“Oh god, sorry,” I say, before steadying myself a moment and then glaring down at him. “Actually, I’m not. You deserved that.”
“Deserved this?” he asks, incredulously holding up his hand.
“Oh, it’s only a scratch,” I say, though it actually looks pretty gross. “Besides, you shouldn’t go grabbing people like that. You’re lucky I don’t know any curses.”
The boy squints up at me and something dawns on him. He quickly straightens up, his face wincing as he tries to push the hair out of his face only to remember his hand’s injured. It leaves a blood-red streak across the white of his hair.
He stares at me for a long moment, long enough that I have to glance behind me to check that the zombie hasn’t appeared again and that’s what he’s staring at.
Finally, after opening and shutting his mouth several times, he finally blurts out, “You’re a girl!”
“And you’re not the brightest bulb in the box,” I say, stepping to the side as he stumbles out of what looks to be an abandoned classroom, his eyes still locked on me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he blinks.
Another second later, he shakes his head and tries to resume some semblance of normalcy. For him, that involves smacking on a smirk and trying, unsuccessfully again, to run his fingers through his hair.
After wincing again, he sticks out his injured hand and offers an introduction. “I’m Puck,” he says, grinning wider.
I just stare at his hand until he realizes his folly and offers the other. I still don’t take it.
“Well, Puck,” I say, backing another step away. “If you’re finished trying to scare me to death, there’s a zombie loose down here, and I’d rather not be the brains it eats for dinner.”
For some reason, Puck finds this enormously funny. He doubles over again, this time from laughter rather than pain. Though, from the way my hands ball up at my sides, pain might again be in his near future.
“What?” I snap, forcing my arms to cross over my chest so I’m less tempted to sucker punch him in the eye—with or without the wand attached.
“The zombies, they’re the servants,” he says, finally, through another gasped fit of laughter. “You better get used to them, because they’re all over.”
I think he must be joking at first, trying to play another trick on me. But then I hear a set of shuffling footprints, and out of the corner of my eye, I spot the zombie again. At first I tense up, my wand at the ready in case I need to stab someone or something with it a second time.
The creature isn’t chasing me, however. It’s moving lazily, one foot dragged behind the other as it runs a duster across the frame of one of the paintings.
Puck watches me with interest, though he tries to pass it off with another one of those annoying grins. He nods at my wand as he raises his hand to re-inspect the damage.
“What is it, anyway? Some kind of rock?”
I hold it back up, admiring the way the wand seems itself to be completely devoid of any light or color. What did Merlin say it was?
“Obsidian, I think.”
That ne’re-do-well look disappears from his face, but only for a fraction of a second.
“Wait, that’s your actual wand? I thought it was, like, just a pointy stick.” He looks at it with more interest. “But obsidian wands are—”
“Rare,” I say. “So I’ve heard.”
Even the zombie seems to look a little interested as it passes by, and I make a mental note to be careful what I say around them. Already, it’s pretty obvious they aren’t what I thought they were. These zombies, at least, seem to have some form of intelligence.
Unlike the boy standing in front of me.
He’s tall and lean, but not in the lanky way that so many boys our age are. Aside from the cocky smile I want to rip off his face, the rest of him really isn’t that bad-looking. He’s not if-I-was-single swoon worthy like Merlin, but there’s this sort of look about him that makes me want to keep on looking.
But I’m not single, and I don’t want to keep looking, because all I want is to get the hell out of here before more ‘friendly’ zombies show up. Or worse.
“So,” I say, keeping one eye out on the passageway for more servants ready to make me jump out of my skin. “Do you know how to get out of here, or am I just going to have to keep walking around in circles?”
He’s still looking at me like he’s the big bad wolf and I’m little red riding hood’s juicier, more tender cousin. “You’re lost already, eh?” he says, sidling up another step.
Puck seems to have forgotten the gouged hand still dripping blood on the floor, so I make sure to raise my wand a little higher.
“You know I’d do it again, and this time, I’ll aim for something a little more permanent,” I say. I arch an eyebrow at him, but all he does is laugh.
“Well, you really are something, aren’t you?”
That’s it. I’ll take being lost in here, running in endless circles filled with zombies, rather than spend one more moment with this insufferable witch.
I turn on my heel and stalk off.
Of course, he follows.
“Wait up!” he calls, jogging after me. “What are you down here for, anyway?”
“That’s none of your business,” I call over my shoulder, only to realize the next moment that he’s already caught up and walking alongside me. His long legs make it easy for him to keep up. Even when I try to pick up the pace, he still looks like he’s just casually going for a stroll at my side.
“Let me guess then,” he says, putting one finger to his chin. “You’re here to find a sexy Warlock to fulfill your every desire?”
I raise my wand, and he waves his arms defensively. “So, not that,” he adds quickly. “How about some sexy alone ti—”
“Cut it out!” I say, my voice growing louder.
“Alright, so nothing sexy then.” For just one second, for a single heartbeat, there’s a silence between us. Never before has a sound been so sweet. Then he ruins it. “Or, you’re down here looking for a way to get rid of the mustache you forgot to shave this morning. Gotta say, it’s pretty impressive.”
