I squint through the stained glass, but all I can see is flashes of red and white.
Red and white.
The answer dawns on me just as Headmistress Evanora waves her arms for the gathered crowd to quiet. For such a small woman, she has quite the commanding presence. She doesn’t need to use any sort of magic for silence to immediately fall.
“There’s no need to panic,” she says, “but it seems some witches are unhappy with the newest addition to our ranks. As such, the grounds will be off-limits to students for the remainder of the day, or at least until the little . . . problem . . . is dealt with.” There’s some grumbling as her eyes briefly flicker up to me. Though she doesn’t give them a name, I already know who’s come to call.
I stumble back into the room and don’t move again until the headmistress has battled her way back up to the office. She shuts the doors behind her, but I can still hear the sounds of students being herded away from the spectacle.
“Is it the . . .”
“Crusaders,” she finishes for me, shaking her head in disbelief. To my surprise, she looks more annoyed than anything. She must see my confusion, because she tries to give me a reassuring smile. “They can’t get past the protective barrier.”
“How did they even get here?” I ask. “I didn’t think my type . . .” I have to stop and correct myself, “. . . Highborne Witches . . . were allowed here?”
“Strictly speaking, it’s not illegal,” she says, slowly moving to settle back down beside her desk. “It’s just highly uncommon. Those Crusaders though, they’re not Highborne Witches.
I still don’t understand, so she continues. “Some Dark Witches join their cause as well. I think it’s kind of funny, actually. In a way, Crusaders are more unified than any other witches—Highborne and Dark, fighting side by side.”
She must see I don’t share her humor, because she stops reaching for a decanter behind her and instead reaches across the table to take my hand. “Nothing bad will happen to you here, Wren, not on my watch.”
She looks sincere, like she even believes it herself, but I can’t shake the look on Bedford’s face when I ran into him the other night. I’ve seen Crusaders up close now, and they don’t look like the forgiving type.
“I don’t understand why they’re even here,” I say, trying to keep the fear I feel rising up in my throat from choking out my voice. “I’m not in Highborne territory anymore. Isn’t that enough for them?”
“Who knows. They’re an odd sort . . . but I’m sure we’ll learn in time,” Headmistress Evanora says. She stops a second to collect her thoughts. “Our students usually have the freedom to come and go into town as they please on weekends, but until we’re certain this little . . . threat . . . is over, I think it’s best if you remain on school grounds.”
I straighten up a bit. “Wait, we’re allowed to leave the school?”
My mind immediately starts turning over all the possibilities, but the headmistress is quick to stop any ideas before they have the chance to fully form.
“Don’t confuse my confidence for ignorance,” Evanora says, eying me more warily this time. “I have no doubt in my mind that if that hateful group gets its hands on you, you’ll be dead before we’ve even noticed you’re missing.”
A bell tolls somewhere on campus, and suddenly she’s back on her feet. “Ah, that’s my signal. No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid,” she says. “I’ll summon someone to show you around. This is your new world, Wren Davies, whether you like it or not. I’ll admit this is new territory for all of us. The only option right now is to plunge all in, head first.”
And while I’d like to disagree and suggest I enter with both feet dragging, kicking, and screaming, it appears I have no choice.
One more wave of her wand, and a single uttered word, “Advocabit!” and there’s a knock on the door before it opens.
“Wren, let me introduce Merlin, head of the first-year class.”
I need no introduction. I recognize the boy at once.
The witch now standing in the doorway is the one who so graciously pointed out something was, and I can only guess still is, wrong with my aura. In front of the whole first-year class, I might add. Nothing’s changed about his expression, though he refuses to look straight at me. He stands like one of the great stone sentinels, hands at his side, ready to reach for his wand at the first sign of trouble.
Not that he can do anything with it yet.
Probably.
I don’t know if Dark Witches have the same restrictions on their powers that we do. That Highborne Witches do.
I realize now that I don’t know anything about Dark Witches at all, aside from the cautionary fairy-tales I was told growing up. I never imagined I’d actually end up here, among them . . . one of them.
“My apologies for pulling you away from orientation, Merlin,” Headmistress Evanora says, nodding at the papers tucked under one of his arms, “but would you please escort Miss Davies around campus?”
“I’m flattered, of course,” Merlin says, with a tiny bow, “but wouldn’t that normally be a servant’s job?”
The headmistress’ face twists into an all-too-knowing smile and she holds out her arms. “I think under the circumstances, it’d be best if you did,” she says. “Our newest member’s already had quite enough surprises for one day, don’t you think?”
From the look on his face, I’m guessing he thinks I should be surprised right to death for all he cares. He doesn’t disagree, however, just does another one of those annoying half-bows and motions for me to follow him back out into the hall.
Before we go, Headmistress Evanora eyes the boy a little more carefully, and I wonder if there’s more at play here than she’s letting on. “And Merlin,” she says, before the door swings shut behind us. “Be civil. We wouldn’t want her getting the wrong impression.”
Chapter Seven
The moment that door swings shut behind us with a near-deafening echo, Merlin spins on his heel and takes off down the stairs. It’s all I can do to keep up and not get lost in the sudden influx of students pouring out of every nearby door.
