Reckless Witch: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance (Illumina Academy Book 1)

by Tarah Scott

  He begins to call off names of students. My name is called last and I join the group of waiting students.

  “Welcome, students of Clan Penncarrow,” he says. “My name is Thomas and I’m your student advisor as well as the male student body RA.” He pauses to survey each face before his eyes rest on me. His brow furrows.

  Fabulous. The name Crowe precedes me. I scowl. What exactly have I gotten myself into?

  Thomas turns away, arms raised, and starts down one of the paths running between buildings. I trail the other students. I hope Stony is having fun. Likely, she’s snoozing, buried by leave, warm and cozy. Can’t say I’m having much fun. Well, the classroom was kind of…exciting. My mouth dries when I remember Ethan’s warm hand so close to my—

  “Welcome,” a silvery voice interrupts my thoughts.

  I startle to see the group’s stopped before the two-door entrance to a four-story brick, Tudor-style building that’s one of the circle of buildings. Ivy covers the weathered red bricks. The speaker is a slender blonde, her body as delicately exquisite as her voice. She looks so fragile that I wonder why a good gust of wind doesn’t blow her away.

  “My name is Ariel.” She pauses to bestow a lofty smile at Thomas.

  Meow. There’s clearly a power play going on between them. I watch for his reaction, but he remains stone-faced.

  Ariel looks back at us with a smirk that conveys, You are my subjects. “This is a coed dorm, students. Boys on the third floor. Girls on the Fourth. I’m the Room Assistant for the Fourth Floor. So, girls, if you encounter any problems, Room 401 will solve them.”

  I notice the subtle shift of responsibility. Room 401 will solve problems, huh? Not her? I absorb her expensive clothing. Yeah, she isn’t the type to work. No doubt, she delegates to a gaggle of students who make sure things get done.

  James lifts an arm and barks, “Men, this way. Follow.”

  The guys fall into line behind him. The ages of the students strike me as strange. The youngest can’t be more than thirteen while, accounting for the paunch of that belly, the oldest seems closer to thirty. This clearly isn’t a normal school. But then, I knew that.

  From the front of the group, Fran makes eye contact with me and waves. I wave back and trail after the girls who surge through the door. Their ages are closer to mine, maybe a shade younger, although Ariel seems to be in her early twenties. I pass her and catch a whiff of…Cartier Oud and Santal Parfum? Yeah, she’s rich. That perfume costs more than I charge for a fake ID, and I only know that because I’d once met a customer at Bergdorf Goodman.

  We climb the stairs to the fourth floor. There’s a grunge vibe here. Chalkboards are decorated with colorful graffiti and mysterious symbols cover the walls. The ceiling is painted dark gray and fairy LED lights are strung the length of the carpeted hallway.

  A young tattooed woman stands in front of Room 401 with a clipboard. “Room assignments. Line up, quick,” she says.

  I hang back and eye the girls around me. They exude an impression of belonging, a real sense of clan blood and loyalty. Grams had described the many clan battles that had taken place before the war, each group vying for control in Margidda. Power struggles stopped the day The Shadows arrived.

  “Room four ten,” the tattooed girl says the instant I step up. “Leilah Crowe.”

  That she already knows me is disconcerting; more so is the wary look I glimpse in her blue eyes.

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  I turn and lock eyes with a dark-haired girl who can’t be more than fifteen. She’s staring as if she knows me.

  “Do I know you?” I ask. I’m sure I don’t, but what does a person say to someone who blatantly stares?

  Her eyes darken with distaste before she whirls and hurries away. I sigh. It’s anyone’s guess as to why the kid doesn’t like me. Because my name showed up on the Stone under all four clans, or because I’m Miriam Crowe’s granddaughter? These last seven years, I’ve been a loner, not an outcast. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

  I find room four ten. My room is a far sight better than my futon mattress with garbage-variety lawn furniture. This place is something you’d upload on Pinterest. Dark, geometric patterned carpets cover the floor. The twin bed has plump, canvas throw pillows. One wall is a chalkboard covered floor to ceiling with symbols and welcome messages from other students. I wonder if the students knew they were welcoming a Crowe. The desk is an artful twist of gray steel. I slide my gaze past the closet where a dozen hangers are filled with clothes, to a rack where knives hang beside— Are those real swords?

