Good Witches Don't Curse (Academy of Shadowed Magic Book 3)

by S. W. Clarke

  “An air enchantment is my guess.”

  “Well done, Cole—you’ve made the connection between fae and air magic.” She brought us to a second large wooden door, pulling the handle. “Don’t talk on the other side.”

  When we passed through, we came into a hallway with alcoves broken off at either side. Here it was dead quiet, the fae huddled behind stacks of books completely still.

  Apparently even fae needed study rooms.

  When we came to the end of that hallway, Liara stopped us at an empty doorway with a gold-leaf engraving curved over the top. It was clearly words in Faerish.

  What lay beyond, I couldn’t tell. Only darkness greeted me.

  She turned to me, lifted the note. “When I set this to the door, you pass through ahead of me. I can’t remove it until we’re both inside.”

  “Liara…”

  Her eyes hardened. “Are you really going to argue with me about whether there’s a door?”

  “Actually, I wasn’t.” I raised a hand, plucked a piece of white fuzz from her black hair. Flicked it away. “I was just going to tell you you had stuff in your hair.”

  Which we both knew wasn’t true; I was going to talk about the door.

  But now I could smirk. “Shall I go through?”

  She rolled her eyes, lifted the note to the doorway. When she set it flat to the empty air, the piece of paper glowed gold. In the same moment, a whoosh of cool air pressed our hair back, and another room came into view.

  The restricted room.

  I passed through the doorway into the room. Here, the air was practically frigid. My arms came together over my chest as I stared down the length of a line of bookcases into darkness.

  The restricted room felt small, enclosed, chilly. The walls here were dark stone, and even the few tables a darker wood than the ones in the main library. The only light came from the stained windows set high up on the walls.

  Liara stepped up to my side, the note still in her hand. “We’re short on time. Follow me.” She struck off, headed three rows down, and disappeared from sight.

  I remained where I was for a second, absorbing. The books in here didn’t float or fly. They didn’t move at all. And the smell—everything had the scent of age.

  “Hey, fire witch,” Liara’s voice called. “Come on.”

  I found her at the end of a row, crouching to inspect a book. “You said you wanted to read a book on hexes, right?” She looked up at me.

  I came to crouch beside her. “They’ve got some?”

  She tapped the spine of a particularly fat tome. “Just one, it seems. Right here.”

  I went to slip it from the bookcase, but it didn’t move. Not an inch.

  “They’re protected by air magic.” She waved a hand, drawing whatever magic surrounded the book away from it. She lifted the book, handed it to me. “A final precaution against fire witches who manage to sneak their way into the restricted room.”

  The thing was heavy; I had to use both hands to hold it. “They don’t like witches here either, huh?”

  She stared at me. “Nobody likes witches anywhere.”

  I took a deep breath, stood up, and brought the book over to a nearby table. “I’m going to need your help finding a particular hex. I can’t read Faerish except the curse words I made Eva teach me.”

  She came beside me, flipped open the book. “Learn the rest of it. It’s maybe the most important language in the magical world.”

  “So I’m gathering.” I paused. “If hexes were a witching art, then why would the fae have a book on them?”

  “Because hexes are a bastardization of fae magic,” she murmured, turning ancient, yellowed pages filled with script. “The Shade learned from the fae, and she warped what was good into something destructive.”

  “The Shade created hexes?”

  Liara sighed. “Are you surprised? She created practically all the evil that now exists in the world.”

  Ora Frostwish had told me Raven Murkwood had created hexes. Now Liara was telling me it was the Shade.

  More and more, I suspected the two were one and the same.

  She kept turning pages, stopping when she reached a certain part of the book. “What hex are you looking for?”

  “One called the likeness deception.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “That’s an advanced hex.”

  “It’s what I need to see.”

  She turned a whole sheaf of pages until she arrived at a section near the back. Her finger flitted across the page until she arrived at one particular section. Then she leaned close. “There’s very little on the likeness deception. Only a few paragraphs.” She lifted her phone from her satchel, took a picture of the section.

