Dark Witch: A Paranormal Academy Romance (Academy of the Dark Arts Book 1)

by Analeigh Ford

  It might sound harsh, but there’s no other way to put it. Sorry ginger, but it’s no longer entirely up to you to single-handedly repopulate the Dark Witch race.

  Her disappointment actually lifts my spirits. At least one person here hates me for something other than my aura.

  I catch the boy sitting next to me literally gaping up at her with such a look of rapture that I have to kick him from across the aisle.

  When he looks my way, I whisper, “Now you’ve seen two, happy?”

  He beams at me, definitely not reading the sarcasm dripping from my voice. “You’ve no idea.”

  The red-headed girl throws me one more scathing look before throwing herself into a chair in the front row. She tries to flash a dazzling smile at Merlin beside her, but he’s probably the only witch in here who isn’t paying her attention. Even from back here, I can tell it bothers her to no end.

  I don’t care. Please, let it mean he’s the target of her attention. I’ve seen girls like her before, and don’t expect us to be friends. Especially not if she thought she wasn’t going to have any female competition this year.

  I catch myself. She still doesn’t have competition, because I don’t plan on staying, remember? All I have to do is find a way to contact Edgar and prove this is all a mistake.

  Before the other girl can start taking lottery numbers for who gets to take her on a date first, the professor materializes at the front of the class. I glance down at the paper spread out in front of me, listing my classes and the names of the professors.

  Professor Hardbloom, History of the Dark Arts.

  Professor Hardbloom is old, older than any of the other professor’s I’ve seen here. Though I haven’t noticed any others wearing uniforms, his shirt and cloak are marked by the crest of the school I noticed hanging over the entrance in the great hall yesterday. Relics, I’m sure, of an age past . . . kind of like him.

  In fact, he’s probably witnessed much of the history he’s about to teach us.

  As determined as I am to get back to Highborne Academy where I belong, I can’t deny the fact that I’m just a little bit interested to hear what he has to say. For all the fear and distrust my kind has for Dark Witches, I’ve actually learned very little about them.

  Except for two facts, both of which my time here, however little, has yet to disprove:

  Dark Witches are dangerous.

  And Dark Witches are not to be trusted.

  Professor Hardbloom takes a second to shuffle around a stack of books so thick, I’m surprised his stick-like arms had the strength to carry them all. Once he’s finally satisfied, he grabs a piece of chalk and starts writing in the air in front of him.

  His words appear on the chalkboard over his shoulder.

  “Welcome,” he says, in a raspy thin voice. “To the most essential class on campus.”

  “Yeah, sure, all the professors say that,” another voice says. It’s so close to my ear that I’m the one who ends up falling over into the aisle between the seats.

  All eyes turn back to me, including the exceptionally beady ones peering down at me from the front of class.

  Meanwhile, my head whips to the side to glare at Puck, who’s only just appeared—desk and all—beside me. The globe is now pushed across the room and turned over on its side. No one but myself seems to have noticed.

  I shoot one last glare at Puck as I struggle to right myself and gather my things now strewn across the floor.

  “Ah yes,” Professor Hardbloom says from his spot at the front of class. “Our last-minute addition. Tell me, girl, your name again?”

  “Wren Davies,” I say, finally settling back into my seat. I try to scoot my desk a couple inches away from Puck, who’s just sitting there, shoulders shaking, laughing at me in silence out of the corner of my eye.

  “And so then, Wren Davies, since you’re so eager to begin . . . would you please come up here and write the founding principles of Witch Law up on the board?”

  At least this I know.

  With all eyes on me, I walk up to the front of class and take the stick of chalk from his hand.

  Witches should in no way use their magic to hinder another witch.

  The two witch races, Highborne and Dark, are to be kept separate.

  All witches must abide by the rulings of the Elder Council above all other councils.

  I think I write them correctly, but a couple of my new classmates literally hiss at me when I finish writing the last line. At the back of class, even Puck shakes his head.

  “So, there we have it,” Professor Hardbloom says. “The glaring error in the law. You see, Wren,” and here, he turns to me still standing awkwardly by the chalkboard, “The Elder Council is a Highborne council. The fact that we Dark Witches are expected to fall under their jurisdiction is pure discrimination. Just the name of their race, Highborne, indicates a superiority. That’s why we Dark Witches follow the original code, the one laid down by our ancestors at the beginning.”

  He nods at me, and I quickly sit back down in my seat—careful not to overturn it this time.

  Once again, Puck leans close enough that his hot breath makes the back of my neck tingle. “I knew there was something funny about you when we met.”

  “Yeah, well, are you satisfied?” I whisper back out of the corner of my mouth.

  “Hmm,” Puck hums, “I’m not sure yet.”

  His hand brushes against my arm as he reaches for pen and paper to start taking notes. I jerk my arm away, careful to keep my eyes trained on the professor as he starts writing out the rest of the code on the board.

  It’s not the code I’ve been taught. That code is far more elaborate, with sections and sub-sections, and careful laws for each kind of spell. This is the Dark Witch’s code . . . and it’s quite simple.

  Basically . . . don’t harm another Dark Witch.

