by Sarina Dorie
“Did Vega Bloodmire tell you that?” Khaba’s easy smile turned to mock sternness as he waggled a finger at me. “Invismo is my best security guard yet. He would never invade staff’s or students’ privacy. Don’t let Vega spread nasty gossip like that about my employees.” He adjusted the lapel of his pink shirt.
“Sorry,” I said. If there was anyone in the school I didn’t want to emulate, it was my wicked roommate. The invisible man probably didn’t deserve any of the snide comments Vega or anyone else made about him.
“Now, what’s the nature of this visit? Hailey Achilles giving you trouble? Ben O’Sullivan?”
“Actually, no.” I told him the nature of my school-supply problem.
I expected him to ask me to rub his lamp in exchange for being chaperoned off school grounds.
Instead, he smoothed a hand over his bald head, his expression apologetic. “I can only transport you to locations far from electronics. Sure, I could take you someplace in Eugene, but it wouldn’t be anywhere in the city or near the store you want to go to. I suppose you could hike into town and get a taxi and then carry all these supplies out into the woods again and wait for me. . . .” He didn’t look thrilled about the idea. “Plus you’ll have to rub my lamp for me to make this wish come true.”
The plan wasn’t impossible. My fairy godmother didn’t live that far from the art supply thrift store, and she could help me carry things into the woods. She would be willing to hike up to Mt. Pisgah or Skinner Butte with backpacks of art supplies.
I smiled cheerfully, not deterred. “Okay. I’ll take what I can get.”
“Honey, do you know where my lamp has migrated today?” Khaba gave me a pointed look.
His leopard-print shirt was unbuttoned low enough to reveal bronze washboard abs covered in glitter—sans a lamp tattoo. Sure, the tattoo could be on his back, but from that sparkle of mischief in his eyes, I suspected otherwise.
“Oh,” I said.
“No offense, but you aren’t my type. Ask me again next weekend, and we’ll see where the lamp has shifted.”
I had always taken it for granted Khaba could control his lamp. An entire week was far from ideal when planning this week’s lessons.
I went to Vega in her classroom to see if she would use her fancy Celestor spell to transport me. I knew she would ask for a price—probably my firstborn child—but I had to try.
She smoothed her long lacquered nails over her perfect midnight hair, eyeing me with disdain. “No,” she simply said. “I’m not interested in wasting my time or magic on the most insignificant class at this school.”
“Art is not insignificant,” I said. “The students need it to enhance their creativity and problem-solving skills and provide a well-needed stress outlet.”
A malicious smile curled to her lips. “You know who has an excellent traveling spell? Pro Ro. I hear he uses a magic carpet. Maybe you should ask him.”
I sighed in exasperation. I was certain she suggested Pro Ro because she knew he hated me. “He isn’t going to take me. He hasn’t forgiven me.”
She stood up from her desk, towering over me. “That’s because you haven’t apologized appropriately. Do you know what always makes me feel better after I’ve been wronged?”
“Killing someone?”
“Besides that?” She chuckled. “Groveling. Have you tried getting on your hands and knees and begging him?”
I knew Pro Ro was a slim-to-nothing chance, but I took Vega’s suggestion to heart and practiced my groveling skills. It took me all afternoon to gather up my courage to face him again. I went to the observatory, where he sat at his desk. I couldn’t help noting that his turban was purple like it had been when I’d dreamed my mother’s face had been underneath.
Not that I believed the dream anymore, but I took the color to be a bad omen.
I dropped to my knees beside his desk. “Pro Ro, I’m so sorry about before. I just wanted to—”
“Stop,” he said. “Do you even know my real name?”
Oh shoot. I hadn’t prepared for a quiz. He was the one who told everyone to call him Pro Ro because his last name was hard to remember.
I swallowed. “Darshan.” That was his first name.
He crossed his arms. “My surname name? Or do you have so little respect for me that you can’t even trouble yourself with learning my family name?”