At first no one notices me as I press through them. I don’t have the uniform, but at least I happened to wear black. Keeps me from standing out too much. I keep my eyes glued to the back of Merlin’s surprisingly well-groomed head. His hair, nearly as black as mine, is coiffed and oiled perfectly so that not a single strand falls out of place.
Meanwhile, I’m just trying to keep my own tangle of hair from getting snagged on too many jacket buttons.
The great hall branches off in several directions, but Merlin bypasses the massive curving staircase beside the entrance and instead heads for a pair of double doors leading out into a small inner courtyard. By the time I follow him out, I’ve started to get a few curious glances. Once we slip out into the covered walkway beyond, the stares get worse.
“To our left we have the statue of Warlock Grave, the First Dark Witch,” Merlin says, stopping suddenly enough that I run into him. He stands so solidly that he doesn’t so much as flinch. I, on the other hand, have to reach for one of the pillars to catch myself.
The whole inner courtyard is made of that same gray stone as the rest of the building. It’s cut into small squares like bricks, but the texture is rough and uneven—like it was hewn from some massive cliff face. Like the rest of this city, I wonder if the whole thing was carved out of the mountains that surround us.
Merlin’s already trying to take off towards another door at the end of the outdoor corridor, but my gaze is fixated on the statue.
It’s set in the middle of a great marble fountain that takes up the majority of the yard. One glance up at the smooth chiseled features brings an unmistakable resemblance to mind.
“Is that Abacus’ great-great-great grandfather or something?”
I hear Merlin’s footsteps skid to a halt, but it’s a second before his voice comes hissing across the corridor to me.
“Show som
e respect,” he says, his voice low but still somehow echoing in the space. “It’s Warlock Abacus to you.”
“And he’s some relative of . . . what was his name again?” I ask, waving an arm at the statue.
As I do it, a cool breeze settles in the courtyard. Unless I’m mistaken, it pools out of the fountain in an invisible fog—reaching for me with icy tendrils.
Once again, Merlin’s voice carries across as an angry hiss. “Warlock Abacus is a direct descendent of Warlock Grave. He’s one of the most—no, he is the most powerful Dark Witch of our age.” Merlin’s chest puffs up, and he can’t conceal the rapture on his face as he looks up at the statue.
“Rumor has it that Warlock Grave couldn’t be killed. Or, at least,” he corrects himself, “not by magic.”
At the sound of the boy's praise, I swear that chill dissipates.
“Right,” I say, nodding my head. “Because that’s actually possible.” As soon as I say it, that chill returns with a new vengeance. Geeze.
Looking up at the statue, I can practically still see the dark aura around the witch it was modeled after. Before Merlin can try and run off ahead again, I have to ask.
“My aura. Earlier, you said something was wrong with it.”
He turns to me, giving me a blank look.
“What does it look like?” I press further.
His eyes take on a far-off look, the look of someone who isn’t looking at me, but rather through me. “Gray. Like smoke,” he says after a minute.
I feel the hair on my arms raise a bit. A gray aura? I’ve never heard of that before, and from the looks I’m getting from other students as they walk by, none of them have either.
Merlin catches one of these student’s glares, and returns the stare until they look uncomfortably away. Then he turns back to me and waves me on through the next set of doors. Before we step back inside, I glance back one more time at the statue of Warlock Grave. Once again, just for a second, I feel that unearthly chill.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that statue doesn’t like me.
The other side of the door opens up into a small sort of antechamber. The walls here are lined with shelves made of an ashy gray wood and cluttered with all sorts of strange found objects—everything from more odd animal skulls to chunks of rock to golden cauldrons.
Merlin waves towards a nondescript door opposite us, “The kitchens are in that direction, and over here, we have the dining hall.”
We ignore the door heading into the kitchens and fling the door into the dining hall open. It’s empty aside from a few more of those servants, who upon seeing us, scuttle away out of sight as they did before. And again, just the sight of them makes something in me want to turn inside out. “This is where all meals are served. If you miss it, don’t go hunting down leftovers in the kitchens.”
The ceiling of the dining hall, like the great hall, is two stories. It’s crisscrossed with exposed woodwork and more of those strange symbols displayed on Headmistress Evanora’s cards.
At the end of the hall is a small, raised table. I point it out to Merlin, who’s already trying to move on to the next room.
“Is that where the teachers sit?”
He glances back at me, slightly annoyed. “Only for lunch and special occasions. They don’t live here, after all.”
“But all the students do?”
He stops again and sighs. “Yes. Or at least, mostly. Now, if you’re finished interrupting me . . .”
All along the walls directly in front of us and to our right are large windows overlooking the grounds. I think I can see the kitchen peeking out from around the corner. All sorts of chimneys stick out of its walls, issuing smoke in a variety of hues. The purples, greens, and gold colors float out across a lawn much too dark for this time of year. It seems that even the grass that grows here grows in shadow.
At the far end of the grounds, I can see just the end of that black lake. The surface of the water sits still, barely reflecting the overcast sky.
