Supernatural Academy: Sophomore Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  Macgregor walked away, followed by Fedorov a few seconds later. Rowan stood motionless until Fedorov disappeared through the door. Then, he became unhinged and fell heavily to his knees.

  There, he buried his face in his hands and quietly sobbed.

  After all we’d tried to do and all we’d risked, everything was falling apart.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  SPRING SEMESTER

  MID-MARCH

  Weeks passed with no word from Rowan.

  He had been expelled just like I’d feared. He’d done too much damage, broken too many rules, and was a danger to himself and others.

  And yet, all I wanted was him right here, back with me.

  The pain in my chest—like someone had taken a rusty cookie cutter and cored out my still-beating heart—dulled to a slow-moving ache as the days went by. I threw myself into my studies, which wasn’t hard. It seemed as if every professor was hell-bent on breaking us into little, twitching pieces.

  Professor Hitchcock-Watson assigned us to read a whole textbook, written entirely in French, about enchanting objects. The English translation spell was enough to make my head spin and then I still had to read a whole freaking textbook by Thursday.

  And Professor Wagner insisted on teaching us a protection guise that required us to stand on one leg for over an hour, chanting in a Slavic language no one could properly pronounce. He’d come by and whack us with his cane if our posture drooped or our accents got sloppy. I had a feeling he and Ze German had a similar interest in torture, but he just used different methods.

  Did they want us to break? Did they think that if we couldn’t go without sleep and cram our brains with every bit of magical knowledge in the universe in one semester we wouldn’t be able to hack it?

  Well, I didn’t have that option.

  Even Disha was struggling. She drank coffee by the gallon and didn’t mention how cute the barista was even once. I’d long since stopped hearing about Vincent, or any boys for that matter. We poured over books at meals, then went to our lessons with Professor Fedorov in the evenings, only to return to studying right after.

  But there was an upside. When my head fell onto my textbook late at night, I slipped into a dreamless sleep. No thoughts of Rowan to keep me up at night.

  It was during the daytime I worried about him.

  Where was he? What was he doing without his father’s magic to keep him sane or my magic to keep him powered? How was he getting blood? None of the options I envisioned were any good.

  He wouldn’t return my phone calls at first. Then, a week in, his phone shut off completely. My anxiety about his situation twisted me into knots.

  Three times I’d fallen low enough to go to Dean Underwood’s office to ask him to forgive his son. Twice he must’ve known I was coming and was gone when I got there. The third time, he stood at his door as I arrived, shaking his head.

  “Please,” I moaned. “He can’t be okay out there on his own.”

  “He needs to hit rock bottom before he’ll listen to anyone. You of all people should know this by now, Ms. Rivera. Don’t let him control your life. Have some self-respect.”

  With that, he shut the door in my face.

  Asshole.

  I had self-respect! I could care about myself and Rowan at the same time, something Macgregor didn’t seem to understand. No wonder Rowan had issues if he came straight from the loins of that emotionally stunted douche canoe!

  So, mopey and exhausted, we rolled along through spring break, where all I did was study, and then into March and our quickly approaching final exams.

  This year, though, before exams, a special convention of witches was coming to the Academy on the Spring Equinox.

  We’d seen the posters for weeks: The Bi-Annual North American Coven Convention was being held right here. Apparently, it was put on every other year at different locales and it was our turn. The fliers advertised talks by renowned witches and warlocks I’d never heard of, a few pagan worship services, book signings and readings, healing rituals, tarot card lessons, and a huge list of vendors selling everything from charms to actual enchanted broomsticks, which would fly for short periods.

  I had no money, but seeing witches and warlocks from all over the continent sounded mildly interesting. But the best part was—because they wanted students to be able to attend the events—there were no classes on Thursday and Friday and professors had stopped assigning homework for the week.

  Convention or not, my plan was to sleep for forty-eight hours straight, then watch TV in the common room for the rest of my long weekend.

  Unfortunately, Disha had other plans. Surprise, surprise.