  I reach the wall in three steps and pull the short sword and its leather scabbard from the wall mounting. With care, I draw the blade. Celtic writing runs down the center of each side of the blade. Roman Celtic, I bet. The blade is hefty and—I carefully test the edge with a thumb—sharp as a razor. What the hell? On a shelf above the knives lay a bow and a quiver of arrows. These aren’t cheap target-practice arrows. These steel bolts are meant to kill. I swallow.

  At a knock on the door, I shove the sword back into its wall sheath. “Come in.”

  “Just visiting,” Fran’s cheerful voice sounds through the crack. She pushes the door open and steps inside, her nose wrinkling in a smile beneath those sparkly eyes of hers. “I saw you after orientation, but you disappeared. I was afraid something had happened.”

  Well…something had. I shift my gaze back to the sword as I recall Ethan’s hard cock against my backside. Somehow, I don’t think that’s what Fran meant.

  “Nice sword,” Fran says as she follows my line of sight. “I didn’t get one.”

  I lift a brow. “They’re not standard issue?”

  “The Commanders assess each students’ strengths to find the best weapons match.” She grins as she plops down on my bed. “I got a chakram when I arrived last year.” When I just stare at her, she adds, “Think of it as a razor disc.”

  I shrug. “I’m still confused. What’s with the weaponry?”

  “In preparation for the return of The Shadows.”

  Fear coils in my stomach. Physical weapons are powerless against The Shadows. The weapons are defense against those of our kind who become so infected with The Shadows’ darkness that they turn on one another like rabid dogs. Some people still talk about Elijah Walker, a vampire crime boss in New York, who fed on The Shadows and, for nearly a year, ruled the criminal underworld with an iron fist, unlike any crime boss New York had ever seen.

  The infection spread by The Shadows empowers those who practice the dark arts. Elijah employed a witch by the name of Jessica Bailey who trapped Shadows and used them to spread fear and hatred to their advantage. People like Elijah and Jessica were as bad as The Shadows. They were killed by Watchmen, the Special Forces of Margidda. I shudder and wonder if Elijah and Jessica become Shadow hybrids.

  I cross to my desk where a black, ringed binder called New Student Information sits. I open the binder and see a syllabus on page one. Reaping Preparedness is my first class tomorrow morning.

  I look at Fran. “What’s Reaping Preparedness?’

  “The first class all new students get. It’s the bare bones of what to expect should the Reaping take us.”

  The Reaping—an ancient, twisted version of the Olympics that separates those capable of fighting from those who aren’t. Whoever set that spell—no, curse—into motion was one twisted sorcerer. Many speculate over who created the powerful magic that snatches Illumina students every twenty years or so and drops them into an alternate reality that tests their metal against The Shadows. Just another reason not to be here. I shake off the thought. I’m here to find out what happened to Grams.

  “The last Reaping was five years ago,” I say. “I don’t plan on being here another fifteen years. Do you?”

  Fran laughs and grabs a canvas pillow to prop beneath her head. “You never know when it might hit.” Her eyes cloud. “Last year, I met someone who was taken in the last Reaping. They were…not quite well
.”

  I’d heard similar rumors of people who returned from the Reaping as different people. Whatever mage set the Reaping in motion all those centuries ago had to have been one sick puppy.

  I return my attention to the syllabus. Defense Magic. Battle Magic. Potions. Mage History. War Games. I look at the date, which is nine days from now.

  “War Games?” I murmur.

  “They’re a big deal,” Fran says. “Alumni come from all over to participate. Some who fought in The Shadow War come. It’s loads of fun. The Academy does something different every year. That way, past students can’t give current students a heads up.”

  I look at her. “How do you know so much about all this stuff?”

  “This is my third semester.”

  “Oh, I thought you were a freshman. Sorry.”

  She shrugs. “No biggie.”

  “There were quite a few freshmen,” I say. “I guess there are a lot of High Potentials.”

  “Not really,” Fran says. “The Stone is the only one here in the States, so any students named in the country have to come here to be confirmed.”

