Witches Gone Wicked: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Womby's School for Wayward Witches Book 3)

by Sarina Dorie

  I giggled. It’s not that I thought it was actually funny. I just tended to giggle when I was nervous.

  He shoved the book at me. He pointed at the door with his wand. “Get out. This is a waste of my time. One of your new friends can help you undo what you’ve done. If you have any.”

  I ran to my room with the book, wanting to read the missing section before Thatch realized I had appropriated it. Vega was out—to my relief—and I sat at the desk, golden sunlight illuminating the text. The previous chapters of Womby’s: A History of the School had been filled with a compilation of biographies, articles, and anecdotes written in a journalistic style that matched the eccentric mishmash of architecture of the school. When I saw the heading of the missing chapter featured my biological mother’s name, I knew I would not be disappointed.

  It was only going to be a matter of time before Thatch figured out what I had done. I intended to finish reading the chapter, even if he stole it away from me. I took out my cell phone and used the camera to photograph each page. I zoomed in to make sure the text was readable and reshot the ones that came out blurry. After I felt satisfied I had my own copy of the book, I put my cell phone away and read the pages.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Principal Alouette Loraline

  Unlike many of the headmasters and principals of the school, an air of mystery surrounds the former headmistress, her origins, and her demise. She started off her teaching career as governess to two Witchkin children born into the nobility of the Dragon Court, Yin and Lee. Upon questioning the Yaoguai families, as the Fae are called in Chinese, Prince Lee simply answered, “It’s true she was my governess. I have no more to say about her.”

  Whether she worked for the Dragon Court by coercion or choice is unknown. After ten years of employment in their household, she started her career as a teacher at Womby’s Reform School for Wayward Witches, and then left after five years. No information is available about her from that time.

  Next, she served as a teacher at Lady of the Lake School for Girls. Former teachers of the school remember Alouette Loraline as being friendly, nurturing, and a hard worker.

  Former headmistress, Ethelinda Snow, said of her former employee, “Miss Loraline always arrived early and stayed late to work with students who needed extra help. She devoted hours of her personal time to the betterment of others. She took a special interest in the underprivileged, scholarship students, and those who had been raised in the Morty world who came to the school with less advantages in magic than others.”

  My biological mother didn’t sound so bad. She sounded like someone who cared. I wanted to be that kind of teacher.

  One of Loraline’s former coworkers from her short stint at The Elementia Academy of Arts and Alchemy shared many stories of Loraline coming to the aid of failing students. The most notable was a story provided by Lou Albinka:

  “I remember she tutored this one kid every day after school during May and June, helping him with wards and protections spells so he could be safe after graduation. She didn’t even teach that class and there she was, studying up on it and trying to show him. The kid didn’t care. He skipped tutoring, and she wrote him detentions so he would have to come in to study. I walked in on him cussing her out because she told him he couldn’t leave the classroom until he finished his homework.

  “I asked her, ‘Why do you bother? He doesn’t appreciate it.’ I didn’t think he was going to graduate. But he did. She worked with him so he passed all his classes. And you know what? The Raven Court snatched him up. All that work for nothing, but she continued to do it for other students. She always said some of them would survive, but I thought she was batty.”

  My heart clenched. My mother had been an idealist who hadn’t allowed the system to crush her optimism. Good for her. I would help my students like she had. That meant I needed to learn everything. I needed to study magic, not just to protect myself, but to protect them as well.

  I skimmed the following pages for juicy details. I didn’t know how long I would be able to get away with reading the chapter. Thatch might burst through the door at any minute and demand the section I’d stolen. I scanned until I found a promising paragraph.

  After being rehired as a teacher at Womby’s Reform School for Wayward Witches, Loraline was caught with restricted books on the Lost Court in her dormitory. Her advisor and department head, Jebediah Ebenezer Bumblebub, came to her defense when asked about whether he recognized this as early signs of her turning to the dark side. “You fall off the turnip truck or somethin’? What do you expect from a Celestor? Knowledge is everythin’. Headmasters ain’t got no right to be makin’ restricted sections for teachers. Those books in her room didn’t mean nothin’.”

