Junior Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  “You’re the one who’s stubborn. I said I was staying.” I took a step forward and crashed into something invisible, almost breaking my nose. “Ow, shit!”

  “I told you. Barrier spell,” Fedorov said with a deep chuckle. “Now, do as I ordered.”

  The bad guys had created a barrier around us, and Fedorov had made a door to push me out. I pounded on the invisible wall that separated us.

  “You can get out, too,” I shouted.

  “No time. Besides, someone had to fight,” he said just as magic began to rain on him, and he weaved defensive spells at the speed of light.

  “No!” I pounded harder, my first slamming uselessly against the barrier.

  “Don’t waste my effort,” Fedorov’s accented voice whispered in my ear as he used one last spell to shoo me off.

  I growled, my fists posed against the magical barricade. On the other side, Fedorov stood, back to me, his hands moving so fast there was no way to tell which spells he was using.

  Don’t waste my effort, his plea echoed in my ear.

  Professor Fedorov needed help, no way I would lose someone else.

  Biting my tongue, I swallowed my impotence and frustration and turned tail, running toward the center of campus at a full pelt.

  As I went, I blasted alarm spells into the air, bent on waking up the dead.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  SPRING SEMESTER

  MID-MARCH

  “Help!” I screamed as I ran through campus, shooting off alarm spells and racing like a maniac.

  Fedorov was in danger. We were all in danger. Grass flew from my feet as I tore through the grounds. Terror blinded me. My heart pounded.

  After a few minutes of running blindly, I realized I was heading in the wrong direction. It was late, ten PM at least. Or so it seemed. I didn’t really know how long we’d been trapped in that dreamscape and my brain was still addled.

  The campus was quiet. Everyone was either in the dorms or in staff housing. Back the way I’d come. What was I doing listening to Fedorov? I needed to go back and fight. Plus, I’d already blasted enough alarm spells to wake up the entirety of the Atlanta metro area.

  I whirled around and tore in the opposite direction.

  Two girls and a boy, who had emerged from the library, stared at me as I sprinted past.

  “Get help. Professor Fedorov’s in trouble!”

  They didn’t move and I didn’t have time to convince them. Even as I ran, magical explosions rumbled through the night in the direction of staff housing and Nyquist’s cottage.

  Fedorov.

  Damn it, why had he kicked me out? I could have helped him. As it was, his stupid confidence was going to get him killed!

  I tore back to the spot where I knew staff housing to be, but as I searched around I realized that, once again, I couldn’t find it, let alone enter the restricted area.

  “Shit!” I kicked at a shrub, panicked and furious.

  “Ow,” a small voice said.

  Glancing down, I found two pairs of eyes staring at me from a hole in the grass. Two gnomes appeared to be burrowing up out of the ground. Their little bodies popped out, dirt spraying across the well-tended grass. As they shook themselves, others appeared. Soon, three dozen dirty, naked gnomes stood in a clump, staring into the empty lawn that I knew to be staff housing.

  “What’s going on?” It was Gramop, staring at me with a frown. He seemed to turn up everywhere. Maybe he was their leader.

  I blinked away my confusion. “There’s a big fight going on. Fedorov’s in trouble. Can you get in?”

  “Charlie, right?” he asked.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Gnomes were weird, but whatever. They exchanged glances. Soon, they were shuffling around, locking arms and forming a circle. Their little bodies rotated around as they sang a wordless tune.

  The ground rumbled and the invisible barrier began to fall.

  First, there was an open field. Then, slowly, buildings could be seen behind it as if the field were a reflection in a window that gazed upon staff housing. That too disappeared until everything was revealed in clear and terrible glory.

  A giant battle was raging.

  Flames and sparks lit up the night as a dozen warlocks attempted to shoot spells at Professor Fedorov. However, he was moving so fast nothing could touch him. His body sped around, tossing spells like bombs, before darting away like a man-sized hummingbird.

  The cottage was on fire and parts of it had been blown apart or were riddled with shrapnel. The rest of staff housing, several brick apartments behind it, remained intact.

