Supernatural Academy: Freshman Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  “Yes, I’m here on a scholarship,” I answered curtly. “That’s your three questions, now if you’ll excuse me I see my room.”

  There was 302 and I had fulfilled my end of the bargain. Now, I didn’t have to talk to Disha again.

  I strode into the room just as a horrible scream rent the air.

  As I came to halt at the doorway, my eyes landed on the lifeless, floating body in the center of the room.

  Desks were knocked over. Books scattered. A clump of cowering students quivered in the back of the classroom, their eyes on the pair of beings in the center.

  I didn’t understand what I was seeing. The levitating body was clearly human, but the creature beside it was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Its face was skeletal, covered by what seemed to be moss and decaying leaves. Huge horns of bone curled out of either side of the skull like a goat, a tarnished gold crown resting between them. Old, moth-eaten robes in dirty blue trailed to the floor in tatters. Its eyes were vacant holes, housing green fire. Similarly colored flames curled up its right hand as its left held a golden scepter.

  He looked like a king, long buried, then brought back to life. Yet, his eyes burned with a horrible vibrancy, glowing brighter as he circled his boney index finger around and around. As he did so, a noose of green light trailed around the floating body’s neck.

  The body belonged to a girl, probably a student. Her limbs sagged as she floated above the floor. Her dark locks fluttered in a wind I couldn’t feel. She seemed unconscious, but held up by some magical force.

  As the green noose tightened, her skin contracted. Her bones began to appear beneath her skin. Her hair withered like old flowers.

  He was draining her dry.

  “Stop!” I screamed.

  The creature’s head snapped in my direction. Then, the full power of his vacant stare locked onto me.

  The girl fell in a heap to the ground as the dead king held out his boney finger. His vacant eye sockets pulsed swamp-green, holding me captive like tractor beams.

  An invisible noose tightened around my throat, choking me. My air dried up. I gagged, trying to suck air, but none would come. My hands scrambled at my throat, trying to loosen the noose, but there was nothing physical there.

  My very being began to slip away. I could feel my life draining from me, seeping out like blood from a mortal wound.

  My legs sagged. My arms drooped. I could barely keep my eyes open. My panic was slowly being replaced by intense exhaustion. As I drooped like a ragdoll, my body began to contract as if every atom was being yanked from the inside out. My heart had been replaced by a black hole, everything swirling into oblivion.

  Still, I fought. I stared into the dead king’s eyes, willing my lids open. I would not go quietly.

  A rumble began behind me. Then a strong wind. It started as a breeze and then turned into a gust that blew everything against the walls. Papers fluttered. Students ducked as chairs flew. The far window blew out and glass shards rained.

  And the best part was my senses returned. I could move. Breathe.

  I dropped to my knees as whoever was making the wind stepped forward. I blinked at expensive high heels, then followed up a smooth calf, trendy skirt, a beautiful face set with determination, and an arm extended in a spell, blasting the shit out of the dead king.

  Disha was a badass.

  The king flew back, his robes plastering to his skeletal body. Hands covered his mossy face as the wind blinded him and objects bombarded him.

  Then Disha planted her feet and threw her arms out as if shoving an invisible boulder at him.

  The wall blasted open. The dead king’s crown shattered to pieces, then he blew through the hole in the wall, plummeting out of sight.

  Disha dropped her arms, exhausted. The wind stopped.

  I got up on my hands and knees as the people at the end of the room ran out, screaming.

  Panting, Disha looked at me, her expression drained, giddy, and a little bit terrified as if even she hadn’t known what she was capable of.

  “Is it dead?” My voice came out in a choked gasp.

  Realizing she didn’t know, Disha ran to the open wall, stood at the edge, and stared down. I crawled over to her, careful to avoid the broken glass and bits of drywall.

  “Is it dead?” I repeated.

  Disha shook her head, smoothing back her hair. “I… I don’t know.”

  I got up, and we stood together, peering down three stories at the zombie king’s crumpled body in the bushes below. It certainly appeared dead, but who knew?