“Rohin . . . Rohinamen.” I glanced at the chalkboard to see if his name was written anywhere. It wasn’t. Nor was it anywhere on his immaculately tidy desk or on the student papers stacked in the basket.
“Goodbye,” he said.
I went to his mailbox in the administration wing. His teacher box said: Rohiniraman. I wrote it out, practiced saying it and spelling it, but I knew it was too late. I’d missed my opportunity.
There was only one person left to ask. I trudged downstairs to the dungeon. The arctic chill of the subterranean depths washed over me as I descended. Water dripped somewhere in the distance. I passed through Thatch’s classroom and down a short hallway that led to a moldy museum of torture equipment, probably from the detentions of students past.
Thatch’s bird shifted in her case when she saw me. The closet behind Thatch’s desk was open. It was a walk-in closet filled with vials and boxes. For once he was without his tweed jacket. He wore a dusty apron over his white shirt and a vest. His sleeves were rolled up, and he crouched to pull out nearly empty bottles from the back of a shelf.
I cleared my throat. “Hi.”
“Whatever you want to complain about, now isn’t a good time,” he said coolly. “I am preparing for tomorrow’s classes.”
“Sure thing.” Oscar the Grouch is in the house, I thought.
Vega had suggested groveling. It hadn’t worked on Pro Ro; perhaps it would work on Thatch.
I cleared my throat. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. I’m sorry if I made you . . . uncomfortable.”
He scooted bottles forward on the lowest shelf, not looking at me. “It was specimen collecting. I’ve gotten used to putting myself in awkward positions gathering ingredients before.”
Ugh. He was probably being dense on purpose. “I mean . . . my affinity. . . . Did I. . . ?” It was so hard to get it out. “I wanted to apologize for kissing you last night.”
He pushed away from the closet and stood, his face turning red. “Kiss me? What are you talking about?”
His words couldn’t have stung more than if they’d slapped across my face. The denial was worse than just admitting he was angry.
Why did I always have to open my big mouth and ruin everything? I’d probably just made everything worse.
Thatch had said he would only take me to the store if I wasn’t “too annoying.” It wouldn’t have surprised me if he used me kissing him as an excuse to get out of taking me. Of course if he did, that would involve him talking about his feelings or admitting he had kissed me, neither of which I suspected he was capable of doing from the way he cast a disdainful glare in my direction before returning to his inventory.
He continued pulling empty bottles out of the back of the shelf. “What day and time am I taking you to this store?”
Joy filled my heart. I was going to the art supply store? He wasn’t going to push me off on someone else?
“Really? I earned getting to go to the art supply store?” I wanted to jump up and down.
“No,” Thatch said in his typical crabby way. “But I decided I’ll take time out of my busy schedule to escort you anyway. It’s in the school’s best interest if our students have one subject they enjoy, lest the stress from Vega Bloodmire’s classes causes them to murder each other.” His eyes twinkled with mirth.
I couldn’t tell if he truly meant those words or that was his idea of a joke.
Tuesday after school, Thatch used his transportation spell to bring me to MECCA. The flavor of his Count Chocula spell differed from Vega’s. Hers was bitter and tasted of starlight, suffocating me with its intensity, while h
is sucked my breath away. He lassoed shadows around us, and we twisted into a whirlwind that left me dizzy. As we came out of the spell, I grabbed his arm to keep from falling over. I gasped for breath, the air tasting dark and forbidden.
We had arrived behind a dumpster in an alley between two buildings. Rain sprinkled down on us, Oregon greeting us with the familiar climate of rain I’d known my entire life. Thatch strode away from me, and I was forced to jog to keep up. It was only a two-block walk to my favorite store in the entire world. Nowhere else in all the land had I ever discovered a second-hand art supply store that gave teachers supplies for free.
Ravens watched us from a perch on top of a brick building. I didn’t know if they were normal ravens or emissaries of the Raven Court. I was on guard.
