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

by Analeigh Ford

At first, Veronica tucks both her hands under her butt and shakes her head violently.

  The headmistress makes a loud huffing sound and orders her to put out her hand again. “You were so eager to steal this wand earlier. Now do as your told. It’s only a little pain.”

  Veronica slinks her hand out slowly, inch by excruciatingly slow inch, until it lays flat on the table.

  The moment the tip of my wand touches her hand, the skin turns red and angry.

  She jerks back, cradling her hand and gasping in breathless pain.

  “Oh please,” the headmistress says as Professor Heathers leaps to apply more of the salve. “The skin’s barely red this time. It couldn’t have hurt that bad.”

  In exchange, however, she undoes the silence spell and Veronica is left free to whimper out loud for a moment.

  The headmistress hands back my wand and peels off her other glove. “It seems to me that Wren’s wand has a sort of defense mechanism against her enemies,” she says.

  “That’s what I was trying to say,” Veronica snarls. “She cursed her wand to burn me.”

  “I did not,” I say indignantly. I do lots of things wrong, but for once, I’m actually innocent. I’ll be damned if the blame falls on me for Veronica’s own stupidity. Grabbing someone else’s wand like that . . . it’s despicable.

  It’s a cardinal unspoken rule among witches, Dark or otherwise—don’t mess with each other’s wands.

  “Like it did that on its own,” Veronica spits. She crosses her arms tightly across her chest, careful as always, to pop her boobs out a little extra. Who are you trying to seduce here, Veronica?

  Headmistress Evanora looks like she’s got a headache coming on. “I’m fairly certain Wren’s never performed a curse of any kind before class this morning,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And I highly doubt that she had the time, or skill, to curse her wand in the time it took her to walk to the dining hall.”

  “But—”

  “Actually,” I say, sitting forward a little. “I have proof it wasn’t me.”

  Both Veronica and the headmistress look my way and wait for me to continue.

  “When I got my wand, before I even touched it, it burned Warlock Wright too.” I glance between the two of them. “So, see? It couldn’t have been me.” I look down into my lap next, fidgeting my fingers. “I didn’t even know I was a Dark Witch then.”

  Headmistress Evanora slaps her hands on the top of the desk, this time a little softer. More final than frightening.

  “Well, there we have it!” she says, standing up. “It’s just the nature of the wand. We can’t fault a witch for that.”

  “But—” Veronica starts again, but it’s pretty obvious the headmistress is over this whole thing already.

  “In the future, Veronica,” she says, looking at her menacingly through her dark lashes, “I recommend you leave other witch’s wands alone.”

  Evanora can look quite intimidating when she wants to. I swear the lights dim ever-so-little as she stares down the girl squirming in her seat.

  Then she looks at me, and it’s my turn to squirm. “And I recommend you be careful,” she says, just as sternly. “Wands like that possess great power. It’s your responsibility to wield it wisely.”

  She dismisses the two of us with a final warning. “And please girls,” she says, that tiredness once again returning to her voice. “Do you have to hate one another? I say . . . there’s plenty of room for the both of you, don’t you think?”

  I stand to go, but I linger for a moment while Veronica huffs out. On the other side of the glass, students have already started filtering out onto the lawn on the way to their next classes. I only have a minute before I have to go.

  “Headmistress,” I say, carefully, trying to extend my time here. I glance around the room, looking for the scrying tool Puck promised is here. I don’t see it right away, but it could easily be tucked away in one of the many dark-lacquered cabinets. If I just knew where she kept it . . .

  “Yes, Wren? And please, don’t take this the wrong way, but I really have things I must be getting to.”

  “No, of course, I just . . .” My eyes scan the other set of bookshelves. The only thing that looks remotely possible is a set of tiny divination balls. I’ve heard of witches using them to scry before when nothing better’s available. “I just . . . wanted to thank you. I didn’t mean to hurt Veronica.”

