Ritual of Magic (Academy of the Damned Book 2)

by Veronica Shade

  When I reach the stairwell and put my hand on the railing, a strong shock bolts through me as if I just touched a live wire.

  “Shit!” I say, pulling my hand back and shaking it.

  But when I look up, the others are gone. In their place are the students I saw before who are wearing old-fashioned clothes. I look around and see that the furnishings are old as well.

  I’ve fallen through time. Again.

  “Please, no,” I mumble as I see the other students all talking behind their hands, their eyes trained on me.

  “Hey, everyone,” I say. “I’m just a little lost, but I’m going to go.”

  I turn to head out the front door when I run smack into the human version of statue guy...

  “Madison!” he says.

  I blink several times and try to speak but have no idea what to say.

  “There’s no time,” he says. “Go to the grotto! Quickly!”

  “Madison?”

  I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Jaxon. I’m back.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “The grotto!” I say, but I don’t have time to explain.

  There’s a heavy feeling in my gut, and I turn and run out the front door and around the building. I run right for the grotto, and for the first time, I see footprints on the ground. There is also a smashed vial of some sort. A potion? Someone must have used a potion to be able to see the entrance to the grotto.

  When I run inside, Mr. Stewart is standing there with a sledgehammer aimed at the statue man.

  I don’t even think. I summon a burst of wind and slam it into Mr. Stewart, knocking him backward, forcing him to drop the sledgehammer.

  “What the hell?” he says, looking around. “Madison! What are ye doing here? I saw ye go inside the building.”

  “I get to ask the questions!” I say. “I know you know where Zoey is. Tell me where she is!”

  “I canne tell ye that, lass,” he says. “Zoey is gone. Ye canne bring her back.” His face looks almost sorrowful as he says this, but I’m too angry to care about his feelings.

  “Liar!” I say, and I slap him with another gust of wind, this time knocking him onto his backside. “I know she can still be saved,” I say. “And you’re going to tell me how.”

  His eyes flit around the grotto, as if looking for a way out, but I’m younger and faster. He knows I’ll be able to stop him if he tries to get up.

  Keep her attention. Camille will come. Just distract her, I hear Mr. Stewart say, but his mouth doesn’t move. I must be reading his mind.

  “Camille?” I ask him. “You mean Ms. Brewster? Is she involved in this, too?”

  “What?” he asks in disbelief. “Ye didne… No. It’s not possible. Ye just guessed.”

  “I heard you,” I say. “In your mind. You’re trying to distract me!”

  Mr. Stewart nervously gets to his feet, and I let him, but I keep my hands open, ready to summon the wind on a second’s notice.

  “No,” he says. “Ye couldn’t.”

  The spirit clan are all dead. She’s bluffing.

  “I’m not bluffing,” I say, taking a menacing step forward. “Who are the spirit clan? What’s going on?”

  “By the goddess,” Mr. Stewart says, and I think he is going to try and run, so I step to the left to block his path, but instead, he attacks, reaching for me with red-hot hands.

  He grabs me around my neck, his hands burning me like molten iron. I scream from the pain, which seems to startle him. He loosens his grip just enough that I’m able to wrench myself away. I touch my throat and use a burst of cold air to stop the burning. It will have to do for now.

  “At least I have evidence that you attacked me this time,” I say.

  “You...you remember that? But I…I… You can’t possibly remember that.”

  So the asshole thought he wiped my memory or something. That sure explained a lot. “Oh, I remember. And this time, I have proof. Your career is over!”

  He chuckles. “You think I give a shit about this ‘job’?” he asks. “About this school? This is nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I ask. “It’s the basis for everything we are taught as witches.”

  “You don’t know a damn thing, lass,” he says.

  Then, he sends a stream of fire toward me like a blowtorch. Great Hecate, he’s actually trying to kill me!