  Loraline’s thirst for knowledge became more apparent as evidence surfaced that she dabbled in the dark arts. Rumors circulated among students that their teacher used blood magic, pain magic, necromancy, and mind control. She allegedly used the forbidden arts of physics, calculus, genetics, psychology, and computer science.

  Such claims were dismissed by administration as unfounded.

  I laughed out loud at this. How could psychology be a forbidden science? Or math. Everyone needed math. I could understand computer science since electronics drained Witchkin of magic, but the rest had to be a joke. As for the blood magic and other weirdville stuff, it wasn’t like students always told the truth. During my year of student teaching, two students had lied to their parents to get out of detentions. The worst part of it had been that it worked. I wasn’t convinced my biological mother was evil yet. Even Jeb had come to her defense.

  In her first years at Womby’s, Loraline taught alchemy, later moving on to divination and Fae studies. Much of her personal time she devoted to alchemy experiments mixed with the inferior human arts, sometimes with disastrous effects. One of her experiments blew out a wall of the back wing. Numerous attempts were made to repair it, but no magic worked effectively on the stone, and that section of building has thus been left unrepaired. It is theorized the forbidden arts of science and electricity were involved.

  Loraline spent an inordinate amount of time in discourse with teachers and students on the Fae Fertility Paradox.

  Note to self: look that up later.

  Despite these eccentricities, Loraline was well-liked by students and staff. She was considered a good teacher, if not a little zealous in her approach. She quickly moved to the rank of department head and then vice principal after only fifteen years at the school.

  Six years later, Loraline became principal. Shortly afterward, students began to disappear. Loraline made complaints to the Witchkin Council and Fae School Board, claiming Fae were at fault. She correlated the increase in graduation rates and resulting decrease in tithes with a rise in abductions while students were off-campus. Such allegations were dismissed, as she had no proof, nor did the council think any house of Fae would be willing to break their own laws and risk the consequences.

  As a result of the abductions, Loraline saw fit to hire a Fae staff member to head security, causing parents to question the wisdom of such a move when Fae were supposedly behind the abductions. Several wealthy families withdrew children from the school, which caused further budgeting problems.

  Loraline spent more and more time away, supposedly collecting donations from prestigious Fae families. At first she was praised; she inspired patronage from those who had never previously donated to the school. Later, such uncommon abilities in fundraising raised suspicion from the Witchkin community who wondered what Loraline promised in return for such investments.

  In her twentieth year as principal, the Queen of the Silver Court accused the principal of being a descendent of the Lost Court. Shortly after, Loraline unleashed an unspeakable evil on the school. Down in the walled-off depths underneath the school dungeon—

  I turned the page. The heading at the top said: “Chapter Thirty-Three.” No! There had to be more. I rubbed the previous page
between my fingers to see if the parchment had stuck together. Why would the section be removed from the book if there hadn’t been more to it? Unless Thatch had figured out I’d stolen the section of the book he’d been hiding, and then removed it … with magic.

  I opened up the photos on my phone. I had no better luck there. The last page I’d photographed was the same as the last one in the book I’d pilfered. Probably Thatch had figured out what I’d done before I’d ever reached my room.

  Here’s what I knew so far about my mother: She was a Celestor, she was considered evil because she studied topics people didn’t like, including math and science, and Thatch didn’t want me to know about her.

  The bigger question was why. And how was I going to find out?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Unexpected Gifts

  The book in my hands came from the library. That meant I had a means to solve this mystery and find out what Thatch was trying to hide from me. I probably should have been studying how to control my powers, or even getting my lessons ready, but there was only so much time in one day. My most urgent priority was finding out what Thatch had removed from the book.

  I wrote down the title and edition on a Post-it and raced to the library to find another copy of the book before Thatch figured out what I was about to do.

