Junior Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  “She’s fine, just tired,” Bridget said, dimming her magic but not exactly extinguishing it. I turned mine off just as someone else stepped out of the shadows.

  Prim blonde bob and an A-line dress let me know exactly who it was. She’d worn flats instead of heels, but it was clear she wasn’t used to subversive attire yet.

  “Hello, Bonnie,” I said. “The family is back together, then, I take it.”

  Bonnie gave me a sly smile. “Hello, Charlie. While my family will never be whole again, it is nice to spend time with my son even if it is under these circumstances.” She put a protective hand on his leather-jacket-clad back.

  I didn’t miss her subtle reminder that I had played a part in her husband’s death. I also didn’t miss her mistrusting stare or her white canines as they flashed in a dangerous smile.

  And there was Rowan, only yards away, so close, yet I could barely look at him. I wanted my face to betray no emotion despite the swirl of about twenty different ones and equally toxic feelings currently warring in my chest.

  “Rowan insisted that we come,” Bonnie continued, darting her eyes his way. “He told me that it wouldn’t be a trap, that we could trust you, but I came along just in case.” Her eyes darted around as if to confirm we didn’t have some sort of elaborate ruse.

  “No trap,” I said. “What we need is information.”

  Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but his mother stepped in before he could. “What you need, Charlie,” she said, straightening up to her full height of five-foot-four, “is to leave my son alone. He’s got enough to worry about without the likes of you. It seems you’ve managed to find away around my memory wiping spell. Most likely your obsession with him that allowed you to do so. Don’t you think forgetting was for your own good? How many times are you willing to mangle yourself just to get his attention?”

  Rowan cleared his throat but didn’t counter her. Bonnie’s stare was very cold. It was clear Mommie Dearest was in charge here.

  Well, two could play at that game.

  “What you need, Bonnie, is the information I have. I think it might be very interesting to you. So, we swap. Then we go our separate ways. No need for further contact after that.”

  Rowan shifted, but I kept my gaze locked on Bonnie as hers was on me.

  “Fine,” she said, blue eyes narrowing. “You first. Tell me what you know.”

  It was my turn to narrow my eyes. Would she take my secret and run without giving me hers? It was a chance I would have to take since I was out of bargaining chips.

  “We found a body in the woods. We believe he was a Looper.”

  At this, her eyebrows shot into her bangs. “Where?”

  “In the trees behind the Humanities Building, but I wouldn’t go there. It’s swarming with staff.”

  She nodded carefully. “What else?”

  I paused before giving her the final bit of information. “We have reason to believe that Regent Nyquist was the one who killed him.”

  At this, her face didn’t even twitch.

  “You knew,” I said. “You knew he was bad. How long have you known?”

  Bonnie gave me an emotionless shrug. “Is that your question?”

  “I want to know what the regent is up to.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because I plan to stop him.”

  “Ha. A whole group of warlocks and witches much more powerful than you is attempting to do that and you think one junior student can do better.”

  “You all are against Regent Nyquist. You have been all along. Why?”

  “The Looper,” Rowan said.

  “What?” I asked.

  Bonnie gave him a dirty look, but Rowan continued. “Nyquist kidnapped that student and caused his death, and he’s doing it again. He’s got another. He’s going to use her and then she’ll be dead just like your body in the woods.”

  Everything crystallized into one clear picture. I put my hand to my mouth as I realized exactly what was at stake.

  Rowan nodded.

  Bridget gripped my arm. “What?”

  I turned to her as the terror solidified like ice in my veins. “If we don’t stop Nyquist, he’ll kill her. He’ll kill Anama.”

  Wheels seemed to turn behind Bridget’s eyes, and I saw the moment it clicked for her.

  “Oh, shit,” she said.

  I glanced back at Rowan. His eyes seemed to say, I tried to tell you, but he didn’t say the words, for which I was grateful.

  God, I am on the wrong side.