  A tall African American woman in her mid-forties ran in, scanned the room and spotted us. She sprinted over and peered down at the creature now ringed by a crowd of students, a leather-bound book held tightly in one hand.

  “What was it?” I asked the woman. I really hoped she was a teacher and could tell me what the hell just happened.

  The woman’s voice was level, but carried an undercurrent of fear. “It was a lich,” she said, staring at its slowly disintegrating body. “But the real question is, who let it in?”

  Chapter Seven

  FALL SEMESTER

  EARLY SEPTEMBER

  Well, that didn’t take long.

  My first day, and I was already in a teacher’s office. Not that I was a troublemaker. I tried to avoid being noticed, but tragedy always seemed to follow me around, even before. Like that day Crissa Vega face-planted on her ravioli, and she accused me of tripping her, when all I’d done was wish for tomato sauce on her Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt.

  Did the supernatural-ness Dean McIntosh insisted I had cause this?

  I mean, I had yet to believe her claim that I could wield magic. Disappearing ibuprofen does not a Supernatural make. Besides, wouldn’t the moment when one is being strangled by an anorexic king with a fiery hand be the perfect time for someone’s powers to manifest?

  I would think so.

  Disha and I sat next to each other in front of an empty desk, waiting for a teacher by the name of Dr. Henderson, a guy Disha said taught Spells at all levels and an introductory class on Supernaturals and Their Lore.

  While I picked at a rip in my jeans, Disha was primping her hair and checking her makeup in a small mirror. Tons of questions swirled in my mind, but I was still too shocked to string more than a few words together.

  “Can’t ever be too presentable for Dr. Henderson,” she said, winking at herself, then snapping the mirror shut and putting it away.

  I wrinkled my nose but said nothing. I never understood girls who went for teachers, but to each their own.

  The door behind us opened, and someone walked in. I remained still, staring at the oil painting of the Academy that hung above the desk while Disha crossed her leg and swiveled in her chair, part of her shapely thigh exposed through a slit in her black skirt.

  I rolled my eyes. Really?

  A guy in a blue suit and silver tie rounded the desk. He appeared to be in his early thirties, tall with brown hair and an angular face. He had perfect skin, warm brown eyes and an open expression that immediately made you feel at ease. He stood straight, exuding class, though not arrogance—the complete opposite of Macgregor Underwood, whose haughtiness was like a slap in the face to impoverished humans like me.

  This man gave us a brilliant, welcoming smile that made something tingle in my gut.

  Damn. I take it back. I take it all back.

  If I had to go for a teacher, I would definitely go for this one.

  Disha gave a knowing glance, then faced the desk again.

  “Hello, Ms. Khatri and Ms. Rivera, I presume.” He gave me a slight bow.

  “Um, yeah,” I said, feeling a swirl of emotions inside.

  The guy was at least fifteen years older than me, and here I was, wondering how much he could bench. I mean, it seemed like he must hit the gym every day, but how many hours did it take to look like that? Did he do cardio or pump iron? Hmm, maybe he swam and ate nothing but baked chicken and salad. Would that make
a guy boring? And what if a girl wanted to go to McDonald’s for some fries? Would he nag about nutrition and counting carbs?

  I shook my head, shooing away my irrational thoughts.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Rivera,” he said as he took a seat in front of us, unbuttoning his jacket. “I’m Dr. Thadeus Henderson. I am the Spells teacher. I’m so sorry your first day turned out like this. It’s not a common occurrence, not normally.”

  Not normally? I waited for him to elaborate, but Disha spoke next.

  “Is Marybeth going to be okay?” she asked.

  Dr. Henderson nodded. “I’ve been to see her already. Nurse Taishi is taking good care of her. She will need to rest for a few days—the lich sucked a lot of energy from her—but she’ll recover.” He turned to me. “How about you? How do you feel? I understand the lich attacked you, too.”

  “I feel fine.” I placed a hand on my neck. “Just a bit, I don’t know, tired.”

