by Sarina Dorie
“I killed it.”
“It’s just … sleeping.”
We both burst into laughter. I blinked away the tears that had been threatening to overflow. He wasn’t quite as adamant as Josie with her Amni Plandai affinity. She’d insisted all life was valuable. Maybe plants didn’t count.
He patted my shoulder. “Feel better?”
I nodded. I might have failed my first lesson, but I was pretty lucky I had such a patient teacher. Thatch wouldn’t have used humor or encouraged me with such understanding and patience.
“Plant magic doesn’t come naturally to you, which means you must not be Amni Plandai,” Julian said. “Do you know your affinity?”
I bit my lip. He had asked me before at the affinity fire. I wanted to confide in him, but I feared his reaction.
I shook my head. “Does that mean I can’t work with plants if I’m not Amni Plandai?”
“Anyone can learn other affinities. It just takes more work to learn outside your natural talents—especially if your power is weak. Some Witchkin haven’t enough magic to protect themselves from Fae. I suspect that isn’t the case with you.”
Not if I could blow up a plant.
“Perhaps we should experiment with animals and the elements to see if we can draw out your affinity and discover your strengths.”
“I would rather not experiment with animals and accidentally blow them up.” Already my mind was imagining poor little puppies splattered across my room. The walls would be painted red with blood, and surely that would give away my affinity. Jeb would see me as evil. They would say I was just like my mother.
Though the section of book I had found in Thatch’s desk had said Alouette Loraline was a Celestor, not a Red affinity. Maybe that made me even worse than she was.
“Nothing living, of course.” Julian tapped his chiseled jaw. “Perhaps some potion ingredients like ‘hair of dog’ or ‘wing of moth.’ Next time I’ll bring some leaves and we’ll start a little smaller. Maybe it would help if we found you a wand.”
I nodded. “I would like a wand.” I would feel like a real witch if I had one.
His face was close to mine, his lips inches away. He stared into my eyes. Energy spiraled around inside me, twisting and turning. Desire spiked in me. I leaned into him.
He was going to kiss me. Did I want him to kiss me? I liked him, but I didn’t know him well. I wasn’t supposed to be dating, because I couldn’t control my magic. My fairy godmother had once told me she thought I intensified other people’s magic, which might have explained the plant.
Yet all those reasons faded away into oblivion the moment he lifted my chin and touched his lips to mine.
The kiss was the most magical part of my magic lesson. It felt like a storybook moment that restored harmony to a fairytale kingdom. I could have drunk him in and forgotten about the mandate that I wasn’t to date if the sensation of a knife twisting in my belly hadn’t grounded me in reality. Another reminder my affinity wasn’t going to allow me to lead a normal sex life.
I stumbled back from him, gasping at the pain.
His expression turned to confusion. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Perhaps that was too forward.”
The lightning raging inside me made it difficult to speak.
“I-I can’t do this,” I said and left.
For days, I kicked myself for how stupid I’d been to stumble away without further explanation. I daydreamed about that brief kiss, wanting more. How was it possible some hottie who looked like a fashion model was interested in me? It was a little too good to be true.
Of course it was too good to be true.
Even if my affinity hadn’t wanted to kill me every time I kissed a man, I wasn’t allowed to date. Jeb had forbidden me from romantic relationships. I would not date Julian, I told myself. I wanted to keep my job.
Over the next two weeks, I struggled to keep up with my reading, creating new lesson plans that implemented study skills and literacy strategies, and grading an endless supply of papers. I went on another “undate” with Julian. We took a stroll in the woods behind the school, looking for a stick that would make a suitable wand so I might focus my powers.
The more time I spent with Julian, the more I liked him. He gave me something to look forward to each day.
Yet, there was this hesitancy inside me, a fear I would mess it all up. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the weird things that had happened to my ex-boyfriends. Maybe it would be different if I had a Witchkin boyfriend.
