I drop my bag onto the empty pedestal and take a deep breath.
“Okay,” I say, standing in front of the statue. “I just have to say this out loud. I need to talk to someone, and who better than someone who can’t talk back or repeat things to anyone else? Someone who can’t call me crazy or get mad or worried about...whatever I’m about to say.”
I turn away and rub the chill out of my arms. “I don’t even know what it means. If it means anything. Okay, see, I’m rambling. It’s like my brain is on fire, filled with so much...stuff!”
A scraping sound, like stone on stone, has me whirling toward the entrance.
No one is there.
“Hello?”
No reply.
I look back to the statue, and our eyes meet. I mean, of course they do. His eyes are always open, and he’s always looking down at the spot where I’m standing. Though, wasn’t his head turned a slightly different way just a moment ago? I could have sworn his head was more to the left.
I narrow my gaze and step closer. I reach out to touch his hand, but I hesitate, as if I’m expecting the statue to suddenly move. Like it’s just a person disguised as a statue.
“Get it together,” I mutter to myself.
I lightly lay my fingers on the fingertips of one of the statue’s outstretched hands. When I feel nothing but cool granite, I exhale smoothly.
What was I expecting, really? I’m such an idiot. But I feel calmer, and I’m ready to talk.
“I killed my boyfriend,” I say.
I keep my voice low, just in case someone walks into the grotto, but I’m speaking clearly enough that if the statue were alive, I’m sure he could hear me.
“The police, my friends, they all believe it was an accident,” I continue. “Well, it was an accident. I didn’t kill him on purpose. I loved him. But...it was my fault. I’m a witch. An air witch on my mama’s side. I’m pretty powerful. Nothing like Ms. Boucher, but stronger than I should be. But I’ve never really trained. I just kind of...played around. I was protecting my friend from a tornado and directed some rebar away from us, and it hit Beau instead. I didn’t even see him.”
It feels good to admit all this out loud. Surprisingly, I’m not crying. Maybe that’s because I’m talking to a statue instead of a real person, but all I feel is relief. To be able to tell someone the truth about everything feels incredible. I can almost feel the burden lifting from my shoulders.
“It’s too bad you’re stone,” I say, looking up at his face. “If only I could speak to a real human this freely. But if you were real, I probably wouldn’t be able to talk to you like this. I’d have to keep this from you, just like I have to keep it from everyone else.”
The statue doesn’t respond, obviously, but I take comfort from the kindness in his face. His eyes are blank in the classic Greek style, but they aren’t empty or cold. If anything, they are warm. Welcoming. Drawing me in. I can say anything and be safe here.
“I’m here to learn how to control the weather,” I confess. “I know what Ms. Boucher and Jaxon said about it being against nature, but I don’t care. Beau wasn’t the first person I lost to a tornado—he was just the person I was closest to.
“When I was in second grade, my teacher, Mrs. LaRue, her husband was killed in a tornado. And Kim Styles, she graduated last year and was on her way home to visit her parents after being accepted to Oklahoma State. Her car was flipped right off the road by a twister. And those are just some people I knew. Dozens of people die in Oklahoma each year from tornadoes alone. I can stop that. I will stop that. No one else should have to suffer the loss of a loved one if I can prevent it.”
The grotto goes a little dark, like when a cloud drifts across the sun, and I shiver a bit. Back home, it’s already hot this time of year. But here, the weather is nice but cool, especially when the sun doesn’t shine.
I glance at my phone to check the time. It’s later than I thought. The dining room will be open for breakfast. I won’t have any extra time for reading before meeting with Jaxon and Krista. I need to go.
As I turn to leave the statue, my hand gets stuck. I look back and see that part of my hand is tucked under the statue’s thumb.
Weird. I don’t remember sliding my hand that deeply into his, but I was pretty distracted. Lost in my ramblings, I must have gripped harder than I thought.
After I slip my hand out of his, I pick up my bag. I can almost feel the statue’s disappointment. It must be terribly lonely in here.
