When Professor Winslow turned his back again, she sent a group message.
It wasn’t Winslow I saw the other night walking on campus. I’m sure now.
She shoved the cell under her notebook, just before Winslow turned back around, his gaze locked on her desktop. Her heart wouldn’t ease up, nor did her light-headedness. Why had the shifter come so close to her and let her go? Did it know she wasn’t a witch? The image of it hiding in Winslow’s body, its tilted head watching her as it wondered what she was, sent shivers down her spine.
Her desk vibrated again, the reverberation echoing loudly enough that all she could do was close her eyes and pray that Winslow hadn’t heard it. She had to get out of there.
Ainsley raised her hand.
“Yes, Ms. Davenport.”
“I’m not feeling well, Professor. May I go to the infirmary?”
He motioned for her to leave, and she wasted no time collecting her things and rushing out the door. She’d only made it to the end of the hallway when she heard Sydney call her name.
Her stomach dropped. The last thing she needed was a fight. She already knew Sydney wouldn’t believe anything she had to say. Ignoring her seemed the best course of action.
The footsteps grew louder, and then Sydney was beside her. “When I call you, you answer.”
That's it.
Ainsley whirled around, fire in her veins. “Listen, I’ve had as much bullshit from you as I’m going to take. You've tried to kill me, and I’m still trying to help you and your friends out,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, well, your good Samaritan act is a whole other discussion I plan on having with you, just not today. And keep your voice down,” Sydney demanded.
“Why, you’ll just magically Persuade anyone who hears me to forget it anyway. Isn’t that what you do? Manipulate everyone and everything to suit your wishes, and pout and lash out when you don’t get your way? Poor Sydney. Newsflash, not everything is about you. I don’t owe you a damn thing.” Before Sydney could pick her jaw up off the floor, Ainsley stormed off down the hallway.
She remembered the last time she’d walked away from this witch—the electric, pulsating pain that flung her to the ground. She braced herself.
“Please, there’s something you need to know.”
Ainsley stopped. Had Sydney just said, please? She turned back around, arms crossed. “What?”
Sydney closed the distance and leaned in. “My mother, the whole coven, knows about everything—the room, the shifter, and the attack on Langston and Jake, but I kept you out of it. If I hadn’t, you’d probably be dead right now.” She crossed her arms tightly across her chest now too, her mouth a tight line.
Ainsley’s gut dropped like she was in a rollercoaster’s loop. “The only reason you didn’t say anything is because you knew Justin would never forgive you.”
Sydney gave a haughty laugh. “So arrogant. Do you really think he cares about you? You’re a middling. He’s a powerful witch. He might slum it for a bit, but you’ll never be enough for him.”
A pang filled Ainsley’s chest. Sydney was probably right, and it devastated her. “Did you follow me out here just to tell me that? Because, if so, you can go fuck yourself.”
“No,” Sydney took a breath and appeared to be gathering herself. “I just came out to talk, but you seem to bring out the worst in me.”
Ainsley shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
Sydney glanced around, making sure they were still alone. “The Elders are supposed to be dealing with the shifter now, but it’s still out there, so we need to be careful.”
“You didn’t follow me out here because you’re worried about my well-being,” Ainsley stated without emotion. What the hell was Sydney playing at?
“No, but the shifter knows something is different about you. It may try and find you again. If it does, you need to call me, find me, whatever. I need to know.”
Ainsley’s equilibrium took a drastic dive. “You think it will search me out?”
“It might. It seemed intrigued by you, didn’t it?”
She managed a nod. “I think so.” Her thoughts went back to what Sydney had said about the Elders taking care of it. “Does the coven have a plan to find it?” she whispered. They were alone in the hall, but better safe than sorry.
Shaking her head, Sydney said, “None of the Elders will say what their plan is, but I have a back up just in case. I found out the identity of the original witch that bound the shifter inside the room. But I need the photos you took on your phone.”
