Supernatural Academy: Sophomore Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  “Every time I tried to close my eyes last night, all I could see was… that werewolf,” she said.

  I let my thoughts simmer for a bit before I spoke.

  “You’re right, Disha. It was terribly stupid,” I said, deciding to tackle this conversation by the horns, the real root of the matter. “I think I’ve been deluding myself about Rowan.”

  Disha’s breath stopped midway as if she hadn’t expected me to say anything, much less admit something like this.

  “Maybe,” I continued, “in my mind, I’ve painted this idea of a person who doesn’t exist. I don’t think he can care about us. Not until this mystery is solved, which, if we’re all honest with ourselves, may be impossible.” I raised my head and met Disha’s surprised gaze.

  “Damn, woman!” she said, “I admit I thought you were in denial, but now you might be taking it a bit too far. He does care.”

  “Does he? He never once considered what might happen to us. He just blindly followed that Ze German guy. But we’re not invincible like he is, and he should consider that before selfishly dragging us into danger.”

  “Charlie, he’s a vampire, now,” she said. “His instincts are rewired. Besides, he’s barely under control despite his father’s spells. And, if you ask me, I don’t think they work all that well. Answorth seems to be helping, but it will take time.”

  I bit my lip. Didn’t she know how hard admitting all this was? I expected her to be on my side. “But it was the same last year. Have you forgotten that?”

  “He was dying then.”

  “Sure, it was one type of curse and now it’s just another. But it doesn’t matter because…” I swallowed hard, gulping down emotions that were boiling up. “Rowan... doesn’t care who he drags down with him.” It was hard to admit, but there it was. Unshed tears lurked behind my eyes, but it was time to face facts.

  “I warned you from the beginning,” Disha said, her eyes filling with sadness. “He’s… complicated… damaged.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  There were a lot of emotions warring in my chest, all of them confused, and I felt I needed to put them into words, share them with someone to see how they sounded. Did I truly believe what I was feeling? The anger, frustration, hurt, longing—all of them raw and so very strong. Was I really ready to give up?

  “Since the beginning,” I said, struggling to find the right words, “I’ve felt like I’ve been all in, risking it all for Rowan, while he.... takes and takes and takes.”

  Disha gave a small nod. Did she see it, too? Was I right to feel this way?

  My eyes darted around the cafeteria as I searched for more words to express what I felt. As if drawn by a magnet, they landed on a motionless figure standing by the entrance. He seemed frozen, his attention fully focused on me.

  Rowan.

  If he were still human, his presence there wouldn’t have made a difference—he could not have overheard me in the cafeteria with all its wards against spells. But he was a vampire, a creature with preternatural senses.

  “He’s here, isn’t he?” Disha asked, noticing a change in my expression.

  I stood very slowly, willing Rowan to stay where he was, to wait for me so we could talk this over. Instead, he lowered his head, turned, and headed out of the door.

  Calling out his name, I followed. When I made it outside, I was sure he would be gone, sure he would have used that speed of his to get as far away from me as possible. I was wrong.

  He was sitting on the steps, staring at the Enlightenment Fountain. It was chilly and gray out, but he wore only a thin T-shirt with a pair of black jeans. He was completely immobile, no blinking, no rise and fall of his shoulders to indicate he was breathing.

  I went down the steps slowly, all of my feelings pinned to my sleeve. Without a word, I sat next to him, pulling on the sides of my unzipped jacket to cover my chest from the cold. I hugged myself and stared at the fountain, too.

  “How much did you hear?” I finally asked.

  “Enough,” he said curtly, only his lips moving.

  His stillness was unnatural and made me wonder if he was acting this way on purpose, to show me how truly non-human he was.

  I inhaled sharply. “I… don’t know what to say.”

  “I told you I would hurt you,” Rowan said. “Told you more than once to stay away from me.”

  It was true. Last year, when he decided to do something “drastic,” he’d warned me.

  Stay away from me, Charlie. You will if you know what’s good for you.

  Yet, after what we’d been through… was this all he had to say to me?