  “Send Eva the image,” I said. “I’m guessing you have her number.”

  “Because all fae have one another’s numbers?”

  I knew why Liara was the way she was, but all the same, I was getting bored of her snark. “Because you’re both in Whisper.”

  “Fine.” She thumbed the phone, hit a button and showed it to me. “Sent.”

  I glanced at the book. “Before we go, will you tell me how the hex works?”

  She replaced the phone in her satchel and stared down at the writing for a few seconds, her eyes flicking over the words. “It requires a specific phrase.” Her finger underlined a short passage set off from the rest of the writing. “Mealladh coltas.”

  The moment the words came out of her mouth, a thud sounded somewhere outside the restricted room.

  Liara whirled to me. “As ucht Dé.”

  I didn’t know those words, but I did know the tone in which she’d said them. Whatever that noise was, neither of us would be happy about it.

  Her eyes darted away, to where a second thud had sounded. We rushed down the rows, found the magical doorway now partially blocked.

  A row of books had flown to the bottom of the doorway, pressing themselves flat in a row. Then a second row of books flew to sit atop those, and a third, and a fourth…

  By the time we started running for the doorway, I already knew it was too late.

  And I understood what Mr. Rosewort meant by “booked in.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Within ten seconds, we’d been fully booked into the restricted room. What had formerly been an empty doorway was now wholly blocked by books.

  Liara pulled her hands through her hair, let out a groan. “We’re screwed.”

  I pointed at the wall of books. “Hey, it’s all good. What are those to a fire witch except kindling?”

  She grabbed my arm. “Don’t even light one finger. If you use your magic in here, we won’t just be screwed. We’ll be dead.”

  “Because we’re surrounded by paper?”

  “Because it’s strictly against fae law to use fire magic in this library. It’s one of our most sacred institutions.”

  I turned a slow circle. “So, what? We’re just in here forever?”

  She leaned against a bookcase. “Might as well be. We’re in here until Mr. Rosewort decides to undo the magic barrier and has thoroughly interrogated us.”

  “That doesn’t sound so awful.”

  Her eyes, hard as stone, shifted to me. “If they find out you’re a fire witch, you and I will be in a different world of problems.”

  “As opposed to a regular witch?”

  “That’s right.” She slumped to a seat against the bookcase. “Regular witches are trouble. Fire witches destroy civilizations.”

  I slid down across from her. “And where do the fae stand when it comes to the formalists?”

  “We’re uninvolved in their affairs. We serve only good, only the light.”

  I leaned my head against the row of books. “So you’re uninvolved, but you and the formalists just both happen to hate fire witches.”

  She folded her arms. “Like I said: everyone hates witches. Now I need to think.”

  “About?”

  “How we’re going to get out of this mess.”r />
  “Mr. Rosewort doesn’t think I’m a witch. He just thinks I’m an innocuous earth mage.”

  She waved an exasperated hand. “It isn’t just that. Our magical prints are on that book we took off the shelf. We’ll have to explain why I pulled out a book on witches for an earth mage. And further, we’ll have to explain why I triggered the barrier.”

  “Why did you trigger the barrier?”

  “I spoke the words to a hex.” She studied the doorway. “Even if I wasn’t capable of casting it, when those words were spoken, the library’s defensive enchantment responded automatically to seal us in.”

  Now I understood. “The library interpreted your words as an attack.”

  We sat across from each other in a moment of silence, the two of us gazing at the stone floor between us. Once again, we were stuck together—except Liara had herself to blame this time.

  She shook her head. “I never should have gone anywhere with you.”

  “It’s not the worst. So we’ll be questioned by Mr. Rosewort, we’ll tell him I got curious and asked you to read from a book, and he’ll let us go.”

  Her eyes on me were searing. “An earth mage interested in the ancient, dark art of hexes?”