  The old woman behind the counter reminded me of my high school librarian. She wore a silver bun pulled behind her head. Her high white collar and puff sleeves was reminiscent of Victorian attire. Only instead of a cameo, she wore a little animal skull at the nape of the lacy collar. The morbid brooch told me she didn’t believe in preserving all life like Josie did.

  Her hat was tall and conical like most witch hats, but a collection of red roses and animal skulls weighed one side so that it flopped down in a way that reminded me of the fancy hat my grandma—my adoptive father’s mother—wore to tea parties.

  I smiled at her, trying to give off an air of friendliness. “Hi, my name is Clarissa Lawrence. I’m the new teacher here.”

  From the way she pursed her lips, I could see she already knew who I was.

  “I teach arts and crafts,” I said.

  She didn’t tell me her name. She just looked me up and down like she didn’t think much of me.

  “And you are?” I prompted.

  “Gertrude Periwinkle.”

  “Professor Thatch told me teachers could check out books.” He’d implied it anyway. “He gave me a list of books to read to get acquainted with the school. I wondered if I could check out a copy of Womby’s: A History of the School. Preferably the seventh edition.”

  She nodded to a large cabinet of drawers on my side of the counter. “Have you tried the card catalog?”

  “A card catalog?” I asked dumbly. It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard of them before, but I’d never used such an archaic method myself.

  She sighed in exasperation. “Jeb mentioned you’ve lived among Morties your entire life and you might be … lacking in certain skills.”

  She walked around the desk and showed me to a wooden cabinet with dozens of drawers. She opened one. I couldn’t believe anyone still used these things! But I guessed this was the alternative to a computer database. She shuffled through the cards, explaining how the system worked. It sort of made sense alphabetically and numerically. When she found the card, she waved her wand over it.

  “Thirty-four copies,” she said. A black X hovered in the air above it. “All copies are currently checked out.”

  “By who?” I asked. Not that I didn’t already know the answer.

  “Professor Thatch.”

  Of course.

  “Does this system work for subject as well as title?” I asked. “Do you have any books on the Fae Fertility Paradox?”

  She clasped a hand to her heart, her face shocked. “That information is restricted.”

  “I’m a teacher. Can’t I check out restricted books?” Jeb had been quoted as saying he didn’t think knowledge should be restricted.

  “No, you cannot.” Mrs. Periwinkle’s eyes narrowed. “The principal is going to hear about this.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what the Fae Fertility Paradox is, so I didn’t know it was anything evil, you know, like psychology and mathematics.” I gave a nervous laugh. I was soooo not good at acting innocent.

  Her mouth twisted into a sneer. “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No, not me. Never funny.” I backed away.

  I decided not to ask about the books related to blood magic or the Lost Court. Apparently, I’d made another enemy.

  I’d also underestimated Thatch’s cunning. I would find out what he was hiding from me about my mother, though at this point it looked like the only way I would be able to do that was to break into the restricted section of the library.

  Gertrude Periwinkle did not come across as someone I wanted to mess with. Even so, I didn’t have a better plan than breaking into the library. The best I could do for the moment was scope out the layout and observe the school’s defenses. I returned to the library two more times, peeking in to see if Gertrude Periwinkle was still around. The moment she left, I snuck behind the counter to see if she had any forbidden books under there. All I found were some volumes that needed repairs. I lingered in the door of her office, trying to act casual, as though I were simply going there to ask her a question and was surprised to find the room empty. It was hard to hide my nervousness when I was sweating buckets and my own shadow cast on the wall made me jump.

  Mrs. Periwinkle was as organized as Thatch: papers stacked neatly, everything arranged tidily on her desk, and nothing of interest left out. All the enticing books with titles like Blood Mages of Ancient Times, Necromancy for Business and Pleasure, and one with faded words that looked like it said How to Serve Man—Not Just a Cookbook were all stored in a locked glass case. If I had my lockpick kit, I could break in, though I didn’t know which book would help me find out anything I wanted to know about the Fae Fertility Paradox, Lost Court, or my mother. And I didn’t know if the librarian had cast any spells to protect against larceny.