Ah, finally, the real reason Sydney followed her out of class. Ainsley nodded and pulled her cell from her blazer pocket.
Sydney continued, “I was thinking about what you said, about the shifter touching to change forms. It makes sense. The original witch I was telling you about,” she paused, making sure Ainsley was following, “apparently the shifter grabbed her and changed from a man’s form into her image in front of the whole village.”
Ainsley bit her lip in thought as the pieces began to come together. “So as long as it doesn’t have skin to skin contact, it can keep its current form.” Ainsley opened her photos and began scrolling. Her chest felt like an angry bee was trying to escape inside of it. She swiped back and forth, panic rising inside her. “I-I don’t understand.”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” Sydney plucked the phone from Ainsley. There wasn’t a single photo from the room or door on Ainsley’s phone. As far as anyone could see, she’d never set foot inside either of them.
Sydney’s face paled as she shoved the phone back into Ainsley’s palm. “The carvings and symbols are gone from the room too. I went there, and it’s all blank. I was going to use the pictures to try and recreate it.” She took a deep breath, her hands running through her hair. “This thing is making sure we can’t lock it away again. I don’t know how it’s two steps ahead of us, but it’s a hell of a lot smarter than I gave it credit for.”
“There’s got to be another way,” Ainsley said.
“Says the middling who knows nothing.” Sydney stepped too close. “I thought you would be a help for once.” She slammed her fist into her thigh. “I’d get the pictures from you, figure out a way to conjure Saskia’s spirit, and get the accompanying spells I need to get us out of this mess from her.” She straightened and stepped back, shaking her head. It was clear she’d said more than she wanted to, which was anything at all. She made no bones about not wanting to include Ainsley in witch business.
Conjuring Saskia’s spirit? The image of them squatting around an old ouija board came to mind. It would, no doubt, be more complicated than that. “Let me do some research,” Ainsley said. “Maybe I can find a way to retrieve them.” This was dangerous. She should walk away, but she couldn’t. Not when she’d insisted on opening that door in the first place. Not after Langston, Jake, and Cassidy.
Sydney laughed. “As if you’ll be able to save the day. If it weren’t for you, none of this would be happening.”
Ainsley felt the sting of Sydney’s remark. It was true.
Sydney pointed a finger in Ainsley’s face. “All you need to do is keep your mouth shut. I don’t make idle threats. If anyone else in the coven finds out you know anything, you’ll be dead.” Sydney didn’t wait for a response before turning around and heading back toward the classroom.
A chill rippled through Ainsley. She’s exaggerating. But her gut told her differently.
Was that what was happening around here? People who learned too much or got in the way, were killed? Maybe they just disappeared? “Is that what happened to you, Daphne?” she whispered.
It didn’t make sense. The coven could Persuade people—replace their memories. They had the magic to do anything they wanted. Why would they risk doing something as drastic as kidnap and murder?
Ainsley tried to shake off the exchange while she walked to the library. She froze, realizing she still hadn’t returned the book she’d snuck out with Justin. I
t wasn’t like she could blame another student. There was a good chance only she and Hugo even knew it existed.
Maybe Hugo hadn’t noticed. Would he even check up on a book like that?
The library was moderately busy with students preparing for finals. Wasting no time, Ainsley rushed to the aisle that housed the occult books. She crouched and pulled the remaining leather-bound book out. Attached to the cover was a handwritten note addressed to her. It was from Hugo, asking her to come to the front desk. Her insides fizzed like pop rocks in a bottle of Coke. He knew she’d stolen the book.
Ainsley snatched the note from the cover and clasped the book tightly, before making her way to the front desk. Another librarian stood behind the counter—a round woman in her mid-fifties who always wore floral dresses and gaudy beaded jewelry in bright colors. Today’s was a garish sunflower print, complete with a yellow plastic necklace and matching earrings.
Ainsley approached tentatively, “Excuse me, is Hugo working today?”
