North End: The Black Forest

by Amanda Turner

  North End

  The Black Forest

  Amanda Turner

  Cherrymoon Media

  For Lola and Wilco - Thank you for being so cute.

  For Adam - Thank you for making all of my dreams come true.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  North End

  Fireflies

  Weekly Consultations

  The First Victim

  A Suspect

  Up All Night

  A New Normal

  Level-Headed

  Losing My Family

  Hallow’s Eve

  A Night to Remember

  The Black Forest

  Salvation

  Safe and Sound

  Winter Break

  About The Author

  North End

  Ilooked around while my eyes adjusted to the light. It was early morning, the sun just rising, peeking above the trees. The air was cold, and I could see my breath blending with the fog. My eyes adjusted, but my brain didn’t register where I was yet. I’d been here before. It was familiar. I looked down. My feet were planted on dirt. There were a few old, brown leaves leftover from fall, but the ground was mostly bare. I looked to my left. All I could see were unbelievably tall trees extending forever into the sky. And fog. It was so thick I couldn’t make out anything further than a few steps ahead of me. I gazed above. The sky was dimly lit, and snow was falling down on my head. I was in the forest. But why? I couldn’t remember what brought me here. I took a few steps to my left. Maybe I could find someone. Or find my way out, but the fog was so thick it was dangerous. I could easily get lost. No one would find me out here.

  I tried to move, but it felt like my feet were in mud. I looked down again to check, but I was still on the bare ground. There was no mud. I willed my legs to move and they finally did. As I trudged forward slowly, very slowly, I began to make out a figure a few feet ahead. The figure was dressed in a dark cloak. I couldn’t tell if I knew them. The face was hidden by the cloak.

  “Hello?” my voice echoed, vibrating off the trees. No response. I heard something loud in the distance. It was shrill and pierced through the air, echoing like my voice had, but amplified. I turned to my right and realized the forest edge was so close. Beyond it was the school. My school. My home. The walls were crumbling, engulfed in deep red flames…

  I woke up to realize I was literally jumping in my sleep. I had startled myself awake. I felt confused and groggy for a moment. The dream, or nightmare really, was still on my mind and I couldn’t remember where I actually was. It was pitch black around me, but my mind placed me in my childhood room. That couldn’t be right. I saw the tall, black curtains covering the long windows on the side of my room, and it clicked into place. I knew where I was. It was impossible to tell if anyone else was still asleep. Lillian slept in the bed directly beside mine, but even her bed was covered in a blanket of darkness. The only thing I could see was the clock on the wall opposite my bed. One sliver of sunlight peeked through the top of the curtains casting a light on the ancient, yet giant, wall clock. 6:39. On no! I slung the covers off my bed and jumped up. I landed on the cold concrete. The frigid surface stung my feet, and I jumped back on my bed in shock, which was a good thing because my head was dizzy from standing up too fast.

  Once my head stopped whirling, I stood up again, slowly this time, and walked over to the curtains. I opened them carefully so just a few rays of light shone in the room. It was enough to see that the three other beds in the room were empty. Everyone else was already up. “Why didn’t Lillian wake me?” I thought to myself angrily, cursing under my breath as I walked to my closet. The rational side of my brain knew it was my fault I overslept since I was the one who must have forgotten to set my alarm last night, but it was easier to secretly fault someone else for now, until I was fully awake and conscious enough to accept blame where it was due. I grabbed my bathroom bag from the top shelf of my closet and scurried out the door accidently slamming it behind me.

  Normally I would have been awake at 5:45 a.m. so I could spend the first 30 minutes of my day eating breakfast and sipping tea on the front balcony of the school. There are several small tables on the balcony, as well as old rocking chairs. Students are allowed to spend evening free time and breakfast there. But at nighttime, the area was restricted for students. Which made me sad. It was the most beautiful view in the whole school, and I longed to see what it looked like with twinkling stars painting the sky.

  Our school isn’t your average boarding school. It certainly wouldn’t look like a school to the outside eye, not that many outside eyes ever see this place anyway. We’re located on a remote island off the coast of Ireland. And when I say “remote,” I mean it. I never even knew the island existed until I stepped foot on it four years ago. It takes over three hours to arrive here by ferry, and there are no planes on or off the island. Access is restricted, as well. There is only one port on the island, and it is littered with security constantly. You cannot board the ferry on either side of the port if you are not a professor, student, or parent to a student of the school. Or unless you are a witch. A witch that has a confirmed appointment with another witch at the school.

  Even if you knew of the remote island and spent your day and night kayaking to reach it, you wouldn’t be able to make it onto land. All sides are covered in large, sharp rocks with waves thrashing against them constantly. As far as I knew, no one had ever tried to enter the island this way. And if they had, they were never heard from again. Even if the rocks didn’t lead them to their demise, the residents of the island would. When you’re on an island full of witches, it’s hard to sneak anything past anyone. And no one liked surprise guests.

