North End: The Black Forest

by Amanda Turner

  “Oh, don’t act so innocent. You have a problem with me, too, little Miss Perfect. You’re jealous of me.” She raised her eyebrows and smirked. “It drives you mad that the Headmistress loves me and barely speaks to you.”

  “The only thing that bothers me is that you suck up to her. If I really thought you wanted to work hard and learn I would respect you,” I spat back. “This is the only class you even bother to show up on time to. Seems fake. Like you care more about appearances when someone ‘important’ is around.”

  “Hmmm...see...I don’t think that’s it. I think you’re angry because I might be more powerful than you.” She took another step towards me and stared down. “You’re not the only one in this school who is gifted, you know. And I intend to show everyone what I’m capable of.”

  “I never said I was gifted, Frances.” I saw the Headmistress staring at us with a stern look on her face and decided it was time to leave. “Have a good day.” I turned and walked away. This time she didn’t try to stop me. She must have noticed the Headmistress looking at us, too. Before the door closed, I heard her say, “Headmistress, could I ask you a quick question?” Her voice was coated in sugary sweetness.

  * * *

  “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Professor Howard asked. He was seated in front of his large oak desk that he had stained coal black. He leaned back in his leather desk chair casually, refusing to break eye contact. His sapphire eyes honed in on mine until I looked away. I was still angry about the confrontation with Frances, but I didn’t know what complaining to Professor Howard would do besides make me seem immature. I didn’t want that. I distracted myself by looking at the arrangement of his desk.

  Professor Howard was very neat. It was obvious he liked things to look a particular way and any stray from his path wouldn’t be well received. He had a notepad directly in front of him. Sometimes he would take notes on our meetings. He usually only did that if I mentioned my parents, though. I guessed it was so our conversations were well-documented in case I ever expressed dangerous thoughts, like hurting myself or others, since it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for a young witch to take a turn for the worse and use their powers for something less than productive. Plus, a young witch going through a traumatic event, like losing their mother suddenly, might ring a few warning bells to some. Not that I would ever hurt anyone.

  I never expressed such feelings. I never went into detail about what happened with my parents either. I only mentioned them when I talked about my childhood and discovering my powers. I knew Professor Howard wanted to know more or felt like he should at least ask because he often did, but I never budged. It wouldn’t be a pleasant discussion.

  Professor Howard’s desk had silver trays on it. Trays that were filled with files, each labeled with identical white tags in the left-hand corner with the same perfect handwriting. The files had names of places, classes, and spells on them. A few of them even had the names of students on them. These students were on his caseload, which meant he met with them for consultations, too. That led me to my next reason for being less than willing to talk about my squabble with Frances. She was on his caseload. I knew he would never mention anything to her about our conversation if we did happen to talk about her. That was against the rules. But it still felt weird.

  “Is it school?” he probed. “Are your grades suffering?” I shook my head, but still refused to make eye contact as I continued scanning the desk. He kept three small sculptures of the Fallen Angel front and center. They were black and had the same character in different poses. The character was broad with muscles covering every part of the body. It looked very similar to human form, but still resembled no human I had ever seen. The character didn’t wear any clothing. Two horns protruded from its forehead. The figure showed off a set of sharp teeth by curling back its lips. It looked very similar to pictures I saw of the Fallen Angel in textbooks, but the figures on Professor Howard’s desk sent a chill down my spine every time I saw them. There was something sinister about seeing the figure free from the confides of textbook pages.

  I looked away quickly as Professor Howard asked his next question. “Is it your father? Friends, perhaps?” He did not want to let this go. My eyes wandered to the wall behind his head. It was covered in diplomas with the name Wilmot Howard and awards of various sorts, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. If you were a professor here, you had to be brilliant. And if you aged as slowly as witches did, you had plenty of time to learn.

  “Josie.” His voice was stern this time. I forced myself to make eye contact with the man sitting in front of me. Professor Howard was very good-looking. All of the people I sat with at lunch dubbed him the “hottest professor” last year. When I looked at him objectively, I couldn’t help but agree. He was a bit older, but not ancient. I could tell his age had been frozen for a while, but he still held on to his youth. However, the way he carried himself was very distinguished and mature. He sat up straight always, with his broad shoulders facing me. His features were sharp, and his hair was black with streaks of grey, always styled perfectly with some sort of gel. Light grey scruff lined his chin, but he never let it get long enough to form a full beard. Today he wore dark blue jeans with black dress shoes on his feet, and a tan, chunky sweater. Yes, he was objectively handsome, but he didn’t appeal to me the way he did to other students. To be that attracted to a professor felt very, very wrong.

  “I’m fine,” I insisted.

  “I know that look,” he said, leaning forward and pointing his pen at me. My heart pittered. Could he tell I was thinking about how good-looking he was? He finally smiled. “Okay, okay. We don’t have to talk about whatever it is.” Phew. I knew he would drop it after that. He respected boundaries and could tell he was crossing mine. “So, what do you want to talk about, Ms. Parker?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, Professor. Honestly, meeting every single week seems excessive to me. We always run out of things to discuss.”