  She bounded into my room at noon on Thursday, throwing a piece of fabric at my head.

  “What the hell, D?”

  “Listen, Turbocharger. I have been thinking.”

  “A dangerous pastime,” I mumbled.

  Disha didn’t play along with my joke, off on a tangent like always. “College is supposed to be fun.”

  “Is it?” I asked, honestly questioning if I’d had fun so far. There were pockets here and there, yeah, but mostly it was a miserable slog or an emotional roller coaster—not to mention the times when someone was trying to kill me.

  “Yes!” Disha waved her arms, a creamy brown against the pale peach tank top she was wearing. “And if you aren’t having fun, it’s my job, as your best friend and entertainment coordinator, to make sure you have some. Tonight.”

  “I had plans tonight. With my bed.”

  “Well, now you have other plans.” Disha stood up, modeling some olive green, flowy garment that looked like something one might wear at a renaissance festival.

  “What is that for?” I asked, picturing my torture.

  “This,” she said, twirling, “is my outfit. I got you a matching one this morning in Aberdale.”

  “There are so many things wrong with that sentence. First, matching? And second, you already went to town?” I was still in my underwear.

  “Yes. Ask me what it’s for.”

  “What’s it for?” I groaned.

  “Tonight, there is a—get this—Celtic pirate rock concert.” She flared her hands with each word as if illuminating them in lights. “And, right next to it, a teaching called ‘Embracing your sex and inner fire.’” She thrust her hips suggestively.

  “I have no sex, nor inner fire,” I complained.

  “That, my dear, is the point.”

  I lifted up the dress she’d bought me. I’d long since stopped being embarrassed when Disha bought me things. I had asked her to stop, but that did no good. She simply didn’t listen.

  The Greek-inspired dress in question was actually quite lovely in a flowing fabric that would crest just above my knees. It swooped down to reveal minor cleavage, classy, yet sexy at once. I smoothed a hand over it, wishing Rowan could see me wear it.

  “What guy is going to be there?” I asked.

  She played dumb. “What guy? There will be lots of guys.”

  “Which guy, that you are interested in, is going to be there tonight?” I pinned her with a look.

  Disha blew out a breath. “His name is Juan Carlos. He’s from Puerto Rico and plays in the band.”

  “Ah ha! Caught you.” I pointed into the air triumphantly. “Wait. His name is Juan Carlos and he plays in a Celtic pirate band?”

  She shrugged. “He’s the best of both worlds, Latin and Irish.” She mock swooned before flouncing to the door. “Be ready by seven. I haven’t had a nightmare in over a week. I think that deserves a celebration.”

  When she finally left, I rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head.

  “Can you believe her, Trey? I don’t know where she gets all that energy.”

  I could still sleep another five or so hours between now and then, though. So I did.

  Disha met me at the steps of our dorm at seven, holding two enchanted brooms. She thrust one at me and I stared at the thing, terrified. I’d seen enough Ha
rry Potter to know how unruly brooms could be.

  Holding mine at arms’ length, I said, “This seems like one of those ideas where you think it’s going to be fine and then later have to recount to your grandkids as the day you lost your favorite arm.”

  “Oh, come on,” Disha moaned. “Fun, remember?”

  I took the broom tentatively. “Is breaking your neck fun? Is being put in traction fun?”

  She gave me an elbow, straddled her broom and kicked off the ground. Thankfully, she didn’t go very high. These puppies looked like they were only given enough juice to skim about six feet off the ground.

  Disha squirmed on hers. “Sheesh. You’d think they’d give you a seat or something. My lady parts are not liking this one bit.”

  I snorted. “Don’t tell Juan Carlos.”

  I climbed on my broom and held on for dear life.

  “To the lake!” Disha commanded.

  The brooms took off.

  Only, it was like a golf cart with the governor on, rigged to crawl at a turtle’s pace. We puttered along at five miles an hour, skimming off the ground and dodging trees and pedestrians as we tried desperately not to fall.