This time, I don’t just threaten to stab him again, I actually do.
I don’t get more than a little poke, but the way he jumps and howls out of the way is very satisfying. I swear, even the zombie slowly slipping out of sight behind us looks pleased.
“If you have to know,” I say through gritted teeth, “I’m looking for a scrying pond. Or a two-way mirror. Or a magical post. Or, I don’t know . . .” I trail off, throwing up my arms in defeat. “Two cups with a string tied between them.”
Puck is too quick to quip, “But why would you need any of that? You can’t be homesick yet, surely. It hasn’t even been a day.”
As my arms fall, so does my defense. I’m suddenly exhausted. With all of this. I just want to go home, but that can’t happen, can it?
I cover my face with my hands. “I just want to talk to someone I actually know. Is that really too much to ask?”
To my great and utter embarrassment, tears well up in my eyes beneath my fingers and spill over. My words become garbled, and my tongue feels thick and swollen.
After a minute of shaking shoulders, I pry two of my fingers apart and peek out at Puck. He stands there awkwardly, then reaches out and pats my shoulder with a stiff arm—one eye still carefully glued to the wand in my hand.
“There, there,” he says. “It can’t all be that bad. It’s not like you’re a boring normie or something.”
I sniffle and peek through my other fingers as well. “What’s that?”
He looks confused. “You know, a Highborne Witch.”
Somehow, this is too much. Of all the things that could be too much, this is it.
“You should be so lucky,” I snap, my tears suddenly turning to rage. I’m done, and I think he knows it. This time, when I dash down the hallway, he doesn’t follow. He just stands there stunned, trying to figure out what he
said wrong.
I keep a closer eye out on the twists and turns until eventually, to my own surprise, I find my way back to the tower stairwell.
For one second, I stop with my hand on the door. I should keep looking, find a way to contact Edgar tonight, before it’s too late. But then there’s a sound down the corridor, and I swear I see a zombie headed straight in my direction. This time, I head straight to my room and don’t stop until I’m hidden under the covers.
It isn’t until then that the tears come back—and not from the exertion of running up all those stairs a second time in one day.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t even explore one part of this academy without getting lost. And I don’t care what Puck or anyone else says, I don’t trust those zombies.
If those are the kinds of things they have out working in broad daylight, what sorts of things will I discover in the shadows?
Chapter Nine
At some point in the night, someone summons a pewter platter of food up to my room. It appears on the desk with a clang and the overwhelming smell of potatoes mixing with age-old dust.
In this moment, it’s the best possible smell in the world.
My stomach erupts in a near-deafening roar, and though I was determined to hate every second of my time here at the academy, I’ll admit—my spirits lift substantially after the first bite.
In fact, my mood is so improved that don’t immediately crumple the hastily scrawled note stuck under the little jar of bread pudding.
Even Dark Witches have to eat.
And then, even more quickly scrawled on the back. Sorry.
Since I doubt head-boy Merlin has the handwriting of a well-trained chicken, I don’t think he sent it. There’s only one other person who could’ve, but I’m too hungry not to eat it out of principle.
I find a happy middle ground between pleasure and torture by eating in front of the window. From here, I can watch the last of the Crusaders lingering down below in the dark. I think at some point I catch sight of someone else down there, looking up at my window in particular, but from the inside of the gates.
He wears all black instead of red and white, and though it’s too dark to make out his face, I’d be willing to bet money on who it is. I mean, after all, what kind of witches just go around creeping up at people’s windows? The same kind that hide in rooms waiting to grab them.
I don’t leave my room for the rest of the night. Call it cowardice or stubbornness, I just can’t bring myself to.
But finally, with the damning gray light of morning, I know I can’t hide in here forever. I have to at least go to class.
Or, more urgently from the sound of my once-again-rumbling stomach, I have to at least get some food.
As soon as I actually get a good look out the window, however, I realize I might have slept in a little too late. Without so much as a watch to tell the time, I assumed the dim light was thanks to the early hour, but the sky is just so clouded that it could be, and probably is, much later than I thought. I remember Merlin’s warning from yesterday.
Don’t be late to breakfast tomorrow. The doors will take you there in the morning, but you’ll miss it if you wait too long.
I’m not entirely sure what he means, but I hastily dress in the same uniform as yesterday, grab the packet of papers, and dash down the hall to the stairs. As soon as I throw open the door and plunge through, mentally trying to map out the route to the dining hall, I freeze.
I’m already there.
Three long rows of tables run the length of the long hall. Zombie servants are walking between them, carrying steaming dishes of porridge and fresh fruits. And there, among them, seated at the tables, are dozens and dozens of Dark Witch students.
I’ve never seen so many together in my life.
I gape at them, blocking the doorway until someone else steps through behind me and knocks into my shoulder—bumping me out of the way. Two boys walk on up ahead, taking a couple steps forward without an apology, until they suddenly stop, looking stricken as they realize what they just did.
Or, more likely, who they just did it to.
When they finally turn back to look at me, they aren’t the only ones. Other witches at nearby tables start to glance our way, waiting to see what I do next. At first, it’s just a couple of students. Soon it’s a whole table. And then, slowly, everyone else begins to turn too.
