Good Witches Don't Lie (Academy of Shadowed Magic Book 1)

by S. W. Clarke

  I did as asked. She turned me around and started us down the aisle toward the back of the dining hall. Other students rose, fell into step behind us. And so I was at the head of the first procession of my life.

  When the dining hall doors opened, we came out into the snowy night. In the clearing, the amphitheater had been illuminated all the way around with lamplight.

  This was definitely a ceremony.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We walked as a procession to the amphitheater, the entire student body and staff in a two-person line. Loki caught up to me then, trotting beside me with his tail upright.

  I glanced down at him. “Good of you to make it.”

  His green eyes glinted in the lamplight as his face lifted. “It’s my induction too, remember?”

  I smirked down at him for a moment before lifting my eyes. Besides our small exchange, no one spoke. Footsteps crunched over the ground behind me, a strange sort of hush surrounding us like I’d never heard before.

  They took this seriously. Very seriously.

  Umbra led me down the steps toward the central dais, where a large metal brazier sat empty.

  “Normally,” she whispered, “we induct a whole class in one evening. Lucky for you—or unlucky, depending on how you see it—you’re the only winter induction.”

  Unlucky. Definitely unlucky. “Don’t let them flog me once they know I’m House Spark.”

  This elicited a rare smile from her. She squeezed my hand; her fingers were cold. “Once you’re a student here, you’re one of us. You will always be one of us.”

  Until I’m corrupted, I thought but didn’t say.

  When we’d reached the stage, Umbra nodded me ahead of her up the steps.

  I lifted my robes, taking the steps slowly as Loki trotted up beside me. When I reached the brazier, I stopped, turning toward the rest of the amphitheater.

  Half the students had already filed in behind the professors, who sat shoulder to shoulder in the front row. They all stared up at me, some with hands clasped at the knee, one with arms folded.

  Milquetoast, my Rescue professor. She was the one with folded arms.

  I also spotted Quartermistress Farrow, her piercing gaze and that same horsewhip ponytail. She wore a red sash over her shoulders—a member of House Spark.

  Umbra came to stand next to me, waiting with hands held before her until the rest of the student body was seated. When all footsteps had stopped, she raised her hands. “Students, teachers—tonight one of your houses will gain a new member. And as many of you know, that member will be a witch. Standing beside me is the world’s last witch, though I expect you to treat her as you would any other mage at the academy, for inside her lies great potential if properly nurtured.”

  All at once, I spotted Liara. Those black eyes stared at me from the back of the amphitheater, nearly the same way they’d done just before she had sent me onto my back in Combat class.

  A witch had killed her family. That was the mountain of hatred I had to work my way out from under.

  Umbra stepped forward, holding her palm over the brazier. “As is tradition, I will supply the seed of magic. The student’s nature will change it to her element.”

  Umbra’s fingers closed as though she were gripping something. When they opened, a small white globe sat in her palm, nearly ghostly in appearance. When she removed her hand, it remained hovering above the brazier.

  She nodded to me. “Go ahead, Clementine. Grasp it.”

  As I stepped forward, I wished—not for the first time in my life—I could be someone else. Ever since it had just been me and Loki, I’d felt different from the rest of the world. Not defective so much as another breed all together.

  Now I understood why: I was a fire witch.

  This felt like a sentence, a prophecy. I didn’t want to become evil, and yet I’d gotten the feeling it was unavoidable.

  But I reached out anyway. Because despite my brief wish, and despite the feeling of foreboding, I knew there was only way to prove a prophecy wrong.

  You simply had to defy it.

  My fingers closed around the orb. As soon as they did, I felt it shift, transmute into something else altogether. I knew what lay in my hand, but until I opened my fingers, it could be anything.

  So many eyes stared on. All the air felt held, stuck in limbo. And I did, too.

  Until a familiar creature brushed against my leg. The soft fur, the faint vibration to indicate he was purring.

  I didn’t need to look down to know who it was, or what he was telling me.

  With a deep breath, I opened my hand. At the center of it sat a small flame, practically white at the center.

  And as the gasps sounded around the amphitheater, the flame grew in my hand. It encompassed all five fingers and surged down to my wrist, dancing and licking at the air.

  Voices sounded everywhere—

  “A fire witch.”

  “House Spark?”

  “It can’t be.”

  “Not for decades…”

  And overlaying it all was the general feeling of dismay. Exactly as predicted, no one, it seemed, was happy about me being a fire witch.

  Umbra raised a hand. “She claims the flame. Clementine Cole will join House Spark.” From somewhere in her robes she removed a red sash, setting it over my shoulders. “Will the house please stand?”

  A beat passed, a moment of contemplation. I wondered for a tense moment if anyone would stand for me. And then—

  Scraping of shoes sounded over stone. One person near the middle stood, his brown hair gleaming under the light.

  Aiden North.

  “We welcome her to House Spark,” he said, his voice louder and more carrying than I’d ever heard it. He stared up at me, a grim resoluteness on his face.

  “Will the rest of House Spark please stand?” Umbra called out.

  Out in the amphitheater, silence resounded. No one stood.

