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

by Analeigh Ford

  I’m going to need his help if I’m going to break into that office. From the looks of things, I might end up in this academy a little longer than I thought. There’s no telling how long it’ll take just to get in touch with Edgar, and then trying to prove I’m not a Dark Witch after that . . . I don’t even know where to start.

  No, I realize, stopping on the path and looking up at the academy. I watch those shifting shapes behind the glass and imagine the headmistress looking out at me. I do know where to start.

  I’ll get in touch with Edgar, and he’ll find a way to get to my mother. She’ll have answers. I’m sure of it.

  Just like I’m sure in my heart that I’m not a Dark Witch. I might look the part, I might even be playing the part. But it isn’t me . . . and I’ll prove it.

  Now, I just have to be patient.

  Chapter Twelve

  Unfortunately, patience isn’t one of my strong suits.

  I’m not too keen to join the sausage party that’s after-dinner sports on the lawn, so I head up to my room to get a head start for tomorrow.

  On my way out of the dining hall, however, I slip through the antechamber and filch a couple decorations off the shelves. I don’t think anyone’s going to miss that one particular painting of a poppy field, or the little bronze elephant paperweight that’s enchanted to lift its trunk and flap its ears.

  I need something to liven up my room since it looks like I won’t be getting any of my personal things any time soon—or even more likely, ever.

  Merlin nearly catches me on the way up the stairs, but I just shove the objects up in my shirt near my boobs, and he looks too uncomfortable to say anything.

  Once upstairs in my room, I can’t sit still, even to study. I keep finding myself pacing across the floor, searching my mind for some way to contact Edgar sooner.

  Every so often, I stop to peek out the windows. I catch sight of Veronica leaving for the night—it’s impossible not to, what with her flaming red hair shining like a beacon, even in the night.

  Lucky bitch. She doesn’t have to stay here, cooped up, in the school all the time like an unwilling prisoner.

  I end up hunting down some cleaning supplies in one of the rooms-turned-storage-closet and scrub the room from top to bottom. Every so often I glance up at the little animated elephant and run an idea past it.

  “I could enchant one of the mirrors? No . . . you’re right, even if I could do it, Edgar would have to be looking into a mirror at that exact moment anyway. Besides . . . I think I’d need the second mirror here with me first.”

  That, and I’d need to know how to do the spell. If just copying a single word was hard . . . I can’t expect to be going on to advanced magic any time soon.

  It’s the first of a long string of bad ideas.

  Kidnap a bat and send it to the other school with a message.

  Kidnap the headmistress and force her to let me use her scrying implements.

  Kidnap a zombie, and make it clean my room. Then, maybe, I could come up with better ideas that don’t center around kidnapping.

  Each time, the little elephant just rears up and does a little trunk-wiggle, as if shaking its head. After the last idea gets me another head shake, I sigh loudly and slump against the edge of my bed.

  “I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life,” I say, grabbing a rag and throwing it over the paperweight. It just keeps on shaking its little elephant head underneath. I lean back against the bed and stretch my legs out across the floor.

  As much as I hate to admit it . . . so far Dark Witches aren’t all that different from the Highborne Witches I grew up with. Sure, they have zombies for servants and are allowed to cast curses . . . but at heart, they’re basically the same. The pettiness, jealousy, power-grabbing . . . all of it.

  I’m sure I just haven’t been here long enough to see the true difference. I’ve just scratched the surface. Somewhere underneath, I’ll find the wickedness that I’ve been taught to fear all my life. It’s only a matter of time.

  Hopefully, by then, I’ll be well on my way out of here.

  I was ready for change, however reluctantly, but I never imagined all this. I’m only one day in, and I swear I’m changing already . . . and not for the better. I’m planning to break into the headmistress’ office, stealing nick-knacks, and sneaking around with a troublemaker who’s as likely to get me killed as expelled.

  There’s no doubt about it. This place changes people.

  I have to get out before that change is irreversible.

  In the morning, I make sure to wake up early enough to shower and change. There’s a little box in the bathroom where I throw my clothes, and by the time I get out of the steaming hot water, my uniform is already washed, dried, and folded neatly on the countertop. Thank god. If I had to learn how to do my own laundry right now along with everything else . . . I’m pretty sure I’d be stuck wearing the same dirty uniform for the next month.

  Or, at least, until I get myself out of here.

  Our first class of the day is Cursing Theory. Much like the Basics of Magic class . . . we spend the first part of the morning reading about how curses work before we actually get to use any. Most of the time the professor spends reminding us, constantly, that we are not to use curses against one another. From the way Veronica keeps shooting me glances from the front of class, I’m pretty sure she’s got other plans.

  The cursing professor is younger than most of the others, and if it weren’t for a set of disfiguring scars covering one half of his face, he might be handsome. He’s got an ineffably cheery attitude, however, that only serves to put me in an even worse mood this early in the morning.

  Nothing like a man with an eyepatch happily telling me about how he once cursed a rat to eat itself alive to put me off for the rest of the day . . . especially when I see Veronica taking furious notes.

  Puck’s back in class today, so I’m happy to find myself flanked by two familiar faces—especially when we come back from break to actually practice our first curse.