  I grunt. “I didn’t know that.”

  I liked Fran. Maybe she is a good person to have as a friend, as friends go. I scan the rest of the classes. The list goes on. My schedule is on the last page. I blink. Each class lasts several hours with little time for lunch. Wow, this is like real work.

  “They’re light on details.” I turn.

  Fran isn’t there. I glance at the open door, then return my attention to the syllabus. Reaping Preparedness. Hopefully, it’ll be challenging enough to distract me from the memory of Ethan Bordeau. Damn dragons.

  Chapter Ten

  LEILAH

  Love, Trust and Shadow Husks

  The following morning, after a forty-five-minute search for Stony on Academy grounds, I give up and trudge across campus to the dining hall. She’s, no doubt, punishing me for trying to turn her into a mouse—though, she’s likely turned into a mouse and is sneaking crumbs in the dining hall. I’m stupid to worry, but in our three years together, we haven’t spent a single night apart. Oh God, I’m acting like a tween who’s missing Mommy at her first sleepover. I’m glad Stony isn’t here to witness my humiliation. She would never let me forget that I missed her so much.

  I reach the dining hall and my stomach growls at the dozen wonderful smells that assail my senses. I survey the food line where they’re serving everything from any style eggs to fruit and yogurt or bagels. At least I’ll save a bundle on food while I’m here. Typically, I eat a light breakfast, but my stomach gives another growl, so I choose eggs—no bacon, that is an offence Stony would not forgive—coffee, blueberries and yogurt. The bagels smell so damn good, I can’t resist taking an anything bagel.

  I grab two cinnamon bagels for Stony and stuff them in my coat pocket, then turn from the counter and scan the room. Eighty or ninety people have come for breakfast and it’s clear that several cliques have already formed. The prettier than average, teenage to twenty-something girls hold court at a corner table, and a dozen geeks are trying to hide in another corner on the far side of the room. The older students are gathered in pairs or small groups and talk quietly. I’d bet the different clans gravitate toward each other. It’s always been that way.

  I carry my tray toward an empty seat a few tables down. Two young men at a table nearest me glance my way. One leans close and whispers to the other. Several students stare as I pass. If I didn’t know better, I would say my hair is sticking up or my fly is down. I near the table and the two students seated to my left slide closer together, so the vacancy becomes a sliver of space I’d have trouble sliding an arm into.

  I halt and survey the other girls seated at the table, but they murmur amongst themselves as if I’m not there. Oookay. I turn and scan the room. There’s another vacancy at the end of a table two tables to the right. I head that way. I reach the spot and set down my tray. The girl sitting closest to me slides away.

  I sit and look at the girl sitting kitty corner from me. “Hey,” I say.

  She smiles. The young man next to her nudges her and whispers in her ear. Her eyes widen. She and the young man pick up their trays and leave. An unexpected stab of hurt catches me off guard. What do I care if I don’t fit into their cliques? It’s not like any of them know me. My thoughts skid to a halt. Or is it? Well, fuck. Between the Stone naming me as a member of all four clans and me being the daughter of Miriam Crowe, I never really stood a chance. So much for feeling at home. Fuck them. This isn’t my home. Grams’ place is my home, and Stony is my family. I don’t need any of these people.

  “Don’t let them get to you,” a guy says as he passes.

  I look up to see broad shoulders as he keeps going. My chest tightens. Okay, so everyone here isn’t an asshole. I peel back the cover on the yogurt and eat my breakfast.

  After breakfast, I find my Reaping Preparedness classroom and stop just inside the room. The sudden sense of featherlight weight that swirls around the sigil on my hand draws my attention to the dragon mark. I flex my fingers and release a breath. Apparently, some sort of energy inside the room deactivates dragon magic. I’m surprised at the relief that ripples through me. I hadn’t realized how much the absence of my magic bothered me.

  I scan the octagon-shaped classroom. Directly ahead is a framed chalkboard on a scrolled woodwork stand. Beakers, Bunsen burners, and jars filled with herbs and the like fill tables along the far wall. A collection of black, spiral notebooks on a metal shelf near the door completes the mad scientist vibe.

