by Tarah Scott
I sit at the table to eat my share. “We make a pair,” I comment sourly. Stony snorts between bites and I scowl. “Oh yeah, we should be thrilled the prestigious Illumina Academy wants us. Let’s hop up and down for joy. Remember why we’re doing this,” I say. “You’re going to love Grams’ house. The kitchen is huge.”
At that, she looks up, her eyes alight with interest. I hide a grin. I knew that would capture her interest.
After I eat, I scrawl a quick note to the landlord and fold the paper around most of the cash I received from the shifter last night. It’ll cover next month’s rent. By then, I’ll be done with The Academy.
I reach for the small metal lockbox under the table and flip open the lid. I have only one fake identity potion left. I pick up the last bottle and grab my wand from the counter, then cross to where Stony is circling like a dog atop her bedding.
The wand is one of the few things I managed to stuff into my backpack the day Grams threw me out. I seldom use it; wands are more the purview of wizards. But Grams taught me that a good witch needs a basic understanding of different types of magic. I heft the wand and hope it allows me to bypass Ethan’s damn sigil so I can change Stony into a mouse.
I stop beside Stony and pull the stopper from the vial. “Sorry to disappoint, but I was serious. You’re coming with me.”
I tip the bottle, the liquid touches her hide, and she squeals. The potion is as safe as Baby Shampoo, but Stony prefers drama. Technically, I don’t need additional magic for the potion to work, but this is my last vial. Besides, Stony’s obstinate. She’ll try to outwit me by choosing a new identity of ‘micro-pig,’ thus leaving me exactly where we started. Right now, I can’t take that chance.
A poof announces the potion is ready to take form, so I point the wand at Stony and murmur, “Mouse.”
She squeals and flattens her ears. I don’t miss the defiant gleam in her beady little eyes.
“Mus,” I say louder. I rarely use old Latin, but once in a while, old trumps new.
Magic shimmers over Stony as the sigil on my arm flares. I grit my teeth against the increasing heat. I want to shout at Stony to quit fighting me but if my concentration breaks, she wins. I push my will into the wand. The sigil grows more painful. My shoulder muscles burn with the effort of pushing back at Stony—which distracts a little from the burn of the damn sigil. She resists for a full three minutes and I try not to think about how much hotter the sigil might get. At last, sparks engulf her. My muscles relax. I toss the wand onto the futon and rub my right shoulder as I hold my breath, as much in anticipation of the outcome as out of relief that damn sigil is cooling.
I chose a mouse as something I could easily hide in my pocket. There’s an audible poof and I see I only get half my wish. I groan. Stony has definitely gone for ‘pig.’ On her bed sits a pissed, grumpy guinea pig. She’s chunky and definitely won’t fit in any pocket.
“What the hell, Stony?” I growl.
She lifts her lip and bares her two elongated teeth.
So, neither of us is happy.
I scowl as I grab my backpack, packed with a few clothes and my cell phone. I stuff my wand in an inside pocket, then grab Stony by the scruff of her neck. She squeaks when I dump her inside the biggest pouch.
“Be quiet,” I hiss over the grate of the closing zipper.
She gives a final peeved grunt, then settles down as I slip the strap over my shoulder. I scoop up a hair tie from the kitchen counter and pull my hair back into a ponytail as I give the place one last look. The sigil on my hand begins to warm, this time in warning that it’s time to go.
“Damn you, Ethan,” I say. I grab my cell phone charger, head for the door, and add for good measure, “Damn you, too, Raith.”
Ninety minutes later, I’m waiting on the train platform. I’ve discovered that as long as I’m on track for the school, the sigil on my hand doesn’t heat up. Stray more than a foot and it zaps me back on track like a cattle prod. By the time I arrive at The Academy, I suspect my hair will be standing on end like a frazzled dandelion seed puff.
The train arrives and I cradle my backpack in an effort to keep Stony safe as I shove my way through the crowd toward the train’s open doors. The third time I’m elbowed in the gut, I succumb to temptation and send Ethan a double dose of ill intent.
