Junior Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  The Rowan across from me pulled out a thin, silver letter opener. “It’s a magical item. I’m drawing power from it just like Answorth did.”

  I shook my head. “Not good enough.”

  He gazed up at the half moon for a moment, pondering. “The first time I saw you, you were being controlled by the Shadow Puppet. And even though you didn’t know you had magic, you were still able to free yourself. It was the first time you impressed me, but not the last.”

  I froze as his entrancing words and deep voice loosened my joints. God, I wanted the person in front of me to be Rowan so badly it frightened me. But New Charlie was smart. I didn’t take the bait.

  “Anyone could know that,” I said, swallowing hard. Why did he have to look so sexy in simple jeans and a long-sleeve, white T-shirt?

  He tried again, taking a step closer. “Okay, tough guy,” he said playfully, smiling slightly to reveal white fangs. “How about this? The first time we kissed was in my bedroom. I had waited so long to hold you, Charlie. To feel your skin.” Eyes half-lidding at the memory, he took another step forward until he was close enough for his scent to curl around me. The air between us tingled with tension.

  I bit my lip but didn’t stop the flow of defensive magic from my cuffs. My eyes darted to his face and then away. Was this all a trap?

  “No?” he asked, his tone far too charming.

  Taking another step, he reached out, cupping my injured wrist gently in his hand. “How about this? I felt your pain about an hour and a half ago. Right here. You fell and sprained your wrist. It hurts you even now,” he said, his cool fingers examining it.

  Magic flooded from his fingertips into my hand, snaking around my wrist and healing it in a flash of heat and light.

  I drew it back. “How did you kn…”

  But I didn’t need to finish the sentence. It was our blood pact. Rowan felt my pain just like I could feel his, though... I hadn’t felt his, not since the gnome dagger went in his back. Why? Had he figured out how to do a blocking spell so I couldn’t track his whereabouts?

  And yet… he could still feel my pain. Why would he keep that connection?

  My eyes searched his face for answers and his expression told me all I needed to know.

  He could still feel me loud and clear. He’d never stopped. He didn’t want to.

  “I was close by,” he said, taking my wrist back and tracing a thumb delicately over my healed injury, each stroke sending a thrill up my arm. “I can only really feel you when I’m nearby.”

  The brush of his fingers on my skin felt far too nice. I pulled my hand away again. “So, you keep tabs on me?”

  He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “From time to time.”

  “Well, stop,” I snapped.

  He shrugged. “It’s difficult.” His eyes found the moon. “Who was that fae you were dancing with?”

  “Sinasre? I thought you two met at some party,” I said.

  “I meet a lot of people. I don’t remember him.” I could tell by his expression that he was lying.

  I lifted my chin. “Well, he’s a good friend of mine.”

  “A friend?” he said sharply. “He didn’t look like a friend on the dance floor.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “You have no right to be jealous. You left. You left… me.”

  His dark eyes snapped to my face. “I had to, Charlie. I had no choice. After what I’d done…”

  After Sebastian Mink had killed his father, Rowan had destroyed Bash. Cut him and sliced him until there was barely anything left. The pain of it was still on his face. At least, he felt remorse. But, God, what he’d done...

  I pinched my eyes shut against the image in my head. Suddenly, I wanted to change the subject very badly.

  “Where did you learn that parlor trick?” I said, gesturing to his face.

  “Oh, that? Ana taught me.”

  “Ana, huh?” Now, who’s turn was it to sound jealous?

  He threw my words back at me. “She’s a friend.”

  I glowered at him. “You shouldn’t have come here, Rowan. If they catch you, you know what they’ll do.”

  The softness returned to his features again. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but when I felt you get hurt, I had to make sure you were okay.”

  He stepped toward me, and this time, he drew me into an embrace. His strong arms wound around me, holding me in a way that was at once familiar and so arresting. His shape was broader than Sinasre’s, and though a similar thrill had passed through me when the fae had drawn me close, nothing compared to the feeling I got when I was in Rowan’s arms. My body needed him like it needed air to breathe. It fitted into him like we had been molded together.

  I still loved him.

  My arms circled around his back as if they had a mind of their own. The solidity of his back muscles gave me something to hold onto as I spiraled deeper into my desire.

  Rowan drew me in, dipping his nose into the sensitive skin on my neck, and inhaling deeply.

  His voice was heady and full of emotion when he finally spoke. “I won’t hurt you, Charlie. They sent me after you that night in Canada, but I did it for show. I swear I’d never lay a hand on you. I wish you could understand what we’re trying to do.”

  “Don’t,” I said, digging my nails into his back. “No need for you to try to explain what Ana already has.”

  The night Rowan’s father died, she’d told me what she and her cronies were after. “We simply want what any group of have-nots wants: a piece of the proverbial pie” Those had been her exact words. I remembered them well. I also remembered he’d tried to recruit me because of the power in my cuffs. As if I would ever help a bunch of criminals destroy the Academy.

  Rowan nodded, his lips brushing against my skin, hot like the lick of a candle flame. “I’ll do anything you ask me to right now.”

