Witches Gone Wicked

by Sarina Dorie

  His scowl deepened with every question I answered correctly. “Tell me what you inferred about the system of Fae courts.”

  Crap-a-tooey. This was critical-thinking skills. I considered what I learned. “The Fae are organized by region and family. They go by names like the Lotus Court, Lily Court, Verde Court, Silver Court, and so on. There are thirteen major families—”

  “Wrong,” he said. “There used to be thirteen families. But the Fae and Witchkin joined together to destroy the … wickedest of those courts.”

  “Let me finish.” I cleared my throat. “There are thirteen major families worth mentioning. One is now extinct, which has been renamed the Lost Court, though books don’t say the original name. There are a number of minor families who keep to themselves or are so scattered—”

  He enunciated each word in his crisp British accent. “I asked you to use deductive reasoning. What have you gleaned from the text about the Lost … Red Court?”

  The Lost Red Court? The book hadn’t called it that, but the words felt right, like my soul knew the name even though I had never heard of it before. Already I was deducing like mad.

  There had been a Red Court and my affinity looked red in the fire. Not that I was about to share that with him. Then again, his reaction the night of the affinity fire had suggested he’d known and didn’t want anyone else to know. “It sounds like Witchkin and Fae don’t agree on many subjects, so it’s a big deal they came together to fight for a common cause to get rid of the Lost Court.” This new knowledge made more sense. They’d wanted to kill all Reds. That book with the missing pages had said my mother was a Celestor, but someone had accused her of being a descendent of the Lost Court, which meant someone had accused her of being a Red.

  The prophecy Josie had mentioned was about someone who brought back the lost arts. The lost red arts?

  He drummed his fingers, his expression neutral.

  I stuck to the facts from the books he knew I had read. “Witchkin thought the Lost Court was wicked because—”

  “Only Fae-published books call it the Lost Court. And the school board only approves Fae-published books. Witchkin call it the Lost Red Court or the Red Court. At least, those who have heard of it do.”

  “Ah.” No wonder it had been so hard to look up. “The Reds produced heirs through black magic that harmed others, not through procreation. They took life to create life.” I couldn’t help wondering if that was how my biological mother had made me. No one had told me exactly why she was so bad, other than she killed and tortured people. Maybe that should have been enough.

  “That’s what Fae-published textbooks tell us.”

  Was he implying that wasn’t the case? “I can get how Witchkin would object to that.” Josie’s anti-spider-killing obsession came to mind. “But Fae have no problem with killing people. I can’t figure out why they didn’t like the Red Court.”

  “Envy. Resentment.”

  “The book didn’t say they were more powerful, just that they could do different magic.” My fairy godmother had said the Fae had a fertility problem. “I guess the thing the Red Court could do is they were able to carry on their line, while the other pureblood Fae have been declining in birthrates. This has something to do with the Fae Fertility Paradox?”

  The volume of his voice rose. “Where did you hear about that?”

  I swallowed. I couldn’t admit it had been in the section of the book I wasn’t supposed to have. “My fairy godmother.”

  He shook his head, his lips pressing into a line. “Why must we respond to authority with respect and deference?”

  I selected my words carefully. “According to the book, Magical Theory, one’s elders, teachers, and leaders are to be our masters who will protect us and aid us. In return for our loyalty and devotion to a particular institution or Fae court, we are granted protection from humans and other Fae.” It was difficult to keep the bitterness from my voice.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You disagree?”

  His snotty tone and pissy mood needled its way under my skin. “I’m American. We abolished slavery in the 1860s. The ideas in Magical Theory are archaic, feudal, and make me think back to a time when one man owned another. Or maybe it’s just a monarchy thing. We have a president, not a king or queen, and the common people get a vote in things because we have a democracy.”

  He grimaced. “And so we come to politics. Another matter we would do well to avoid, considering your outspoken opinions of the Unseen Realm.”