  Don’t cast a spell you can’t control.

  You’re responsible for cleaning up any messes you create.

  I notice there’s no mention of harming Highborne Witches.

  Professor Hardbloom sets down the chalk and clears his voice. “As you all know,” and here, again, he looks at me like I’m some disobedient child who forgot to do her homework, “Dark Witch code is quite simple. It’s where we differ the most from our Highborne counterparts. Yes, Miss Christie?”

  The red-headed girl at the front of class practically leaps to her feet. I wonder where she gets all this energy. Probably stores it in her giant boobs.

  “Dark Witches aren’t afraid of magic,” she says. “We know it’s powerful, but we still don’t feel the need limit ourselves.”

  She doesn’t look back at me as she flounces back into her seat, but somehow, I feel her ire directed at me.

  “Which is what brings us back to the Great Divide. Class, turn your books to page sixty-four, where we’ll begin the rest of today’s lesson.” Here, he points a finger at me. “And Miss Davies?”

  “Yes Sir?” I say, half-standing before I realize he’s not really calling on me.

  “I expect you to work extra hard to catch up with the rest of class. I think you might find our history books differ slightly from the version you’ve been taught.”

  My classmates exchange glances, and snickers break out all around me. I sink further down in my seat. If I could, I’d happily melt down through the floor, past the basements, into the very center of the earth.

  Any hope I had of fitting in is quickly slipping away. I guess it’s going to take more than putting on the uniform to make people stop paying so much attention to me.

  For the rest of class, I keep my nose in my book and try my best to keep up. More than once, I catch the professor saying something that directly contradicts what I was taught in my old classes. It’s everything I can do to hold my tongue. The heroes of my stories are the villains of theirs, our victories their defeats.

  Basically, I figure if I’m going to pass this class I’m going to have to learn exactly the opposite of what
I’ve been taught my whole life. Easy enough, right?

  As soon as the bell tolls, I leap out of my seat and try to get out of class as quickly as possible. Not fast enough, however, because as soon as I step out into the hall I hear my name called from behind.

  I freeze, knowing all-too well what’s about to happen.

  The red-headed girl stands in the doorway to class, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She’s not even trying to pretend to play nice. Two boys flank her on either side—one carrying her books and the other her wand as well as his own, at the ready. I guess it’d just be too much of a shame for her to wear her jacket like the rest of us, what with its convenient wand-carrying pocket up the sleeve.

  I don’t have time for this. I don’t want to be her competition. I just want to get the hell out of this nightmare as quickly as possible, preferably before I’m considered corrupted beyond repair.

  So that’s what I tell her.

  “Look, whatever your name is, I don’t want trouble,” I say, matching her stance. “Just leave me alone, and I’ll happily return the favor.”

  That’s my first mistake. It’s hard to look intimidating when my face is still puffy from crying all night and the only thing backing me up is the mural of a Dark Witch getting tortured to death by Highborne Witches behind me. The Great Divide was a dark period of our history, for both sides. At least that’s one thing we can all agree on.

  “It’s Veronica Christie, and you’ll do well to remember that,” she says, tersely. She’s standing right in the entrance to class, forcing the rest of the students to squeeze out awkwardly to either side. Her eyes pick over me slowly, critically, starting at my feet until they lift to meet mine. “I’m the only true female Dark Witch here, and you’ll do well to remember that.”

  “Okay,” I say, shrugging. “You got it.”

  My cavalier response only serves to make her angrier. Her nails, painted black like Headmistress Evanora’s, dig into her own arms.

  I catch a glimpse of Professor Hardbloom on the other side of the doorway, but upon spotting the confrontation, he chooses to teleport out of the classroom instead of get himself involved.

  I don’t blame him. If I could perform that level magic already, I’d do the same thing.

  A small crowd’s begun to gather, and I’m quick to notice none of them are standing anywhere close to me. If sides are being chosen, so far it looks like I’m going to be a one-woman army.

  I would’ve been okay with that. I didn’t come here to make friends. I didn’t come here willingly at all. In fact, it probably would’ve been better if it stayed this way, the rest of our class taking this awful girl’s side . . . but then Puck has to sidle up beside me, shove his hands in his pockets, and open his stupid mouth.

  “Nothing wrong with a little friendly competition, eh?” he says, looking over at Veronica with that annoying smile of his.

  “Puck—”

  “I mean,” he continues, speaking over me, “It’s not like you planned to fuck the entire male student body single-handedly, did you? Seems awfully selfish not to share.”

  My eyes grow wide, and I shoot him a murderous look. I mean, I have to. Thanks to him, I’ll probably actually be murdered by day’s end.

  Veronica’s face goes as red as her hair. She opens her palm, and the boy standing to her left slaps her wand into it.

  “Careful now,” Puck says, “Wren here’s got an obsidian wand. I wouldn’t want to match her in a duel. Not, at least, till we see if she knows how to use it.”

  This just keeps getting better and better.

  Before the whole school can break out into a wand duel on the first day, Merlin finally shoves his way past Veronica and her crowd to stand in the middle.