  She frowns a little, but she nods. “Of course.”

  Before I go, she stops me with a question of her own. “Is that really what you meant to ask?”

  I hesitate. I was just stalling, but this is my chance to try to get some answers.

  I glance back over my shoulder. “What do you think the chances are,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “that I’m actually a Dark Witch?”

  The question doesn’t surprise her nearly as much as I expected. In fact, a tiny smile tugs on the corner of her mouth.

  “If you’re asking questions like that, then I say the chances are very good. Very good indeed.”

  I catch her gaze flicker to the box on one of the shelves, and I know she’s thinking of the tests she ran on me when I first arrived. As I leave, I wonder if those silver scales would still be balanced . . . or if they’d start to tip.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Merlin is waiting outside in the hallway to escort Veronica and me to our next class.

  As soon as I lay eyes on him, my face must give me away.

  “Look,” he says hastily, “I’m not a big fan of this either. But if you two could just get along for one day, that’d be great.”

  Veronica does her little hair-flip thing and stalks off ahead. I trudge begrudgingly behind alongside Merlin. I’m expecting some sort of berating, but as soon as Veronica is safely out of earshot—which happens impressively fast given the height of her heels—he shoots me a sidelong glance.

  “What is it?” I ask after I’ve caught him doing it for the fifth time.

  We’re at the top of the stairs leading down into the basement. Veronica has long since abandoned us, no doubt to be the first person to lie about what exactly happened in the headmistress’ office.

  Merlin stops me at the top of the steps. “Your wand didn’t burn me when I touched it,” he says.

  I stare at him blankly for a second. He’s a lot more handsome when he’s not covered in dust. He’d be handsomer still if he didn’t have that sort of stick-up-his-ass expression slapped across his face all the time.

  “I guess I just don’t hate you enough . . . yet,” I say, pushing past him. “But keep things up, and no promises for next time.”

  The rest of the first-years have already gathered in one of the largest basement classrooms. It’s located in in the middle of several hallways, with clearly marked exits on every wall and glass cases filled with potions marked “in case of demonic intervention”. Merlin and I are the last to arrive.

  Everyone else is gathered in a circle in the middle of the room. A couple of them glance our way when we step inside, but most of their attention is glued to whatever lies between them.

  Puck is off whispering to another one of the boys, so I push my way to stand beside Nicholas instead, and immediately freeze.

  A pit, roughly eight feet across, gapes like a black hole in the middle of class. There’s no fence, no handrails, not even a raised lip around the plunging hole to keep one of us from falling in. And from the utter blackness at its bottom, I’m guessing it leads straight down to hell itself.

  If hell existed.

  “Demons like dark places, and they like rituals,” Professor Young is saying. Thanks to the odd way he layers his clothes one on top of the other, it’s not immediately apparent that he’s a man. I’m not even entirely sure he’s wholly human. I don’t care, really, so long as he’s not a spider.

  Puck somehow manages to sneak up beside me, because suddenly he’s whispering an explanation in my ear. “Professor Young is actually two people,” he says. “Twin
s. One of them died when they were little . . . and the other graciously offered to share bodies.”

  The sudden movement makes me lose my footing just a little, making one foot move closer to the edge. A tiny shower of pebbles crumbles down into the hole, echoing on for what seems like an eternity. We never hear them hit the bottom.

  “Careful now!” Professor Young says, motioning for Puck and me to step back. “You wouldn’t be the first witches to fall into this hole. But if you came out, now then, that would be a first.”

  We all take another half step back, away from the pit.

  “Now, as I was saying. Demons are a powerful force. Only our kind dares to harness their power. Who needs a familiar when you have a demon on your side?”

  As he says it, a tiny, smoke-like form takes shape above his left shoulder. It looks almost like an animal, but it’s hard to tell what kind. The harder I look at it, the harder it is to see.

  Kind of like looking at Professor Young. If I squint at him out of the corner of my eye, I think I can almost see the second twin hiding there, beneath the surface of his skin.

