Good Witches Don't Cheat (Academy of Shadowed Magic Book 2)

by S. W. Clarke

  I clicked my tongue, walking with Noir to get him started. I took hold of his mane as he walked, trying to get my usual running start along his side and jump up to hook my leg. But with him in motion, his stride was so long he was already past me before I could get enough momentum.

  I tried again, and again. Each time, I couldn’t get in sync with him, and I ended up jostled and jumping at the wrong time, my leg reaching for his high rump instead of the lowest point of his back.

  I kept going. The lesson was an hour long. We were only fifteen minutes in, which meant I had forty-five minutes to get this. And by hell, I would.

  Thirty minutes in, I managed to get my foot hooked over for a moment before his movement made me lose my grip, and I dropped to the ground. When I hit the dirt, I groaned.

  “Cole?” Farrow said from across the ring.

  I sat up, clapping away dirt. “I’m fine.”

  She nodded, but kept her eyes on me. “You don’t have any gear on your horse. You don’t have to pretend like you do.”

  What does that mean?

  Farrow returned her attention to another student, who looked on the verge of tears with frustration. None of them had been able to get close.

  And for a moment, seated on the ground, I watched them all. They were all trying and failing to get their foot into a tight stirrup from an awkward side-angle. It was possible, but what if there was an easier way?

  Ahead of me, Noir’s tail swished as he kept walking, leaving me behind.

  I had an idea.

  When I stood, I rubbed dirt between my fingers and palms. “Noir,” I said, “I’m going to try something different. Don’t freak out.”

  I came up to his side, winding one hand into his mane halfway up his neck and the other at his withers as I walked alongside him. I had to go with his momentum, not against it. The challenge here was mounting him from a forward position.

  I tried a hop-hop motion, gearing up to throw my leg over his back. But I didn’t come close—instead, I lost my balance, tripped. Hit the dirt face-first.

  When I hit the ground, Noir came to a stop. He looked around at me and nickered as I lay on my chest, blowing dirt from my mouth.

  This would be easier if I was riding a fifteen-hander like Siren bareback, sure. But mounting a monster like Noir while in motion? I was going to be eating a lot of dirt.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The plan was to meet Eva in the dining hall for an early lunch before my most eventful class of the day—fire magic with Rathmore.

  When I dragged myself into the dining hall, Eva stopped hard on her way to a table, a plate of food in one hand. “Clem, you look terrible.”

  I flicked dead eyes onto her. “I’d forgotten what dirt tasted like. Now I remember.”

  “Dirt?”

  “Yeah, the stuff you eat when you’re three because you don’t know any better. Or maybe fae children are too prim.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So now you know better, but you ate dirt anyway?”

  I mimed running with my fingers. “Imagine this is me jogging alongside Noir, who’s walking. Now imagine me trying to jump onto his back.”

  “Okay…”

  My fingers crashed hard, slamming into the invisible ground. “Now imagine me doing this enough times that I can’t remember how many times it happened. I might be concussed.”

  “Oh.” She looked me over. “Any dizziness? Forgetfulness?”

  “I appreciate that you take the drama queen in my seriously, Evanora. No, my head’s fine—it’s the rest of me that’ll be all the colors of the rainbow by tonight.”

  I grabbed a plate, began piling food on—lots of protein. Then I filled myself a huge mug of coffee and, as we sat down at a table in the mostly-empty dining hall, Eva said, “Well, why’d you fall so much?”

  I ripped into a chicken leg. “Everyone was falling. It’s Mounted Combat.”

  “I thought you had been working on mounting Noir all summer. You said you could do it on the first try.”

  “Yeah, when he’s standing still.”

  “Fair enough.” Her wings fluttered. “I don’t envy you riding horses. Though sometimes I do think my wings have a mind of their own.”

  I leveled my fork at her wings. “Except you get a fashion accessory in addition to a means of travel. That’s pretty splendid.”

  “Morning,” a voice said from my left. Aidan dropped into the seat next to me, setting down a plate and cup. “Eva, you’re looking fresh. Clem, you’re looking…”

  I slid my eyes over to him, yanking off another bite of chicken. “How about we just don’t comment on that?”

  “All right then.” He blinked down at my food, up at me. “So, is everyone present in the know?”

  I knew what he meant immediately. The damned key sitting at this very moment in my pocket.

  My eyes dropped straight to my plate, and I dug into my food. I didn’t need to couple my anxiety about Rathmore’s personal training—coming up in just half an hour—with guilt from my left side.

  “In the know?” Eva said.

  “Clem has something to tell you, when she’s ready,” Aidan said. His plate scraped as he stood with it. “I see some first-years I haven’t introduced myself to yet. Student ambassador duties and all, you know.”

  Way to make things awkward and then ditch me, North.

  When he’d left, I felt Eva staring at me from across the table. “Clem,” she finally said, when I didn’t say anything.

  I jerked my eyes up, not lifting my face. “Tonight I’ll tell you, I swear. Just…let me focus on how much I’d rather have my appendix burst than go to Spark’s common room.”