  “Somehow I thought that warning had expired,” I said, unable to leave the sarcasm out of my tone. “I did make a blood pact with you, for God’s sake.”

  “A blood pact I didn’t want.”

  Really?! Was this how it was going to be?

  “So, I mean nothing to you, do I?” I said, the hurt and pain making my voice brittle.

  I braced myself for the answer, imagined what my days without Rowan would look like while I finished my years at the Academy. Safe? Boring? Meaningless?

  He stood, continuing to glance toward the lawn. “You truly don’t know me, if that’s what you think.”

  My heart clenched, tears stung the back of my eyes.

  “When I push you away, I know it hurts,” he said, his voice thick. “It hurts me, too. But I know it would hurt you more if I drag you down with me, like last night. I tried to tell you to leave, but you wouldn’t. All I ever want is for you to be okay. Away from danger. Away from my stupidity and fucking bad luck. I’m wrong for you, Charlie.” He ran a hand through his hair and took a step forward as if to flee.

  I reached out, snatched his hand, and stood. He stopped, lowered his head. I stepped in front of him.

  “What are you saying exactly?” I asked, trying to catch his gaze.

  He glanced off to the side, his dark lashes hooding his eyes. I wasn’t the best with words, but I felt we had to get past this. There’d been so much restraint between us, so much left unsaid, so much we needed to learn about each other. And this was a good start, but I needed more.

  Did he trust me enough to fully open up? We were supposed to be a couple. Shouldn’t the walls he kept around him fall away at some point?

  His face was set in a tight mask that showed only pride. It seemed he’d learned well from his father. But that was okay. I’d learned important lessons about pride in my past. Being cold and hungry will do that to you because you can’t let such a vain emotion get in the way of your survival.

  And Rowan was good at doing just that. He wouldn’t ask for a lifeline even if he was drowning. I guess all I could do was cast one anyway.

  “Maybe I’m stupid,” I said. “Maybe you are wrong for me, but that is not for you to decide, is it? I can make my own judgment. The only thing is… I need all the pieces of the puzzle to be able to put it together, and I don’t have them.”

  He blinked. His lips parted—a small crack in his mask?

  “That’s why I have all these questions,” I pushed on. “That’s why I need to know if you care because I’m not that stupid. Rowan, I…” A knot formed in my throat, the words I wanted to say getting stuck there. I couldn’t say them—not when I didn’t know where he stood. I guess I hadn’t lost all my pride, after all.

  He turned to face me then, heavy lids lifting away, revealing a tinted pair of eyes. A thin red film lay over them. Tears? My hand lifted toward his face, but it stopped in mid-air. As I began to lower it, he grabbed it and pressed it to his cheek, leaning into it, his breath brushing my wrist.

  “There’s no puzzle, Charlie,” he said. “I do care. So much that it hurts because I know I’m no good for you. You deserve better.”

  My breath hitched, but I managed to jump start it. “I already told you,” I said, my words riding a pent up breath of relief. “I can make my own judgment, and I say you’re very, very good for me.”

  He shook his h
ead, rested his forehead on mine. “You’re crazy.”

  “Yeah, I think I am.”

  Rowan pulled me closer, his hands cupping my face as if I would break. His lips lowered to mine, brushing them ever so slightly. Despite all the hurt, the heat, and passion that possessed me whenever we got this close ignited like wildfire. I deepened the kiss, the taste of him intoxicating, clearly one of the culprits of my insanity. I pulled away breathless, happy to know he truly cared, but still confused by the way these intense feelings overpowered my logic.

  “What now?” he asked, a rhetorical question for which he seemed to expect no answer.

  “I’ll tell you what,” a voice said from the top of the steps. It belonged to a very annoyed-looking Disha. “You two go get a room and finally hook up. Seriously, I think even my life would be a lot easier if you got that over with.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  SPRING SEMESTER

  EARLY JANUARY

  It was a new semester and, after a rough winter break trying to recover from our stupid trip to Hilton Head, we were back in the swing of things… or at least trying to be.

