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

by Sarina Dorie

  “Hey, come back,” I called after the girl. “Did you do this?”

  She didn’t turn, and I didn’t know her name.

  I tried to douse the flames with handfuls of water from the sink, but as the fire licked at the wooden walls of the stall, I could see that wasn’t going to work. Not knowing what else to do, I removed my cardigan and ran water over the pink sweater in the sink until it was soaked, slapping it over the fire and dousing the flames.

  Five minutes later I found Vega in the hallway, yelling at students. She wore what must have passed for flapper casual, only the hem of her skirt was outrageously high for being a school teacher. Upon second glance I decided the skirt wasn’t that revealing; she just had a lot of leg to show off at her height.

  Vega lifted her nose at the charred cotton dripping in my hands and the soot on my white blouse. “Who are you supposed to be, Cinderella? Stop fucking around and go monitor the hall before one of the students does something dangerous.”

  Too late for that. I dropped my sweater into a garbage can.

  Students changed into school uniforms and assembled downstairs at four p.m. The great hall used as a cafeteria was a large round room. Built into the structure of the stone walls were Stonehenge-like arches with wooden doors under each that led to different wings. The room would have given off the air of a sacred site full of wisdom and learning if it hadn’t been for the mustard-yellow paint coated over the arches and avocado-green walls above that. The ceiling tapered upward to a point, like the underside of a giant witch’s hat. Colorful banners decorated the walls, clashing with the colors of the seventies-style stained-glass windows made into abstract patterns.

  The jarring architectural styles and gaudy colors burned into my retinas. I forced myself to look away before the artist in me grew depressed.

  About four hundred students sat in rows on wooden benches facing the head of the room. This would be the smallest school I’d worked at. Some of the differences from normal teenagers were minute, a subtle green tinge to a complexion or leaves growing in a student’s hair. Other differences like the horns, tusks, and incisors that stretched beyond the lips were more noticeable. The beauty of some surpassed human supermodels. The impish and exaggerated facial features of others bordered on grotesque.

  I knew I wasn’t supposed to ask, but I wondered what each one of them was.

  I stood in the back of the great hall with Josie next to the main entryway, the two of us framed by one of the Stonehenge-like pillars. Staff members sat dispersed among the students or stood clustered together along the walls, watching the students while the principal addressed the student body. It was the kind of motivational pep talk admin did at every school on the first day.

  “I believe in you. I know y’all are hard workers. Y’all are going to do a bang-up job, and you’re going to have a hog-killing time of it to boot.” Jeb hooked his thumbs into his belt, looking more like a cowboy than ever.

  As I gazed out at the sea of students, I wondered how many of them would graduate with the skills they needed to resist the Fae. How many of them would become enslaved? Dread settled like a lump of ice in my belly as the ghosts of students past haunted me with pessimism.

  “There’s somethin’ else I gotta mention.” Jeb chewed on the end of his mustache, pausing. His eyes swept over the crowd of students. “This school ain’t like a school for Morties. We got rules for a reason, and those rules are to keep you safe. Last year our community suffered from the loss of an excellent staff member. Earlier in the year two students met an untimely end.”

  He folded his hands before him and ducked his head as if in prayer. The hall was so silent I heard every rustle of clothes. My breath sounded loud in my ears.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s dreadfully important students remain in their beds at night and don’t wander the school grounds. This school has restricted areas for mighty good reasons. Please make the jobs of your teachers easier by following the rules. And please,” he added with a smile. “No hexing your teachers this year.”

  Laughter rolled through the crowd. I didn’t think it was funny considering my predecessor had been cursed by students. Everyone here seemed so cavalier about human life—or Witchkin life.

  Jeb withdrew his wand, and the crowd shushed. Students looked at each other eagerly. He waved his wand around and created a ball of white fire up on the dais.

  Three teachers at the front of the room stepped forward. The teachers lassoed magic from their wands and propelled it toward the white flames at the center of the stage.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised Thatch was one of these teachers, him being the Celestor team department head and a Merlin-class wizard.

  The stream of magic from Thatch’s wand came out purple with sparkles of silver, overpowering the other rivers of light. The magic encompassed the ball of white, feeding it and making it shimmer with his flavor of magic. It reminded me of the cosmos and the infiniteness of the galaxy, of the unknown, and the quest for knowledge. It was strange how all these inspirational ideas sprung to mind as I gazed at the artistry of light pouring into the white ball of fire. There was no rational explanation. Except for one.

  Magic.

  I got giddy just thinking about it. Finally, I was getting to see the good stuff.

  Thatch’s colors swelled brighter. I smelled starlight and tasted wisps of dreams on my lips. I wanted to hate his magic, but it was so beautiful I couldn’t. It was incongruous that such inspiring magic came from a horrible man. Shouldn’t his magic have tasted like slug-slime and been baby-poop yellow?

  The light from his wand receded but didn’t completely diminish. He stepped back as another teacher strode forward.

  Shooting in from the side came a stream of liquid orange fire intertwined with blue ice. The light came from the hand of the second teacher in this trinity, Jackie Frost. Unlike Thatch, she didn’t use a wand.