At MECCA, I foraged though the free room for magazines, calendars with pretty pictures, tubs of crayons, color pencils, graphite pencils, and chalk. In the discount room, I found other supplies I needed. I stacked up inexpensive drawing pads, glue, used watercolors, faded construction paper, ink, and tubes of acrylic paint into my basket. All things considered, the supplies in the discount room were still more affordable than buying them new, and I only spent sixty-four dollars of my own money.
Thatch perused the shelves of the discount room of the store for himself. He filled his arms with notebooks of blue-lined paper, a couple of sets of markers, and a coffee can of half-used paint tubes and slid them into my boxes of free items. The woman at the counter watched him do so, not objecting to him pilfering ten dollars of supplies, either because she thought he was cute or because he’d bewitched her.
“So . . . what school do you teach at?” the young woman behind the register asked, smiling at him.
“I’m certain it isn’t one you would have heard of,” he said.
He was handsome and his British accent sexy, so I could see why she was batting her eyelashes at him, trying to make small talk.
Thatch placed another set of acrylics in my box.
“Thanks,” I said. “Those are good finds for my students—”
“These items aren’t for you. They’re for me.”
I eyed his acrylics and Copic markers. “I thought you were an oil-paint kind of guy.”
And pen and ink. He ignored the comment. He tucked away several old paperbacks in my cart as well, copies of Anne of Green Gables, A Little Princess, and The Secret Garden.
I’d loved all those books growing up. I must have studied them a beat too long because he cleared his throat. “Those are for Miss Periwinkle, not myself.” He strolled away from the counter and down an aisle of paper and slightly used sketchpads.
I trailed after him. “Right. Still trying to woo the librarian? The special paste didn’t work?”
“I’m not trying to woo anyone.” He lifted his long, straight nose into the air. “It just happens I’m privy to the knowledge that the library’s copies of these books were set on fire last year by a particular student whom we both have in our classes.”
Ah, Hailey Achilles, a pyromaniac’s best friend.
“Miss Periwinkle would benefit from new copies. If it happens this persuades her to consider mentoring Maddy Jennings, I shall be quite pleased with the matter.”
“I’m mentoring Maddy,” I said indignantly. I liked mentoring her. Helping Maddy have a nurturing adult in her life was one of the few things I felt like I had done right.
The young woman at the counter craned her neck to spy on us where we perused school supplies in the small shop.
Thatch lowered his voice. “You aren’t a siren. Maddy needs to learn about her affinity so she can gain control.” The haughty expression on his face shifted to concern. “I’m losing favor with the other teachers as a result of all the glamour spells I’m asking them to do to conceal Maddy’s true nature.”
Losing favor? Thatch said it like he’d once been on the other teachers’ good sides—which I highly doubted.
“It would be good for Maddy to connect with an adult she has something in common with. And I have no doubt it would be good for Miss Periwinkle as well. If only I could convince her to entertain the notion of it.” He stared off into the distance, the gray storm clouds of his eyes hinting at sorrow. Maybe he felt bad for Miss Periwinkle.
The painting he’d made in Miss Periwinkle’s younger likeness hadn’t persuaded her to help out with Maddy. Probably Gertrude Periwinkle didn’t like being reminded she once had been a beautiful siren robbed of both her youth and allure by my biological mother.
The girl at the counter waved at us. “Hey, are you after more art supplies? I have some canvases in the back that haven’t been priced yet.” She locked her eyes on Thatch, ignoring me.
He offered her a brief smile and a curt bow. “Thank you.”
Her smile widened, and she blushed as she scooted by him and snuck off to the back.
Aside from a few expected grumbles here and there, Thatch behaved for the next half hour. After we left the store and walked to a deserted place along the railroad tracks where he transported us back to school, he even helped me carry the bags and boxes of supplies to my classroom and into the stairwell containing my closet.
Thatch touched his wand to the lightbulb swinging from the closet ceiling. That would be a handy spell to learn considering the school had no electricity. A breath of wind groaned against the walls and whistled through the stairwell, sounding like a ghost. With that wind came an arctic chill. I shivered even with a coat on. Thatch didn’t seem to notice.