  The good news was that all the staff that had once been inside their apartments were now standing outside. The bad news was they were all wearing pajamas and doing absolutely nothing!

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. A few were casting spells on the other invisible barrier around the cottage, attempting to penetrate it. Professor Middleton was one such witch, panic on her face as she watched Fedorov dart back and forth while she pushed magic up the barrier, her spells having little to no effect.

  Why didn’t the other staff do anything? It was maddening to see them watching, murmuring to each other while hitching their robes and baggy sweatshirts around their bodies. Then I remembered that I had no idea which side these people were on. They were no more help to me than those three students staring at me outside of the library.

  But the gnomes had helped me.

  I turned to them. “Can you get that barrier down, too?” I pointed at the invisible wall separating us from Fedorov and the fight.

  Gramop glanced at me and it. Then the gnomes locked arms again and began their spell.

  “I take back anything bad I’ve ever said about you guys,” I murmured. Then I prayed Fedorov would continue to elude the barrage of spells for just a little bit longer.

  Now that I had a second to look, I saw a few faces in the attackers that I recognized. There was Truman Knightley looking very much like his idiot son. And there were a few other regents who I’d seen at my award ceremony. It appeared Nyquist’s cronies had all come to his aid and didn’t care who saw them.

  And Nyquist? He hung back, watching it all with satisfaction on his wrinkled, ugly face. Just seeing him made my skin crawl. Did his cronies know about the twenty bodies we’d stumbled upon in his nightmarescape? I bet they did.

  Awful.

  “Hurry,” I said to the gnomes who were circling around and around, singing their song but not seeming to get through. The barrier must’ve been a doozy.

  Just then, there was a terrible explosion. My eyes snapped up in time to see Professor Fedorov blown off his feet. He crashed into the invisible barrier, slid down it, then lay still, smoke rising off his chest.

  “No!”

  I ran forward, but a cloaked figure zoomed past me, bumping me out of the way. As I staggered and regained my feet, I stared at the person literally flying toward the barrier where Fedorov lay.

  Irmagard’s gray hair streamed down her cloak and she thrust both arms forward and blasted the hell out of the barrier wall.

  The dome popped, sending air and heat rushing out. The ground rumbled and a few staff lost their footing. I staggered a bit before I could stand again. Ahead of me, Irmagard stood protectively in front of Fedorov’s body, her cloak blocking him from view as she cast spell after spell at the attacking warlocks.

  Man! She looked kickass. I never knew she could fight like this. She was always the voice of reason, the one who poured the tea, but now she was shooting spells that knocked men down and rumbled the ground at their feet like it was their own personal earthquake. Wherever she’d been, it’d been good for her. She was taking on a small army by herself, hair flying, eyes shining.

  She wouldn’t battle those bastards alone.

  Sprinting forward, I charged my cuffs, dodged a sizzling blue spell and blasted all the energy I could muster at the regents. Two fell back in a cry of pain. But there were still more of them.

 
Irmagard threw a spell before casting her wild glance my way. She narrowed her eyes, looking confused, then her face crinkled warmly before being forced to duck as a wave of heat rolled over our heads.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I shouted over the rumble of another spell. “Is Fedorov okay?”

  Irmagard nodded. “I’ve cast a healing spell on him. Can you get him out of here?”

  I glanced forward just in time to see a huge fireball blasting our way. Irmagard threw her hands out and it exploded against an invisible shield in a spray of sparks and heat. The stench of burning hair clogged the air, pretty sure my locks were shorter now.

  Damn. They were not fooling around. I couldn’t take Fedorov away, not when the men seemed to have the upper hand.

  Even worse, more enemy warlocks had appeared in the line of regents. I recognized Professor Hitchcock-Watson, one of our groundskeepers, and a few other staff I’d seen but didn’t know. They were turning on us.

  But at the same time, a few people lined up behind Irmagard and me. Professor Middleton was casting protective spells on the group while Nurse Taishi ran over and began tending to the prone Fedorov. A few other teachers joined us, throwing spells that filled the air with a rainbow of deadly colors.