  I lowered my hand as the flames slowly died away. This was becoming more and more like one of those fever dreams you wake up from in a state of perfect gratitude none of it was real.

  But it was. It absolutely was.

  The silence had gone on too long. The message was clear. Until…

  At the front, one of the professors stood.

  Quartermistress Farrow.

  “We welcome her to House Spark,” she said, low and final. When she turned to the rest of the amphitheater, she pointed. “House Spark, do not dishonor your house member. Stand.”

  This time, they did. Some twenty students and a few professors rose, and they all repeated the same.

  “We welcome her to House Spark.”

  And Quartermistress Farrow turned back around, nodding at me with the same no-nonsense expression I’d seen on her face every other time I encountered her.

  “All students, please stand and welcome her to the academy.”

  At this, the entire amphitheater rose. I couldn’t tell if Liara had stood, but it didn’t matter; everyone else did. “We welcome her to Shadow’s End Academy.”

  And so, standing there with a hundred pairs of eyes on me, I had become a student at the world’s only magic academy.

  “Clementine,” Umbra said, “join your house.”

  When I stepped off the stage, I knew it had begun. Most were waiting for me to fall to the flame. Some had hope anyway.

  And me?

  I wasn’t entirely sure what a good witch was, but I hoped I had taken a step toward becoming one.

  After the induction, everyone began filtering back to the dining hall for a house welcoming party.

  Umbra and I remained a moment longer on stage. She set her hand on my shoulder, turning to me. “Welcome to the academy, Clementine.”

  I glanced at her, forcing a small smile. “Thanks.”

  When Loki and I came down from the stage, Aiden and Eva found me in the crowd. Eva embraced me, practically lifting us both off the ground in what she called a “proper fae hug.” Apparently t
hat involved lots of wing fluttering.

  When she let me down, Aiden patted my back. “Glad to have you in Spark.”

  We walked toward the dining hall together. When we came inside, it was brightly lit and warm and fragrant with spiced apple cider. At some point during the induction ceremony the entire hall had been decorated.

  I figured Chef Vickery had done it when I spotted her in her apron standing with one of the professors, nodding as they both observed the decorations.

  As we came in, Eva clapped her hands, her eyes bright on the wreaths strung up along the walls. The tables had small piney placeholders with lit candles, and an enormous communal goblet of cider had been set atop one table.

  “Gods, I love the winter solstice.” She set her hands on my shoulder. “Oh, you have to come back with me to Vienna. We’ll have so much fun. The academy will be barren over the break, anyway.”

  I opened my mouth, but I was already being urged in another direction by Aiden. “It’s time for you to meet the house,” he said.

  My head swung around just in time to find myself not three feet from a whole cluster of students. This must have been all twenty-something members of House Spark. They all gazed back at me, their faces not dour, exactly, but also not happy.

  Among them were an equal mix of fae and humans, and two professors. Quartermistress Farrow, of course, and also a rosy-cheeked, chubby older man with a reddish beard and a nearly insuppressible grin.

  Well, at least he wasn’t unhappy.

  He extended a goblet of mead to me. “Welcome to our house, Clementine Cole.”

  I accepted it, the fragrant scent of apple intermixing with the spice of alcohol. So they do spike their drinks when the occasion is right. “I’m glad to be here.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was entirely true or not, but I’d be damned if I wouldn’t make it true by force of will and repetition.

  He couldn’t repress his grin any longer. “I’m Professor Goodbarrel. I teach the upper-level fire magic courses. When you do harness it, I’ll teach you how to manipulate it.”

  After that, all the students in Spark introduced themselves to me. I shook more hands and tried to learn more names than I had in years, all while holding my full goblet.

  Most of the students barely met my eyes. And by the end, they just became a blur.

  Except for one.

  A young dirty-blond guy about my height. He had sky-blue eyes and stared at me like he’d rather eat me than anything on offer in the dining hall. “Hello, Clementine. I’m Gabriel, and I would like to welcome you to House Spark.”

  He sounded French. And when we shook hands, he lifted mine to his mouth. For the first time in my life, a man kissed my knuckles.

  I stared at him, unsure if I would laugh or pop him in the jaw. I knew one thing: I didn’t like the way it felt to be kissed on the knuckles. It was meant to be a show of respect, but it felt more like a nonconsensual way for him to get his mouth on me.

  Aiden must have sensed my discomfort, because he brought me over a plate of balaclava. “You have to try these.”

  “See you later, Clementine,” Gabriel said, turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd.

  And, in fact, the whole of House Spark had dispersed around the dining hall. One table was completely packed with people sitting and standing around Torsten, who was telling a story that involved lots of bicep flexing.

  I picked up a balaclava. “Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

  Aiden narrowed his eyes. “It’s not supposed to be like this. The whole welcome party is for you. Gods, we still haven’t gotten over our distrust of witches.”

  “I prefer it this way.” I took a bite of the balaclava and a long sip of the cider. “After everything, I’d rather just talk to you and Eva—and Loki.”

  My familiar had remained faithfully by my side since the induction. It was like he’d sensed my stress, my trepidation. Even now he sat grooming himself right beneath my feet.

  “Thank you, by the way,” I said to Aiden, “for standing up in the amphitheater.”