  It was a shame for the outside world, the humans who had to miss the beauty of this island. It was all green. Everywhere you looked was grass or tall trees or ocean rocks covered in moss. The waves were visible from almost anywhere on the tiny island, which was only around one mile long. The waves were so high because our Headmistress placed a spell on them long ago. “They protect us,” she explained to my class our first day on the island. The waves only calmed when a guard commanded them to do so, and the guards only commanded them to do so if they were expecting a planned arrival.

  The trees were the tallest I had ever seen. Some would put the buildings in New York City to shame and the flat land allowed you to see them all crystal clearly. There were no hills. Where I grew up, there were rolling hills everywhere. I thought I would miss them. But I didn’t. There was something about flat land, about being able to see as far as your eyes could reach, no matter which way you looked, that brought comfort, allure, and majesty to the island. I almost couldn’t believe it was real the first time I stepped foot here because I didn’t think it was possible for anything to be this beautiful.

  Our school was a castle. It was impossibly old, from a different era entirely, but had been preserved by witches for centuries so not a stone was worn down. It even served as a safe haven for many witches when they were being hunted by humans during various witch trials around the world.

  The castle, made of deep grey stone, remained in pristine condition. It was countless stories high and the grounds in total took up more than half the island. There was even a drawbridge that took you over a moat surrounding the castle. However, it hadn't been used in years since very few threats presented themselves to the school. Which made sense considering the most powerful witches resided inside. So, no one entered through the drawbridge. Instead, they entered through the castle barbican on the east side of the campus. It had all the trappings of a medieval castle, including a portcullis, ramparts, turrets and towers. There were even rumors that
there were oubliettes, used to punish witches, somewhere hidden in the castle, but no student had ever actually seen them. When I was thirteen, experiencing my first year at the school, Lillian and I heard noises in the night. She would swear it was witches locked away in the cells, pleading for a chance at redemption.

  Yes, it was a pity that most of the world would never see this tiny island and the unbelievable sights it held. Any human would take one look at it and be sure they were dreaming, like I had the first time I came here. It was nothing short of magical and the land showed that. All sorts of mysteries lurked on the island. Some darker than others.

  I shuffled down the hall as quickly as I could since I was already late, and Professor Rose did not allow tardiness. She was one of the strictest professors at North End School. To be fair, every professor was pretty strict here. The rules were so rigid. They had to be. Young witches could not be given the chance to use their magic for anything but good. And if a student did try to use their magic for evil, they were quickly met with punishment from a professor—or worse, Headmistress Craw—that left them wishing they had never stepped out of line. Each one of the professors were among the strongest witches in the world, after all.

  The school’s main goal was focus. It’s important for young witches to focus on their studies, focus on their spells, focus on their relationships with their fellow witches. When you have the ability to kill at the tip of your fingers, you must be taught what to do with it. How to control it. And how to use it for your will only. We weren’t forced to use our magic for good when we left the school, but it was certainly encouraged. Although it was important to consider what good meant in our world versus the human world. But witches didn’t follow the same rules as humans, even though some lived secretly among humans when they graduated.

  I made my way to the bathroom with my burgundy robe brushing the ground. A strict dress code was one of the rules young witches were required to follow. We all wore clothing that was almost identical when attending classes. They varied in color depending on what year you were. This was my 4th year, therefore, at the moment I was dressed in burgundy pajama pants, with a button up silk shirt and a robe, which was optional. Unlike actually attending the school. Being a student here was an unspoken rule in the witch community. It didn’t matter where you lived in the world or what coven you were from, who your parents were or how they decided to educate you before your 13th birthday. As long as they were known to the Headmistress, all young witches attended this school from ages 13-19.

  There were some witches who blended into the modern world, choosing to live without their powers. Those who chose that life could live seemingly undetected, which meant they could not be forced to attend school at North End. That type of witch was called a “hitch” by most, meaning witches living as humans.

  Hitches didn’t follow the Divinity or the Fallen Angel and had turned their back on their magic. Most people in our world couldn’t understand why they chose to live this way, but deep down I got it. They didn’t ask for this. Perhaps they didn’t want to move halfway around the world to attend a school where dangerous spells were taught regularly. I could understand that because a small part of me felt the same way. So, I didn’t use terms like “hitch” in a derogatory way like most students, who used it as a hurtful word when they wanted to slander someone else’s name. I just used it to describe what they were. Not an abomination. Just people who chose a different path in life.

  It was easy for hitches to remain undiscovered for the entirety of their lives if they never had children. The longer they lived outside of this world, without using their powers, the quicker their magic faded away. Even if they chose to practice magic from time to time, they were difficult to track down. If they chose to have children, however, it complicated things. If a child discovered their magic and chose to act on it, the second they uttered their first spell, they could be traced. Only a witch’s first use of magic is traceable. Even if the child lost control of their emotions, they could use magic without even meaning to. Because of this, hitches had to work hard to keep an extremely low profile. If they were found with a young witch and refused to send them to our school, the parents could be locked away or killed. My parents had described it as “magical negligence” once. They said it wasn't much different than giving a child a knife with no explanation on how to wield it.