  I’d saved Nyquist from Tempest while he was killing students! But why was he doing that? I opened my mouth to ask when Rowan’s expression changed, his head cocking sideways as if he heard something.

  He signaled his mother, then said, “I’m really sorry about this, Charlie,” just as he threw a right hook and clocked me across the jaw.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  SPRING SEMESTER

  MID-MARCH

  I dropped to the ground like a rock and was followed by Bridget, who was hit by a spell from Bonnie.

  Rowan and his mother were attacking us. What the hell?

  Tasting blood in my mouth, I turned my aching head at the undeniable popping sound of dematerialization magic. Rowan and his mother disappeared just as there were three more pops sounded. Three Magical Law Enforcement officers appeared next to me in a crouch, their glowing hands extended in my direction.

  “Stand down, intruders,” one of the uniformed officers said.

  Stand down?! Really?! I was laid out on the ground, my jaw throbbing and my head aching.

  The officer yelling at me had a square head made worse by a crew cut. He towered over us like a giant. Sure, I was looking up from the ground, but he had to be well over six and a half feet tall.

  Fearing he might be “trigger” happy, I put my hands flat on the ground, ordering my cuffs to cool it.

  “We’re students,” I mumbled through the pain in my jaw. “We were attacked.”

  Still holding his hands in a combat-ready position, the giant officer stayed with us while the other two searched the surrounding area.

  “It’s clear,” one of them called after a few minutes of revealing spells and decloaking incantations.

  The giant huffed, disappointed. “We’ll take these three to Nyquist,” he said. “They need to be questioned immediately.”

  He put a hand on me while his colleagues did the same to Bridget and Disha. I started to protest but was then magicked away much like Disha had done at the winter solstice party. Luckily the landing was better and we reappeared in front of the Administration Building, the girls and I still on the ground while the officers towered over us.

  “No, no, no. What are you doing?” Regent Nyquist hurried down the building’s steps as fast as his ancient body would allow. He was dressed in a brown tweed suit with the phoenix pin stuck to his lapel, his bald head shining as if he’d buffed it. He had a concerned expression on his wrinkled face that couldn’t fool me anymore. “What have you done to these girls?”

  Mr. Squarehead faced Nyquist, no apology in his body language. “The protection ward took us to these three, Dean Nyquist,” the giant officer had said as he delivered us.

  The word hit me like a hammer. Dean. Nyquist was the Academy’s dean! How? When? No one had told me.

  His annoyed expression told me the officer had messed up. He wasn’t supposed to use the title. Not yet, at least. “These girls? They saved my life, you idiot. These girls aren’t the ones responsible.” Nyquist flashed the guards a nasty look before lending me a hand up. “My dear, are you alright?”

  Reluctantly, I took his wrinkled hand and stood. “I… I’m fine.” My jaw ached and my head felt like a whole marching band drumline toured inside of it, but I was more worried about Nyquist sensing what we were up to. “We were attacked,” I repeated.

  “I see that,” he peered at my red jaw. “Take them to the Infirmary.”

  “But, they should be questioned,” Mr. Squ
arehead protested.

  “I’ll tell you who needs to be questioned, Sergeant Fetzner.” Nyquist’s tone and posture had turned aggressive, even nasty. Much different from the smiles and finger guns he normally displayed around campus.

  Sergeant Fetzner backed away, his head bowed. I watched him leave with my mouth hanging open, confused by his subservient behavior.

  What the hell is going on here?

  I exchanged a glance with Bridget who had also picked up on the weirdness of the situation. Her expression told me she was finally seeing his true colors. The question was, would it be too late?

  Time was ticking like a bomb about to explode.

  Or maybe it had exploded already, and I didn’t even know it.

  Five weeks had passed since Micah Adelson’s body—the shriveled corpse the girls had stumbled onto in the woods—had been found. In that time I’d spent every free moment, learning all I could about him.