I set down a box on a shelf and hugged my arms around myself. “Did you feel that? I’m pretty sure my closet is haunted.”
He strode up the stairs, easily taking them two at a time. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s your subconscious mind playing tricks on you. Learn to control your fears, and casting spells will become easier. Miss Bloodmire tells me you haven’t even mastered the simplest of wards. Miss Kimura tells me you’re still on remedial charms.”
I followed him up to the top for another box. I was determined not to allow him to darken my mood. “Grandmother Bluehorse said my herbal skills are coming along well.”
“How nice for you.” He lifted a tub of magazines. “In that case, you can spend less time studying herbs and more time studying defensive magic.”
He would say that. He probably didn’t even realize herbs weren’t something I spent a lot of time studying. I already knew plants from my fairy godmother.
I fumbled with a stack of canvases. “Thank you for the help today. All these supplies will be great for the students.”
“Uh-huh,” he said in a lackluster monotone. “I’m sure they will.”
After the third trip up the stairs, he declared he was tired and levitated the rest of the boxes into the storage closet.
“I couldn’t have done it without you. This was really great,” I said, feeling like words were inadequate to express my gratitude.
“Stop thanking me. It’s embarrassing and unnecessary. If I were a Fae, I would own your soul by this point.”
“But you aren’t Fae, and neither am I.”
“I’ll let you know when I need your assistance collecting another ingredient for my spell,” Thatch said.
“You mean the spell? The spell to cure Der—”
He shushed me.
“What? Is it a secret?” Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know about Derrick. He hadn’t wanted me to know.
“Indeed, it’s a secret. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m nice.”
“Thank you. I mean—” I stopped myself before he chided me again.
He waved a hand at me indifferently. “You’re excused from lessons with me tomorrow. Do your homework for your other studies instead. I’ve suffered through enough of your presence for the time being.”
What was it about him and kindness? I wanted us to be friends. But no matter how I tried, he couldn’t abide by any kind of closeness, least of all from me.
Maddy accompanied me to Professor Bluehorse’s herbali
sm class outside. My feet crunched on frozen blades of grass as we took a shortcut across the lawn toward the greenhouses behind the school. I tucked my fingers into the pocket of my winter coat.
She shivered in the cold, wearing one of my old coats over the sweater my mom had given her from Christmas. I wished I’d brought my thicker wool coat from home for her to wear. I felt guilty for being in Eugene at a store so near my fairy godmother’s house only days before without visiting Abigail Lawrence. Somehow I doubted Thatch would have agreed to stop in to see my fairy godmother or to get another coat—even if cookies had been involved.
My mere presence made him crabbier than usual. I probably had ruined everything between us when I’d kissed him.
Maddy’s breath trailed after her like a lingering ghost. She smiled at me, a hint of her siren beauty shimmering through the heavy layer of glamour used to dim her allure. “I’m excited about starting healing tinctures today,” she said. Her silvery hair, still wet from her shower that morning, had frozen into clumps that reminded me of dreadlocks.
I was about to ask if she’d done her required reading when I heard someone whisper my name.
“Psst, over here,” someone said. “Clarissa.”
I glanced around. There were a couple of students on the path ahead of us and more behind, but they were far off. A shadowy figure hid among the topiary animals.
I froze. The shape shifted, blacker than the shadows. It had to be a ghost. My ghost.
“What is that?” Maddy asked.
What I didn’t realize was there could be something worse than a ghost that might haunt me.
From in between a laurel bush shaped into a mermaid and one of a pegasus emerged a black unicorn with a glittery mane and tail made of rainbows.
“I need to talk to you,” Bart whispered. “Right now.”
Dread filled me. I could only imagine what he was going to say. The night of the specimen collecting he’d been agreeable, but now I was afraid he would accuse me of using him. I was a unicorn molester. I had tainted his purity.
Maddy’s eyes went wide. “Is that a unicorn? A real unicorn?” Adoration filled her eyes. “Can I pet him?”