  I thought about this offer. Could I tell him to leave the subversives and come home? That would mean his death. Could I shout at him, tell him to fling himself off this building for all he’d made me go through? What good would that do? I’d only be torturing myself.

  I stared hard at him, searching myself for what I wanted from Rowan Underwood at that moment.

  “Kiss me,” I said. “And mean it.”

  He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He slipped a cold hand under my jaw while the other held me to him. Rowan ran a thumb along my jawline, his eyes ravenous as they stared down at my mouth. Then his lips were colliding against mine as wild and hungry as they had been the night of our first kiss.

  Just his scent was enough to drive me into mad fits of desire, but then his lips parted and his tongue swept into my mouth, flooding my senses until Rowan blotted out everything else.

  My body reacted, curving up until every inch was pressed against him. Curling my fingers, I held onto him like a lifeline as his urgent lips left my mouth and skimmed down my neck.

  I remembered the night he’d bitten me, the pleasure and pain mingling together until I felt I might spontaneously combust. Would he bite me now?

  Well, let him. I wanted it all, every piece of him. He wasn’t Ana’s. He wasn’t mine, either, but at this moment, I could drive him wild enough to never forget the way our bodies felt when we were together.

  Rowan kissed me again, nearly devouring me. It was as if he’d been storing up kisses all year, building up to this. He growled against my mouth, his breath hot and insistent. I dug my nails into his flesh, relishing the elation flowing through my body like liquid magic in my veins.

  God, how could it be this good when he was oh so bad?

  His fingers tugged at my hair and mine roamed under his shirt, finding his granite-like back muscles. I loved the solidity of him, like he was the rocky foundation I could build a life upon.

  But he wasn’t. There was no building a life with Rowan Underwood.

  And that was not what this kiss was about. It was about taking my power back, about giving to him what he had g
iven me: a wanton need for me.

  I would no longer be under his spell. Let him be under mine.

  I pushed him back, wiping a hand along my swollen lips. “That’s enough.”

  “Not nearly,” he said, breathing heavily and looking wild with desire.

  I held a hand up. “Stand back or I’ll blast you.”

  He cocked his head, surprised and confused. “Charlie…”

  The wind cut across the rooftop and tugged at my hair. Only the sound of leaves skittering along the blacktop punctuated the silence. There were no sounds from the party downstairs because of the dampening spell. It felt as if Rowan and I were the only people in the world.

  It was here I needed to make my stand. That kiss wasn’t because I needed Rowan. Right now, right here, I was done needing him. And I was done trying to protect him. I had spent two years doing that and look where it got me. There were other people who needed my help now.

  “I want you to know I plan on protecting the Academy and the regent no matter what.”

  “Charlie…”

  “No matter what, Rowan. Do you understand?”

  His eyes dipped down forlornly. “I wish you’d just let me explain. There’s so much you don’t understand.”

  “No. That’s done now. And I need to make it clear. You will not entangle me in your deranged schemes anymore. I’ve let you do that for far too long. The next time I see you take action against the people I care about, I won’t hold back. I can’t. Not anymore. And one last thing, don’t ever draw magic from me again.”

  I couldn’t deny I loved him, but I had to let him go.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SPRING SEMESTER

  EARLY JANUARY

  I finished the revealing spell with a frustrated sigh. This was the 113th time I’d performed it, and I was royally and utterly sick of it.

  The glow of my cuffs died to nothing as my magic quieted down and my shoulders slumped forward. Sweat trickled down the side of my face, and I wiped it away with my sleeve. I was tired, to the bone.

  La Sorcière Noire grimoire lay in front of me, opened to pages eight-hundred and three and eight-hundred and four, the former containing a spell on how to make a person come to you and the latter a spell on how to make someone leave you alone. I wanted this damn book to leave me alone.

  After working with the grimoire for a couple of weeks, I’d noticed this juxtaposition of spells was the book’s pattern. One page showed an incantation of how to do something and the next page taught you how to undo it or do the opposite.

  So far, I had gone over two-hundred and twenty-six pages out of the three thousand in the thick tome, and the results had been zilch… a big, fat nada. Not even a little sour-smelling puff of smoke to let me know the revealing spell had failed.

  I’d knelt in front of this stupid grimoire more than a hundred times, uttering the same French words until my mouth ran dry, then making it worse by cursing Rowan and his subversives a hundred times more.

  What did they intend to do to Regent Nyquist? Did they want to kill him? That would be counterproductive and illogical. The man was a non-wizards supporter. And weren’t the subversives trying to help less fortunate Supernaturals? But who knew? Maybe they just wanted to destroy the Academy for all the wrongs of the past, rather than work to fix it and make it better for everyone. Couldn’t they see how many people they would hurt?

  Taking a deep, calming breath, I picked up my pen and notebook and scratched the two pages I’d just examined off my list. Before I began this thankless job, I quickly went through the grimoire and crafted a list of the most likely spells the subversives might want to use against Regent Nyquist. Quite a number of them didn’t apply to people, so I’d excluded them in the interest of time and had skipped around the book, hoping for some luck. Though, at this rate, I would probably have to add them back in.

  Exhaustion hit me like a sledgehammer just at the thought of having to do that.