  I leap behind the statue, hoping the marble will protect me. It does, but only for the moment. I create a bubble of air around me and then cool it to freezing. But I’m not strong enough. The bubble is melting, and I’m sweating like a pig. He seems to be raising the temperature of the whole grotto like an oven. He’s going to roast me.

  “Come out now, and I might just let you live,” he calls out to me, but I know he’s lying. I can hear it in his thoughts.

  I’m going to have to fight back if I have any hope of surviving. I gather all my strength and stand, blowing the strongest gust of wind at him I can. When I do, the marble statue falls forward.

  I scream and my hands go to my mouth. I didn’t mean to knock the statue over! The last thing I want to do is break him. But instead of landing with a crash, there is a thud and a groan of pain. Then, the room starts to cool.

  I’m frozen in place, with a sickening feeling that I know exactly what happened, and I don’t want to see it. I turn my face to the wall and stifle a cry.

  The grotto is eerily silent. I can’t hear a single thought other than my own, which is how I know for sure: I killed him.

  Mr. Stewart is dead.

  I crushed him under the statue. My stomach churns and heaves at the thought, and I have to put my hand on the wall to steady myself.

  “Oh shit!” I hear Jaxon say, along with gasps and screams from Ivy and Krista.

  I sink to the floor, holding my eyes tightly closed.

  “It was an accident!” I try to say, but my voice is husky. I reach for my throat and hiss at the pain.

  Jaxon comes to me, pulling me to my feet.

  “Goddess, Madison!” he says. “You’re hurt! Like really bad!”

  I still keep my eyes closed, but the tears come anyway. “He was going to kill me,” I say. “I just tried to push him back when the statue fell.”

  Jaxon pulls me into his arms and shushes me. “I believe you,” he says. “But we need to get you out of here.”

  I keep my eyes closed as he leads me out of the grotto. It isn’t until I feel sunlight on my face that I allow my eyes to open, only to find Ms. Brewster barreling toward us, her face in a firm line.

  “What happened out there?” she demands, then her hand goes to her mouth as she sees my throat. “By Hecate. Jaxon—”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I’m taking her to Mom, to the infirmary.”

  Ms. Brewster gives a curt nod and starts to pass us, but I grab her wrist.

  “It was an accident,” I tell her.

  She looks at me knowingly, slipping her wrist from my hand and giving it a squeeze before continuing on toward the grotto.

  The rest of the students come out of La Voisin house and walk toward the grotto. I hear surprised gasps as they walk toward the deadly scene as if they don’t even see me at all.

  “Can they see it?” I whisper to Jaxon.

  He nods. “Yeah. I saw a smashed potion bottle outside. Not sure what it was, but it made the grotto visible to everyone. Mr. Stewart must have known there was a hidden grotto out there but couldn’t locate the entrance, so he used a potion to find it.”

  “And he…he is dead, isn’t he?” I have to ask.

  He gives a slow nod and wraps his arms tighter around me. I let him. In fact, I hold him tightly as well. I need the warmth, the comfort that only another body can give.

  I’m sorry, Beau.

  Chapter 23

  “Madison?”

  I finally look up at Ms. Brewster. She has been trying to get my attention for some time, but I can hardly bring myself to stop crying. When I see the concern on her face, I rip my eyes awa
y and cradle my face in my hands again.

  “I know this is distressing,” she says in a low voice as she rubs my shoulders.

  “Distressing?” I screech at her. “I killed someone!” I jump from the chair, but in my small room, there’s nowhere to go. I feel hemmed in on all sides. Trapped like a caged animal. And the only person trying to help me…

  I shake my head. Mr. Stewart had expected Ms. Brewster to come to his rescue. Is she in on everything happening around here? I need to be careful.

  “Yes,” Ms. Brewster says, leaning back in her chair—Zoey’s desk chair—and rubbing her temple. “Such a thing has never happened in all the years La Voisin has operated.”

  “Except for Giselle,” I say, sitting on the edge of Zoey’s bed. “Or have you forgotten about her already?”