  I scanned the titles in the not-so-restricted shelves in the library. While I perused other potentially helpful volumes, Mrs. Periwinkle returned. She eyed me with a frown but said nothing.

  I continued exploring the library, pausing when I found the yearbooks. They weren’t anything like the expensive books with glossy color photos most schools produced. These were thin, and the photographs were poor quality with somber, unsmiling students. The photos reminded me of old daguerreotypes. I found the books for the years I would have been in high school, scanning the pages for Derrick Winslow. I didn’t find him. Maybe he hadn’t gone to Womby’s. There were other schools in the Unseen Realm, but I didn’t know how to start searching for him.

  Derrick had said not to look for him, but that had been in a dream. The real Derrick might want me to look for him. Perhaps if I made friends with the librarian, she would help me do research. Not that I could imagine that going over well if she found out I intended to break into her office and steal forbidden knowledge. I had so much to do this school year: learn magic, find out about my biological mother, and figure out what had happened to Derrick. How was I going to fit in teaching underprivileged Witchkin and keeping them out of trouble into that equation?

  I had a jillion lessons to prepare. Eventually I went back to my classroom. My life would have been so much easier if I had a computer and a printer. When I next stepped into my dorm that afternoon, I saw my roomie had decorated. Birds tweeted in a cage that hung from one corner of the ceiling. They sounded cheerful until I listened closer.

  “Hey, wartface! Free us at once!” one of the birds sang in a melody that reminded me of Chopin.

  Were they talking to me? I didn’t have warts. I looked around. I was alone.

  “If I let you out, my roommate will be mad at me,” I said. Not to mention Vega Bloodmire would probably hex me.

&nbs
p; “Fucking bitch,” the other bird said in sing-song. “I told you she wasn’t going to help us.”

  I stared, appalled at the bird’s language. “Excuse me? Do you think insults and a potty mouth are going to get you any sympathy?”

  It was hard to pinpoint what about the room’s makeover gave it a homicidal Downton Abbey feel. An old-fashioned cuckoo clock rested on the wall between beds, not so different from the one my grandma had in her house. A small, but well-made rug in an Art Nouveau style had been spread between the door and bed. It took me a moment to realize the flowers and geometric designs formed a giant skull. An Oriental dressing screen stood in the corner to the side of the window and desk. At first I thought the imagery showcased a Japanese cherry tree with red blossoms. Upon closer inspection, I saw the jagged branches impaled small birds and butterflies on spikes. The red appeared to be splatters of their blood. I would have taken Bob Ross’s happy little trees any day over this. And I was the one who got to lay next to that screen at night and try to have sweet dreams.

  A plant hung from the ceiling in the corner near the desk. When I neared it, the Venus flytrap jaws snapped at me. The desk now had an oil lamp, as did the nightstand, along with a vase of black roses. The room was more practical with a clock, candles in sconces, and some of the other items, but it also had a creepier vibe. The coffin sticking out from under Vega’s bed, the gilded frame containing a portrait of a skeleton, and the noose suspended over my bed didn’t help the room’s ambiance.

  On top of one wardrobe my monster roommate had set another potted plant and a marble bust of what looked like herself. Every shelf on the wall she’d filled with books, including the spaces I’d hoped to fill. Someone must have missed her ever-so-important kindergarten lesson when they taught the vital skill of sharing.

  I carefully removed the crystal ball from my wardrobe and placed it on hers, as well as the bottles of bright fluids. I cleared the books from the bookshelf on my side of the room and set them on top of the books on her shelf. I removed the noose from the hook on the ceiling and flung it onto her bed. At least she hadn’t tried to take up any of the room in my wardrobe. That would have been unforgivable.