The woman took her in and beamed. Her lips could glow in the dark with that shade of pink. “I’m afraid he’s off today. Can I help you, darling?” Her southern twang was similar to Harper’s, and Ainsley realized she’d never heard the woman speak before.
She took a guess. “I think he might’ve put a book aside for me.” She gawked at the hold shelves to see if anything stood out. “Ainsley Davenport.” Perhaps he just wanted to yell at her in person.
“Let me check.” The woman began rummaging through a few shelves. “I think I’ve got something.” She sounded as excited as if she were reeling in a large fish after a long day with no bites. “Yup, I do. Here you go, Ms. Daven—” She stopped mid-sentence after looking at the cover of the book in her hand. “Now, why would you want to read such an awful book?” Her voice was full of ripe judgment—her sour expression matching.
Ainsley’s cheeks burned. “What kind of book is it?” What had Hugo left for her? Was this punishment for taking the other one? He’d trusted her. Her stomach dropped.
The woman leaned across the counter and looked conspiratorially from side to side. Looking Ainsley up and down, she whispered, “It’s a… devil-worship book.”
Ainsley’s eyes widened. The flush moved from her cheeks down her neck; she was sure she was beginning to blotch.
“Why would you want such a book?” The woman’s tone was so accusatory, Ainsley wondered if the woman was about to pull out a cross and a spritzer bottle of holy water.
“It’s for a project—a history project. I’m not, you know, into that stuff or anything.” She hoped she sounded sincere enough.
The woman’s eyebrows smoothed, and the small lines around her nose and mouth softened. “Well, that’s a relief.” She placed the book on the countertop. “It looks absolutely ancient. It’s flagged, which means it must remain in the library, no checking it out. Understand?”
Ainsley nodded and quickly grabbed the book before she could get sucked into a discussion about church attendance and the librarian’s willingness to pray for Ainsley’s damned soul.
Thank you, Hugo.
With cracked bindings and a worn cover, the volume did appear ancient.
Making her way to a back table, she sat down and began going through it from front to back. There was no copyright page or even typed print. It looked like many hands had written the manuscript, in multiple languages, over centuries. Was this an authentic grimoire? Her excitement quickly waned. How was she ever going to decipher it?
A loose sheet of pink paper fell out. Ainsley read the handwritten note.
The book I showed you is missing. I hope to see it back here by the end of the week. If not, I have to report the loss and the last student who requested it. Fair warning, my little rebel.
Hugo
Her heart leaped in her chest. He knew, hadn’t turned her in, and had even given her another book to work with. She’d better get started; she was now on a deadline.
Examining the fragile tome, she recognized the symbol on the embossed cover as Hecate’s Wheel. It represented the three parts of the goddess––the maiden, the mother, and the crone. Hecate was a Greek goddess said to derive power from the moon, water, and air. She mastered the crossroads––the space between the realm of the living and the dead. She was also the first necromancer, or so the lore said. Interesting coincidence.
Ainsley carefully turned the delicate pages, noticing a few additional notes written in English around the script and in the margins. Many pages had sketches. Maybe it would be enough for her to get a rough interpretation. And she could always ask Justin or Khourtney for help if needed. They were safest bet from the group.
How did Hugo know to save this for her? This book went well beyond her ruse of researching for a project. Maybe he knew more about Ashcroft than he’d let on. It made sense. Perhaps she had an ally after all.
From what she could gather with her translating app, the grimoire had all kinds of spells—from protection to some very dark stuff: paralysis, health-based curses, various types of poison, and even a spell to make someone go crazy. Ainsley thought of Emmie. So that kind of magic was possible. Ainsley was sure now that Sydney and Ava had done some sort of spell on Emmie.
Thank God, I’m immune. Ainsley could only imagine what would have happened to her by now if she wasn’t. While Ainsley knew she had to work with Sydney until they stopped the shifter, she didn’t know if she'd ever fully forgive the witch for everything she’d put Ainsley through. Sydney could have, perhaps would have, killed her that night on campus after the dance.