  “What’s this I hear about dueling?” He looks from me to Veronica, his lips pressed neatly into a thin line.

  “We were just—” Puck starts, but I stomp the heel of my shoe into the top of his foot, finally shutting him up.

  Veronica, meanwhile, points her wand straight at me. The witches gathered around her take a half step back when she does, not wanting to get caught up in any residual magic if she decides to try and blow my head off after all.

  “This is her fault,” she says, her lips curling back in a snarl. “She shouldn’t be here.”

  But Veronica’s complaint falls on deaf ears. I might not find a friend in Merlin, but she doesn’t either.

  “All Dark Witches are required to attend the Academy of the Dark Arts. Now, unless you plan on contesting Warlock Abacus’ decision,” and here he looks at her very seriously, “then I suggest you move along.”

  Veronica does not look like she wants to ‘move along’, but she doesn’t look like she’s about to contest a direct descendent of their revered ‘First Dark Witch’ either.

  She shoots me one last hateful look and then stomps off in the opposite direction, cronies in tow.

  Merlin turns to say something to me, but I’ve already headed away too.

  To be honest, that went as well as could be expected.

  Puck follows by my side, a pleased look on his face. I don’t say anything until we’re halfway up the stairs and well out of sight of Merlin or any other prying eyes. Then I round on him.

  “What was that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

  He glances back down the stairs, a sour look on his face. “That girl, Veronica, she was in my school growing up. She’s just the worst. I couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that.”

  “Yes,” I say, “you could. Now you’ve gone and made her my enemy . . . and that’s the last thing I need.”

  Puck’s next words stop me in my tracks. “What’s it matter? You’re just going to try to leave, aren’t you?”

  I stop, my heart stopping with me. “What do you mean?”

  He raises one eyebrow at me and does that thing where he digs his hands deeper into his pockets. “That’s why you want the scrying thing, right?” he says. “So you can tell your family, or whatever?”

  I guess he’s not as much of an idiot as I thought.

  “I mean,” he continues, “that’s what I would do in your position.”

  I hear a doorway open on the first floor below us, and footsteps starting to approach.

  I step closer to Puck but keep my voice low. “And? Are you going to try to stop me?”

  We briefly step apart as the student, another first-year I recognize from our morning class, passes by. Neither of us speaks again until I hear the door on the next floor shut behind him.

  “And where’d be the fun in that?” Puck says. He leans in even closer, his voice so low that even I can barely hear the whisper. “I’m not going to stop you, I’m going to help you.”

  I can hardly breathe. “And why would you do that?”

  He laughs so softly, it’s barely a breath. “Call it a favor, if you like, or call it a fault. It’s been a while since I did a proper break-and-enter.”

  He finally steps away, and it isn’t until he does that I realize how much my pulse is racing.

  “You might be new to this world, little bird, but I’m not. You want to get out of here? I think I know where to start.”

  The bell tower tolls, signaling we’re already late for our next class. I don’t care, but Puck’s the one to grab my shoulder and start shoving me back up the stairs.

  “Come on now, Wren, can’t go getting detention on your first day. You’re just going to have to wait a bit to hear my plan—for now.”

  Chapter Ten

  Our next class, Basics of Magic, is pretty much exactly what I anticipate—and for that, I’m surprised.

  I used to think that Dark Witches had a whole different kind of magic, or maybe only practiced dark magic, but now I realize that was stupid. Of course the foundation of their craft is the same. It wasn’t too long ago that the lines between Highborne and Dark Witches were blurred, after all.

  It’s changed a lot now, but it all started
in the same place.

  Here. With copying down the “copy” spell a thousand times until I get it right.

  Duplicare. Duplicare. Duplicare.

  “Spellcraft is only as strong as the fundamentals,” our basics teacher, Professor Teatree, reminds us as she paces between the aisles, looking over our shoulders at our lines. “The more you understand the spell, the more accurately you can cast it.”

  She holds up one finger and waves it around in the air. The other she holds close to her body, clutching the braided strand of a pocket watch she swings in time with the ticking hands.

  From the moment I walked into her classroom—though it may be because I was late—I got the impression that she doesn’t like me. Every time she passes by my desk I swear she slows down just a little to purse her lips disapprovingly. Though, truthfully, that might just be her face.

  I try to copy my lines as dutifully as possible, but I can’t help shooting glances at Puck across the room. As annoying as he’s been, he’s the closest I’ve gotten to actually getting back in touch with the witches I left behind. Now that there’s a chance I might actually be able to make something happen, it’s impossible to get my mind off of it, even for a second.

  About halfway through copying, I misspell the word. I try to continue on as if nothing happened, but Professor Teatree somehow spots my mistake all the way across the room and has me start over from the beginning.

  This time, I try to angle my body away from Puck and focus in as much as I can. Still, I’m not allowed to leave until my lines are done—long after the bell tolls overhead, signaling lunch in the dining hall. When I do finally finish, Professor Teatree takes an achingly long time scanning over the pages until she’s at least somewhat satisfied enough to let me go.

  With only a half-hour left before I’m due back, this time to actually try the spell rather than just copy it over and over, I’ve no time to lose.