  Jackie wasn’t particularly young or old. She was average in her age, her looks, and her build. Her hair was a medium brown with a typical “mom” haircut: soft waves in the front and spikes in the back. Nothing about her stood out, but as her magic overpowered the sphere, the tips of her short hair paled, growing white and then blue. Her face turned clear like ice, and her clothes looked as though they were made from frost. Flames danced with flurries of snow around the sphere Jeb held. I felt hot and cold at the same time. Wind swirled the elements, and the ball of light swelled. A calming breeze washed over me, and I breathed it in. As the extremes of the hot and cold tempered each other into steam, patches of brown flashed through the fingers of mist. I felt grounded and at one with the earth and the rocks.

  Someone sighed near me. To my right, Josie stood with her eyes closed, a smile on her face.

  The final magic that spilled into the ball was green and yellow. Trees and vines made of light shot out of Professor Bluehorse’s staff. The perfume of spring flowers and pine mixed with the scent of herbs from my mom’s garden. The sensation of rose petals as soft as silk brushed across my cheeks. Intermingled in the ecosystem of greenery fluttered butterflies and birds. I was suddenly aware of the grass outside and the trees in the forest beyond. I heard the heartbeats and the breaths of a thousand woodland animals. Far below the stone of the castle, worms and insects burrowed in the cool dirt for safety. Images of animals and plants flashed in the globe.

  It was so beautiful and inspiring it made me appreciate the splendor of every living creature … even spiders. I wanted to apologize to Josie for every spider I’d killed in my life, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the hypnotic beauty swirling in the ball of light.

  My stage illusions were paltry compared to this.

  The witches backed away from the sphere. The light from their wands petered out. The orb was a rainbow of colors, mixing and spiraling, crashing like waves inside itself, representing the colors they’d thrown into it. There was red too. What rainbow palette would be complete without it? I hadn’t seen
them feed the color red into the sphere, but there was blood in living creatures, so it made sense the red might have come from Professor Bluehorse.

  Jeb lifted his hands. The sphere rose higher. It had to be as tall as him now. “The light of these three affinities represent the trinity of our sacred sources of magic. When all our teams work together, our rainbow lights the world.”

  I placed a hand over my heart, touched by the sappy sentiment. This was so much better than a public school.

  Jeb rapidly arced his arms downward and the ball crashed down before him. “Yee-haw!” he shouted.

  A kaleidoscope of color shot in every direction. I closed my eyes against the explosion of light. A few students shrieked. Others laughed. When the spots had cleared from my eyes, I found some of the students had ducked or raised their arms to cover their faces. Giggles erupted from chagrined students.

  A white fire crackled on the dais. The principal stepped around the white flames. They flickered as high as a bonfire.

  “I asked three of our staff who each represent one of these affinities to demonstrate their magic so that new students will know what their affinities look like and feel like. Head of our Elementia team is our master of the elements, Professor Jackie Frost. Through rain or shine, snow or blisterin’ heat, she helps guide those whose affinity comes from fire, water, wind, and earth. She heads the team that provides the tools needed for careers in minin’, magic smithin’, pyromancy, and weather sorcery.”

  She bowed, and the students and staff clapped.

  “Heading the department of Amni Plandai is Ethel Bluehorse, though I reckon you know her as Grandmother Bluehorse. She’s there for the students who draw strength from animals and plants. She’ll help guide students toward careers in dragon and unicorn husbandry, healin’, herbology, and other related fields.”

  The small, hunched-over woman stood and waved. Students cheered. I guessed she was popular with the kids.

  “Celestor is the third point of our trinity. This group derives power from the stars, moon, sun, and cosmic energies. These are the students who are strongest in divination, telekinesis, and the most challengin’ forms of magic. Celestors often become renowned scholars in secondary forms of magic as well.” He offered a sheepish smile. “I, myself, was Celestor when I was in school. Currently Professor Felix Thatch heads this team.” The applause was tepid at best. Not even all the teachers clapped. I felt bad for Thatch, even if he was the most annoying person I’d ever met.

  Then again, if he hadn’t drenched me in beer a few nights before, and then threatened to silence me with magic for seeing too much and asking too many questions, I might have been more willing to show some enthusiasm as well.

  “These three affinities dwell in all of us, but each of us are strongest in one area.” Jeb lifted his hand and gestured to the school crest hanging on the tapestry above him. The logo that had been quilted on the fabric showed three images arranged in a triangle. At the top was a collection of silver stars on a purple background. To the right was a picture of a fire on top of rocks with raindrops and spirals that were probably supposed to represent fire, earth, wind, and water. To the left was a butterfly made of leaves.

  The composition was unbalanced, too much negative space in the lowest section of the design. It looked like something else should have been placed there. A fourth and missing element. Or the designer had simply been a bad artist.

  Jeb gestured to the crowd of students. “No matter what your affinity, we aim to prepare y’all with skills for the real world. For you tenderfoots, part of this involves discoverin’ who you are. Everythin’ y’all do this year will be to support your affinity so you can be the strongest Witchkin you can be. Y’all gotta work with your team to increase your skills in magic and study with other like-minded students. Each team competes against other teams, winnin’ points in academics and sports for excellence.”