  He stared at me with surprise. “You don’t have to thank me, Clementine.”

  “No one else stood before you did. I don’t even know if they would have.”

  “There’s a reason people sometimes call this place the Academy of Shadowed Magic,” he said in an unexpected moment of openness, his gaze flitting around the dining hall. “The people here can be superstitious and insular and secretive, especially toward outsiders and witches.”

  I would take his honesty while I could get it. “Why shadowed magic?”

  He shook his head, taking a sip of cider. “Because we keep ourselves hidden, separate from the world. Umbra’s afraid, I think.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of the Shade,” he said simply. “Of her power. She’s afraid of it seeping into this place.”

  I finished off my balaclava. “The Shade’s stuck in Hell, isn’t she?”

  “That’s right,” Aiden said. “For now.”

  I was about to ask him what that meant when someone cleared their throat at my side.

  Beside me, Quartermistress Farrow stared back with those piercing eyes, her red velvet sash a deep, rich color under the half-lights.

  I felt a sudden uncertainty, and I didn’t know what to say. She clearly wanted something, but I couldn’t figure out what.

  And as I looked into her eyes, it was obvious she felt badly for how I’d been treated tonight. She sympathized with me.

  Why?

  Then it hit me: it was because her childhood friend had been a witch.

  “You were brave up there,” she said, launching right into it. “I don’t know many students who could have done what you did, knowing the reception you’d get.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know if it was bravery.”

  “Oh, but it was.” She scrutinized me. “That’s the kind of thing we need in the stables. You’ve seen how some of those horses can be.”

  I nodded, my mind revolving on the black horse. Noir. Even if what I sensed she was about to offer was done out of pity, I didn’t mind. I wanted to return to the stables.

  “I’d like to bring you on next semester,” she said. “And I can get you training tomorrow morning, if you won’t be too addled by all the drink.”

  “Sure,” I said at once, lowering the goblet. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Good.” And with that, Farrow left me and Aiden alone by the giant goblet of mead.

  “Well,” Aiden said as she walked off, “you might be the first person she ever bent her own rules for.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next morning, I walked to the stables in the predawn darkness. Quartermistress Farrow met me there, ready with a pitchfork in hand. “Can you guess what this is for?”

  I took hold of it as she offered it to me. “Hay?”

  She directed me over to one of the horse’s stalls, her eyes leading me to a pile of fresh manure. “Not as pretty or as neat as hay. But you will get that job, too.”

  When we met eyes, I could see the challenge there. Was I up to shoveling poop? Oh, if only the quartermistress knew how non-averse I was to getting my hands dirty.

  I grasped the pitchfork in both hands. “Where do I start?”

  After I’d shoveled out all six stalls and wheelbarrowed the manure over to the small mountain of dung, she showed me how to brush off the horses, how to separate a flake of alfalfa for each one, how to refill their water trough.

  And every time I passed Noir’s stall, my eyes were drawn there. The horse watched me back, daring me to come too close. I still remembered the sound of those teeth biting down when I’d reached my fingers out.

  Why did the promise of a sharp bite always lure me in? I’d been the same way with boys—and later, men. I couldn’t stand anything vanilla, even if it was ice cream.

  By the time the sun cast its gleam over everything, I had been working an hour. Sweat coated my skin like a second layer, a
nd I enjoyed the feel of it. I could have gone another hour.

  I was replacing the bedding in one of the stalls when the quartermistress found me, her form a shadow in the light. “Want to try riding one?”

  I straightened. “Really?”

  She directed me to Siren’s stall, who nickered as we appeared. “If you’ll saddle them all for the class starting on the hour, I’ll give you a quick lesson on her before we start.”

  It was a good deal—a great deal, in fact. I got to practice saddling horses six times: first we led them to the hallway at the center of the stables, hooked them up to the lead there; second came the bridle, the bit; third came the saddle pad, the girth, the saddle itself set atop the horse’s high back.

  By the time I’d gotten my sixth horse geared up for the class, I had the process committed to memory.

  We brought the horses back to their stalls, led Siren out last. The quartermistress taught me how to adjust the stirrups, how to hook one foot in and lift myself up and over to a seat.

  I followed her instructions, and when I found myself on Siren’s back, the quartermistress staring up at me, a rare and almost uncomfortable feeling of pure satisfaction filled me.

  I’d done as she asked, and I’d gotten what I wanted. And as Quartermistress Farrow set the bridle in my hands and taught me how to wind it between my fingers with my thumb overtop, the discomfort grew with my own heady sense of accomplishment.

  Man, I had real issues with being happy.

  She unhooked Siren from the leads, and I pressed my thighs into her sides as she had taught me, pulling the bridle taut on the right side to turn her around and bring her out into the training paddock.

  From there, we had a lesson. I learned how to sit the horse in a walk, and even to urge her into a trot. The quartermistress encouraged me into a post to help with the jarring motion of Siren’s gait as we circled the edges of the paddock.

  “Well done,” came her voice from the center, where a red leadline stretched from her hand to Siren’s bridle. The leadline was there just in case something happened, she’d told me. “You’re a natural, Clementine.”