  Professor Rivet has us all push our desks together in groups of four in order to practice. We end up with another boy named Percy who keeps glancing nervously up at me every couple seconds until Puck kicks him under the table and threatens to pluck out his eyeball to match the professor. After that, he keeps his eyes on his desk and doesn’t look at me again.

  Finally, after explaining the very complicated process of cursing a paperclip into a piece of straight metal, Professor Rivet starts moving around the room, one by one, watching as each of us tries to perform the spell. He watches once before offering helpful, ever-positive criticism and moving on. His cheerfulness is sickening.

  When he gets to our table, his one good eye positively sparkles as he greets me. “Ah yes, our newest student. I gather this is the first time you’ve attempted a curse?”

  I nod my head, avoiding looking directly into that overly-excited eye more than’s absolutely necessary.

  “Well then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  The rest of the class, most of which has already gotten the go ahead to start practicing on their own, stops to watch as I pluck my wand from the desktop and hold it out. I hadn’t noticed until now, but I’m shaking.

  Curses are forbidden, at least for Highborne Witches. I never thought I’d actually perform one, and now suddenly, I don’t know if I can.

  Both Puck and Nicholas watch me carefully. Even Percy, who I’m pretty sure will never look at me directly again, is watching out of the corner of his eye.

  There’s nothing to do but try.

  I hold my wand a little steadier, stare down the tiny silver paperclip in the middle of my desk, and command it. “Relaxat!”

  The paperclip doesn’t so much as shudder. I might as well have yelled for it to perform circus tricks in English.

  Professor Rivet sighs. “Can I give you a little bit of advice?” he says, quietly. “In order to perform a curse, you have to want to perform a curse.” He l
ooks at me with that broad smile of his, and somehow, it’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen. “Otherwise, people would go around cursing each other all the time on accident every time they got a little upset. Now, come on, give it another go.”

  All eyes are on me still. If possible, it’s grown even quieter than before.

  Professor Rivet didn’t make anyone else practice for him twice, but I guess that’s what I get for being the only one who didn’t make anything happen.

  This time, I fix the paperclip with a stern, but not so intense, gaze. I have to do this.

  Puck leans a little closer, his hand slipping down to rest on my lower back. Normally I’d shrug him away, but I’m too focused on the curse I’m supposed to perform.

  His voice is quiet in my ear. “Come on now, Wren. You saw how Veronica was looking at you. I’m sure whatever you do, even the Highborne council will understand. You’re in the Academy of Dark Arts now. You want to survive, right? Well then . . . you’re going to have to learn some dark magic.”

  I glance his way, making a face for him to shut the hell up before someone overhears.

  Then I turn back to the paperclip, and this time, I actually want it to work.

  “Relaxat!”

  Every paperclip in the room goes pin straight.

  I didn’t think it was possible for the professor’s smile to go any wider, but I was wrong. He claps excitedly, so excitedly that the eyepatch he wears almost falls off—giving me a nice view of the empty eye socket inside.

  “Very good, Wren! Now, next time . . .” here he leans in conspiratorially, still grinning, “focus on just the one subject you’re trying to curse. Paperclips are one thing . . . but we can’t have you cursing the whole colony of bats when we move on to living things.”

  He then straightens up, waves his wand, and undoes the curse. All the paperclips return to their normal shape and he moves on. Puck’s leaning back in his chair, looking smug, but Nicholas is flat-out gaping at me as he’s want to do.

  I glare him down and shove the paperclip away from myself on the desk. “Oh, shut up,” I say, even though he hasn’t said anything.

  For the rest of class, I refuse to so much as pick up my wand—but Professor Rivet doesn’t seem to care. He just beams at me every time he passes our desks and gives me two thumbs-up.

  I can’t get out of that class fast enough.

  Literally. Both Puck and Nicholas are stuck at my heels like imprinted ducklings, refusing to leave me alone for even one fraction of a second.

  “Hey, I’m just gonna say it,” Puck says, jogging up to walk by my side. “I think you found your inclination.”

  I glare at him again, but even Nicholas quietly agrees. “I mean,” he says, as we turn into the courtyard on our way to the dining hall, “you’ve got to admit . . . that was pretty awesome.”

  Under normal circumstances, I’d be thrilled. Every witch hopes they find their inclination so early on—that one thing that they’re just naturally really, really good at.

  Of course, mine just has to be curses.

  I hurl myself into the closest empty bench and cover my face with my arms. I’m not supposed to be a Dark Witch, but this new development’s pretty damning. Why couldn’t it be charming or alchemy or something like that? I doubt the headmaster of Highborne Academy would be happy to hear his newest transfer specializes in a subject they’re forbidden to perform.

  “Cheer up,” Puck says, sitting down beside me. “Just think of it like this—Veronica’s going to be a lot less likely to try to curse you now.”

  “I don’t want cheering up,” I snap. “I’ve had enough of that from Professor Rivet. Can’t you two just let me be miserable?”

  “Not a chance,” Puck says, reaching over me to grab a plate of meat pies.

  “Sorry,” Nicholas says sheepishly from his seat across the table. I keep catching his eyes glancing down at his crotch, and I’m guessing he’s reading more of that romance novel again. Surprise surprise, even that doesn’t cheer me up.