  “You’ll go through many demons in your time as a Dark Witch,” the professor continues. “Some stay just a few minutes or hours, some stay longer. I once heard of a witch who had the same demon all their lives. It’s not common . . . but it is possible.”

  Now that we’ve had our curiosity piqued, Young has us line up along one wall and then proceeds to start sorting us by the density of our auras. I shift uncomfortably as he works his way down the line towards me.

  “Summoning is one of the only forms of magic you can perform without a wand,” he continues, pausing for a moment to squint at Puck. “For that reason, it’s particularly important to master. You never know if or when you’re going to be caught unaware, without the luxury of one.”

  He finally makes a decision and send Puck off to the very front of the line. Nicholas, he places right in the middle without a second thought.

  And then he gets to me.

  Professor Young’s eyes take on that far-off look. I’ve seen that look directed at me so much over the last couple days, but it still makes me fidget.

  “Interesting . . .” he says. He looks me up and down, and even makes me turn around in a slow circle. After another moment’s deliberation, I’m instructed to go stand apart from the group.

  I stand awkwardly looking on as he finishes arranging the rest of the class. He takes a couple of steps back, getting dangerously close to that hole in the middle of the floor, and gives the line one final once-over.

  “Perfect. We have a set of trial demons, virtually harmless beings meant for you to practice your skills on.”

  Merlin’s hand shoots up from his place in line. He’s set at basically the opposite end of the spectrum from Puck. Professor Young looks a little annoyed but calls on him still.

  Merlin steps forward out of line. “How do you convince them to stay? As far as I know, demons don’t like to be contained.”

  Professor Young smiles softly, in an almost wicked-sort of way. “You’d be surprised what demons will do for a steady stream of subjects to possess.”

  Merlin’s mouth clamps shut, and he steps back into line.

  Professor Young snaps his fingers and one of the many doors into the room swings open. A team of zombie servants enters, pulling a long rickety cart lined with clear glass jars behind them. Each jar appears empty but is labeled with a number and the demon’s name on the outside.

  As soon as the cart rumbles to a stop, Professor Young snaps his fingers again and the zombies retreat—though not before, I notice, they take a longing look at Percy, the smallest boy in the class.

  I mean, if I was going to choose one to eat it’d probably be Percy too. But if I was looking for brains . . . Merlin’s more the way to go.

  While I’m weighing the merits of cannibalizing each one of my classmates in turn, Professor Young has started calling them up and giving them the number of their assigned demon.

  “Be careful now,” he urges us as Puck leans in close to his and starts spelling out the name written in tiny letters across the front. “Don’t say its name until you’re ready to release it. If the cap’s still on the jar, it’ll get cross—and no one likes an angry demon.”

  I’m still set apart from everyone else, but I wait as patiently as possible as the jars slowly disappear from the rolling cart. By the time Puck’s stepped up to get his, there aren’t any left. The professor instructs everyone to bring their demon to one of the desks pushed up against the walls and pull out their books.

  “I promise you’ll get to release them when we come back from break,” he says, in response to the sighs around the room. “But it’s imperative that you know what you’re getting into. Some of these can be quite the troublemakers.”

  And here he eyes Puck especially.

  Just when I think I’ve been forgotten, Professor Young finally turns to me. He looks at me again in that odd way, examining my apparently gray aura for a moment before he quietly beckons me over to his desk.

  “You know, when I heard we were getting another student at the last second, I was worried I wouldn’t have time to summon a demon in time. But then I saw your aura . . .” here he trails off, once again admiring the space around my head, “and I knew I already had just the right one.”

  He takes out a small key and unlocks the bottom drawer of the desk, producing the tiniest jar of the bunch. There’s no number on the front, not even a name.

  “I think you’ll find you have a lot in common,” he says, giving me a knowing look.

  I take the jar hesitantly. It’s so small it can fit in the palm of just one of my hands.

