“Me. Coming here. All of it,” I say. “I… Sorry I wasted your time. Can you just open the hedge out of here, back to the street? I think I’m just going to go home.”
“Why?” he asks. “You’re a witch, aren’t you?”
“I’m a crappy witch,” I say. “I think I just came here to spite my mama. But I can tell I’m really in over my head. I thought those monsters were going to kill me.”
“Nah!” he says, like getting eaten was no big deal. “They are just guard dogs. Big pups. They wouldn’t have hurt you.”
I can still hear them snarling on the other side of the hedge wall that he built and, somehow, I doubt his words. “I don’t think they know that.”
He shrugs. “Look, I’m getting soaked here. Can we just go inside?”
“I just want to go,” I say, stepping back. “Home, I mean.”
“What kind of witch are you?” he asks.
“Umm...air,” I say.
“Then if we are going to stand here talking, could you at least dry us off?”
I feel so dumb right now. “Oh, right!” I step closer to him and create a pocket of air around us. Then, inside the pocket, I swirl the air to dry us off.
The guy shivers. “Can you warm it up? It’s freezing.”
“Umm...I don’t know,” I say. “Can I?”
“I mean, technically,” he says. “But if you haven’t been training, I guess you wouldn’t know how. Where have you been? Who are you?”
“Oh! My name is Madison Whittaker,” I say, offering him my hand to shake. “From Turkey Hollow, Oklahoma.”
He laughs as he shakes my hand. “Turkey...Holler? Really?” he asks.
“Southern accent,” I say. “It’s technically hollow”—the forced pronunciation of the word feels awkward on my tongue—”but locals say holler.”
He chuckles. “Okay. Anyway, you’re not really going, are you? I get that you’re nervous, but you’ve come this far. Might as well go inside and see what’s up.”
I shift from one foot to the other. “I...I don’t know. My mama is going to be so worried about me.”
“Does she not know about witches?” he asks.
“She does,” I say. “I get it from her side of the family. But I’m the first witch in like...four generations.”
“Ah,” he says with a nod, like it all makes sense. “Mundane family members are often just as scared of us as pure mortals. Sometimes more so since they know witches really exist. To the rest of the world, we are just a fantasy. Like vampires or werewolves.”
Actually, his words make a lot of sense. I’m not afraid of vampires, but if this guy suddenly told me that vampires were real, I’d probably be scared of them.
“So...vampires don’t exist, right?”
He smirks. “Depends on your definition of vampire.”
I cuss. “No way.”
“Come on, Madison,” he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. “If you just came to school, you’d learn everything you need to know. I promise. Forget your mom. You’re a witch. You belong here.”
I don’t know why, but his words hit me hard. Not in a bad way, but in a way that tells me he’s right. I mean, I’ve never really felt like I didn’t belong back home. Keeping my powers a secret was never hard. But I could never truly be myself, either. Even though Mama knew what I was, she didn’t encourage me. I always felt I had to hide or deny what I was. Talking to...whoever this guy is...so openly and freely about being a witch is the most natural conversation I can ever remember having.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
“Jaxon,” he says. “Jaxon Kane.”
“And you’re a…” I look around the hedge. “An earth witch?”
“Glenn Coven, yes,” he says.
“I don’t know what that is,” I say.
“You will,” he says, and this time when he turns to walk to the school, he doesn’t wait for me. He’s confident I’ll follow him.
He’s right.
I trot to catch up with him so we both stay in the air pocket as we leave the hedgerow. As we exit the hedge, the bushes and brambles resume their natural state, and the path Jaxon created disappears. The beasts skulk their way to the edge of the hedge and watch me, their eyes glowing.
I shudder. I don’t care what Jaxon says, I don’t trust the school’s “guard dogs.”
“What exactly are those things?” I ask Jaxon, pointing back to the hedge. “They aren’t just dogs.”
“Hedge beasts,” he says. “They come in a variety of forms. They are bound to the hedge, so they won’t leave it, but they guard it fiercely.”