  Eva pressed her lips together. “I don’t even know what it is, but the fact that you’re being like this only piques my curiosity, you know.”

  “How have classes gone today?” I asked with an abruptness I knew she wouldn’t appreciate.

  But to Eva’s credit, she was—when not in the presence of a certain blond demi-god—a perfect conversationalist. She could pivot on a dime. “Fine enough. Most interesting thing that’s happened is in my air magic class—today I summoned a vortex.”

  “Like that one girl did to us in the amphitheater last year?”

  She gave an emphatic, smug nod. “And like I’ll do to anyone who thinks they’d like to catch me at the first guardian trial in the spring.” She paused. “Clem, now that you’re using your magic, have you thought about entering the trials?”

  “For guardianship? This year?”

  She nodded.

  I snorted. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I swung my de-meated chicken leg in the air. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because the only time I’ve used my magic so far this year was to—accidentally—burn a guardian’s face.”

  “So?” Eva said. “It was an accident. He’s healed.”

  “So…” I made motions in the air. “I’m the fire witch. I’m spooky and evil and can’t get my magic under control because I’m so impulsive and tempestuous.”

  She looked unimpressed. “Do you want to be a guardian?”

  “I don’t know.” I paused. “Maybe.”

  “Then why not give the trials a go?”

  “I’m not ready, Eva.”

  “This is September. The trials are in May.” She smiled at me. “Train for it. Train with me. We can enter together.”

  I took a long sip of coffee to keep from having to give her an answer. As I did, my eyes swiveled to the clock on the wall. “Oh, would you look at that. Closing in on noon.”

  She glanced over. “To your training with Professor Rathmore? You’ve got fifteen minutes. Even if you walked extra-slow you’d be early.” She picked up her plate, which she’d somehow emptied without me ever noticing her taking a single bite. “Just think about it. I think you’d be good in the trials, Clem. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight, back at the dorm.” She gave me a meaningful stare as I stood with her.

  Right—Aidan had forced m
y hand.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Tonight.”

  As we parted, I noticed for the first time how my heart had accelerated. My palms were sweating. My stomach was wound in a knot.

  You will not be nervous about this, I commanded myself as I started toward the common room. He’s just another thorn in your side—of which I had many, past and present.

  Of course, commands didn’t work on the heart. They only made mine beat faster.

  I came into Spark’s common room to find it…empty. No Callum Rathmore, even though the clock read exactly twelve.

  All the better for me. I sauntered to the sofa, deposited my satchel atop its cushions and turned, leaning back against the sofa’s back with folded arms. I kept my eyes on the door, ready to eviscerate him with my glare.

  He came through the door—ducked under the frame, actually—a full minute later.

  “You’re late,” I said.

  He straightened, pressing his black hair back. When he focused on me, I caught the first flicker of humor I’d seen yet. “Yes, a minute’s lateness won’t do, will it?”

  “Sixty seconds is a full minute of my life’s energy,” I mourned. “Gone forever.”

  “We’ll have to make it up with efficiency, won’t we?” He strode forward, coming to stand in the center of the empty common room. “Hit me with your flame.”

  I made a face. “I burned Jericho. Now you want me to hit you?”

  “No,” Rathmore said. “I want you to try hitting me.”

  I straightened, tilting my head. “If I hit you, I want you to teach me fire riding.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear of that?”

  “Aidan North.”

  He scoffed. “It’s not teachable. It’s innate.”

  “How do you know it’s not innate to me?”

  “It’s not in your blood.”

  Now I took a step forward, my fingers naturally curling toward fists. “You don’t know what’s in my blood.”

  His eyes glinted. “Oh, and don’t I? ‘Clementine Cole.’ You’re from a line of meager witches, or haven’t you studied your own kind’s history? The Coles were hardly witches at all.”

  That was news to me. But it was aside from one important fact.

  “Why are you such an ass?” I growled. In the same moment, I lashed out with my arm, heat blistering up it in a wave. It flashed out toward him, an arc of flame rushing through the air. After a long summer of no magic at all, that had been effortless.

  He raised a hand, brushing the flames aside; they dissipated into the air. “Good. You gave it your first try. Again.”

  “What else do you know about witches?”

  “Again.”

  I threw out my other arm, another arc of flame following. Already I sensed the Spitfire’s head rising in the center of my chest, heat emanating from the core of me. It wasn’t out, but it was awake. Aware.

  He brushed aside this arc, too. “Most witches rely on air magic, which makes them weak and fragile. That includes your line, too, Cole. And of course, there are degrees of power. Tiers, you could say.”

  I came at him again, taking another step forward and swinging. Every time he waved the fire away to smoke; the room was starting to smell like ash. “How do you keep doing that?”

  He smirked. “The day you singe one hair on me, I’ll tell you. We’ll see if that day ever comes.”

  With a roar, I rushed him, flames bursting up the lengths of my arms. I would burn off every hair on his body, and more than that.

  But he only sidestepped, massive as he was. He moved with grace, with precision, and I went stumbling past him, my flames winking out as I tried to steady myself.

  When I turned, straightening and trying to catch my breath, Rathmore swirled a finger through the smoke. “But you’re no air witch, are you?”