  The crazy part was, with all the ridiculousness of the situation, I started giggling. Disha joined in. Soon, we couldn’t stop.

  I’d missed a lot of the convention set-up in my quest for more rest, so seeing the campus decked out really struck me. A giant circus tent had been erected on the quad, only instead of red and white panels, this one was brown and green. Vines climbed up the polls and birds flocked on the roof, causing it to sag a bit, but the attendees didn’t seem to mind. Above, enchanted words hung in the air, blinking and swirling like they were being stirred inside a cauldron. They advertised a talk on “Tolerance and Integration” by some grand witch I’d never heard of.

  I wondered if they were going to advocate for or against the inclusion of so-called Lessers into all aspects of mainstream magical society. I almost turned my broom around to check it out, but I knew Disha would never let me hear the end of it.

  The rest of the campus was similarly festooned. Earthy branches and vines hung down the buildings as butterflies dipped and weaved amongst the flowers. Little vendor booths threw out the smell of cooked meat and sugared nuts. Witches and warlocks in every imaginable outfit flocked around, eating, talking, and doing little incantations to impress their friends. Every lamppost glowed not only with electricity but also with rainbow-colored fireflies buzzing around them. The night air literally throbbed with magic.

  We angled past the many attractions and headed to the lake.

  Once we crested the hill and started down the valley, a pirate ship came into view. My jaw fell open. How in the world they had placed a full-sized pirate ship on our landlocked lake was beyond me, but the sight was absolutely breathtaking.

  I counted seven black square sails and one large skull-and-crossbones flag, fluttering without any sign of wind. Huge masts shot up to the heavens, reaching up from a massive wooden boat. On the main deck, a stage had been built and instruments set up. It appeared that the concert would take place on the ship while we watched from the shore. A banner on the ship’s hull read, “Black Flag Flogging.”

  Both of us nearly fell off as the brooms skidded to a halt beside the lake. “Good boy,” Disha said, dismounting and adjusting herself.

  A crowd had gathered already and more were streaming in. I recognized many faces from our classes and lots I’d never seen before.

  Disha set her broom on the ground, smoothing out her dress and fixing her curls. “The band is popular locally, but they’ve yet to really break into mainstream.”

  “Isn’t there a spell for that?” I joked, glancing around. As my eyes moved over a clump of girls in band T-shirts, I spotted Bridget and Ava Marie making a beeline for us.

  “Your roommate is coming in hot,” I said to Disha, pointing.

  She shrugged. “I invited them. I figured after all she’s been through with Bobby, I could put up with some annoying chatter.”

  “Kind of you,” I said with only a hint of sarcasm. “How is Bobby?”

  “He’s still recovering,” Disha said. “Apparently, they’ve learned that whoever stabbed him did it with a magical sword. One made to weaken and infect Supernatural creatures. It explains why his wound won’t heal and he’s still out of it.”

  “Awful,” I said. “Any leads?”

  Disha shook her head and was about to elaborate when Bridget stepped into our circle.

  Bridget’s costume made me do a double take. Whereas most girls wore flowy sundresses or short shorts with band T-shirts, Bridget was in a full Jack Sparrow costume, dreadlocks, eye makeup and all.

  “Wow, that looks... authentic,” I said. “Where’d you get it?” I reached out and touched one of her beaded dreadlocks.

  “The hair is mine,” she said, lifting off her cap to show me. “Hair growth is one of my specialties. The costume, I ordered online.”

  “It’s fab,” Disha said, sounding genuine. “Ava Marie, are you… dressed up?”

  Ava Marie was barefoot in black leggings and a long flowing green tunic that came to mid-thigh. Her blonde hair was twisted into a sort of beehive with little animated creatures poking their heads out of the strands at random intervals. Yet, her posture was typical for her—arms wrapped around her body, head down, shoulders up almost to her ears as if she could block out all sensory distractions that way.