I give a small exhale of relief, glad that I won’t need to worry about them chasing me across the lawn. I try to look around and get a better look at the house, but the waves of the air pocket make seeing anything on the other side a little blurry. It’s still so dark from the storm, and the rain continues to fall, so that all I can see are the vague outlines of the statues dotted around the lawn. I’d love to get a closer look, but I guess I’ll have to wait until the weather clears.
Ahead of us, the large dark shape of the house looms. Light from the windows glows yellow, and people move around inside. We make our way up the steps to the wide wraparound porch, and I’m finally able to let go of the wind pocket. I exhale in relief. It’s like putting down a heavy load I was carrying.
“Worn out?” Jaxon asks me with a smile.
“Yeah,” I say as I drop my duffel bag from my shoulder to the ground so I can stretch my back and arms.
“I can take that,” he says.
“You don’t have to,” I say, reaching for the bag, but he beats me to it.
“I know,” he says. “But I want to. You’ve had a rough day.”
“Thanks,” I mumble as my cheeks go hot.
I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I can’t help but wonder why he’s being so nice to me. I feel a heavy lump in my stomach when I think he might like me. My eyes water as thoughts of Beau rush into my mind. I blink them away before I become incapacitated with emotion again.
“So, what now?” I ask.
“I’ll take you to see Ms. Brewster,” he says. “She’ll want to meet you and assign your room and stuff.”
“Great,” I say, but I can’t help but feel nervous. I know Ms. Brewster is the school’s headmistress from the brochure. I hope I’m able to make a good impression.
Jaxon opens the front door and holds it for me. I nod my thanks as I step inside. The interior looks like it hasn’t changed in two hundred years. It’s a perfect Gothic mansion inside and out. The dark wood panelling and forest green wallpaper are straight out of a design magazine. Or history book. Marble floor tiles stretch in every direction, and a chandelier hangs overhead.
Several other young people pass through, but none of them stop to say hi. They just look me over and then turn to each other to murmur and snicker. I run my fingers through my hair self-consciously. When my eyes meet those of a haggard old woman, I nearly gasp in fright.
Then I realize that I’m looking in a mirror; geez, I look like death warmed over.
Even though I’m dry, the storm and journey through the hedge totally wrecked me! My hair is a rat nest, and my clothes are covered in mud. There’s leaves stuck to my shoes, and my face and arms are scratched and red.
I rush closer to the mirror and try to do...anything! I finger comb my hair and rub the dried blood off my face.
“Why didn’t you tell me I looked like shit?” I ask Jaxon.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” he says. “You looked like shit whether you knew it or not.”
“Oh my God,” I say. “Are you kidding? That is so rude! Where is a bathroom? I need to clean up before—”
“Well, well, well,” a voice says. I look in the mirror at the young woman who has walked up behind me. She crosses her arms and sticks one hip out. “Looks like you survived the hedge.”
“Get lost, Giselle,” Jaxon says.
My heart sinks. So this was the girl who made me suffer just to get in the front door. I really don’t want to face her. She’s tall, beautiful, and so well put together. I don’t want to look at her with me looking like this. But she’s already seen me and can see my face and hair in the mirror. I might as well turn around and pretend everything is fine.
“Hi,” I say, whirling around with a big smile. “Yeah, you got me. That was a funny joke.”
“Hmm,” Giselle says, cocking her head to the other side. “Guess I won’t have to go so easy on you next time.”
That was going easy?
Everyone around us has stopped and is watching our interaction. I forgot that this is basically high school. I guess I thought that things would be different here since we are all witches. But there is no escaping the social hierarchy of teen life.
I clear my throat and lift my chin. I can do this. I was a cheerleader, had a football boyfriend, lots of friends. I did pretty well for myself at Turkey Hollow High.
Ugh. Not exactly ‘brag worthy’ with a town name like Turkey Hollow. I can hear Giselle gobbling at me now.
“Well, whatever,” I say, as though Giselle is nothing to me. I turn to Jaxon. “Where is Ms. Brewster’s office.”