  I tried to shrug off my rising irritation. “I’ve read your required reading. Did I pass your test?” I wrung the hem of my rainbow polka-dot sweater in my hands. “I need to learn real magic. Reading isn’t going to protect me from students velcroing me to the ceiling and Fae trying to snatch me. If you aren’t going to keep up your end of the deal, why should I?”

  “You still haven’t mastered the art of … manners. Is it because you are American that you are so direct and uncouth?”

  I tried to suppress the rising annoyance in me. “Hey, you don’t have to take it upon yourself to teach me manners. Jeb just wants you to teach me protection spells.”

  “Touché.” A flicker of a smile touched his lips. It was so brief I wasn’t sure if it had been my imagination. “Magic is an ancient craft with strict and precise rituals that require complete discipline and adherence to its rules. I have a suspicion you will not be able to master the methods of protection I must teach you because of your ‘Americanisms.’ You harbor an unwillingness to part with your modern ideals that have served you so well in your other life, but will inhibit the learning of magic.”

  “I’m willing to try.”

  “I am not asking you to try. You must dedicate yourself to the single goal of succeeding until you master the technique.” He leaned forward, his eyes focusing on mine.

  His intensity unnerved me. I smiled in the hope of lightening the mood. “As Yoda said, ‘Do or do not. There is no try.’”

  His dark eyebrows furrowed. “Who is this Yoda?”

  I tried not to laugh. “It’s a Morty reference. He’s a teacher.”

  Thatch snorted. “In any case, you need to be able to trust your instructor, to follow directions immediately and without question, or else you are liable to get hurt. Are you capable of doing that?”

  I nodded, eager to begin.

  He picked up his wand. “Lean back in the chair and close your eyes.”

  “Is this a meditation?”

  “No speaking. We’ll see if you have, indeed, been doing your homework and are able to tell the difference between dreams and reality.”

  I had a feeling this was my real test. I sat back and closed my eyes.

  “Place your hands on the arms of the chair,” he said.

  Reluctantly I did so.

  His chair creaked. Fabric rustled beside me. “Relax your muscles.” He tapped my shoulders with something stiff and pointy, I assumed his wand.

  I wiggled my shoulders and released the tension I held there. He tapped each of my forearms, which made me realize I wasn’t relaxed if I squeezed the metal armrests. I opened and closed my hands a few times, took in a deep breath, and exhaled.

  He poked me in the stomach. “And these muscles. Am I going to have to tell you every part of your body that you’re clenching?”

  “Probably.”

  “Hush. I didn’t say you could speak.”

  I opened my mouth.

  “That was a rhetorical question.” He tapped me just above the knee, a smidge harder than was necessary. My quads were tense, and I breathed in again and released the tension.

  “Focus on your core.” He poked me two inches below my navel, where the cramps usually started when I had sexy thoughts.

  I held my breath, anxious about where else he might poke his phallic magic stick. His shoes shuffled against the floor, and his chair creaked again. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Imagine a sphere of energy
inside you. This is your power source, where your affinity dwells. Visualize a shield in front of your center, guarding you from outside forces and protecting others from you.” The deep monotone of his voice lulled me into a sleepy state. “Imagine the tension in your muscles melting away. Forget about this body as you sink deeper and deeper into relaxation.”

  Feathers fluttered. The bird in its cage shifted and settled. I tried to ignore it. Thatch spoke on, continuing with the visualization.

  A tickle across my wrists drew my attention. A weight pressed down on my arms. Something cold and rough slithered across my skin. I fought the urge to look. I tried to move my arms, but I couldn’t. In my mind I saw the snake from my mother’s portrait coiling around my arm. Panic rose up in me. I was becoming my mother.

  I didn’t know which idea was scarier—that I was evil, or he was using snake bondage on me. I screamed and opened my eyes.

  I didn’t see serpents, but I could still feel the scales scraping against my skin. My stomach flip-flopped. I tried to move, but my arms were too heavy.