  “Certainly not,” Ms. Brewster says, turning to face me. “I just mean… Well, I’m not sure what I mean. I was about to say involving a teacher, but there was Ms. Boucher.”

  “He wasn’t alone,” I confide in her.

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “Mr. St—” When I try to say his name, bile climbs up in my throat, choking me. My hand goes to my throat, but I stop myself before touching it. Ms. Keen put some salve on it to heal the burns and instructed me to not touch it for a few days. I’m to report back to her every morning for more treatments.

  “I know who you meant,” Ms. Brewster says, saving me from saving his name. “But what do you mean he wasn’t alone?”

  “I heard him talking to someone, two someones, the night he hit me over the head,” I say. I’m practically challenging her, because if Mr. Stewart’s thoughts are to be believed, one of those someones might have been her.

  She does her best to keep from displaying any emotion on her face, but for a moment, the mask drops, and I see fear in her eyes.

  “What were they talking about?” she asks when she collects herself.

  “The statues,” I say firmly, pinning her with my gaze. “I can’t remember all the details. I think the hit to my head affected my memory. I don’t know who he was talking to,” I say, and I don’t add that now I’m starting to suspect one of them was her. I want to see what she offers, and I can’t play my hand too soon. “Their voices were less clear. They were talking about statues in the hedge getting too close to the property line.”

  She bursts a small laugh but then stops herself. “Anything else?”

  I’m a little irked by her show of humor at me opening up to her, but she’s my elder, so I brush off the unease instead of confronting her on how rude that was.

  “Ms. Brewster…is there anything about the statues I should know?” I stare at her, daring her to lie to me. How can she possibly not know that the statues can move?

  She chuckles uncomfortably. “What could you possibly need to know about the statues? They were a gift from a student. A talented artist. Nothing more.”

  I take in a deep breath and try to call up the voice inside me, the one that lets me hear other people’s thoughts. My mind begins to wander, as though it’s floating from my body and around the school.

  Horrifying.

  How could she do that?

  Mama, I’m scared.

  It’s as though I can hear the thoughts of every student in the school. But I can’t hear Ms. Brewster.

  She sounds sincere, and I want to believe her. She’s always been so kind to me. Believed in me. But this is her school. Everyone says she is the most powerful witch they know. How can she not know? And Mr. Stewart’s thoughts had been pretty clear. I replay the words in my mind, trying to see if they could be interpreted another way.

  Keep her attention. Camille will come. Just distract her.

  He’d even confirmed I’d heard his thoughts correctly.

  But that didn’t expressly mean Camille knew what he was up to. Just that he thought she would save him from me. And only that I had in fact read his thoughts. None of that was evidence she was in on it.

  “Madison, dear,” she says, taking my hand in hers. “What’s bothering you? You can talk to me.”

  No, I can’t. While my thoughts soften to allow for the possibility she’s not involved, I need to stay on my toes until I know for sure.

  “There…there is something terrible going on here,” I say. “Something secret. Something that is getting people killed.”

  “Like some sort of conspiracy?” she asks, the edges of her mouth tilting up. But then the faint smile flees. “You’re serious?”

  “How could I not be?” I ask her. “First Giselle, then Zoey. First Ms. Boucher, then Mr. Stewart.” I’m surprised I’m able to say his name, but I have to make Ms. Brewster understand how dangerous this is. “And as I said, I don’t think Mr. Stewart was acting alone.”

  Ms. Brewster stands and paces the room as much as the small space allows, wringing her hands.

  “Well…what do you want me to do?” she finally asks. “I have no idea what is going on or why.”

  “I thought you were not just the headmistress of La Voisin, but the Supreme witch,” I say. “Can’t you…order an inquiry or something? Bring in more elders and Legacies. Ask for their help in rooting out whatever evil is going on here.”

  “I can’t do that,” she says, almost disgusted. “If I was to let the others know that I have lost control, I’d be removed from La Voisin altogether. Be removed as Supreme. Then what would I be able to do? I can assure you, there’s no one better to help than myself. Though there are many who would love to take my position, it wouldn’t be in the school’s best interest.”