  “Understandable,” Dr. Henderson said. “That was extremely brave of you to call the lich away from Ms. Baggarley.”

  “More like stupid,” I said under my breath.

  Disha seemed to hear me, though, because she said, “Yes, extremely brave. I don’t think Marybeth would still be alive if it weren’t for Charlie. One second longer, and the lich would have sucked Marybeth dry.”

  I squirmed on my seat, uncomfortable with the attention.

  “I didn’t do anything. Disha was the one who…” I fluttered my hands in the air in demonstration.

  “Indeed,” Dr. Henderson said, a huge smile stretching over his face. “I see our extra lessons have been paying off.”

  Disha sat straighter, looking pleased with herself.

  Extra lessons, huh? No wonder she’d been so kick-ass out there. Apparently, she wasn’t only a great dresser, she was also an academic overachiever.

  Dean McIntosh had explained that students who came from known supernatural families already had a certain level of training. Since their skills were nurtured pretty much since they were born, they never repressed them—hence, they didn’t “fracture.” Depending on the strength of their powers, some began their first year at the Academy with advanced skills. All the signs pointed to Disha being from one of those families.

  “Now,” Dr. Henderson leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  We did as he requested, each sharing our own recollection of the events. While we talked, Dr. Henderson just nodded, occasionally stopping us to ask a question.

  When we were done, he said, “Everything agrees with what the other students said.”

  “Does anyone know how that thing got in?” Disha asked.

  “Unfortunately, no.” Dr. Henderson shook his head. “Most students were in the classroom waiting for Professor Middleton when the lich descended from the ceiling.”

  I tentatively lifted my hand to ask a question.

  Dr. Henderson waved dismissively. “You don’t have to do that, just shoot.”

  “This is probably a stupid question, but what exactly is a lich?” I asked.

  “There are no stupid questions, Ms. Rivera,” Dr. Henderson said. “At least not under my tutelage.” He turned to Disha. “Why don’t you explain, Ms. Khatri?”

  “Sure,” Disha said, turning slightly in my direction. “A lich is an undead witch or warlock—”

  “Like a zombie?” I interrupted.

  “Not at all,” Disha said. “Zombies are stupid, no more than animated bodies. Liches retain their intelligence after they die and store their soul in some kind of object that had meaning to them when they were alive. This lich’s special object was his crown. That’s why I went for it. I used a spell I just happened to learn last week. That was great timing, Dr. Henderson. Don’t you think?”

  “Indeed, Miss Khatri. Indeed. From its description,” he continued, “it sounds like he was an ancient lich. Perhaps a king of some sort.”

  “But what would it be doing here?” Disha asked. “We never had kings in America.”

  Dr. Henderson shrugged. “He could have also been a madman who thought himself king. Anyone who chooses to become a lich cannot be in their right mind.”

  “Um,” Disha’s dark gaze darted between Dr. Henderson and me. “I don’t mean to scare Charlie, but... is the school safe? This is the second time an evil Lesser got in. How were they able to get through the Academy’s magical defenses?”

  Lesser? I frowned at the new term, unaware of its meaning.

  “That is the question we are trying to answer,” Dr. Henderson said, appearing concerned. “As far as the Academy being safe, well, I can assure you both that, even as we speak, Dean McIntosh is working diligently to reinforce the protective charms around campus.”

  After a lot more reassuring, Dr. Henderson dismissed us with the advice that we should rest.

  So much for my first day of class. All I wanted to do was go to bed and sleep, except maybe that was a bad idea, what with the school being a hotbed for nasty creatures. At least my rats never tried to suck the life out of me. “Free trial” or not, I didn’t sign up to become a desiccated corpse.

  I was deep in thought, walking away from Dr. Henderson’s office and considering if I should pack and split, when someone called behind us.

  “Disha, wait up!”

  She glanced back, then stopped. “Rowan,” she said.

  Damn! The day kept getting worse and worse.

  Without turning, I pressed forward.

  Disha put a hand around my arm. “Wait, don’t leave yet. We should talk.”