At first, I think the boys are going to apologize. But the moment passes and stretches on, and they’re just staring at me too.
I don’t know what they expect me to do—but whatever it is, I’m going to have to disappoint them. I’m not going to stick around while an entire school gapes at me like I’m the weird one when there’re literal zombies walking by holding silver trays.
Despite the zombie’s groaned protests I reach for the nearest platter, take the whole thing, and run out. It isn’t until the door to the antechamber beyond closes that I realize it’s heaped up with more blackberry pancakes than I’ll ever be able to eat on my own.
Good thing I like a challenge.
I finally spot a clock on the wall. Turns out I have a good half-hour before classes start, so I carry the tray out into the inner courtyard to sit by the fountain and stuff my face.
I purposefully sit beside Warlock Grave so I can glance up at his disapproving glare every so often. Compared to the other Dark Witches I’ve met so far, he makes surprisingly good company.
“I was beginning to wonder if we lost you,” a voice says, startling me out of a sugar and carb coma. Briefly, I glance down at the pancakes and wonder if it’s finally happened. This is it. My breakfast is talking to me now.
Then Merlin, of all witches, steps out from behind one of the pillars and walks over.
He looks as unhappy and displeased as ever.
As soon as I spot him, I just go back to eating the ungodly amount of pancakes. Really, I had no idea I could eat so many, and at this point—I’m kind of trying to set a record. Maybe I’ll eat myself a Dark Witch trophy.
Wren Davies. Ate so many pancakes she died.
Seems a fitting end to this whole ordeal.
I thought that if I ignored Merlin he’d eventually just leave me alone, but he keeps standing there even after I’ve devoured a whole second stack of pancakes. He keeps scooting closer and closer until his shadow’s literally falling over me where I sit on the edge of the fountain.
Suddenly, my appetite is lost. I slam the tray down beside me and shoot Merlin a glare.
“Alright, what is it?” I ask, not bothering to wipe away the bit of syrup stuck at the corner of my mouth.
“Lose the attitude, will you Wren?” he snaps back. I note the dark circles under his eyes and guess he’s not exactly a morning witch either. “I’m head of class, remember? I’m just doing my duty to make sure our newest student gets to her first day of classes.”
“Well thank you,” I say, preparing to wave him away before I stop myself. “Hold on, do you mean you’re here to physically escort me?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
I glare up at him, but I know it’s no use. All I can do is make this as painful for him as possible, hopefully, without actually stabbing him too. Actually, hopefully I do get to stab him. If not this morning, then before I find a way out of here.
It’s this thought that gives me the energy to, though slowly and deliberately, begin gathering up my things.
The minute I step into our first class—a small, ordinary looking classroom on the second floor—I look for an open seat somewhere Merlin won’t be able to sit next to me. I find one nestled into a back corner with the added bonus of being partially tucked behind a large globe. I hurry over and throw myself into it before someone else gets the same idea.
There’s no need, however, as Merlin marches straight to the front of class and sits neatly in the first row.
I catch the boy to my left staring at me and shoot him a look that makes him stop . . . for a minute. Soon I can a
gain feel the weight of his shifted glances my way.
I keep my eyes glued to the door, my face towards the front as I casually lean to the side, my voice barely kept below a whisper.
“What is it?” I snap, tired of the wordless stares. “Never seen a gray aura before?”
The boy to my side snorts with laughter, and I have to tear my eyes from the door to glance his way. He leans forward, his shaggy brown hair falling into a surprisingly-innocent looking face.
“A girl,” he says, “I’ve never seen a girl Dark Witch before. At least, not one my own age.”
His eyes lift to look at me, and he can’t conceal his own wide-eyed wonder. He looks so stupid, gaping up at me half slack-jawed, but in an adorable way.
“You’ve never—”
Now it’s my turn to take a careful look around. Now that he mentions it, I am the only girl in this class. In fact, if I think carefully, I might be the only girl in this school.
I heard that Dark Witches weren’t having girls, but I had no idea it was this bad.
The boy to my side leans in again, a little further this time. In fact, he leans in so close that I’m worried he’s going to completely tip his chair and fall over.
“I heard you used to live in a village with humans. What are they like? Do they really just sit there talking on their phones all day?”
It’s such an unexpected, and actually quite refreshing, question that I’m caught off guard. Any anger I felt minutes ago is gone, replaced with my own stuttering inability to form words.
“I mean, I think so. But I think they mostly use them to send each other memes.”
His eyes grow even wider, and his voice grows almost conspiratorial. “What are memes?”
I’m spared from trying to explain that by a commotion at the door. All eyes, even those that’ve been trained on me like I’m a creature in a petting zoo, turn to see what it is—just as I discover I’m not, in fact, the only female Dark Witch in the first-year class.
But from the way she struts in, her skirt hiked up higher than should be allowed and her fiery-red hair curled over one shoulder, she thinks she is. She’s proud of it too, at least, until her haughty gaze lands on me. Immediately, her face falls. That mightier-than-thou smirk is replaced with pure, unadulterated hatred.
Dark Witch: A Paranormal Academy Romance (Academy of the Dark Arts Book 1) Page 8