  “So we’ll say I lied about being an earth mage. That I’m actually an air mage.”

  “And once he knows we’ve lied, he won’t trust our word.” She rubbed her thumbs together atop her knees. “He’ll have to investigate the truth of it further.”

  “There’s no way he could figure out what I am.”

  Her lip curled. “Don’t underestimate a determined fae.”

  “Well, when will he come?” I paused. “And is there a bathroom here?”

  She groaned, leaning her head back. “I’m about to be permanently banned from the Kowloon Library, and you’re worried about your bladder.”

  “What can I say? I’m driven by biological imperatives.”

  “Oh, no. You’re much worse than that. You’re a biological creature with biological imperatives who also possesses the ability to destroy entire families. Cities. Nations.”

  The Shade. She must have been referring to the Shade.

  I hadn’t known she’d destroyed nations during the Battle of the Ages. But then, why else would the war be called that?

  “Liara,” I said, “I would never do that.”

  She didn’t lower her face; she kept on staring at a spot far above my head. “No one can make that promise. We never know what’s in our hearts until we’re truly tested.”

  “You don’t think I’ve been tested?”

  She scoffed. “Three guardian trials isn’t a test.”

  “I’m not referring to the trials.” I crossed my legs, sat up straight. “I’m referring to everything that came before the academy.”

  “Please, don’t talk to me about your oh-so-sad childhood. We’ve all got a story.”

  I tilted my head, observing her. “You’re better at that than I ever was.”

  “At what?”

  “Covering over your feelings with a hard shell. If mine was made of concrete, yours is forged from pure chitin.”

  She laughed, lowered her chin to meet my eyes. “Don’t patronize me like you’ve grown up. You’re still as fucked up as ever—take it from a fucked-up fae.”

  I’ll admit it: Liara did get to me. Over time her words burned through my veins, made me want to lash out at her with the fire just waiting inside me.

  But we were alike. And so I knew lashing out would only be giving her what she wanted. I knew it because that was how I used to operate with just about everyone except Loki.

  And I knew one other thing: the angrier she got, the closer I was to penetrating that shell.

  I took a deep breath as we gazed at one another. “What’s your story?”

  She shook her head. “I see what you’re trying to do. You’re never going to make me like you.”

  “So don’t like me. I have enough friends.” I held her gaze. “But since we’re both guardians now—both chasers—we’re going to be in each other’s lives. And I just want you to know: I know pain. Maybe not your pain, but I’ve undergone a lot of it. And I’m not afraid of your pain.”

  She stared at me, eyes tracking between mine. Her fingers clenched above her knees, and a thought as apparent as a cloud in the sky moved across her face. Unspoken words—which she didn’t voice.

  In that moment, the wall of books began to disassemble from the doorway.

  Liara’s eyes flashed. Don’t tell him, she mouthed.

  I knew, of course, what she didn’t want me to tell: that I was a fire witch.

  We both stood. When the doorway cleared, Mr. Rosewort stepped through with hands clasped behind his back. His orange hair turned dark as he passed from the lit hallway into the dimly lit restricted room, his wings clouding everything behind him.

  He wore a semi-severe, semi-devious cat-caught-the-mouse expression.

  He was, after all, a librarian. It was probably one of the more exciting moments of his year.

  “Well.” He passed down the row to stand before the both of us. “Well well.”

  Liara turned to him. “It was a mistake.”

  Mr. Rosewort raised a hand, and with a whoosh of magic, a book flew over the bookcases and into his waiting palms.

  It was the book on hexes.

  He observed it, turning pages and inspecting the front and back covers. “Which part, Ms. Youngblood? Was it that you took out a book, or that you managed to speak a hex from it?”

  So he knew Liara had spoken the hex. Of course; between the two of us, he thought she was the only one capable of manipulating air magic.