  I almost said I had nothing else to talk to her about but, even though I wanted her to leave me alone, I also didn’t want to get on her bad side—not after seeing what she was capable of. So I waited, hands in my pockets, face turned away from Rowan as he approached.

  “Hey, I heard,” Rowan said, his voice gentle and full of concern, nothing like the way it sounded when he talked to me. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Disha said. “Rowan, have you met Charlie?”

  I gave him a sideways glance. His face went from pleasant to constipated-looking in a flash.

  “I have,” he said as if having met me had caused his constipation.

  His presence made me extremely self-conscious. My ripped jeans and T-shirt bothered me more than normal, and his good looks made me wish he had a wart on his nose or something. He was insufferably handsome. How was that fair?

  Disha didn’t seem to miss anything as her inquisitive eyes went back and forth between us. She huffed. “There can’t possibly be bad blood between you two already?”

  “Oh no, nothing like that,” I said. “Rowan has been extremely nice to me since shooting that werewolf.”

  “You shot a werewolf?!” Disha asked excitedly, giving Rowan her full attention.

  Mission accomplished. Surreptitiously, I took two sidelong steps, planning an escape. But, as I was leaving, Disha stopped me.

  “I have a feeling we all have a lot of talking to do,” she said, hooking an arm through mine and the other through Rowan’s and dragging us down the hall and into a large room.

  The place seemed to be a lounge. On one end, there were three comfortable sofas arranged around a big coffee table. At the other, several people sat at long tables, looking into their laptops or studying from large textbooks.

  Disha led us to the empty sofas and practically pushed us into one of them. We landed next to each other, while she planted her bottom on the coffee table right in front of us.

  Rowan gave my thigh a covert glance as it brushed against his. We both jumped as if the sofa were electrified and moved apart, adding a few feet of distance between us. I crossed my arms, looking at anything but Rowan. Talk about awkward.

  “Ooh,” Disha said, “I sense sparks.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Rowan said.

  If I’d known either of them better, I’d have said something snarky, but I figured the less I opened my mouth,
the quicker I’d get out of here.

  Disha quickly changed subjects. “Tell me all about this werewolf.”

  Rowan shook his head. “No, you tell me about the lich first.”

  Without protest, she proceeded to repeat what had happened. Apparently, she cared more about recounting her own adventures than listening to those of others. She seemed to revel in Rowan’s attention, in fact, any attention.

  After Disha finished explaining what Dr. Henderson had said about the Dean fortifying the protective spells around the Academy, Rowan remained deep in thought for a few minutes.

  At times, I caught him glancing in my direction, then turning away when I discovered him. His ill-disguised interest made my skin tingle, and I hated myself for it. No matter how spell-binding his eyes, I had to train my body to grow cold rather than warm when he looked at me. I couldn’t deny the guy was hot—hotter than anyone I’d ever met, what with his perfect chin, soulful eyes and amazing body—but more than that, he was a jerk who had decided to hate me because I was poor. No wonder he seemed to be friends with Disha. She certainly had a sizable bank account.

  At last, Rowan said, “We should talk later.”

  He stood, giving me a sideways glance that made it clear he didn’t want me as part of that conversation.

  “I sense some reluctance,” Disha said, narrowing her eyes, “so I should tell you, I’ve decided Charlie is going to be my BFF. Sooo... whatever you need to say to me, you can say it in front of her.”

  The what?

  My mouth opened and closed. People were weird here. Who just up and decides you’ll be their BFF without even consulting you?

  “You can’t be serious, Disha,” Rowan said. “You barely know her. You don’t know where she comes from.”

  “Yes, I do,” Disha said. “She’s from Conyers. Not far from here.”

  “That not what I mean,” Rowan said, giving her a pointed look as if to say “she comes from a rat-infested building, and you might catch the black plague from her.”

  I blinked a few times and, snapping out of my surprise, I stood, too. “Um, that’s nice of you, Disha, but I don’t think I’ll be staying here much longer.”