  “Bridget did it,” she said, reaching a hand up to delicately touch her hair.

  Behind us, the first chords from an electric guitar sounded and a huge cheer rose up from the crowd.

  “It’s starting. I see Juan Carlos.” Disha took off, pushing her way to the shoreline to stand in front.

  Bridget began dancing in wild jerky rhythms that made Ava Marie and I take a step back.

  I gave a shrug to Ava Marie. “Disha made me come.”

  “Bridget made me come,” she echoed.

  We gave each other knowing looks.

  “Want to get a drink?” Ava Marie asked, nodding to a little refreshment stand.

  “Sure.”

  We headed through the crowd and meandered over to the stand. The prices made my chest tight, but Ava Marie bought two Witch’s Brews and handed one to me before I’d even made a selection.

  I took it tentatively. “The last time I drank this stuff, I made some bad choices.”

  She giggled. “That’s only the first time, silly. You’ll be fine.”

  I shrugged and took a little sip. The flavor was different than I remembered, tasting like cinnamon and cloves. I wondered if it tasted different every time or if this was an alternative brew recipe. Steam rolled off the top and, as I watched, Ava Marie stuck her finger in, cooling hers.

  “That’s cool that you can do that,” I said. “Command the elements and all.” I figured I could learn a similar spell, so I added it to my ever-growing mental list.

  “Yeah, cool until everyone thinks you’re a freak and tries to ban you from things. And then your parents stop letting you out of the house.” Her eyes darted up to me as if she’d revealed too much.

  “It’s okay. I’m not… My boyfriend is a vampire, so I’m not prejudiced.”

  “I know. You, Disha and Bridget are great, unlike... ” She glanced at the crowd, sipping her drink.

  “Don’t mind them,” I said, trying to make her feel better.

  She peered up for a moment, looking grateful. “You know…” she kept her eyes down, then said, “I heard Rowan that night. I know what he asked that truth demon. I know what you’ve been looking for.”

  I stopped drinking and stared hard at her, my heart suddenly hammering. “What?”

  This time, before she spoke, she met my eyes. “I know what the Tempest is, Charlie.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  SPRING SEMESTER

  MID-MARCH

  Heart hammering to the beat of the loud Celtic music, I guided Ava Marie away from the cr
owd and toward one of the surrounding trees.

  I sat with my back to the trunk, careful not to spill my Witch’s Brew. With a nervous smile, I patted a grassy spot next to me. Ava Marie accepted the invitation and sat. I wanted to rush the information out of her, but some part of me knew a slower, more careful approach would yield better results since she was so shy. I didn’t know what had finally gotten her to say something, but I didn’t want her to back down.

  From our vantage point, we could see the crowd by the shore as well as the band on the pirate ship. Their music blasted against the trees, and it must have possessed some sort of enchantment because the leaves seemed to dance to the tune, making rustling sounds that perfectly accompanied the melody.

  It would have been easy to be mesmerized by the scene, but my heart was pounding too frantically to ignore it. We’ve been after this thing—the Tempest or whatever it was—since last semester. Hell, Rowan had gotten expelled over it. If Ava Marie knew the answer to our puzzle, there was no pirate band, no Juan Carlos, no ginormous ship in a tiny lake that could distract me.

  “This concert is something else,” Ava Marie said, her eyes shining with the lights coming from the stage.

  I nodded in agreement and slowly angled my body toward her.

  Shyly, she made eye contact, then quickly took a sip of her Witch’s Brew, as if putting a barrier between us. I remembered being like that. Kids had teased me relentlessly in school because I always wore the wrong thing—never mind I was too poor to afford the right thing. So I’d learned to become invisible, always hiding behind my hair, books, locker doors, anything that would keep people from noticing me. That had changed gradually. At first with Trey’s help and especially here. Because here, I was finally me.

  I hoped the same would happen to Ava Marie. No one deserved to feel so small, especially for stupid reasons such as other people thinking they were better because of some bogus reason they, themselves, made up.