Then I remembered the plant. I did not want to electrocute Julian. Or anyone else.
Julian didn’t bring up the kiss or try to kiss me while we were on the outing looking for a wand. I worried he might think I disliked him.
The moment I started to broach the subject, my evil roommate showed up and flirted with Julian. Only weeks before, Vega had said there was no one at our school worth dating. He tolerated her presence with polite professionalism, all the while sneaking embarrassed glances at me.
I didn’t even get a wand out of the excursion.
Julian found excuses to visit my room during the day while he had his prep. He talked to the kids about their art, and he gave helpful suggestions to students. It was nice to have a friend.
After Julian left one morning, one of the boys complained, “Ugh, History of Magic is the most boring class in the world.”
“No way. Nothing is boring when I get to see Mr. Thistledown teach. He is hot!” one of the girls giggled.
I couldn’t disagree. The boys groaned and rolled their eyes.
After school, Julian brought me cookies and used spells to hang up more art posters and a couple framed drawings of my art in my classroom that my mom had sent me in my most recent box.
It would have felt like a date as Julian and I sat in my classroom, eating cookies and talking about our next excursion to look for a wand if Felix Thatch hadn’t slithered out of my closet, frown on his face. “My my, I didn’t think the room could get any more sappy and insipid. Then Mr. Thistledown graced us with his presence.”
Thatch always knew the exact moment to make my life the most miserable.
On Friday, I carried two of the books Thatch had given me down to the dungeon to return them during the lunch break. I had hoped to give the dusty tomes back to him in the cafeteria, but no such luck. Stepping into his lair wasn’t exactly the highlight of my day. My stomach fluttered in nervousness. I peeked into the classroom.
Imani sat at a desk in the back, reading a book and eating a sandwich. Thatch corrected papers at his desk.
“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing here?” I whispered.
Imani leapt to her feet and hugged me. “Miss Lawrence!” She wasn’t chained up like kids were in after-school detention, so that was a plus. Still, I didn’t like her spending time alone with him. It wasn’t healthy for her to grow attached to someone so dangerous.
I patted her shoulder.
“Mr. Thatch lets me eat lunch in here.” She lowered her voice. “As long as I don’t talk to him while he’s at his desk working.”
He didn’t look up from the papers he was correcting. “Stop hugging Miss Lawrence. There will be no public displays of affection in this room.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s in a crabby mood today.”
Only today? How about this decade?
I placed the books on the least cluttered corner of his desk and slowly backed away, hoping he wouldn’t offer further comment.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
I froze.
“We have matters of education to discuss.” He waved a hand at Imani. “Lunch break is almost over. Leave us so we can discuss what a wicked child you are.”
She made a face at him.
“Don’t say that about Imani! She’s a nice young lady,” I said.
“Define nice. Look at her reading quietly over there. Such a troublemaker.” He didn’t smile as he said
it, but from the twinkle in his eyes, he appeared to be … teasing?
She laughed and brought him the book. “Thanks, Mr. Thatch.” She reached into her bookbag and set a red apple on his desk.
He eyed it dubiously. “Is it poisoned?”
“No!”
“Pity. You could have used the potion you learned in class. We could have tested it on one of the teachers.” He looked me up and down. “Volunteers?”
She laughed and threw her arms around him and hugged him, pinning his arms to his sides. My eyes widened in surprise. I stepped forward, ready to pry her off him.
He squirmed back. “No hugging allowed.”
She ran off, laughing like a sprite. She was so buoyant and happy. I only wished she had friends to share her enthusiasm with instead of grumpy old men. I thought of myself at her age and how lonely I had been until I’d met my best friend, Derrick. And how lonely I’d been again after the tornado had stolen him away.
I hoped nothing bad was going to happen to Julian, like a tornado.
Thatch leaned his elbows on his desk and sagged forward. “I keep telling her not to hug teachers. It will put them in an awkward position and give some adults the wrong idea.”