  “What’s its name?” I ask, glancing back up.

  The professor taps a tiny slip of paper taped to the bottom. It’s scrawled with something, but it’s impossible to make out.

  “Sorry, I can’t read the name.”

  “It’s easy,” Professor Young says with an annoyed sigh. He points to the scrawled, jumbled letters again. “It’s right here.” I still can’t read it, but maybe I’m just stupid. Since Professor Young has already pulled out a pen to fill out paperwork on his desk, I shut up and shuffle back to an empty seat between Puck and Nicholas.

  Nicholas keeps looking in his jar with one of his eyes squinted, like he’s trying to find the demon inside. Puck, meanwhile, is trying to see how far over the edge the jar can balance without falling over and shattering.

  What a pair these two make.

  I pull my worn copy of Summoning for First-Years and start flipping through the first couple of pages. Part of me is repulsed by the idea of summoning a demon, but the other part . . . let’s call it intrigued. I’ve always been taught that demons were purely evil, malevolent forces bent on wreaking havoc.

  But from the little bit I’m able to read in my brief glance over these pages, there’s a lot more to them than that.

  Normally summoning a demon is a complicated and dangerous process. Like Professor Young said, they like dark and cramped places for a reason. As a whole, they’re tricky and temperamental—some more so than others.

  From the looks of things, most of the demons assigned today come from the smallest, most tame variety—the sort of demons that possess small creatures or vessels. They’re more likely to try to get you to forget your homework than they are to make you sign over the rights to your eternal soul.

  But that’s just everyone else’s demons.

  The one that’s supposedly in my jar, the one with the indistinguishable name, is basically a crapshoot. I just have to trust that Professor Young doesn’t secretly have it out for me.

  Since I don’t really have any information about my own demon, I just do a little reading up on what I consider to be the most important thing—how to contain a demon once it’s been released. I mean, if I end up with something that tries to get me to drown myself at night . . . that’s really going to come in handy.

  At last, and only
just moments before I’m sure Puck is for sure going to shatter his jar on the floor, the bell tolls and we’re dismissed for a short break before the practical part of class begins.

  Most of the class ambles off to the bathrooms or off towards the basement study area. I passed by it the last time I was down here. It’s all overstuffed armchairs and paintings of more witches getting burned. It’s got that musty, been-underground-without-fresh-air-for-too-long smell that makes me want to hyperventilate.

  Rather than head into the study with the rest of our class, I wait until Nicholas isn’t looking, and I wave Puck over towards the door marked “pool”. I duck inside and wait alone for a minute until he follows after me, loudly calling something over his shoulder at someone else.

  The pool’s surprisingly large, and like the lake outside, it’s hard to tell exactly how deep it is. I expected that heavy chlorine smell to be present, but it isn’t. It smells more like seaweed and used gym socks. Large claw marks scar one of the walls, looking like they were made from some huge creature.

  In case there’s even the slightest chance that creature is still in this pool, I take a cautious step away from the edge.

  “So, I’m guessing you didn’t ask me in here for a bit of naughty fun?” Puck asks, as obtuse as always.

  “I think I saw the scrying thing in the headmistress’ office,” I say, completely ignoring his comment and cutting to the chase. “The crystal balls on the shelf. Think it’s one of them?”

  “You really are anxious to get ahold of that boy-toy of yours, aren’t you?” Puck says, but he drags one of his hands across the bottom of his face in thought. “It could be. I always took her as a ‘scrying pool’ kind of witch, you know? A little more classic, a little less . . . chintzy.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter what it is. It just matters that it works.”

  Something rustles in the corner, but when I check over my shoulder, nothing’s there. I step a little closer, very aware of the heat coming off Puck’s body.

  “How long until she leaves, do you think?”

  Puck looks torn between trying something frisky and actually answering my question. Thankfully, he chooses the latter I don’t have to stab him again.