  “And I always let you leave early. So, we don’t waste time, really,” he countered. He was right. If we ran out of things to say and he couldn’t pry anything else out of me, I was always dismissed. “I think it’s good to have the time set aside in the event you do have something you wish to talk about.” Curiosity struck me. How old was Professor Howard? He spoke as if he was from a different time, but when? Would it be rude to ask? Witch ages remained somewhat of a mystery to me.

  “Could I ask you a question?”

  “Mhmm,” he responded simply, folding his hands across his stomach.

  “How old are you?” I asked, hesitantly. He raised his brows and smiled slightly as if my question surprised him. Which it likely did. We didn’t talk about him much. He took a deep breath and sighed. He was silent for a full minute. I heard the large, antique clock above the door to his office clicking. I started to wonder if he was going to answer or if I should redact my question.

  “Well,” he began, “I suppose you’re asking in terms of human years.” I nodded. “I was born in 1935. So, that would make me 85.” The words didn’t match the man sitting in front of me. This man looked no older than his late 30’s, but he had been on this earth for 85 years.

  “How does it work? Aging as a witch?” I asked. Since he was willing to tell me that much, perhaps he would be willing to answer my other questions.

  “It is a complicated thing. Even I have a difficult time wrapping my head around it. There is no sound answer that can be backed up with evidence, but many say it has to do with your genes, much like it does for humans. If you come from a strong, healthy line of witches then you tend to live longer. Unless fate intervenes.” His eyes flickered to mine when he said, “fate intervenes.” Like it had for my mother. “It isn’t unheard of for witches to live to be 300 years old, but that seems to be a rarity. I have also heard darker rumors. In old legends, there was talk of witches selling their soul or stealing those of others. The witches that sold their soul to the Fallen An
gel lived to be several hundred years old, but they usually lost any semblance of good they had in their hearts. Their years were typically spent doing the bidding of the Fallen Angel. And the tasks were never pleasant. The Fallen Angel doesn’t show mercy, even when mercy should be shown.”

  I was taken aback by his last comment. It seemed like he was speaking negatively of the Fallen Angel—something Followers are forbidden to do. “What types of tasks did they have to do?”

  He sighed deeply and I could see he was reluctant to go into detail. “Murder, kidnapping, torture. You name it. The tasks almost always did harm to others. Dark magic. I am not sure how one could justify these deeds are worth the extra years if the years aren’t truly yours to live.”

  “What are the other rumors you’ve heard? Besides soul selling? How do you...steal a soul?” I pondered. This was the most explanation of aging I had ever gotten from a professor. Plus, the less we talked about me, the better.

  He laughed. “You are too young to be worrying about your mortality, Ms. Parker. Let’s move on. This subject is quite grim.” We spent the next 15 minutes discussing my classes casually. The conversation wasn’t enthralling so my mind continued to wander back to our discussion on age. Witches had sold their soul to the devil in order to live longer. Free will seems like a high price to pay for an extended life when we already lived longer than average. He also mentioned stealing souls but avoided my question about it. If Professor Howard was reluctant to tell me the stories, then they must be very dark. He had no problem telling me about the consequences of selling your soul to the devil. What could be worse than that?

  Our session ended early. The full time wasn’t necessary. I grabbed my bag from beside the chair and stood up. Professor Howard walked me to the door and wished me well. When I opened the door I almost ran straight into a tall, slender body: Frances.

  She looked down at me and smiled. “Hello, Josie,” she cooed with faux friendliness. She was acting sweet in front of Professor Howard. Frances was one of the many students who had a crush on him. I’d overheard her saying some crude things about him in the past.

  “Hello,” I said curtly. I didn’t care to put on some sort of a show in front of Professor Howard. “What are you doing here?” I asked, suddenly paranoid she had been outside of Professor Howard’s office eavesdropping this entire time.

  “Well, it’s time for my weekly meeting, of course. What else would I be doing here?” She smiled, showing all her teeth and winked at me. Professor Howard was standing right beside me. There was no way he missed that. I wondered if all the young female attention made him uncomfortable.

  “I thought our meeting wasn’t for another hour,” Professor Howard questioned, crossing his arms across his chest.

  “I was hoping we could push it up a bit. I just have so much to talk to you about,” Frances said. Her voice was honey.

  “Come on in, then, Frances. Ms. Parker, I’ll see you next week.” I stepped out into the hallway and Professor Howard disappeared into his office. Frances turned around to close the door, and when she did, she looked me right in the eyes and licked her lips.

  The First Victim

  "I thought I would go with a more traditional date than our first. No special charms in the Black Forest,” Miles said while gazing down at me. That same gentle smile was painted on his face and his icy blue eyes were sparkling. Blue today, I smiled as I admired the color.