  He had been twenty years old when he went “missing” last year. His parents, a wealthy couple with investments in Las Vegas casinos, had been told that he’d dropped out of the Academy shortly after starting his sophomore year. Apparently, there had been an investigation into his disappearance, which had been kept very hush-hush, both for the benefit of his wealthy family and the Academy.

  From the rumors circulating and old Academy news articles, I’d gathered that Micah had always been a problematic kid. He was the second of three and had been born a Looper to a family of Regulars.

  He had fractured at the age of seven with no idea of how to control his skills, which he kept hidden from everyone for almost a year. He’d been scared to death when he first stopped time—not to mention when he first transported himself to a different location.

  But when his shock wore off, he started using his powers to misbehave, slowing down time during playtime and speeding it up during lessons.

  Then one day while visiting the white tigers at the Mirage casino, he accidentally transported himself into their habitat and was lucky to be spotted by an onlooker and rescued just in time by the felines’ caretakers.

  That was when his parents learned what he was: a Lesser. After that, his parents tried to “cure” him. They didn’t want a freak in their family. Once they accepted their son couldn’t be cured, they tried to find help in the Supernatural community. But Loopers were rare and most were unwilling to teach a wayward rich boy.

  As Micah grew older, he couldn’t be contained. He disappeared from classrooms, doctors’ offices, correctional institutions, anywhere they tried to put him. So, when he disappeared from the Academy, it had been no surprise. Especially when his credit card regularly reported usage in Atlanta after he supposedly dropped out.

  With someone like that, Nyquist had it easy. Faking the credit card usage must’ve been a child’s game. Micah had been the perfect target, the kid no one would miss if he disappeared. Much like Trey and I had been.

  But even after learning all these things about Micah, the same question lingered in my mind… why had Nyquist killed him? The only idea that had occurred to me was garbage and my hopes that Rowan or Bonnie would send me a note to clear things up wasn’t much better.

  “Hey! Only three drops!” Bridget exclaimed, stopping my hand.

  We were in Potions 351, and I’d just added an extra drop of mole’s spit to our Neverblind potion, a concoction that supposedly allowed someone to see through concealment spells for up to a week.

  “It’s ruined,” Bridget complained. “We have to start all over again.”

  “No way!” Disha exclaimed, waving her hands over the small cauldron on the tabletop burner. “I’ll fix it. We have no time to start over.”

  There were only ten minutes before the end of class, and we’d been working on the potion for the last twenty-five.

  As Disha lifted her hands toward the ceiling, a drop of potion floated out of the cauldron. She let it fall into an empty beaker and said, “There, it’s fixed.”

  Bridget shook her head, her shoulders drooping. Potions were finicky. If the smallest little thing was off, the potion would be unstable. What were the chances that Disha’s spell had captured the right amount of mole’s spit?

  Shit! I’d screwed up again. I was just so distracted lately. Why couldn’t I focus?

  Maybe the fact that I’d saved the man who was probably responsible for Dean McIntosh’s death had done a number on me. I wanted Nyquist to pay with his life, and I couldn’t take the idea out of my mind.

  Taking a deep breath, I attempted to focus on the potion, but it seemed impossible. My mind had no respite while it thought of ulterior motives, Anama’s location, Sinasre’s health, my mixed feelings for Rowan, and, on top of all of that, my grades. Nyquist was constantly in the back of my mind, the nagging intruder that would not leave. I could still picture him questioning us that night after we talked to Rowan and his mother.

  That night, five weeks ago, we’d almost been found out, but it seemed that Rowan’s punch to the jaw did enough to convince Nyquist that we were on his side, or, at least, not in league with the subversives. Suspicion of Micha’s murderer had quickly shifted to Rowan and his mother and no one seemed to question it. At least, not out loud, especially since Nyquist seemed to have Magical Law Enforcement in his pocket.

  Yeah, no wonder I couldn’t keep my mind straight in any of my classes, including potions. I tried to focus on the here and now, staring at the simmering cauldron.