  Disha looked like freaking Catwoman, doing her best to be herself even if nightmares of the werewolf she’d fought and killed were still disrupting her sleep some nights.

  As I took in her outfit, my jaw fell open. Whatever happened to the comfortable clothes she’d been wearing to our Advanced Defensive Magic training sessions last semester?

  After Spells class, she’d rushed to our dorm to change, while I waited for our new instructor at the maze’s entrance. How she’d squeezed herself into that tight leather suit, I could only imagine.

  Magically, no doubt.

  “You can close your mouth, Chardonnay,” she said, walking in my direction like a supermodel on a runway, hips swaying, luscious curls shining under the dimming afternoon sun. Talk about curves. A pair of them were even at the verge of spilling out of the tight-zippered top. She’d also freshened up her makeup, applying a deep red to her shapely lips.

  She looked like a comic book heroine ready to kick some villain’s ass.

  The new semester had begun, and we were back to defensive training for which I was grateful. Mink was more than serious about killing us, plus, there was still that mystery over who had wanted to kill me last year in the mausoleum, and given all the world’s wickedness, there weren’t enough new tricks we could learn to defend ourselves.

  “Damn, Disha, you’re a bad friend,” I said, scrutinizing her outfit.

  “Me? Why?” she asked in surprise.

  “You take the task of ‘making me look bad’ seriously,” I joked.

  She shoved me playfully as she stopped next to me. “I thought I’d be late. It was not easy getting into this thing,” she said, glancing around. “Where is our new instructor?”

  I shrugged. “Who do you think it is?”

  “I have a hunch,” she said with a wicked smile that immediately made me understand her outfit choice.

  “Oh, no! That smile can only mean trouble.” I tried to think of the professors who taught junior-level classes but came up blank. Though last time they assigned us Bridget and her brother so it could be anyone, not only a teacher.

  I was about to start interrogating her when the air around us popped, and a tall man materialized in front of us.

  “Good afternoon,” he said in a slight foreign accent.

  “Good afternoon, Professor Fedorov.” Disha beamed.

  Professor Yuri Fedorov—the literal supermodel who had once graced the Saint Petersburg’s runways until his magical powers fractured, and he discovered he was a super of a different kind—stood in front of us.

  How had I forgotten about him? He was another member of our young, talented faculty. A sight to behold. I’d seen Fedorov around campus enough times to appreciate his… attributes. Honestly, Dean McIntosh had a keen eye for recruitment. I had to give her that.

  The Russian professor was in his early thirties. He was over six-feet tall and had jet black hair, which he parted at one side and kept perfectly in place at all times. His gray eyes were clear and intense, and his chiseled mouth seemed to be completely opposed to smiles. He had a pronounced dimple in his chin, and eyebrows with their own personality. On top of that, he was a fine dresser. Sort of like a male version of Disha, actually. At the moment, he was wearing a three-piece suit, the pants, and vest gray, but the jacket was a deep blue with a standing collar and mid-thigh in length.

  Damn!

  For good measure, I clenched my teeth as my jaw threatened to fall open the way it had a moment ago when I first spied Disha’s outfit.

  “Ready, ladies?” he asked as he pressed forward, marching right between Disha and me, forcing us to stand aside.

  We turned to watch him go as he strode with confident steps, one hand in his pants pocket.

  “Oh, I’m ready, Professor Yurilicious,” Disha said under her breath, following right behind him.

  Her leather-clad butt reflected the light, accentuating her prominent perfection. I sighed and turned my eyes to the heavens. Nothing good could come out of this.

  Disha plus attractive professors equaled disaster.

  Maybe I should tell Dean McIntosh this was a bad idea, that we needed Bridget and Bobby back.

  “C’mon, Char! Don’t just stand there,” she urged, glancing over her shoulder.

  Resigned, I went after her, wishing the pixie minotaurs would blast the professor with that ridiculous capillum spell. Maybe that way—with hair growing all over his body like Cousin It— Disha would not find him so tempting. Or they could blast her. That would give her something else to focus on.