  I fully plan to wallow forever, but the very loud arrival of Veronica and some of her boys ensures that isn’t possible. She flings the doors open so violently that they crash against the wall, making every head swivel in her direction.

  She, in turn, storms directly up to me.

  I should’ve sat closer to the front, to give myself more time to escape. I made this too easy.

  “You!” she shrieks, one claw-like finger pointed in my direction. She doesn’t stop until she’s standing so close the hem of her skirt brushes against my back. “Where did you get that wand?”

  When I don’t answer fast enough for her liking, she grabs my left arm and forcibly yanks the wand from my sleeve.

  “That’s really not a good idea,” I start, but it’s already too late.

  I barely have time to turn and see the smug look on her face turn to horror as the skin of her hand begins to burn and bubble. Her eyes grow wide and she starts to scream, but for some reason, she just doesn’t let go of the wand.

  It’s as if the more it burns her, the tighter she grips it. Finally, it’s Puck who grabs a napkin off the table, throws it over the end of the wand, and pries it out of her fingers.

  The wand drops to the ground and rolls across the floor. I spot another witch bend down to pick it up, then think better of it.

  I dash across the aisle and retrieve it, only to whirl back and glare at Veronica still screaming where she stands.

  The teachers have finally reached us from their table at the head of the room. The alchemy teacher, Professor Heathers, has already started rubbing some kind of salve across her blistered flesh.

  Veronica shoves him aside to point her finger back at me. “It was her! She burned me!”

  I look at her in disbelief as the teachers turn to look as well.

  “You stole my wand,” I say. “It was the wand, not me.”

  I realize now that I’m holding it out, pointing it towards her aggressively. I slip it back up my sleeve and try not to roll my eyes at the dramatic display Veronica continues to put on. When it looks like people are starting to go back to their lunch, she throws herself on the ground and starts writhing around.

  No words, even from the professors, seem to calm her. Her convulsions grow more and more violent until even I’ve started to grow worried—when a commanding voice calls out above all the rest.

  “Enough!”

  The teachers and students who’ve gathered around move aside to allow Headmistress Evanora to pass through.

  Veronica still twitches on the floor, her eyes rolled back in her head.

  The headmistress gets as close as she can without being hit by a flailing limb and leans in close. “If you don’t stop this charade this instant, I will expel you right now.”

  I’ve never seen a cursed person recover so quickly. Veronica leaps to her feet as if nothing out of the ordinary happened at all.

  She sticks out her burned and bleeding hand and says, “This is all thanks to the new witch. I knew she’d be nothing but trouble.”

  Headmistress Evanora doesn’t look impressed. “Well, we’ll see about that,” she says, then looks from me, back to her. “The two of you. My office. Now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  This is my second time in the headmistress’ office in just as many days. But it is the first time I’ve been here because I supposedly did something wrong.

  Despite the fact that her burn wounds have already completely healed thanks to the salve Professor Heathers applied, Veronica still sits with her hand in her lap whimpering like an injured dog.

  “Stop that ridiculous noise, or I’ll make sure you have detention for a week,” the headmistress says as she sits down.

  Veronica shuts up, but insists on keeping a pathetic look on her face.

  Headmistress Evanora places her hands flat on the desk and leans forward, looking each of us squarely in the face. “Look, ladies, I’m going to cut to the chase. Just because you’re girls doe
sn’t mean the rules don’t apply to you. I’d rather the whole Dark Witch society die out than have it carried on by catty, thoughtless witches who only care about themselves.”

  “But—” Veronica starts, her voice already a high-pitched whine prepped to complain.

  The headmistress picks up her hand and slaps it back down on the top of her desk. “I’m talking to you Veronica.” She takes a second to lean back, take a breath, and regain her composure. “I spoke to the other teachers, and I think I have a pretty clear picture of what happened.”

  This time she looks at me, but she speaks more gently. “Wren, would you set your wand out on the desk, please?”

  I do as I’m told.

  I swear it gleams a little, almost giddy at itself for what it just did.

  Headmistress Evanora reaches into the top drawer of her desk and takes out a pair of black cloth gloves. “Do you mind?” she asks, waiting for my nod of approval before she picks it up gingerly with the tips of her fingers.

  “I bet she stole it,” Veronica starts again, but she’s cut off as the headmistress presses her pointer finger to the tip of her thumb and mouths the silence spell. When Veronica parts her lips again, no sound comes out.

  “There, well maybe now we can have a civil discussion,” the headmistress says, carefully setting my wand back down on the top of the desk. She waves her arm to the door, and it opens to let Professor Heathers in. She’s carrying more of the healing salve in her hands and does a quick check on Veronica’s progress before moving to stand beside the headmistress.

  Veronica wiggles in her chair, her mouth forming the shape of angry words, but still nothing comes out.

  “I just wanted to test something,” the headmistress says. She looks up at me once more before carefully removing one of her gloves and reaching out to touch the wand.

  Nothing happens.

  “Interesting,” she says, picking it up this time and turning it over. She looks back at Veronica and asks her to hold out her hand.