  It was like being inside of a fireworks show. Like, literally inside where all the rockets detonated and rained fiery sparks on me. Spells whizzed past my head and exploded into the ground. Trees were on fire. Smoke clogged the air, making it hard to breathe or see. Shouts and screams rent the air, adding to the confusion and panic.

  To make matters worse, students had gathered behind us, watching and putting themselves in harm’s way. Idiots! I hoped Disha and Bridget had the sense to stay away.

  Next to me, someone cried out, spilling onto the ground. Professor Middleton crumpled into a heap clutching her head. Others groaned, folding over, also holding their skulls. What in the hell was happening?

  A cloaked figure strode out from the sea of grim faces across the lawn from us. He stood in swirling green light, arms extended, bald head shining. I’d never seen him before but knew immediately he was powerful. Magic radiated off him like nuclear energy. He was a mentalist, that was clear. That’s why so many were falling prey to his brain manipulations.

  Then it hit me. The pain, the throbbing, pounding pain. It was like the world’s worst migraine cranked up to a thousand. Before I knew it, I was on the ground, holding my head, crying. My brain was exploding. I held my head and prayed for it to stop.

  A blur of movement drew my tear-filled eyes to a figure darting across the field. At first, I thought it was Fedorov, up and running with his hummingbird speed, but then the dark shape skidded to a stop next to the glowing mentalist.

  Rowan.

  Clad in black leather, he seemed to be experiencing none of the mental pain the rest of us were feeling. Vampire brains must not fall prey to that spell. The mentalist hadn’t seen this coming and was totally unprepared when Rowan smashed into him and took him down.

  The pain dissipated. I stood, head still ringing, but no longer feeling like my brains would puddle out of my nostrils.

  Rowan was here. He’d saved us. Irmagard stood, and began casting once more, as did the rest of the staff. Now, I could see Bonnie among them, still prim and proper in her knee-length dress and styled hair. New was the rage that contorted her features as she blasted an icy wind at the regents and other staff.

  Joining those icy winds, Tempest swirled past enveloped by a twisting tornado and took out at least a half a dozen men, sending their bodies sailing into the trees where they crashed with the sound of breaking branches and cracking bones.

  I even saw a werewolf dart past. It reminded me of Bridget’s brother. Could it be Bobby? Had everyone been alerted? How?!

  Christ, it was a friggin’ family reunion, one I needed to stop merely observing, especially since Nyquist seemed ready to join the fight.

  The old man was striding forward, wind billowing around him. Like the mentalist, a light emanated from him, but his was a blood-red color. Spells hurled his way, one after the other, as if everyone knew he was the one to beat, but each sizzled and died around him, expiring like flies against a bug zapper. This was not the same man who had run from Tempest at Dean McIntosh’s memorial. This was the real Nyquist.

  He strode to the center of the lawn, untouched, then spread his arms, baring his chest as if he were about to shoot a laser out of it like Iron Man. Instead, things began swirling inward, spells, energy, even light seemed to whirl toward his heart as if it were one giant black hole.

  I tried to lift my arms to throw a spell, but they moved at a sloth’s pace. I’d been slowed down.

  Nyquist was doing something to us and I had a feeling the Loopers were involved.

  Everything came to a crawl. Spells that were hurling his way traveled at nearly imperceptible speed. Flames that were raging in the trees quieted. Everything quieted. All that could be heard was the swirling tornado of energy around Nyquist as he walked toward us.

  He stalked up to a teacher, Professor Hernandez was her name, and put his hand on her chest. Her eyes slowly widened, and her body began to fall, dropping down at a snail’s pace. When she finally hit the ground, her body sizzled like overdone bacon and there was no getting up.

  He moved on to the next person.

  He was murdering them. I had to do something. Yet, I could barely move a millimeter at a time. I wanted to growl, scream, but even my cries came out like a movie soundtrack at quarter speed.