  I ran the back of my hand over my sweating forehead. “And what’s the difference?”

  “The difference”—he lowered his chin to fix me with his dark eyes—“is where a witch’s power comes from. Yours stems from the creature inside you.”

  He knew about the Spitfire.

  “How do you know so much about witches?” I whispered.

  One coal eyebrow went up. “And how don’t you? Your mother never taught you?”

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  He took a breath, widened his stance as his hands went to clasp behind his back. “I had a first-class education. A private history instructor. The man’s name was Gillespie, and he was once in love with a witch. I suppose what you love you find ways to bring up in anything you do—including when you’re supposed to be tutoring a boy on history.”

  That was unexpected. I just stared at him, still breathing hard, the Spitfire uncertain whether to rise further or remain coiled.

  Rational Clem was coming to the fore. She had to acknowledge one thing: that was the first moment of humanity I’d seen from Callum Rathmore.

  “What happened to her?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “The witch Gillespie loved.”

  “Oh, she did what witches do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Betrayed him,” he said, eyes hard on me like I was Gillespie’s old lover. “Witches are such shallow-hearted b—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish; I’d thrown both arms out, two crossing arcs of flame poured through the air toward him. These were so powerful he couldn’t simply dispel them. Instead, he had to roll out of the way.

  My lip curled as we met eyes again, he coming up to one knee. “What was that you were saying?” I asked.

  He stood. “That was better. No real control, but you might be able to brute force your way through a few fights.”

  “You had to jump away.”

  “Well, I can’t exactly attack you back, can I? That’s reserved for when you’ve actually hit me with your flame.”

  “So show me control,” I ground out. “Teach me something instead of taunting me like a bully at recess.”

  He wiped away a bead of sweat from his temple; the room had grown warm with all my fire. “I am teaching you, Cole.”

  “What, how to lash out? How to get angry?”

  He pointed a finger at me. “Exactly.” His hand went to his chest, the finger circling there. “How to access what you’ve always known was in you. What you’ve always suppressed until you were furious.”

  I stood on the opposite side of the room, and that still felt too close for this conversation. “Nobody knows about that. Did Gillespie teach you that?”

  He shook his head. “What do you call it?”

  “What?”

  “The creature inside you. What do you call it?”

  I didn’t want to tell him. It felt too vulnerable, too real. He was the last person I would trust with something so personal.

  Which was why I was as surprised as anyone when my lips parted, and the words came out. “The Spitfire.”

  “The Spitfire. Do you capitalize the name?”

  “What?”

  “Do you capitalize the name in your head?”

  I rolled my eyes away. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Oh, but it does.” He stepped closer, hands clasped again behind his back. “What do you want that the capitalized Spitfire gives you?”

  I kept my eyes off him. “The ability to win fights.”

  “And what does that distill down to?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one leading me toward an answer.”

  He smiled. “But you have to be the one to say it, Cole. And you won’t leave this room until you do.”

  I forced my eyes onto him. I knew they were hard as emerald flint. “Power. I want power.”

  He nodded slowly. “There it is. Show me you have the gumption to come at me every day the way you did today, and you might receive it. Might.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  When I got out of the common room, a year could have passed. In fact, it had only been an hour.
>
  I was drenched in sweat, my hands shaking with adrenaline. I’d spent practically the whole lesson throwing myself at him, and I hadn’t singed a hair on his body.

  It was only alone, walking down the steps in the midday light, that I could recognize I was vastly outclassed. Eva and Aidan had been right about one thing: he was powerful. He could teach me a lot.

  If he would only stop being such a colossal ass.

  I spent the afternoon under the shade of my favorite tree in the meadow, reading a fictional account of the Battle of the Ages and eating one of Vickery’s conjured apples left out in the dining hall. It was a habit I’d taken to in the summer afternoons, and one I realized brought on a centeredness I rarely felt.

  Right now, I needed it more than ever.

  From time to time, I watched the students in a class with Professor Fernwhirl. It was one of the flight classes, and the fae in it were almost certainly first-years, schooling like minnows, their wings sometimes glinting under the sunlight.

  I didn’t want to go back to my dorm. When I arrived, Eva would be waiting. She would be expectant. I would have to tell her a secret she would know I’d been keeping from her since May.

  So I remained under the tree. Eventually, a black dot appeared on the far side of the meadow. I spotted it overtop my book, watching as it grew. Soon it formed into the shape of a cat trotting through the grass, green eyes almost the same color as the blades.

  “Hey, truant,” I called out.

  “I’m a cat. I can’t be truant,” Loki said as he came under the shade. He sat down a few feet from me.

  “Not from class, maybe. But from my life? Sure.”

  His tail flicked. “You missed me.”

  I lowered my book. “Where were you?”

  “Believe it or not, I’ve found a secret spot on the grounds. It gets perfect sunlight at midday.”

  I stopped mid-bite of my apple. “Tell me.”

  He licked at one paw. “Absolutely not.”

  “Wait a second,” I said. “You can’t keep secrets from me. I’m your witch.”