  At least fifty old-fashioned school desks fill the center of the large room and the students sitting in them range in age from teens to the thirty-year-old I saw in orientation. Awareness tingles in my gut and I sense that the teenage boy sitting in the desk to my left has a secret he fears will ruin him. At that age, a secret like that could be something as simple as his family not having as much money or influence as other students.

  Then again, I bet he’s born of the Longthorpe clan, like me. Being connected to the Longthorpes has the potential to make the kid a pariah., considering witches were blamed for dabbling in the dark arts and empowering The Shadows in the first place. Not warlocks so much, mind you. After all, women get blamed for everything.

  Fran sits in the middle, flirting with a group of guys. I wave and she waves back, but doesn’t skip a beat batting her eyelashes at the boy to her right. I spot the same young girl I caught staring at me yesterday. Her attention is on her desk, but I’m not fooled. She’s seen me. At least, this time, she’s keeping to herself.

  Thomas, the RA I saw yesterday, sits at a desk in deep conversation with another student. Where to sit… The thirteen-year-old kid is slouched in his seat in the far corner of the room. His body language says he wants to be as anonymous as I do. A pang of sympathy stabs. Poor kid, it’s got to be tough being a High Potential at that age. So much for regular school, weekend movies and committing general teenage mayhem. Maybe his parents will be smart enough to allow him to be a kid during summers.

  I grimace. I haven’t been in a classroom since…well, since I was fifteen. Even when I got my GED, I didn’t set foot inside a classroom to study for the test. I would love to tell myself that means I’m a genius. Truth is, the equivalency test is a joke.

  I start toward the empty desk to the right of thirteen-year-old kid and ignore the glances as I pass other students. The cliques I left behind in high school are clearly alive and well here at Illumina Academy.

  I slide into the desk next to the thirteen-year-old and brows go up. Interesting. He glances at me from the corner of his eye, then ducks his head. My guess is he’s of the Silwood clan, sirens and Fae. A siren, most likely. His eyes give him away. Sirens have eyes the color of the sea, crystal blue or an emerald green that makes you feel as if you can fall into their souls. I wonder what it is about him that makes the other students give a damn that I’ve sat near him.

  A door in the wood-panele
d wall next to the chalkboard opens and a woman enters. One glance at those gold-rimmed, horned glasses and my heart sinks. Miss Mack. She’s dressed in a tight green dress and her red hair hangs in perfect ringlets that give her a medusa look. She appears much older than what I’m guessing are her thirty or so years.

  Miss Mack makes eye contact with me and I can’t help but feel she’s read my mind. I scrunch down in my seat to hide behind the tall boy in front of me as her heels click across the tile floor. The scrape of chalk on the chalkboard makes me wince and I lean sideways to see she’s writing Light vs. Dark on the chalkboard. She finishes the last letter with a flourish and drops the chalk onto the tray with a chink.

  She faces us. “Can anyone tell me what the Reaping is?”

  “It’s when we’re taken,” one girl says.

  “Taken?” Miss Mack repeats.

  “Taken to fight The Shadows,” a boy says.

  “The illusion of Shadows,” Miss Mack corrects. “We never know when a Reaping will occur, which is why Reaping Preparedness is your first class. It’s our hope that we have time to train you before a Reaping takes you, but, inevitably, some will be taken before they’ve had much training.”

  She takes three paces and stops in front of the desk of the delicate, fairylike blonde dorm RA. In a t-shirt and gray sweats, I look like a maid next to Ariel’s blue mini skirt with a tight matching tank top. Her makeup is perfection. I ended my morning toiletries by brushing my hair into a ponytail.

  “The one thing you must remember is that The Shadows cannot be beaten with magic—not regular magic, at any rate,” Miss Mack says.

  “Regular magic?” a young boy asks.

  “Spells, curses, elemental magic,” she says. “Earth magic, herbs, meditation and the like can help protect you, but cannot defeat The Shadows.” Miss Mack slowly walks along the front desks. “You see, The Shadows feed off magic.”

  “We all know that,” a young boy cuts in. “What we don’t know is why.” I recognize fear in his voice.