“Next time, Ethan, you and your sigil can kiss my ass,” I curse under my breath.
I board. We’re packed in like sardines, and the man sitting to my right is watching the news on his phone. The volume is low, but I hear the voice of a local newscaster say, “What’s the weather today, John? Are we headed for our first snow of the winter?”
The weatherman forecasts a clear day and dry weather for the coming week.
“Thank you, John,” the newswoman says when he’s finished. “In other local news—”
The phone’s owner switches to a game as the train descends into a tunnel. The interior dims and I glance out the grimy window into darkness and shadows. Both should make a Light witch uneasy, yet I’ve always found darkness and shadows strangely comforting. I stare at the darkness, looking for shapes and patterns, as if I’m taking one of those ink blot personality tests. When a hand suddenly forms and beckons, I blink and my concentration breaks. Uneasy, I glance around to see if anyone else noticed.
The train curves to the right and the sigil on my hand warms. My ire returns. Damn you, Ethan. I can’t control the direction the train takes.
The rest of the ride further succeeds in frazzling my temper and, by the time I emerge from the station at Pound Ridge, I’m in the worst mood I’ve been in since I learned of Grams’ death.
I hail a cab and, fifteen minutes later, I spot a stone keep above the trees in the distance. A few more minutes and massive gate comes into view up ahead. Stone pillars support an intricate, wrought-iron gate. Each black spire is tipped with a spear. There’ll be no escaping over that thing without impaling myself. I wonder if that’s the intent. The place exudes a high-class prison vibe. Embedded in each pillar is a gold emblazoned Illumina Academy coat-of-arms. The gold looks real.
The cab pulls over at the gate. “You one of those rich genius kids?” he asks.
“Rich?” I snort. “Not hardly. Genius? We’ll see.” I pay him, grab my backpack and get out.
I stare at the gate. My heart begins to pound. I’m about to enter the Illumina realm of control. Determination overcomes misgivings and I stride toward the gate. I see no guards and no way of getting inside. Scarcely do I begin to wonder how I’m going to enter when the gates begin a slow inward swing, gliding smoothly without a sound. I enter the widening gap and sense the wards that guard the gate. Past the gate, I slow as I start down the tree-lined drive that winds out of sight through the trees. It’s strange, I can almost sense the school. Even stranger, I feel like I’m suddenly home. The thought smacks of betrayal—mine—and I scowl.
I shoulder the backpack and mutter, “Here we go, Stony. There’s no turning back now.”
Of course, she doesn’t answer. Knowing her, she’s asleep. I take half a dozen more steps, then stumble under the sudden weight on my back and drop to my knees as Stony’s spell breaks. The backpack rips under the strain. With grunts and squeals from both of us, I struggle to free myself from the straps as she kicks me in the ribs in her efforts to scramble away. Then, she’s free, back in pig form, and wearing the backpack like a life jacket around her neck. She’s pleased as punch to find herself restored. I’m not.
“So much for hiding.” Dammit, the wards probably deactivated the spell. No unregulated use of magic on Academy grounds. Fabulous.
“You’re a witch,” a voice says.
I whirl to find myself staring at a middle-aged man with an unusually pointed nose wearing a green John Deere baseball cap, wool-liked jean jacket and jeans. The gates click closed behind me and a sense of panic bubbles up.
“Welcome to Illumina Academy New York,” the man says. “I’m Daws Flitwick, Groundskeeper.” He point
s up the drive that winds through the trees out of sight. “Just keep going. Follow the ‘New Student’ signs.”
As he finishes, a click sounds behind me and I turn to see the gates swing open again and a dark-haired young woman of around my age enters. Leather pants are visible below the knee length black pea coat, buttoned to her chin.
“Fran Shelton,” she says, her lively brown eyes crinkling at the edges in a smile.
“Leilah,” I reply. “Leilah Crowe.”
Before she can respond, the groundskeeper urges, “You’d better hurry. They’re starting and it’s not good to be late.” He nods his chin at the road and then cocks a brow at Stony. “Not sure about the pig.”
“She’s fine.” I step in front of Stony to cut off his view.