  I glanced at the clock. It was past dinnertime, and my stomach had just rumbled to remind me. I stood from my kneeling position in front of the grimoire, and I stretched. My back cracked, complaining about the many hours I’d spent in the same position.

  Grabbing a light sweater, I slipped on my shoes and left my room, wondering what might be on the cafeteria menu. It had been all sack lunches during the break, but since the new semester started tomorrow and students had been arriving all day, the cafeteria was back in full force.

  I walked down the hall and toward the common room, feeling glad that both Disha and Bridget would be back tonight. I had missed them and was looking forward to their help with the grimoire. They had both invited me to spend Christmas with them, but someone had to do the dirty work. There were too many spells in the grimoire and we needed to find the one that related to Regent Nyquist before it was too late. No more staff members were going to die on my watch.

  Once I reached the common area, it struck me as odd to see so many students hanging out and chatting excitedly while others came in pulling suitcases behind them and hauling boxes full of new Christmas presents to fill their rooms. I’d been here by myself for too long, it seemed.

  When I caught a glimpse of red hair and pointed ears coming in through the glass door, I surreptitiously took a step back and hid behind a tall planter. Sinasre and his fae friends were back, and I wasn’t prepared to see them again. And by them, I meant him.

  I hadn’t seen him since I’d abandoned him on the dance floor during the winter break party at that warehouse. That last kiss with Rowan had undone me, and I had wanted nothing to do with anyone after that.

  Even Disha and Bridget had gotten on my nerves when we left the party—drunk as they were. Then, the very next day, I’d locked myself in my room and started working on the grimoire like a slave. Whoever had said “work will set you free” was wrong, though. It had just changed one type of subjugation for another.

  Sinasre and his friends passed by just a few feet away from me. I held my breath until they were out of sight, then hurried to the exit. Just as I pulled the door open, a short guy with coke-bottle glasses burst in.

  “Holy shit, everyone,” he yelled, stopping just a few paces past the door. All the students lounging in the common area turned to look at him. “The Enlightenment Fountain is literally weeping tar.”

  “No way!” a tall girl said, springing to her feet, her eyes bugging out.

  “Yes way,” Coke Glasses said, running back outside.

  Everyone exchanged incredulous glances. I blinked.

  Weeping tar? What the hell did that mean?

  As if released from an immobilizing spell, all the juniors rushed out the door at once while I stood there, holding it open like an idiot.

  “What does that mean?” I asked as they passed. Most of them ignored me as they tripped over each other, and the only one who bothered to respond said she didn’t have a clue.

  When everyone was out, I followed after them, hurrying and trying to catch what they were saying.

  “Oh, man, this can’t be good.”

  “I had a feeling something weird was going to happen.”

  “This is awful,” a tall girl said, sniffling.

  That’s when I lost it and used my crumpling spell to transport to the Enlightenment Fountain.

  When I materialized about thirty yards away, I stopped, trying to look over all the students’ heads. From where I stood, I could see the one-armed woman. She was facing me, but her normally white marble face was streaked with viscous black lines that ran down as if she were, indeed, weeping tar.

  My heart pounded against my chest as I weaved between my classmates, pushing some out of the way so I could see better. A couple of them started to protest but held their tongues when they recognized me. Most, however, were too shocked to do anything but stare at the fountain, open-mouthed.

  “What do you think it means?” a girl asked her friend as they clung to each other, looking scared.

  It was the same questio
n booming inside my head and probably everyone else here. No one seemed to know what was happening. But whatever it was, it wasn’t good. I felt it in my bones like something rotten was afoot. Like I might start weeping tar at any moment, too.

  “Excuse me. Please move out of the way,” a voice I recognized was saying as the crowd began to part.

  Irmagard pushed through first, followed by Regent Nyquist and Bonnie Underwood. As soon as they caught their first glimpse of the fountain, they froze, their eyes unblinking, their mouths agape.

  Then Irmagard fell to her knees, hiding her face behind her hands as she began to wail out of control.

  The crowd was struck silent. I wanted to run to Irmagard and do something. I didn’t know what, but I couldn’t stand the sound of her desperate cries.

  What in the world could be so wrong that she would weep like that?

  This woman had welcomed me into her home—an old beet farm in the middle of nowhere, Idaho, but her home. She’d taught me magic, fed me, and more than once had eased my broken heart with her misguided but well-meaning happiness spells. She was one of the closest mother figures I’d had in a long time. She and… and…

  Heart quivering, I pressed a hand to my mouth and glanced back at the one-armed statue covered in what looked like the darkest tears anyone had ever shed.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  I shook my head remembering the way the Spells Cave had looked last year after Mink had murdered Macgregor Underwood. The kelpies had been gone from the pool and the floating lights that always danced by the skylight had been clustered in a clump, their brightness dimmed so low it’d been hard to tell they were there at all.

  “Where are the kelpies?” I had asked Bridget.

  “In mourning,” she had said.

  Tears pooled at the base of my eyes, making the tableau before me waver. Bonnie took a knee next to Irmagard and wrapped an arm around her shoulders while Regent Nyquist rubbed the bald patch above his head, appearing totally lost.