We don’t linger in the dining hall for long, but that doesn’t stop my stomach from rumbling loudly. I was supposed to meet back up with my mother for a last, celebratory meal, before heading out to Highborne Academy with the rest of the newly initiated witches.
A meal that, as far as I know, will never be eaten—by me, her, or anyone else.
Not since she vanished the moment my blood hit that pool.
We work our way back to the great hall, where outside witches in red and white capes still move just beyond the iron gates. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but that same hateful look on their faces is obvious from a distance. It makes me shudder.
The whole of the academy is enormous. We haven’t even made it through the entire ground floor before more students flood back into the halls. Merlin is quick to draw me away from the window, pushing me back and out of the way slightly as most of the students push past us down a particular hallway underneath the stairs leading up to the second-floor landing.
He doesn’t relax until the last of them has stopped shooting me interested looks and has, instead, let the last of the hallway doors slam shut behind them.
We move on from the common areas and into the hallways lined with classrooms.
The ceilings here are only a normal height, so after the other great, open spaces on the ground floor, it feels slightly claustrophobic.
The dark walls and ancient metal sconces do nothing to help. Though they aren’t lit with fire, the magical light within them flickers slightly as if they are. It causes our shadows to quiver like creatures of their own. Every time I catch sight of one out of the corner of my eye, I jump just a little in my own skin.
I think Merlin sees this, because I sense a subtle shift in the tour. Though I see signs leading towards further hallways and classrooms—he leads me past these to a tower staircase at the end of a long hall.
I try my best to keep up as he climbs, but by the time we’ve reached the second floor, I’m desperate for a break but too embarrassed to ask. So, I think of something, anything, to blurt out that might make him pause.
“How’d you get to be head boy already, if today’s the first day?” I ask, my words coming out in a long string without breaks between words.
Thankfully, the question makes him stop for just a minute between the landings. I take the opportunity to rest casually—or what I think is casually—against the handrail while I shove two fingers into the stitch forming in my side.
“Not head boy. Head of class. For first-years. The head of the first year is selected based off of rank. We don’t have the same complicated hierarchy as your kind, but we do have some.”
He’s started moving up the stairs again, taking them two at a time now, as if our short rest set us back. I hurry after him, no longer trying to hide my huffing breaths between questions.
“So then that means you’re . . . what?”
He sighs again but doesn’t stop when he answers this time. “My father is the head judge of the local council,” he says.
I think back to Warlock Wright. He prides himself in being the head of our local council, but the size of our coven pales in comparison to this city. I can’t even begin to imagine how many Dark Witches there are here.
I never thought about it before, but I wonder if Wright has any kids. If he does, I don’t envy them.
Even if the Highborne Academy didn’t have the same tradition, I could see Warlock Wright finding a way to get his child the title of ‘head boy’ or ‘head girl’. It’s just the way of politics—especially when witches like him are involved.
I expect us to stop on the third floor, but once again, Merlin continues on upward.
I, on the other hand, do not. I stop for one second, leaning slightly against the doorway leading out of this seemingly never-ending stairwell. Seriously. The floors here must be twice as tall as normal ones. Merlin might not be keen to stop here, but I get the urge to see what’s on the other side of the door.
Bu
t the moment my hand is on it another hand shoots out to stop me.
It’s Merlin. His grip is firm and cold, like his fingers were clutching icicles this entire time we’ve been together.
I snatch my hand away and take a step back.
“Those are the boy’s dorms,” he snaps, “female witches aren’t allowed.”
“What was going to happen if I went in?” I throw back. “Was I going to be turned into a spider or something?”
“Or something,” he mutters, turning on his heel and starting back up the stairs.
I squeeze my fingers in the palm of my other hand, trying to warm them back up from his touch. I follow after him slowly this time, keeping my eyes on the back of his head. I bet he’s a real hit with the ladies, this one. Nothing says romance like cold fish fingers.
I snort a bit and Merlin shoots me a dark look over his shoulder. For some reason, this cheers me a little.
Finally, at the top of the fourth landing, we stop in front of the girl’s dorm. Thank god. The muscles in my thighs are screaming for me to stop, but the last thing I’m showing ol’ fish-fingers here is any weakness.
Merlin opens the door for me, but the hallway on the other side is dark. Though there are sconces on the walls, it looks like they haven’t been lit in ages. Dust blankets everything from the stone floor to the framed paintings of stern-looking women on the wall. I swear I see something scuttle into of one of the corners.
“Uh,” I say, leaning forward just a little to peer further down the hall without actually stepping foot in it. “Are you sure? It looks abandoned.”
“I’ll fix that.” When Merlin steps up beside me, I follow his example and hold one arm out to bar his way.
“Are you allowed up here? Aren’t you going to be turned into a spider or something?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m head of class. I’m allowed special privileges.”
With that, he pushes my arm out of the way and shoves past me into the hall. The only light comes from a small window to my right, looking out over the small strip of grounds at the far side of the academy. Further down at the very end of the hall, there’s another streak of gray light muted by the heavy dust in the air.
Dark Witch: A Paranormal Academy Romance (Academy of the Dark Arts Book 1) Page 6