I laugh at myself. I’m such a dope. Too many Disney movies about statues and trees talking and having feelings.
Shaking my head, I chuckle as I duck out of the grotto and cross the lawn back to the mansion.
Krista stands over what appears to legit be a small iron cauldron. “Double, double, toil, and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble! Mwahaha!”
We’re in the lab room for the potions class, kind of like a science classroom would have for experiments in almost any high school. Except instead of glass beakers over the Bunsen burners, we have cauldrons. And instead of ethanol, magnesium, and other mundane ingredients, we have toe of frog and eye of dog. I mean, I guess we do. It wouldn’t surprise me at this point.
Jaxon rolls his eyes. “You are the literal worst, Krista.”
She just laughs and adjusts the flame on her burner as she sprinkles some flower petals into the cauldron.
I lean over the pot to see what Krista is cooking. “So, what’s going on?”
Jaxon answers before Krista has the chance. “All potions are—at their core—a tea,” he says. “You have a liquid base, like water or wine, and then you add in other ingredients to steep. Depending on the potion, you can also infuse the potion with magic.”
“So, when my barista is making my morning chai latte, she is practicing witchcraft?” I ask with a chuckle.
“Yes,” Krista says, as if she’s dead serious. I feel the smile run away from my face. “Though, green tea has almost no magical properties.”
“Who’s making green tea?” a voice asks. A pretty petite brunette walks across the room.
“Ivy!” Krista says, smiling back, her cheeks rosy. “You made it.”
“You know I love potion brewing,” Ivy says, sitting on the stool next to Jaxon. “What are you making?”
“Did you hear about Ms. Brewster’s competition?” Krista asks.
“Of course.” Ivy pulls her stick straight hair over her shoulder. “Ms. Brewster sent me the email since I wasn’t there for the announcement.”
Jaxon’s eyebrows pull together. “Yeah, that’s right. Why weren’t you there?”
“Rude, much?” She flips her hair the other way. “Anyway, I’m back now.”
“Ivy,” Krista says, “this is Madison. She’s new.”
Ivy sticks out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I give a short shake, but for some reason, no words come from my mouth. I just nod.
“Ivy is a water witch, and a third-year student,” Krista explains. “Madison is air, first-year.”
Ivy looks at me and cocks her eyebrow. “How old are you?”
My face goes hot, all the way to my ears. “I’m seventeen. A little old for a first-year, I know, but I didn’t come to La Voisin when I should have. So I’m trying to get caught up.”
“Well, I don’t envy you,” she says and leans over the table to examine Krista’s potion.
She sticks her finger into the liquid and then licks the liquid from it. I hate to jump to conclusions, but I can’t help but notice that Krista is totally enraptured by Ivy’s mouth. Not that I blame her. Ivy is really gorgeous.
“Protection spell?” Ivy asks, and Krista shakes her head and clears her throat.
“Yeah,” she says. “Madison wasn’t raised in a witch family, so she knows nothing about witchcraft. She wants to try to make Ms. Brewster’s potion, but she didn’t even know potions were real before yesterday.”
Ivy breaks out into a laugh, and then catches herself as i
f realizing that Krista isn’t joking. “Dang,” Ivy says. “You are green.”
“I need all the help I can get,” I admit.
Ivy pulls out her phone and opens the email from Ms. Brewster. “A ludisia orchid bloomed in spring, water gifted from under the waves, fire from the flame that burns eternal, and smoke from a promise not kept. Weird items.”
Krista nods. “I know. And if even Ms. Brewster can’t craft this item, do any of us have a chance?"
Jaxon straightens and leans his hip against the table. “Well, Ms. Brewster is a water witch,” he says. “So, even if she knew what a flame that burns eternal was, she probably can’t harness it.”
“But that would mean that no one person could ever craft this potion,” I say, looking at Krista. “If a fire witch could find the flame that burns eternal, she wouldn’t be able to find water from under the waves, right?”