  “Calm yourself,” Thatch said in his usual monotone. “Your mind manifests an illusion based on your fears. The key is to shield yourself.”

  The moment the sensation of snake restraints faded, I leapt to my feet. “Whoa, hold the mayo, dude! You didn’t say anything about snakes or restraints.” I didn’t even think I had been afraid of snakes, but I sure as heck was now.

  Thatch nodded to the torture chair. “Sit.”

  I eyed the chair warily.

  His steepled fingers pressed together with so much pressure his knuckles were white. “You are used to being coddled in your other life among Morties. Your fairy godmother tried to shield you from every evil, but that isn’t going to help you in this world.”

  Mom had tried to protect me from everything—including myself. Ignorance hadn’t been bliss. Grudgingly I took a seat.

  Thatch went on. “Magic can be a life or death situation, and that is what I prepare my students for. You need to think fast on your feet, comply instead of complain, and be ready for anything.”

  I crossed my arms. “I’m not asking to be coddled. I just want some communication.” I wasn’t trying to sound whiney, but my voice grew high-pitched in agitation. “You could have warned me you were going to restrain me with invisible snakes. In fact, you could have told me anything. I still don’t know what this training entails.”

  “I have no control over what terrors your mind comes up with.” His jaw clenched. “This chair will help draw out your deepest fears so that you can learn to ignore stimulus that would set off your energies. Everything you experience is an illusion created by the chair in combination with your subconscious mind. If you have been doing the exercises in the book I gave you, you should be able to tell the difference between reality and illusions, which will make it easier for you to shield yourself. Is that enough communication for you?”

  I nodded.

  “If I am to teach you magical self-defense, you will need to master your body. You will learn to keep your magic shielded no matter what anyone throws at you.”

  My magic. My affinity? He didn’t say it, but I suspected he meant so no one would find out what I was. I should have been grateful he wasn’t willing to tell everyone what I was, but it only made me more suspicious of his motivations.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  I did so. I didn’t like this, but I didn’t see what other choice I had if I was to learn to protect myself.

  The melody of his voice calmed me as he walked me through a visualization of my body relaxing. I could see the red swirling ball of light inside my core more quickly and clearly this time.

  “As your emotional state rises, the energy inside you will grow. It will control you and make you a slave to your affinity if you do not succeed in controlling it. You must minimize the size and intensity of your energy. Do not allow external distractions to diminish your hold on yourself.”

  I wanted to ask if he meant external—as in real things—or the subconscious things my mind was supposedly making up when I sat in the chair, but I wasn’t supposed to talk. Something tickled against my cheek and whispered down my neck. Pressure weighed across my shoulder and then pressed against my arm. Rough scales raked over the bare flesh of my arm. The snake coiled around my elbow, fastening me to the chair. My heart sped up.

  Another serpent slithered up my leg, a tongue flitting out of its mouth as it smelled the sliver of flesh between my striped knee socks and skirt. A long rope of pressure slid over my lap. The snake coiled up around my other arm. My eyes remained closed, but I could see the snakes, green pythons. They glided over my body, in constant motion. One slipped up my neck and around my throat. I held my breath, afraid it was about to cut off my air supply.

  This wasn’t real, I told myself.

  “Protect yourself,” he said.

  Right, that was what I was supposed to be doing.

  I focused my attention on the growing ball of red. Lightning crackled inside me. I soothed it and focused on smooshing the light down. It was a lot like centering and pulling the walls of a clay cone on a pottery wheel. Calming art thoughts filled me. That was better.

  Perhaps it was the thought of art that caused my subconscious to resurrect Derrick. He stood before me with his blue hair wafting in the breeze. He wore his Matrix-like trench coat and mismatched clothes. I wanted to reach up and touch the stubble on his chin, but I couldn’t move my arms. He leaned closer and his lips pressed against my mouth, his hunger ravenous. I leaned in, tasting him, wanting him more than ever.