He doesn’t seem interested in a confrontation and, with a nod, enters the trees. Relieved, I begin herding Stony down the drive.
Fran falls into step beside me. “You’re a witch, huh,” she observes.
“Yep,” I answer, even though I know she’s not asking. My mind is on Stony. Will they kick her out? After a few more steps, I pause and crouch beside her. “Maybe you should chill in those trees for a bit while I check this place out.” I point across the drive to a nice stand of birch and willows. The ground looks soft there, mud-like. Just Stony’s style.
Her beady eyes light with interest. After all, rooting in the woods is a far sight more interesting than being cooped up in our shabby one-room apartment. Knowing Stony, she’ll head straight to a warm place beneath a tree and plop down for an all-day nap.
“She’s cute,” Fran says as Stony trots off, snout held high.
“Yeah.” When she is in pig form, anyway. “You go on ahead. I’ll just wait till she’s settled.” I smile politely but Fran’s brown eyes sparkle with amusement. She knows I just told her to bugger off.
“Catch you later.” She waves, then heads down the drive.
I wait until Stony vanishes into the trees before I resume my walk toward the school.
Halfway around the first bend, a castle-like structure comes into view. Towers rise at each corner, each crowned with a steeply conical, black-slate roof. Brick buildings behind the castle extend beyond the sides of the main building. Behind the main building, at what must be the center of the compound, the keep I saw on our approach rises at least a hundred feet into the air. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time.
Ivy clings to the walls, threatening to cover the many arched windows where small stone gargoyles perch above each window. Warmth ripples through me at the memory of Grams’ stories of how well gargoyles guard their assignments. My mood breaks at the wonder of how many schools had gargoyles when The Shadows came. I guess gargoyles’ powers aren’t all-encompassing.
I reach a cobblestone walkway that leads to the grand entrance, complete with a portcullis gate, and can almost feel the prestige that radiates from every brick. I half expect knights in full armor, riding white destriers, to charge and am not disappointed. Half a dozen men in body armor come into view beyond the New Student sign up ahead.
Watchmen on Academy grounds?
I veer right onto a path that parallels the castle and hurry past the Watchmen, who walk in twos, clearly on alert. The path leads to half a dozen small stone buildings that form a circle with the tower rising beyond them. Here and there, students stroll in groups of two or three. Finally, the last sign directs me between two large buildings. I emerge from the shadow of the buildings and stop short. Twenty feet ahead is the tower.
A sign over the door reads New Student Orientation. A strange tremor ripples through my stomach as I start forward. As I approach the tower, the door swings open and I enter a dimly lit chamber. Flickering beeswax candles are the only source of light. The floor and walls are stone, and large wooden beams span the ceiling. This time, I feel as if I’ve truly stepped back in time.
Before a stage, red-cushioned benches are arranged in rows, seating about two dozen students. The red-haired woman standing on the stage before a blue velvet stage curtain facing the audience. Every head angles my way.
“Sorry,” I mumble, and drop onto the nearest bench, just behind Fran.
“Punc-tu-al-i-ty.” The woman on the stage enunciates each syllable as icy disdain rolls off her in waves. “Punctuality is key. Without punctuality, you will not succeed here at Illumina Academy. Rules are to be obeyed…”
She keeps going on, but she’s staring straight at me through her gold, horn-rimmed glasses. What the hell? Does she know me?
“Students, before we move forward with the ceremony, I must warn you against repeating to anyone outside these walls what goes on here. You are High Potentials, our strongest line of defense against any enemy. We cannot allow these enemies to learn our secrets.” She slides her gaze across the audience and I swear her attention snags on me. “Now, we have a very special guest with us today. It is my distinct honor to introduce the Grand Witch of the North herself.”
I stare in awe as a woman emerges onto the stage from the left. She moves with fluid grace, the silver cloak flowing around her like liquid metal. She looks like the legend she is: tall, long silver hair piled atop her head, and magnificent.