  Nyquist’s wrinkled hand touched another teacher. Down he went.

  Our side was starting to turn toward him, but we’d never be able to do anything in time. Even trying to cast a spell took far too long. We’d all be defeated in mere seconds.

  I stared in disbelief at all my sluggish comrades. It could not go down this way. It just couldn’t.

  Suddenly, the sky ripped open with a thunderous crack. Dozens of beings surged through the rip in the stars, flying in on what appeared to be winged horses made of sticks and leaves. What the hell? What were they? Were they friend or foe?

  I peered from the corner of my eye, taking forever to merely squint to see them better. The horse-like creatures flew smoothly and landed next to us, unaffected by the time-slowing spell. Their riders dismounted, bare-chested figures with long hair and ferocious features. Tattoos crept up their muscular arms, wide bands weaved of leather circled their wrists, elegant weapons glinted in their hands.

  Nyquist peered up, stopping momentarily. The main rider pointed a sword in his direction and spoke with a voice like an earthquake.

  “You’ve enslaved our children,” a towering male with a blue mane bellowed. “We’ve come to reclaim them.”

  The fae had arrived.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  SPRING SEMESTER

  MID-MARCH

  Shaking his blue mane, the lead fae male stalked toward Nyquist.

  The fearsome warrior was about six and a half feet tall, his pale skin covered in tattoos. He held a long, curved sword in front of him as if it were a talisman. Glyphs shone on the weapon as he advanced.

  For a few beats, Nyquist and his cronies were paralyzed with shock. Fae warriors were here, about a dozen of them. Who had called them? Had they come from their realm? Or were they the other fae Anama mentioned?

  “Give me back my daughter and son,” the fae boomed in a deep voice.

  Daughter and son? Was he Sinasre and Anama’s father? He had to be, and maybe this was the reason he hadn’t been at his son’s side all this time. He’d been preparing for war.

  “Release them now!” his voice rumbled like a volcano about to erupt.

  I shuddered where I stood. His anger felt like a living thing, a force to be reckoned with.

  Nyquist felt it, too. The fear that flashed across his expression made it abundantly clear. Still, the old man stood his ground and composed his features. The time-slowing spell continued to pour from him, paralyzing everyone e
xcept the fae. Were they immune?

  “Rid them of their weapons!” Nyquist ordered his cronies.

  Snapping out of their shock, the regents and their supporters lifted their hands and began casting. Spells flew toward the fae warriors.

  Trapped in time as I was, the magical attacks seemed to streak through the air at the speed of meteors bent on destruction.

  Impossibly, the fae were faster than the spells. They moved with grace, their bodies shifting position as if they were made of wind and water. Their glowing weapons—swords, spears, daggers, scimitars—blocked spells, absorbing them, neutralizing them.

  Rogue spells darted all around. One flew in front of my face and crashed into Irmagard just as she started getting free of the time spell. She sailed backward, hands on her stomach.

  No! God, let her be okay. I couldn’t lose her, too. Yet, I couldn’t move to help or cry out. She lay on the ground, immobile.

  The fae advanced.

  The two dozen enemy warlocks who were still standing stepped back, fearful. Maybe there was hope.

  Itching to join the fae warriors, I fought against the sluggishness that kept me trapped. There had to be an incantation that could free me. I rifled through all the spells I could think of, but nothing useful occurred to me.

  C’mon! I urged my cuffs to do something, but they seemed as stumped as I was.

  “Stop them!” Nyquist shouted, panic etching in his voice.

  Sinasre’s father kept walking toward Nyquist, his fae-crafted sword slicing through the air as he blocked spells. I’d read that a skilled fae warrior—a rare breed—was practically impervious to magic when they wielded one of their ancient weapons. I never thought I would get the chance to see them in battle, though. It was a sight to behold.

  Nyquist stood his ground, but it was obvious by his freaked-out expression that he wanted to turn tail and run. He was a coward at heart. That was clear to me now, though he seemed to be acting tough to keep the loyalty of his followers. They wouldn’t obey a coward.