  The red energy inside me swelled. Warmth flooded through me.

  “You aren’t following the directions,” Thatch said. “Ignore the distractions your mind creates.”

  Got it. Ignore. I focused on the ball of energy again and imagined it growing smaller. The snakes tore at my clothes with their fangs, yanking the fabric apart. Shreds fell away. I didn’t see Derrick, but I felt his hands on my naked shoulders. He swept my hair aside and kissed my neck. He cupped my breasts. One moment it was him and then next it was Julian. I wasn’t certain who I wanted.

  Someone said my name, but the voice came from a distance.

  My affinity swelled. Desire filled me. Heat flushed my face.

  A loud bang snapped my attention away from the meditation. I blinked. Thatch stood behind his desk, a book in his hands that he had apparently slammed on the desk.

  His face was livid with anger. “What are you doing? I told you to master your body, not to give in to it. Do you understand what risk you take not being able to control yourself?”

  “Yes. I might hurt someone or myself.” I stared down at my lap. My clothes were intact. No one else was there. The illusion was gone.

  “Or worse yet, you might allow someone to use your magic against you.” The anguish in his eyes was as palpable as a knife slicing through flesh.

  He looked so forlorn and lost. Finally, it came together in my mind. My mother definitely wasn’t a Celestor. Without a doubt, I knew she was a Red. “That’s what Alouette Loraline did to you.”

  All that meanness inside him made more sense. This is why Jeb wanted Thatch to teach me. It was hard to hate Thatch when I felt bad for him. In his crabby, resentful way, he was trying to help me so no one would do the same to me.

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “We agreed that if I was to teach you, you wouldn’t ask impertinent questions.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Not just sorry for resurrecting his demons, but sorry I was related to someone who had hurt him. I suspected I understood his motivation for agreeing to teach me.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” he snapped. “Focus on the problem at hand. You aren’t in control. You can’t tell the difference between your own desires and someone else’s. Haven’t you noticed how your mind says one thing and your body says another?”

  I shifted against the hard metal of the
chair and hugged my arms around myself. “I’ve been told that on occasion.”

  “But you still doubt it.” He came around the desk. He sat on the edge across from me, a tad bit closer than I was comfortable with. “Give me your hand.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t like him. I didn’t completely trust him. But if I was to learn, I was supposed to obey the dungeon master. I extended my hand. His fingers were as chilled as icicles as he took mine.

  The corners of his lips curled upward, though his eyes remained unsmiling. “Tell me, what do you feel toward me right now?”

  Besides annoyed, creeped out, and intimidated? I wasn’t sure which of those it was most appropriate to admit. I doubted he wanted to hear pity either.

  “You detest me,” he said coolly without emotion. “You find me to be despicable. Is that correct?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to insult him.

  His grin grew broader even as his eyes narrowed. He stroked a thumb against my palm. His touch was whisper soft. My body burned against his cold, warmth flooding to the flesh he caressed. He massaged my skin in slow sensuous strokes. Electricity jolted up my spine. I was uncomfortably aware of my underwear and how much I wanted to remove them.

  My breath caught in my throat as pleasant tingles raced up my arm. This was just like Oregon Country Fair all over again. He’d tried to drain me then. The past grew distant in a haze of inconsequential details I no longer cared about. I only could think about the present.

  “Are you going to drain me?” I asked.

  “Would you be able to stop me if I was?” he asked.

  I tried to draw back my hand, but he didn’t release me. Admittedly, I didn’t try very hard. I didn’t want him to let go. His touch made me melt.

  “If one were planning on draining you, he or she would need you at your most vulnerable. When you lose control of your affinity like this, you are too weak to stop anyone from hurting you.” His voice came out as a soft purr as he stroked my hand. “Pray, what do you think of me now. Do you still detest me?”

  I laughed. He was so funny. I’d never detested him. I stared into the stormy depths of his eyes and felt like I could sink below the steely surface. I leaned closer.