“Some kids are just affectionate.” I shrugged. “I used to hug my teachers a lot when I was in elementary school.”
“She isn’t in elementary school. She is a teenager. Unscrupulous men will take advantage of her affinity and use it against her. Fae especially, but Witchkin as well.” He eyed me pityingly. “Like they do with you.”
“What? No.” He didn’t know anything about me.
“Like your … boyfriend does.”
A jolt of trepidation shot through me. I crossed my arms. “I’m not allowed to date, remember? I don’t have a boyfriend.” I was screwed if he thought Julian and I were dating. It would be just the excuse he was looking for to get me fired.
“Of course you don’t. Tell me, have you ever visited Julian Thistledown’s classroom?”
“No.”
He snorted. “Perhaps you should. If you witnessed his incompetence as a teacher, you might not find him so alluring—”
That was the final straw. Julian was a great teacher—he was kind and patient in our lessons. Thatch was a grouchy young-old man. “Do you ever have anything nice to say about anyone?”
He drummed his fingers against the wooden surface of his desk. “I don’t hate Dean Khaba. Mrs. Keahi baked cookies for me once when I was ill, so I suppose I don’t mind her either. Vega Bloodmire is a competent teacher. Our librarian, Miss Periwinkle, is brilliant and has the most attractive … mind I’ve ever met. I suppose I could go on if I had to, but it might be a stretch. Is that enough for you?”
Of course he would compliment my evil roomie and all the mean people at the school. I rolled my eyes. “What did you want to talk to me about? You said we needed to discuss my education.”
“Have you finished your reading?”
“I have one more book. Please don’t give me any more books to read. I need to learn how to do magic. It’s around me every day. I can feel it building up inside me. Any day now I’m sure it’s going to explode out of me in a tornado or a lightning storm or something.”
His eyes narrowed. “He’s kissed you, hasn’t he?”
My face drained of warmth.
“No. Who? No.” I tried not to sound guilty, but from his disdain painted across his face, I could tell he knew the truth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Thatch glowered at me, the accusation hanging in the air between us like a noose.
Yes, I had kissed Julian. And it was none of Thatch’s business.
Mostly. I supposed other teachers had a right to know if my magic was going to explode their school.
When Julian had kissed me, the cramps in my belly had intensified like I was experiencing miniature jolts of electricity in my ovaries. At first I had only felt these stabbing pains when Pro Ro had been around. By the sixth week of school, weaving magic with Julian, sitting next to Mr. Sebastian Reade at lunch, or being near any adult Witchkin male for a prolonged amount of time brought stabbing pain in my core.
Except for Thatch. Yuck. His resting bitch face was enough to make me puke in my mouth. Plus, Pro Ro had said Thatch had some kind of relationship with my mother. Double yuck.
Thatch crossed his arms, waiting.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you know why the headmaster discouraged dating for every staff member?” His eyes narrowed. “Because of you. Because of your history. One wanton act and you’re going to bring a cyclone down on this school. If I tell the principal what you’ve done, he’ll know he can’t trust you. He’ll see how arrogant and selfish you are, and know he was wrong to allow you to come here.”
I loathed Thatch even more that he was right. I was being selfish by allowing myself to fall for a guy when my feelings for him might draw out my magic.
“Please, don’t tell Jeb. I love it here. I want to learn to use magic and—”
“Then stop sneaking around like a teenager. Learn some self-control.” He snarled out the words.
I stumbled back.
He straightened his cravat. “I expect you to finish the last book by Saturday. You need to block out a two-hour period of time Saturday afternoon so we can discuss your reading. If you have satisfied my standards of excellence, then I will teach you how to … not explode people accidentally.”
So he wasn’t going to tell the principal? Like all nice things that happened in my life, it was too good to be true.
Never had I simultaneously dreaded and eagerly anticipated a Saturday more. Tomorrow, I was going to learn magic. I hated postponing my Saturday plans with Julian, but he was understanding. I had to disappoint Josie as well. She was less understanding.