  I noticed how he left out fine arts. Administrators always left out achievements in art, drama and music. How disappointing that my students were unlikely to receive any more recognition for their achievements than I had in high school.

  Maybe that was some of the bitterness of my chocolate prophecy leaking through.

  He pointed to a scoreboard on a wall with the three teams’ symbols. “Y’all will earn points for good behavior. Points will be deducted for poor behavior. At the end of the semester, the winnin’ team will earn… .” He paused for dramatic effect. “a pizza-and-ice-cream party!”

  Students cheered. Wow, the power of pizza was greater than I could have imagined. Apparently, it didn’t matter whether the teenagers were inner city kids or Witchkin at a special school in another dimension. Some rewards were universal.

  “Without further ado, it’s the moment y’all have been waitin’ for. I’d like to invite freshman and transferrin’ students to step into the fire to discover their affinity.”

  “Oh my God!” I said. Step into the fire? That sounded dangerous.

  Other teachers cast dirty looks at me. Josie nudged me. I pressed my lips together, not wanting to embarrass myself further.

  Coach Kutchi called the students up in alphabetical order. I wrung my hands in nervousness, as anxious as they were. The first student closed her eyes and stepped into the fire. The white flames turned green as she stepped through.

  “Amni Plandai,” Coach Kutchi announced. She sniffed the air. “I think I detect a more specific affinity for mint.”

  The young woman came out of the fire unscathed. She smiled and joined the table with the green-and-yellow banner above it. This was so cool! Someone could make good money using pyromancy to divine majors for college students. I wanted to know what my affinity was.

  I wasn’t sure of the next student’s gender, or what he or she was from the impish features of the face. The student’s hair was short and the build androgynous.

  The fire flashed orange and blue, and then became white as wind blustered out of the flames.

  “Wind, a clear member for Elementia.”

  Wind, like Derrick.

  As the ceremony went on I noticed a pattern. Most of the students were sorted into the Amni Plandai or the Elementia team. Fewer were placed in Celestor.

  The magic was beautiful to watch. More than ever I wanted to know what I was.

  I looked again to the school crest above Jeb. I couldn’t help feeling like something was out of place. There was no red in that rainbow. What would red even represent?

  I tugged on Josie’s arm. “Let’s get closer.”

  We scooted around the edge of the round room to where Bluehorse, Thatch, and Frost stood. I wondered what would happen if I “accidentally” fell into the fire and discovered my affinity.

  With each student that entered the fire, I wished it could be me. By ninety-something, I could barely stand it any longer. I needed to be sorted. If I found out what my affinity was, maybe I would be able to learn to control my powers and have a normal relationship. I wouldn’t have to put up with Thatch’s half-assed mentoring. Somehow, I had to get myself up on the dais.

  Another freshman walked into the fire, a diminutive girl with dark skin. The flames flashed orange and blue and I thought she would be placed in Elementia. Then the fire transitioned to purple and silver.

  Students whispered. Teachers turned to each other in confusion. The flames changed again and turned green and yellow. For a moment they settled on red, eliciting gasps from the teachers before changing again.

  Grandmother Bluehorse stared with terror in her eyes. Sebastian Reade, the middle-aged foreign language teacher, shuffled back. The team colors flashed in and out of focus as though the affinity couldn’t make up its mind. Each time the fire settled on red, people tensed. Something was happening, but I didn’t understand what.

  “She’s a Red,” one of the older students whispered on a nearby bench.

  “What’s a Red?” I shook Josie’s arm.

  She stared transfixed. “Th
ere isn’t such a thing as a Red.”

  The color shifted again.

  “Good golly! This is unprecedented,” Jeb said.

  “What does it mean?” I asked Josie.

  She stared, open-mouthed. “This never happened at my high school.”

  “It’s the prophecy!” someone shouted. “The Red will bring our downfall.”

  Oh great. One more thing I didn’t know about. I was at a school with a prophecy. I would have to ask Josie about that later.

  Jeb’s voice boomed over the murmurs. “Calm yourselves. There’s a simple and rational explanation for this.”

  Yeah, because magic was always rational and simple.

  “This must be a student who excels in all these kinds of magic so strongly it’s difficult to discover her affinity,” he said.

  The flames flickered like rainbows again, and a student emerged. The fire returned to white.

  The girl’s expression was as confused as everyone else’s. “I’m sorry. Did I do it wrong?”

  I gasped. It was one of my former students from Hamlin Middle School in Skinnersville, Oregon.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Out of the Frying Pan

  Back when I’d taught my practicum in Skinnersville School District, every day felt like Lord of the Flies. And that was just in the staff room to get a cup of coffee.

  Twice during my internship at the middle school, Thatch marched in, claiming to be the district psychologist. He came to observe a student with supposed autism, drawing my suspicion when he implied it was Imani Washington. Her talent in art surpassed her peers, and she was academically gifted. She was sociable with others, and she exhibited no traits of learning disabilities that I could see.

  Now that I knew Thatch was the equivalent of the school’s magical talent scout, it made more sense why he’d been there.