  Remembering the way the maze’s walls tended to shift—they were already trembling and groaning as if ready to move—I hurried along and caught up to Disha. She sniffed as a whiff of Professor Fedorov’s cologne rode the air.

  Without glancing back, he led us deep, deep into the maze. I walked, my nerves on pins and needles as I searched for murderous nymphs and insane pixie minotaurs. But they were conspicuous by their absence, probably afraid of or controlled by the professor. Either way, I would never get used to this place no matter how many times I came in. It was as if the vines watched as you passed, devising ways to keep you imprisoned for as long as possible.

  After a long walk, we entered an open space similar to the one we used when we trained with Bridget and Bobby, though a bit different, paved in cobblestones and fenced in by taller than average hedges. At the four corners, giant topiaries were carved into animals that matched those on the fountain: lion, fish, turtle, and eagle. The fifth, the one-armed woman, was absent from this strange space. As I readied myself for the lesson, I had the strangest feeling that the topiaries were staring back at me, but when I looked, they were in their proper positions.

  Creepy.

  Fedorov stopped when he reached the edge of the courtyard and turned to face us. Without a word, he removed his jacket and draped it over a cement bench. Then, he proceeded to remove his cufflinks and roll up his sleeves. The vest was tight against his torso, revealing a narrow waist.

  “Why do men get a million times sexier when they roll up their sleeves?” Disha asked in my ear.

  I swatted her away and took a step back. She was going to get us in trouble. We needed to focus if we were going to survive Mink.

  “We will begin with earth-shaking spell,” Professor Fedorov said, leaving out the articles in his sentences as, apparently, the Russian language didn’t have them.

  Well, he didn’t waste time. Good. I already had a ton of homework: a paper for Supernatural World History 240 and an original recipe for Potions 201. The faster we got out of here, the better.

  “First,” Fedorov said, “you need learn spell. Repeat after me… Quassum terram per hostis.”

  Oh, great, my least favorite kind of spell. I preferred it when there were no words. I tended to forget all the Latin nonsense, but word spells were more reliable due to their precise natur
e.

  “Quassum terram per hostas,” I repeated alongside Disha.

  “Not hostas, you goof… hos-tis,” Disha corrected with a short laugh and an eye roll.

  “You won’t be laughing when I turn you into a shade-loving plant,” I said. “Or one of those topiaries.” I nodded to the turtle.

  “Quiet!” Fedorov ordered.

  Disha and I snapped to attention and stared straight ahead.

  “This is not game,” he said. “This is serious spell that can defeat your enemy.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, while Disha repeated the spell in a sultry tone that suggested she actually thought this was a game, just one of a different sort.

  Following Fedorov’s directions, we repeated the spell a few more times until he was satisfied with our pronunciation.

  “Now,” he said, “we will learn hand movements.”

  He wiggled his long fingers in front of us, then went through a series of complicated hand twists we hadn’t yet studied. Disha and I exchanged a frown and, for once, I didn’t feel so clueless. Clearly, she was at a loss, too.

  It took me the better part of fifteen minutes to get the movements just right, but I didn’t feel bad since it took Disha a little longer. She was normally quite good at this kind of thing, but clearly, her attention was, eh hem, elsewhere.

  “Dean McIntosh said you were advanced student,” Fedorov told Disha as he corrected the position of her thumb in the flourish that ended the spell.

  “I am,” Disha said, sidling up to the professor. “It’s just…” Her gaze shamelessly scanned the length of his body. “It’s just I’m a bit… distracted.”

  I shook my head. Yep, she was on a path to self-destruction. Had she forgotten how bad it had gone with Henderson? He had used her, then dumped her when he got bored. An affair with a teacher was all kinds of bad news. Plus, if she succeeded in seducing Fedorov, wouldn’t that mean he was a scumbag in the first place? No decent man would break the Academy’s rules, putting his career and a student’s future at risk.

  And what happened to her last boyfriend? Vincent? Or Kyle? I couldn’t keep track.