didn’t realize how much makeup I had acquired as a cheerleader until I came here and stopped wearing it as often. I have like a dozen lipsticks Krista is trying and then wiping away so she can try the next one.

  “That one!” Ivy says suddenly. “That color brings out your eyes.”

  Krista’s face turns beet red, and she wipes the lipstick off quickly and start putting the make up away. “You missed all your Monday classes,” she says, her attention still on my desk. “I’m surprised Ms. Brewster hasn’t come down and ordered you to the infirmary.”

  I shrug. It is kind of odd that no one seems more concerned about me. Not that I want anyone fussing over me since there isn’t anything anyone can do about it.

  “It’s fine,” I say.

  “How did you hurt your head, anyway?” Ivy asks. “You said you fell. But it’s not natural to fall without a reason. You could have a tumor or something.”

  “Geez, go right to the worst answer!” I say.

  “Well, what happened?” she insists.

  I hesitate. I’ve been thinking about it over and over again, and what I do remember is pretty damning. I mean, if I was assaulted by a teacher, that isn’t something we should ignore. But
I don’t know what we can do about it.

  And why assault me just to bring me back to my bed? Something’s strange about the whole thing.

  “I… Well... It was after movie night the other day…”

  “Wait,” Krista says, swiveling around in my desk chair. “You were hurt that long ago? And you are still struggling? Madison! What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Just wait,” I say. “Let me explain. I was cleaning up the kitchen when I heard voices in another part of the house. Then I overheard voices talking about the statues.”

  “What were they saying?” Ivy asks, leaning forward.

  “I can’t remember everything,” I say, sitting up and adjusting the pillow behind me. “Something about being near the property line? The ones that are in the hedgerow?”

  Krista and Ivy both shrug.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I can’t remember the details. Anyway, it was dark and the voices far away. The only voice I heard for sure was Mr. Stewart because I could hear his accent.”

  “Hard to miss that,” Krista says. “What did he say?”

  I sigh. “The most I remember is him whacking me over the back of the head and calling me a meddling brat. I passed out after that.”

  The girls stare at me, blinking wordlessly. Ivy opens her mouth, but it’s actually Krista who finally speaks first.

  “Are…are you joking?” she asks. “Mr. Stewart did this to you?”

  “That’s what I remember,” I say, hedging. I mean, I guess someone else could have hit me, and then Mr. Stewart made the remark?

  “That is insane,” Krista says, her tone more serious than I think I have ever heard it. “Madison, if Mr. Stewart attacked you, you need to tell someone.”

  I shake my head and clear my throat to keep the moisture I feel developing in my eyes from turning into tears. “I can’t prove anything. Maybe I have it wrong. My memory is…fuzzy.”

  “Yeah!” Krista says, jumping to her feet. “Because someone hit you over the head hard enough to cause a concussion! They could have killed you!”