Krista picks up a piece of rose quartz and drops it into the cauldron, turning the flame down so that the water heats up but doesn’t quite boil. “Good point. I can work with water on some level. Heating it up and turning it to steam for example. But I’d be overwhelmed trying to get water from under the sea. What does that even mean, Ivy?”
Ivy spreads her hands. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know any better than Ms. Brewster would.”
Krista arches an eyebrow. “So you’re not even going to try?”
“I didn’t plan to,” Ivy says. “I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest. Besides, Ms. Brewster is the water mentor. I wouldn’t want to take a spot from someone who could use a mentorship when I already have it.”
I take another look in the cauldron, then level my gaze at Ivy. “Sounds like people need to work together to craft this potion.”
Jaxon turns to me. “But Ms. Brewster is only giving away one mentee spot,” he says, crossing his arms as if challenging me. “Why would she even offer the contest if she’s just setting everyone up to fail.”
Ivy looks away like she’s uncomfortable. As a fellow water witch, she probably doesn’t want to say anything disparaging about her clan elder.
Krista turns off the Bunsen burner and places her hands on the cauldron.
"Hot!” I gasp, then I remember she’s a fire witch.
She chuckles. “I’m just cooling it by absorbing the heat.” Then she strains the liquid through cheesecloth into a ceramic teacup and hands the cup to me. “Bottoms up.”
“Are you sure you don’t need it?” I ask.
“I’m all caught up on my protection.” She wriggles the cup in front of me, just enough for the concoction to slosh around, but not to spill. “This is for you. And later, we can go to the crystal vault and pick you something nice to put under your pillow to protect your dreams, too.”
“Crystal vault?” I imagine a giant walk-in safe with sunglasses-wearing guards that go all Matrix on you if you try to break in.
Ivy holds her hand up and waves it over my face and then down my torso, her eyes closed. “Protection, bad karma, spiritual strength. Honey, you need the works.”
I leaned back. “What is she doing?” I ask Krista in a stage whisper as she continues the weird hand movements.
“Reading your aura,” she whispers back, then says in a normal voice, “She’s really good at interpreting energy.”
“Oh…” Ivy winces like she has a headache. “Oh, Madison, I’m so sorry.”
“What?” I ask, alarmed. “Sorry about what? What’s wrong?”
“Your heart,” she says. “Your heart chakra is almost completely closed. There’s a wound there. You need some emotional healing, stat!”
I nearly jump out of my skin at her words. Instead, I stumble off of my stool and to my feet, grabbing my bag and jacket clumsily as I do so.
“I...I need to go,” I say.
I don’t want her to see anymore. She’s already seen too much. I rush toward the door.
“Madison,” Ivy calls after me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“You forgot to drink your potion!” Krista adds.
But I don’t stop or turn around. I’m not ready for this. I can’t. I don’t want them to know what I did. But if just a student like Ivy could see that, what can more powerful witches like Ms. Brewster or Ms. Boucher see?
I hurry down the hall toward my room, but then I remember that Giselle might be there, so I duck into the library instead.
The librarian, Mr. Bertram Hamilton, gives me a polite nod. I try to smile back but feel my lips quaver. I rush past some reading tables and down one of the rows of books and nearly pass out. I realize I haven’t been breathing. I breathe in and out as deeply and slowly as I can.
“Madison?”
When I turn around, Jaxon is standing there.
“Oh, hey,” I say, a little stunned he came after me.
“Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, yes, yes, I’m fine. I...I just didn’t expect that.”
He steps closer, running his fingers through his hair. “Witchcraft can be powerful. Overwhelming. Ivy probably shouldn’t have taken a reading like that without your permission.”
“I’m sure she didn’t expect to see...that…”
I don’t know what she actually saw. And I’m sure I overreacted. What girl doesn’t have some heartache? I should have just played it cool.
I take a few more deep breaths and ground myself. “I’m fine. Just surprised. I should probably apologize to Ivy.”