  “A working potion will earn you sixty percent of the grade for today,” Madame Bernard now said, weaving around the lab tables and inspecting everyone’s potions through her protective, plastic glasses.

  She wore a white lab coat that fell all the way down to her ankles, allowing only the tips of her Birkenstock sandals to peek out. Her pink hair was arranged like two donuts on the sides of her head, much like Princess Leia’s. She appeared to be in her early forties, though the colorful hair made her look younger. She could be a lot of fun until she started talking about grades. Sixty percent seemed quite unfair, especially this late in the semester. No one could see straight at this point, much less deliver perfect pinches of owl pellets into their potions.

  “Um.” Disha put a hand up. “How will we know if it works?” She pointed at our steaming caldron.

  “Well, one of you will have to drink it, of course,” she said with a cheery smile.

  What?! I peered into the muddy brown bottom of our potion. It looked disgusting.

  “I nominate Charlie,” Bridget said.

  “Me, too!” Disha added in a hurry.

  “Hey!” I protested.

  “No, no, no,” Madame Bernard said. “We’ll be fair about it. We’ll draw straws.”

  Bridget and Disha deflated. I gave them a mean look. Some friends!

  A few minutes later, when the potions were cooled, measured, and ready inside small glass flasks, Madame Bernard went to each table, holding magical straws for everyone to draw. The losers groaned and made faces. We had put owl vomit in them, for Pete’s sake. There had to be a better way to test them. Though I had the sneaking suspicion the professor was enjoying this too much to give us another option.

  When she stopped by our table, she held three glowing straws in her hand, all perfectly aligned at the top. Bridget drew first and was safe. Disha moved to draw second, but I stopped her.

  “I’ll go next,” I said, pushing her out of the way.

  “Fine. Be my guest.” She rolled her eyes. “Sheesh.”

  I stared at the two remaining straws, trying to decide which one to pick. Right or left? Left or right?

  “Sometime today, Ms. Rivera,” Madame Bernard said.

  I picked left. The stick flared red and then fizzled into nothing in my hand.

  Disha and Bridget laughed and high-fived each other.

  I’d picked wrong.

  As the teacher moved on to the next table, Bridget grabbed the flask and held it in front of me.

  “It’s only fair,” she said. �
�Since you added more mole’s spit than you should have.”

  I took the flask, wrinkling my nose. The other losers had started drinking and were gagging and pinching their noses. The thing smelled hideous, like stagnant water with a good helping of fart.

  “Come on,” Bridget said with a satisfied smile. “Drink it.”

  Determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing me suffer, I held my breath and downed the foul liquid. I kept my face straight even as my gag reflex tried to get started. They watched me expectantly. After my urge to throw up passed, I let out a little burp through a corner of my mouth.

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “No vomit? You’re no fun, Char.”

  When all the losers had drunk their potions, Madame walked to the front of the classroom. “All of those who drank the potions come look into this box, and tell me what you see.”

  We formed a line in front of the professor’s desk and, one at a time, did as she asked. When my turn came, I stuck my head through a black curtain and peered into the box. I saw nothing, except darkness. The ones with successful potions had seen magically-projected images inside the box, which the professor switched for every new student so no one could cheat.

  But our potion had failed. I saw only black.

  I was about to pull my head out when out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a gleaming outline. It was a… what?

  It looked like a… hedgehog!

  Relieved, I pulled my head out and said, “A hedgehog!”

  “Good job, team five,” Madame said. “You get full credit.”

  Disha and Bridget cheered from our table.

  I walked back to gather my books, and we left the classroom, smiling for the first time in weeks. Today’s grade would do a lot for my final Potion’s grade. One less thing to worry about.

  “You owe me lunch,” I told them as we walked toward the cafeteria.

  “I’ll get you whatever you want, Charmander,” Disha said, throwing an arm around my shoulders as we headed to the cafeteria.