  So, if a child was found they would be forced to attend school at North End. The process seemed hypocritical to me, even after everyone’s justifications. The witch community preached free will, but hardly ever practiced what they preached. They claimed witches could live their life as they pleased, then required them to attend this school. They claimed we could worship what we wanted, whether that be the Divinity, the Fallen Angel, or nothing at all, but any class that discussed a religion of sorts mostly focused on the Fallen Angel, or the devil as humans know him. I had a feeling that had to do with our Headmistress and her beliefs. Humans usually thought of the Fallen Angel as a villain in a scary story or a monster in their dreams. They’re taught that the Underworld is a place of pain and somewhere you certainly wouldn’t want to end up. But a lot of witches thought the exact opposite. They longed to be in the Underworld after their life was over. They weren’t scared of the Fallen Angel. Instead, some worshipped him. I sided with the human world on this subject. The Underworld was not somewhere I ever wanted to step foot in.

  The whole process of seeking out these hitches seemed unnecessary since those who chose not to attend school here didn’t reap any of its benefits and therefore couldn’t be considered a danger. If witches weren’t taught any actual spells or how to use their powers properly, they eventually faded over time. And if they chose to only live in the mortal world, then they too would age like a mortal. That’s another reason I believe this island is magical. If I had never stepped foot on it, I would have been just like any other human by the time I was 30. My powers would have dulled so much I would have been lucky if I could cast a simple charm, and my body would have begun weakening. But since I did step foot on the island, my powers would only grow stronger as I aged. And since my aging began slowing rapidly when I turned sixteen, it was unknown just how powerful a witch could become.

  I sped past the stone walls of the hallways that were dim, only lit by small torches at the top. They appeared every few feet. Witches loved darkness and I wasn’t an exception to that particular rule. I was thankful the halls were dim in the mornings. It would not have been pleasant to wake up late and be blinded by bright fluorescent lights.

  I made it to the bathroom and swung open the dark oak door that ran all the way to the ceiling. It was 6:40 and class started at 7:15, so I guess I was skipping the shower today. Heading straight for the mirror, I passed several of my classmates. Some were wrapped in towels, drying their hair, others were in front of their mirrors applying makeup, and a select few were just exiting the showers with wet hair, uncaring that they would undoubtedly be late for their first class. One of those brave few with soaking wet bodies was Frances.

  I ducked my head as I passed the wall of showers and hoped the steam that filled the room was enough to hide me from her. I was not in the mood for a conversation. But, of course, the steam was not enough to mask my face. Frances stepped directly in front of me, confident, even though she was wearing nothing but a towel.

  “Hi, Josie.” She held up her hand, waving her long fingers one at a time. Frances towered over me, which made me feel even smaller than her presence alone. She was at least six feet tall and weighed no more than 130 pounds. Her limbs were long and thin, but make no mistake, she was not weak. “Did you oversleep?” she asked, jutting her bottom lip out with feigned concern, her eyes wide. They were light, sparkling blue, almost white. That was a witch thing. Witches had bright colored eyes that looked as if they could pierce right through you. They were much more vivid than human’s. “Poor thing,” she smirked, then, took her long nails and ran them through my hair. I stepped back, so she pulled her h
ands back, calmly, and ran her hands through her short, blonde hair instead. It fell just above her shoulders. “If only you had set an alarm…” she trailed off as she turned to walk away from me slowly, almost begging me to follow her. It worked.

  I followed closely behind. “Did you turn off my alarm?” I asked, suddenly furious. Frances had a problem with me since our first year together. My gut told me it was because my parents were two of the most well-respected witches in our world. Their powers were strong much like their parents and their parents’ parents. My mother’s side of the family was famously powerful. She was still spoken about to this day. That meant I had strength in my blood, and spells would come naturally to me. And they had. I was usually at the top of my class without much studying at all. Frances would die before she admitted it, but my hunch was she harbored a secret resentment for me.

  “That is quite the accusation, Josie.” She came to a sudden halt and spun on her heels to face me. “You know as well as I do it’s against the rules to enter another student’s room without permission. Especially to sabotage them.” She raised her dark eyebrows as if she was daring me to continue but smirked at the same time letting me know she was proud of whatever she had done.

  “It’s also against the rules to use spells against other students,” I pressed, refusing to back down. She might be nearly a foot taller than me, and there might be a part of me that actually was scared of her, but I could never let her see that. As soon as I did, she would pounce.

  “What exactly are you implying?” she asked, flashing a brilliant white smile and looking down on me with her piercing eyes. Something in her not-so-innocent smile told me I was right. She had done some sort of spell to stop my alarm clock. It wouldn’t have taken much, and she wouldn’t have necessarily even needed to be in my room when she did it.