“This way,” he says, walking to a stairwell.
I follow him, not making eye contact with anyone. Just water off a duck’s back. I got this. I pass Giselle and reach the stairs. I think I’ve gotten away when I hear her voice again.
“Oh, you dropped something,” she says.
I make the mistake of looking back. She waves her fingers, and a large muddy leaf on the floor floats up into the air and zooms across the room toward me, then smacks me in the face.
Everyone breaks out into laughter. I pull the leaf from my face and crumple it up, tossing it to the ground. I have no idea how to respond to this and just want to run away. I look at Jaxon. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, either, but when he sees I’m flailing, he speaks up.
“That was rude, Giselle!” he says, but she just shrugs.
“Make sure she gets this cleaned up before Ms. Brewster sees it,” she says, then she tosses her hair over her shoulder and walks away, her little entourage of friends following behind giggling. The other students who were hanging about laugh as well and then move on now that the show is over.
“Sorry,” Jaxon says as I push past him to get up the stairs as soon as possible. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to get involved or not.”
As much as I would love to think that I’m a girl who can fight her own battles, I’m at the end of my rope here. I just killed Beau yesterday. I ran away from home this morning. I’m tired, filthy, hungry, and totally alone. I really could have used an ally.
“It’s fine,” I lie as I reach the top of the stairs. “I just really need a bathroom.”
“Sure, sure,” he says. “There’s a public one down here, but most rooms have private bathrooms, too.”
“Great.”
I stride down the hall as quickly as I can without running. Jaxon motions to a door, and I slip inside, closing it behind me. Then I remember Jaxon has my bag, so I reach back out, grab the bag from him, and slam the door shut again without a word.
I fumble with the door handle, looking for a latch to lock, but there isn’t one. I whisper a cuss as I turn back to the bathroom. It’s not overly huge. Two toilet stalls, two sinks with mirrors, a long bench with a cushion on it, and a table with a flower arrangement. A few magazines, and not much else.
I drop my bag on the floor by one of the sinks and run the water until it’s hot. After splashing my face and rubbing my hands until most of the dirt has cleared, I look at myself and sigh, taking a few deep, calming breaths.
This was a mistake. A huge mistake. Mama was right. I shouldn’t have come here.
I touch the mirror. “Show me Mama,” I whisper.
I’m surprised when the mirror ripples and shows me my own room. Mama stands there, reading the note I left. She sinks onto the bed. My heart breaks, and I feel so guilty. I’m about to call out to her when she pulls out her phone. I wonder if she’s going to call the cops to tell them I ran away or Mrs. Hernandez to see if I’m really there.
“Mac?” she says, and I gasp. “Hey, man. You get home okay?”
Anger wells up in me. She’s calling that druggy friend of hers from last night! How can she do that? Did she not actually read the note?
“It’s a madhouse here,” Mama says. “Can I come over?” She pauses. “No, no need to worry about the kid. She’s staying with friends. Okay. Yeah, sure. See ya’.”
She ends the call and leaves the room. The mirror ripples, leaving me with only my own reflection again.
“Sure, Mama,” I say in a low voice. “No need to worry about me. It’s only the worst day of my life.”
Chapter 6
“Shut up, Jaxon. Damn!” a girl says as she slams through the door of the bathroom and rushes to one of the stalls. “Sorry, girl. I gotta go!”
“N-no problem!” I say as I turn my face away so she doesn’t see what a mess I’m in.
She shuts and locks the stall door, and I rummage around in my bag to find my face wash and hairbrush. I’m doing my best to try and make myself presentable when the girl comes out of the stall with a sigh.
“That feels better,” she says as she goes to the other sink to wash her hands. She looks around, but can’t seem to find a towel to dry her hands on. She holds them out to me. “Help a sister out?”
“Huh?” I ask.
“You’re an air witch, right?” she says. “Give me a dry.”
“Oh!” I say, and I put my hands on either side of hers and create a little vortex to dry her hands.