I move to walk back down the aisle, but as I pass Jaxon, his hand wraps gently around my arm.
“Wait,” he says. “I know you’re suffering from a broken heart. I can help you with that.”
He looks down at me, and I can see the desire in his eyes. He licks his lips and leans in ever so slightly.
I rip my arm away from his grasp. “No!” I say. “I told you!”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s okay—”
“No, it’s not. I already told you I’m not interested. Now you went and made things weird!”
“Geez, calm down. Sorry for liking you.”
I scoff and push past him. I don’t have the time or energy to deal with this.
“Shh!” Mr. Hamilton says, his finger to his lips, as I run toward the door.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stopping to ease the door closed behind me even though it slows me down.
I head to my room. There is nowhere else for me to go. At this point, I don’t care if Giselle has an attitude with me. She can shove her dislike where the sun doesn’t...
As I reach the staircase, I see Giselle lying at the bottom, her neck twisted in an unnatural angle, her eyes open and staring at me.
But they aren’t blinking.
A scream erupts from my mouth before I even fully process what I’m looking at.
Giselle is dead.
Chapter 10
“No, no, no, no,” I mutter to myself as I hover over Giselle’s body. “Not again!”
Within moments, there are people everywhere, along with the gasps and cries and screams to accompany them.
“Everyone, clear out!”
I look up and see the stern face of Ms. Brewster as she takes command of the situation.
“She’s dead!” I say, even though anyone can see that.
It appears as though she tripped down the stairs in her ridiculous heels, which are both still attached to her feet. One of her ankles is twisted in a way that makes me cringe. I gag, but force myself to take a deep breath to calm down. When I do, I notice a sickly sweet odor in the air that almost makes me gag even more.
“We have to call the police,” I say.
Everyone gasps.
“We will not be calling the police,” Ms. Brewster says.
“What? Why?” I ask. “She...she’s dead. It has to be reported. What about her parents?”
Ms. Brewster takes my shoulders in her hands, and she looks down into my eyes. “We are witches,” she declares, as if I didn’t already know. “
We take care of our own here.”
“The last thing we want is a bunch of mortal cops sticking their noses in our business,” Mr. Stewart, our grumpy Craig elder, says with his Scottish brogue as he looks down at Giselle. “Can you imagine the questions they might ask when they see the books in her room or the emblems on the stairwell?”
I look up and notice that above the stairs is an abstract carving with lines and swirls. A sigil. I remember Grandma had a similar sigil above the stairwell in her house. She said it was for protection, to keep people from...from falling down the stairs.
I look from the sigil to Ms. Brewster, and I swear she can read my mind.
“Witchcraft is an art, not a science,” she says with a sad shrug. “Accidents can and will happen.”
I know just how deadly ‘accidents’ can be. The sick rock that sits eternally in the pit of my stomach shifts. I can’t help but think this wasn’t an accident at all.
“That’s enough,” Ms. Brewster says, waving her arms. “Everyone out. I mean it now. You shouldn’t see this. And no pictures!” She points at two first-year boys who are trying to hide their phones behind their books. “Give me those!” The phones fly across the room to her. “I’ll return these once I make sure the photos are gone. And you’ll be assigned extra readings on ethics. No one say anything to anyone about this until her family has been informed. Do all of you understand?”
“Yes, Ms. Brewster,” everyone chimes in unison, and the room starts to clear out of students, while the teachers, including Mr. Hamilton, all join together and talk in low voices.
What is wrong with these people? They all seem kind of ‘meh’ about what happened. Someone is dead. How can they be so blasé? So unsurprised?
I can’t help but listen to what they are saying on the air, still as it is, as I slowly walk away.
“We must work together to clean up quickly,” Ms. Brewster says. “Ms. Boucher, lift her up. Then I’ll—”
“Madison!”
I look up to see Ivy and Krista coming toward me. They both embrace me tightly. I didn’t think we were to the hugging stage of our friendship, but I’m glad we apparently are.
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