My dorm room was empty in the evening. Vega hadn’t told me where she had gone. I was just glad to have the room to myself so that I could read in solitude. Before bed, I practiced meditating using the exercises from the lucid-dreaming book.
The meditation came to a halt when a snap and sharp pain in right side drew my attention. I pulled out my phone from my pocket. The plastic frame was so hot I had to drop it on the blankets. Maybe it had drained me of power. Electricity was supposed to be a Witchkin’s weakness. I shoved it under my pillow and tried to get back to my visualization, but I felt too fidgety. My legs didn’t want to stay still. It had to be anxiety.
I decided to leave my phone in my room during my lesson. I didn’t want it to interfere with my magic. The idea of being parted with it made me even more nervous. My phone was my only protection against Fae. Not that I expected the Raven Court to suddenly show up in Thatch’s dungeon. On the other hand, I didn’t entirely trust Thatch.
At noon on Saturday, I trudged down to the dungeon. Thatch stood in the back of his classroom, leaned over the counter of lab supplies. He was dressed as impeccably as he would be on a workday in one of his tweed suits with a cravat tied around the high collar of his shirt. Light crackled from his wand as he zapped the black surface of the counter. I peered around him to find he was erasing graffiti carved into the wood.
The words, “is a faggot” slowly disappeared under the erasing spell he used.
“I finished reading the last book,” I said. “I’m ready to learn magic.”
“Unlikely.”
I didn’t know if he meant I wasn’t ready to learn, or he didn’t think I had read all the books. “I can prove it. Ask me anything from the books.”
He finished erasing the graffiti, at last looking up. “Very well.” He smiled, his eyes sinister. “A little test, shall we?”
He spun on his heel, his perfect hair billowing behind him. I followed him down the hall to his office. Students must have behaved moderately well this week since no one was chained to the walls in the dungeon.
I paus
ed at the entrance of his office. His black bird perched on a ledge inside the wire cage. The bird tilted its head to the side, watching me with interest.
“Why do you have a raven in here?” I asked.
He seated himself in his cushiony desk chair. “She is a crow, not a raven. She’s my pet. Witchkin have familiars.”
More likely the bird was his messenger to the Raven Court. Too bad Vega and her bird-eating plant couldn’t get their talons on his supposed pet.
He waved a hand at the metal chair in front of his desk. The rusty metal bolted together wasn’t the most inviting. Just looking at it, I had a bad feeling someone had died in it.
I tried to find a comfortable way to sit, but the lack of ergonomics alone served as a torture device. I kept my hands in my lap, suspecting restraints might clamp down around my wrists the moment I set my hands on the armrests.
I eyed his cushy chair enviously.
“What year was the school founded?” he asked.
“Womby’s Reform School for Wayward Witches was founded in 1811 by Wilbur Womby who bought the grounds after the previous school went bankrupt. The word ‘reform’ was dropped from the name in the nineteen seventies to be more inclusive of students from lower economic groups and at-risk youth.” I crossed my legs and smoothed my sweaty palms against my black skirt. This wasn’t so bad.
He frowned. He tapped his trimmed nails against the desk as if trying to think of something that might stump me. “What was the original school built on this location?”
“That’s a trick question. No one knows what the original school was. Previous to Womby’s was Merlin’s Academy for Boy’s, Nineve’s Academy for Girls, The Green Man’s Monastery—though it sounds like there wasn’t much celibacy practiced by those monks—”
He held up his hand. “Enough. Next question. Magical theory.” He shifted, and I had a feeling I had said something that either offended him or made him uncomfortable. Maybe it had just surprised him that I knew the answer.
He leapt from book to book with his questions, asking me about protective runes used for wards, Fae history, and magical ethics. It felt pretty good that my study habits had helped me retain names and dates. Already I could see myself beating Hermione Granger’s test scores in my fantasies.