“Thanks.” She looks back at the mirror to check her makeup. “So, you’re the new girl?”
“You’ve heard of me?” I’m wondering what kind of rumors are swirling around about me already.
The girl laughs, taking mascara out of her purse and using the wand to apply a fresh coat to her lashes. “Only because Jax was all, ‘You can’t go in there. The new girl is cleaning up.’”
I sigh in relief and groan. “Yeah, I had a bit of a hedge incident, so I’m trying to clean up before going to see Ms. Brewster.”
“Here, let me help you.”
The girl shoves her mascara back in her purse and turns toward me. She runs her hands over my hair. They get warm, and like magic—well, obviously—my hair looks like I just had a salon blowout.
“Wow,” I say, admiring my shiny straight locks in the mirror. “Thanks!”
“No problem,” she says as she dips into my bag and picks out some clothes for me. “Why don’t you go change.”
I take them from her with a smile and slip into one of the stalls.
“So, what’s your name?” I ask her from behind the closed door.
“Krista,” she says. “I’m Craig Coven.”
I slip the shirt over my head. “I don’t know what that means yet.”
“Fire witch,” she says. I can hear her smack her lips together, like maybe she just put on a fresh coat of lip gloss. “Funny. You look older than fifteen.”
“Because I am,” I say. “I’m seventeen. I didn’t come to La Voisin when I should have. I need to make up for lost time.”
After I change my pants, I open the door to see Krista trying out one of my lipsticks.
“This color is great,” she says. “So where have you been all this time?”
“At home.” I spread my hands. “With Mama in Tu...Oklahoma.” After Jaxon’s reaction to hearing I was from Turkey Hollow earlier, I think I might need to keep that to myself for a bit.
“I’m from Canada,” Krista says as she purses her lips and then puts the cap back on my lipstick and hands it to me. “What’s your name?”
“Madison,” I say. “Whittaker.”
“Well, welcome to La Voisin, Madison Whittaker.” She gives her gorgeous mane of curly red locks a fluff and then saunters
out of the bathroom. I see her give Jaxon a flip of her hair as she walks past him.
“You okay in there?” Jaxon calls to me.
“Yeah, just a sec.”
I gather my things and stuff them into the bag, grateful that I now look halfway presentable.
“This is my new start,” I whisper to myself.
“You clean up nice,” Jaxon says as I step out of the bathroom.
My cheeks heat up instantly at the compliment. It’s nice to hear, but I’m just really not comfortable with flirting right now. But maybe he’s just being friendly. I was complaining about how bad I looked before. Ugh. I’m probably overthinking this.
“Thanks,” I say. “So, where is Ms. Brewster’s office?”
“This way.”
He leads me back to the stairs and up to the third floor. At the end of the hall, he knocks on a door, and we wait.
“Enter,” a voice says.
Jaxon opens the door and reveals a woman standing behind a large desk talking to a woman sitting in one of two chairs.
“Well, these look fine to me,” Ms. Brewster says, handing some papers to the other woman. “Anything else?”
“No, ma’am,” the woman says. She takes the papers and then gives Jaxon and me a polite smile as she passes us to leave the room. She looks older, so she must be an instructor here.
“Mr. Kane,” Ms. Brewster says, folding her hands in front of her. “What can I do for you?”
Her eyes fall on me, and I almost gasp. Her sharp gaze reminds me of the way Mama would read me, but this time I can physically feel it. Her blue-grey eyes take me in from top to bottom, but her expression—a stern mouth that is neither cold nor warm—does not change.
“This is Madison Whittaker,” Jaxon says. “She’s a witch who just arrived.”
“I wasn’t aware of any new students enrolling.” Ms. Brewster holds out her hand, and a manilla folder flies out of a drawer to her.
Her use of magic is so effortless. No wonder she’s headmistress.
“I’m not exactly a new student,” I say. “I was invited to enroll two years ago, but I declined. I realized, though, that I need help. I need guidance. I was hoping you would still accept me.”
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