  “What does that mean exactly?” I asked. We were walking down the hallway hand in hand. I was surprised by how normal this already felt. Safe. I could hear echoes of laughter and cheering down the halls. It was 9:00 p.m. on a Friday evening, which meant parties were in full effect. Our parties were a little different than in the mortal world. Witches weren’t big on drinking unless it was a special occasion. Alcohol was banned from the campus anyway, so it was a rarity to have a student sneak it in. Instead, students spent weekends staying up late, performing charms and spells, playing pranks on each other, or staying up all night with their friends. Sometimes a few kids would organize magic competitions, but mums the word on that. The administration had no idea. A few of the bold students drank experimental potions from time to time, but I had never tried that. Normally I would have been in one of my girlfriend’s rooms with Lillian trying to see who could stay up the latest, but I didn’t mind my company tonight.

  “I thought we could rent a movie from the library and watch it in my room, if that sounds okay to you,” he said, almost like a question, to make sure I was comfortable with the idea of being alone with him in his room. Spending time in a boy’s room wasn’t a normal activity for me. It was also frowned upon by some professors; not necessarily against the rules as long as you didn’t stay past 11:00 p.m., but if the wrong professor saw you, they would do their best to embarrass you.

  “That sounds fun!” I replied with a little too much excitement. I was going for enthusiasm, but I was worried it came off more hysterical. I was completely comfortable going to Miles’ room, but the idea also turned my stomach into a ball of nerves. I could feel it twisting. “What kind of movies do you like?” I questioned, forcing myself to sound nonchalant.

  “I’m cool with anything. I’m pretty easy to please when it comes to movies. If it’s funny, I’m all in. What about you?”

  “I’m the same way. I love horror films and comedies. The only kind I’m not a fan of are sad movies.”

  “Why don’t you like sad ones? Do they make you cry?” he asked seriously. He sounded genuinely curious.

  “Yeah. It’s really easy to make my cry, though. If a dog dies in a movie, my week is ruined. I just don’t understand why someone would want to watch a depressing movie. If you want to be sad, you can just walk outside and live your life. Plenty of sad things happen every day,” I explained. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have cared if we watched a sad movie. Movies that focused on loss and pain didn’t used to hurt me the way they do now...because before I had never experienced real loss. True pain. Now sad movies just brought back the memories of my parents that I tried my best to block out.

  “That’s true.” He said it like he understood what I was referring to but didn’t press for more details. I appreciated that. “How about we watch a comedy, then? We both enjoy those.” He slipped his hand out of mine and wrapped it around my shoulder in a comforting way. The conversations we had last time were probably etched in his mind. He knew the tragedy I had seen. His arm around me was a small gesture, but it made me feel less alone in that moment.

  “Sure,” I smiled. We continued walking until we reached the west corridor. Miles opened a small, red door on the right side of the hallway and had to duck so he wouldn’t hit his head. The door led us down a slender staircase. So slender that we couldn’t walk beside each other. So, Miles walked ahead of me. We were heading to the library through a back way. Not many people used this staircase and I wondered why he had chosen it. There were only two small lights on the walls, which made it difficult to see where we were going. I was starting to regret coming this way at all when we came to a window with no glass separating us from the outside world. Just a hole cut out of the stone. Miles stopped when he reached it.

  “Come look,” he said. I could already feel the cool breeze blowing through the stairwell. I looked up towards where we just came from and saw an endless number of stairs until they disappeared into the black. I bent down so I could stare out the window. The breeze brushed my face and I inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the ocean. I could see the tall grass blowing in the wind below us, the ocean in the distance, and the sky decorated with one million points of light. We stared in silence at the view. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I said breathlessly. “There are good things in this life, too.”

  He turned his head just enough to press his lips against mine for a moment before whispering, “Yes, there are.” His blue eyes blazed through me for a moment.

  We began our descent again, wordlessly. We reached our exit quick
ly after that. But before we opened the door, I looked down and saw the staircase continued spiraling into darkness.

  “I wonder what’s down there…” I said.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out,” Miles replied.

  He pulled me through the exit of the stairwell, and I could see the library up ahead.The ceilings were very high in this hallway with shiny mosaic tile decorating the ceiling. The walls were wide leaving ample room for people to walk. Not that we needed it. Not many people were walking to the library on a Friday night. We approached the large, black arch that opened into the library. I had never spent much time here since my room and classes were basically on the opposite side of the school. If I ever needed to study, I just used the textbooks from class and reviewed the material on the balcony in the early mornings. I hadn’t explored much outside of what I learned in my classes, but Miles had, and it was obvious right away.

  When I walked past the arch, my eyes wandered everywhere. There was so much space. The ceilings were the highest I had ever seen. They shot all the way up exposing four levels. Each level expanded. I wasn’t able to see how far from where I was standing, but every floor was lined with bookshelves. I wouldn’t even be able to guess how many books were in here. The walls were all white and the floor was made up of colorful tiles. It reminded me of a historic church I visited in Scotland once.

  While I was awestruck, Miles wasted no time grabbing my hand and leading me in the right direction, which was a relief because I could get lost on my own. We made our way towards the back of the library, passing large wooden tables that were scattered around the room. Each was adorned with their own antique lamp that allowed students to study late into the night. I only saw three other students on our way to the very back. The library had more light than the hallways, and I quickly realized that part of the reason for this was the glass ceiling. I looked up and could see the million points of light again, as well as a bright sliver of a moon.