  “There has to be something you can do, then,” I say. “Before another student dies.”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “I’ll speak with the other teachers. See if any of them have any suggestions.”

  “But they are in on it!” I say. “They have to be. There are few people here Mr. Stewart could have been talking to.”

  “I am open to suggestions, Madison,” she says.

  I don’t miss a beat. “Dismiss all the professors.”

  She scoffs. “Oh, Madison—”

  “I’m serious. You can’t trust them. Send them away and put stronger wards up around the school. Don’t let anyone on school grounds we don’t know.”

  In truth, even that wouldn’t be enough. My trust in this school—even in Ms. Brewster—is shattered.

  “I can’t just send the others away,” she says, trying to calm me. “They are all elders in their covens. Respected witches.”

  “How many more people will have to die before you do something?” I challenge.

  “That is enough,” she says, moving to the door. “I acknowledge you have been through something horribly traumatic. But I must also remember that you are still a child. I should not add to your burdens by asking you to help with this problem. You are right. I am headmistress. I am Supreme. I must find a way to fix this myself.”

  She opens the door and steps out.

  “Then I’m leaving,” I say.

  She turns back to me. “I do ask you to reconsider. You are a brilliant student with incredible potential. It would not behoove you to throw all that away.”

  “I can’t stay here knowing what I know,” I say. “It’s too dangerous. I killed someone. I can’t stay here knowing that.”

  “It was a terrible accident,” she says. “At most, self-defense.”

  “An accident is what brought me here in the first place,” I say. “I killed Beau, my boyfriend, accidentally as well. I came here to learn to control my powers so it would never happen again. But look where I am. I am in the exact same place I was a year ago. I failed. La Voisin can’t help me. You can’t help me.”

  Ms. Brewster winces as though my words have pained her, and I hope they have.

  “Very well,” she says. “If that is your decision, I cannot force you to stay. But if you change your mind, you are always welcome here.”

  “I’ll leave today,” I say.

  Ms. Brestwer g
ives a curt nod and shuts the door behind her.

  She called my bluff. Dammit. I didn’t really want to leave, at least not at first. I want to root out whatever is going on here. But now that I have said the words, now that I have declared that I’m leaving, I feel lighter. Freer. Safer. I get up and pull out a bag to put my things in. My clothes, my shoes, my bathroom stuff.

  But then I look at Zoey’s side of the room and all the things she left behind. I walk over, pick up her pink dinosaur plushy, and hold it close.

  “I’m sorry, Zoey,” I say. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  There’s a light knock on the door. I wipe the tears from my eyes and put the dinosaur back.

  “Come in.”

  Jaxon pokes his head in. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I say back.

  “I just thought you might want to talk,” he says a little uncomfortably. “If you can, I mean.”

  I motion toward my neck. “It already feels a lot better. Your mom is a gifted healer.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he says. He looks around the room, and his gaze falls on my bag on my bed. “You…you’re not leaving, are you?”

  “Umm, yeah, I think so,” I say. “I’m not sure I can stay after what happened.”

  “I understand you being upset,” he says. “Maybe needing a break. But you have to come back.”

  “Why?” I ask. “Jaxon, there is something terrible going on around here. One student is dead, another missing and possibly dead as well. Two teachers have been caught doing terrible things. It’s not safe here. There’s some kind of conspiracy going on. Mr. Stewart wasn’t acting alone.”

  “I know,” he says, but then he surprises me by taking a step toward me and grasping my hand. “I just thought that, if you stayed, maybe we could…give this a go.”

  I feel my knees go weak and my stomach tremble. My mouth goes so dry it’s hard to speak. I open and close my mouth a few times as I try to get some words—any words—out. But Jaxon reaches up and lifts my chin.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I know you have feelings for me. Complicated feelings, for sure. But you and I have had a connection from the beginning. I felt it, and I think you did, too.”