She clutched the book tighter when she saw a few pages toward the back, written completely in English. It was an incantation about necromancy, specifically, a spell to summon the dead. She dropped the book and gripped the edge of the table as her head swayed.
Images of dead people rising from the ground appeared in her mind.
No, that’s impossible. This could only mean contacting the dead, as in speaking to, not bring them back to life, right? That had to be what Sydney meant when she said she was trying to find a way to conjure Saskia.
She read on, and with each word, hope grew. They might actually be able to do this.
Leaping up, she shoved both books into her bag. She was already on the line for one, why not three?
Rules be damned.
Chapter 9
Sydney
The Elders had ordered all apprentices to meet in the Nest every day after Ashcroft classes for a headcount. It had been weeks since Langston and Jake had lost their powers, but Langston still only allowed Sydney to visit him, and she watched helplessly as he succumbed to bouts of sobbing, screaming, and occasional wall punching.
He was too ashamed to face their friends, not to mention the rest of the coven, worried he no longer fit in. He didn’t believe he deserved to be part of the coven anymore. Sydney had stood in Máthair Bello’s office as his aunt fought with him about returning. She insisted Langston get back to his training commitments since she was determined to restore their magic. She’d even used Jake against Langston, noting that he was determined to keep going with his studies, instead of wallowing in self-pity.
Wallowing, Sydney thought. Really? It might be one tactic to get Langston motivated, but in her opinion, it was a piss poor one. In the end, the only reason Langston agreed to come to classes was because his aunt had thrown his dead father in his face—saying his father was watching him from Terra Mortuis (Latin for Land of the Dead). Langston’s head had hung in shame, his shoulders curling forward like it took all his strength to sit upright. Sydney half expected him to crumple at any moment.
But Máthair Bello had gotten her way. Tonight, Langston would join Jake and the other apprentices. He sat with Syd and their friends at the back of the classroom, waiting for the rest of the apprentices to join tonight’s lesson.
Jasmine Singh, one of the High magic Lords and a complete bitch, approached them. Her family had been friends with the Bello’s for a century. This didn’
t seem to comfort Langston, who tensed visibly as she came closer. Ignoring the rules against physical affection in the Nest, Sydney put her hand on his lower back. It was hot and damp to her touch.
“Hi, Langston,” Jasmine said in a faltering tone. “I’m assisting with tonight’s lesson and just wanted to come over and see if you were okay. I mean, I know things aren’t great, but I wanted you to know that the other Lords and I are here to help you in any way.” She gave a drawn smile. “I can only imagine what you must be going through, but—” She stopped, seemingly unsure if she was making it worse or succeeding in comforting him.
Sydney could tell it was the former. “Uh, thanks, Jasmine, but we’ve got it. You can go now.” Syd replayed all the times Jasmine had been rude to her, and she had no time for her now, especially if it included Langston.
Langston continued to brood, barely glancing up from his hands, which he kept on his lap as he picked at his cuticles.
“We’re all glad you’re here,” Jasmine said finally, forcing an even bigger smile. When he remained quiet, she walked away.
“What a hag,” Jax snorted, “I cannot believe she waltzed over here like she had some duty or whatever.”
Langston, leaned in, his breath tickling Sydney’s ear. “I’m out of here. I can’t do this. Everyone else is just going to stare at me like I’m a freak.” She could hear the grit and anger in his voice
Syd kept her hand on his back. “These are your friends. Everyone wants to make sure you’re okay. You’re a part of the Wildes, and you need to be here. As much as I can’t stand her, I think Jasmine was sincere.”
He snorted in derision. “We both know there’s no way in hell you’d be here if your powers were gone. And I think I speak for Jake when I say, we’re nowhere near okay.”
A flitter of cool-air brushed the side of Sydney’s face when he pulled away. She steeled herself, knowing she’d have to be strong for him.
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