Grams had worshipped the Grand Witch with the frenzy of a zealot—a hero worship that changed three months before she tossed me out on my ass. By then, Grams had withdrawn from everything, starting with Olympia and ending with me. My troubles started the day I came home from school to find Grams swearing and tossing out every magazine, paper, and book that contained a picture of the Grand Witch. When I’d asked why, she’d zapped a bolt of lightning at me. I’d been too busy diving out of its way to ask any more questions.
“Welcome, all,” the Grand Witch says in a smoky voice, and lifts both hands. “I am honored to welcome each one of you. Thank you, Miss Mack.” She bestows a gracious nod upon the woman with the horn-rimmed glasses, then faces us once again. “The four clans welcome you. Silwood, Longhorpe, Middlewich, and Pencarrow. Welcome to our New York students, and a special welcome to students from Colorado, Texas, and North Dakota.” A few claps and whistles go up. The Grand Witch smiles indulgently, then continues, “Joining me today, I have Illumina Academy New York’s new Headmaster, Mage Edd Domini, and Academy recruiter, Commander Ethan Bordeau.” She turns to the side and claps.
Ethan emerges from the right of the stage and every female in the room straightens. It’s genetic, I suppose. He’s wearing black pants and a crisp, white shirt that can’t hide the lean muscles rippling beneath the cotton. I bet every girl in the room is mentally undressing him.
Ethan’s eyes latch onto mine and I’m tempted to point to his damn sigil with my middle finger. A corner of Ethan’s mouth quirks. To hell with it. I give his sigil the finger, but he’s already turning away. The new headmaster follows Ethan onto the stage and startling green eyes lock onto me.
I freeze. I have the strange sensation as if I know him. Have I met him before? Where? He’s tall, well-built, with stylish chestnut hair and a sinfully chiseled mouth that ends in a dimple on each cheek. He’s not the kind of man you forget any more than Ethan is. Headmaster Domini nods at me and I realize I’m not only staring, but my middle finger is still on display.
I quickly hide my hand and mouth, “Sorry.”
He turns away, leaving me unsure if he understood.
I wince. Great job, Leilah. Less than ten minutes and you’ve made an enemy of the guy who runs the school.
I hunch down on the bench as the Grand Witch waves at the velvet curtain behind her. The curtain pulls back with an audible whoosh to reveal a jagged block of obsidian about eight feet high and five feet wide.
My breath catches. This can’t be the famed Stone. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been a block of black stone that exuded magic like a live wire. I could fall into that river of magic and never come out. The Stone looks cold, but I instinctively know it warms to the right magic. I smile to myself. How interesting that the Illumina
Academy of Light has within its gates a black stone, the embodiment of shadow?
As Ethan and Domini position themselves on each side of the Stone, Olympia calls a student by name to join them on the stage. When the student arrives, she speaks with the girl, but from where I sit, I can’t discern the words. After a short exchange, the student places her hands on the Stone, then Headmaster Domini escorts the student to the stairs that descend the stage as the Grand Witch calls out another name and the same scene plays out again.
A sense of discomfort tightens my belly. I wait my turn, and notice my ass feels hot, as if I’m sitting on a seat warmer. I shift my weight to cool off as my gaze strays to the shadows dancing in the room. It’s odd that the Illumina’s New Student orientation is taking place in a candlelit room. The shadows capture my attention and, once again, I find myself mesmerized with the many shapes; fanciful beasts, geometric patterns, and even clawed hands. It’s not until I discern the wavering form of a large, black spider on the ceiling over the Grand Witch’s head that I tense. Searching for shapes in the darkness isn’t exactly a pastime that’s condoned. I should know better.
Chapter Seven
LEILAH
Hot Pants
“Leilah Crowe,” the Grand Witch’s throaty voice startles me to attention.
There’s something in the way she says my last name. There’s a secret there. Normally, I find secrets interesting. Now, however, I’m not sure I want to know anyone’s secrets. I rise and hurry to the stage, too aware of Ethan’s piercing gaze.
When I reach her on the stage, she smiles. “Leilah.” Her expression is as sympathetic as the smoky overtones of her voice. “I’m so sorry for your loss, my dear. I knew your grandmother well.”