  Liara swallowed. “Both. I apologize—”

  Mr. Rosewort raised a hand. “And where have you learned of hexes, Ms. Youngblood?”

  She paused. Hesitated. In the realm of lying, a pause like that was death. “A professor at the academy…”

  “Which?”

  “Ah—”

  “Ora Frostwish,” I offered.

  Mr. Rosewort’s attention shifted to me. “Interesting thing. It isn’t just your prints on this book, Ms. Youngblood.” He nodded at me. “It’s hers as well.”

  “She was curious,” Liara said. “I let her touch it.”

  Mr. Rosewort’s stepped closer to me, eyes flicking over my face and hair. “What kind of mage did you say you were?”

  I cleared my throat. “Earth.”

  “Earth.” He raised a finger. “The two of you wait here. Move at your peril.” He strode down the row, disappeared as he took a right.

  What’s he doing? I mouthed to Liara.

  Investigating, she mouthed back. Uncommon worry marred her features, which meant his leaving us there was bad.

  I just didn’t yet know exactly why, or how bad.

  When Mr. Rosewort’s footfalls approached, he rounded the corner with a new expression—a homeowner who’d finally found the mold behind his walls that gave him his allergies.

  He plucked the note he’d written from Liara’s hand, examined it as though he had forgotten my name since we’d last seen him. “Terra Loam.” His eyes lifted to me. “You might be the first earth mage interested in the art of hexing.”

  “It’s for a report,” I said. “On, well, hexes.”

  “And how much more curious that makes the whole affair. An earth professor assigning a project on the ancient, dead art of hexes.” Mr. Rosewort gestured to us both. “Come with me. If you veer away or attempt to escape, the library shall restrict your movement and you will be returned to me by force. Do you understand?”

  We both indicated we did.

  And so we followed him out of the restricted room, down the quiet hallway—now empty, since the library had closed—and to the opposite end of the hallway, where he pushed open a door.

  Inside were more bookcases, but these weren’t filled with books. They were filled with files. Thousands and thousands of files set upright in bookcases ten rows tall.


  “What is this room?” I whispered to Liara, who stood beside me.

  “It is the registry of magical births,” Mr. Rosewort answered. He had already taken to the air, searching through the files on a high row.

  “A birth registry?” I said.

  “How else are we to keep track of the world’s mages?” he snapped down at me. “Simply by remembering?”

  After a time, he paused. “There’s no file for Terra Loam. None at all.”

  I shrugged. “Oh well. Must be a—”

  “There are no mistakes in the birth registry,” he snapped down at me. “We have every birth on record. So who are you, girl?”

  Liara and I exchanged a look. I couldn’t read her expression, except that she was full of anxiety.

  “If you lie to me again,” Mr. Rosewort went on, “I shall quickly find out. We have our ways, girl, from upside-down tickling with our wings, to a modification on the Chinese water torture method in which we use drafts of air, to—”

  I raised a hand for him to stop. “Clementine Cole.”

  His chin lowered. “This is the truth?”

  “There have been times I haven’t wanted it to be,” I said, “but yes, it is. My name is Clementine Cole.”

  He flew off, disappearing around a corner.

  It never occurred to me that I would have anything other than a human birth certificate. I had no idea what it would say.

  Beside me, Liara gripped my wrist. “This is the worst outcome,” she hissed into my ear.

  “Why?” I whispered back.

  “Your magical birth certificate lists what your parents are. What you are.”

  “A human?”

  “No.” Her eyes grew large on me, loaded with meaning.

  And then I understood.

  My magical birth certificate listed my mother as a witch. And so it must list me as a witch.

  A fire witch.

  “Ah.” Mr. Rosewort flew into view with a file tucked under his arm. “Here we are. Clementine Cole.”

  He flew down to us, landed silently, the file already opened. His eyes moved over the document within, tracking down the page.

  When he gasped, I knew he’d found it.

  He lifted his face, eyes wide on me. “A witch,” he whispered.