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

by Analeigh Ford

  It releases me to claw at its own face, using its talons to tear the flesh from its own skull. I’m barely able to scrabble out of the way before I’m splattered with blood and viscera as the creature tears itself apart, the black smoke from my curse pouring from every self-inflicted wound.

  Hands find me and help me to my feet, pulling me even further from the creature as suddenly, all the doors to the room fly open and teachers pour in from every side. I catch sight of the one in front, Headmistress Evanora, as she skids to a halt and gestures for the rest of them to stop behind her.

  She takes in the sight, raises her wand above her head, and begins a chant that grows as the rest of the teachers join in. The demon slowly stops devouring itself, but not before it’s blinded itself and left huge gashes in its face and chest where bone and brain can be seen through the blood. It gurgles a soundless whimper, and slowly, ever so slowly, begins to descend back into the pit whence it came.

  It isn’t until the scraping, groaning sound stops echoing from the bottom of the pit that Headmistress Evanora lowers her wand and the chanting stops.

  She takes one look at Professor Young, who’s just started stirring in the corner, and then right at me.

  I expect to be scolded, given detention, expelled even. I loosed a dangerous demon and then used a gruesome killing curse on it here, in the school.

  But she just nods her head curtly. “Well done, Wren. Not many first-years could have stopped that demon. Far less could have cast that curse.”

  I blink in surprise until Nicholas nudges me and I stutter out, “T—thank you, headmistress.”

  We’re shuttled out of the room and instructed to wait in the basement common area while Professor Young is transported up to the infirmary. The smell still lingers outside with us while we watch as our summoning professor is helped to his feet and half-carried out the doors towards the stairs.

  As he passes by me, he motions for the teachers helping carry him to stop. Puck, who’s standing behind me with his hands cupped around my shoulders, tenses up a bit. Even Nicholas, who’s usually so easy-going if a little oblivious, shifts close enough that the back of our hands graze. But Professor Young isn’t here to chastise me either. He can’t even look me in the eyes.

  “I feel the need to apologize, Miss Davies,” he says, still looking at the floor. “I must have made a mistake with the jars. I’ll be sure to assign you a more appropriate demon when we return to class on Monday.”

  Though I hardly doubt it was a mistake, not after what Merlin said, I nod and watch as Professor Young is carried off again. The rest of us shift in awkward, post-adrenaline discomfort until we’re dismissed early with the promise that hot chocolate will be served in the dining hall.

  “That was incredible,” Puck finally breathes, his hands giving my shoulders one last squeeze before letting me go.

  I expected Veronica, or more of our classmates, to be mad at me for nearly killing everyone. Instead, they just give me a wide berth as they pass by. I guess none of them are too keen to end up on the receiving end of a curse like that, and I don’t blame them.

  Now that things are settling back down, I’ve started to shake. Not just the knees this time, but all over.

  Nicholas is the first to notice. While Puck is too busy bombarding me with questions about how I managed that curse, Nicholas quietly slips his hand into mine and gives it a gentle squeeze.

  “If you need to cancel the show tomorrow, I’d understand,” he says quietly.

  “No!” I say, quickly, then take a deep breath to try to steady myself. “It’s still on. I just, here, give me a second to do something.”

  I slip my hand out of Nicholas’ and step around Puck’s wild gesturing. Never one to pass up an opportunity to boss other first-years around, Merlin lingers towards the back of the dispersing crowd to make sure no one tries to go back into the classroom. He almost looks surprised to see me when I tap him on the shoulder.

  “How did you know?” I ask, then jerk my head towards the now empty and bloodied class. “About the demon and Professor Young?”

  He shakes his head. “Young isn’t particularly good at keeping his voice down in the teacher’s lounge,” he says. “I knew he didn’t like you. But the demon . . . that was a lucky guess.” When he sees the doubt on my face, he relents and adds, “My father approved a license to store an Ozgullath at the school this summer. When I saw you struggling with all the usual first-year demons, I got suspicious and . . .” he trails off, nodding at the bag slung around my shoulder.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say, reaching into it. I pull out the book and hand it back, careful that no one’s looking. “I don’t think I’ll be needing this anymore. I don’t want this anymore.”

  Merlin gives me one of those rare, almost-smiles and tucks the book away. He leaves me to start shouting for people to head upstairs before he reports them. Meanwhile, I’m trying to decide whether I should be grateful to him for helping me summon my demon, or angry at him for almost getting me killed.

  “Glad to see one of us is acting normal,” Puck says, stepping back up beside me.

  “Yeah,” I say, watching as Merlin snaps at Percy for trying to sneak back into the classroom for his demon jar. “I guess so.”

  But inside, I’m wondering what normal even is anymore.

  Chapter Twenty

  All Hallows’ Eve is arguably the biggest holiday of the year, regardless of which side of the dark arts a witch falls on.

  We don’t celebrate with costumes and candy like the humans do, but that doesn’t stop Nicholas from showing up in the dining hall at breakfast on Saturday in full on fake-blood-and-all vampire costume.

  It normally wouldn’t scare me, but I’m so jittery about tonight that when I catch sight of his red-stained reflection in a water jug, I nearly choke on my bacon. Puck meanwhile has never looked so thrilled.

  “Wow man, you really went all-out,” he says, leaning back in his seat so far he nearly falls out of it.

  Nicholas grins and shows his plastic fangs, giving us a good sweep of the attached cape before settling down into the seat beside me. He struggles for a moment to shovel scrambled eggs into his mouth until he eventually removes the fangs and sets them on the table between us.

  Merlin appears at his side, looking down at the fangs disapprovingly. “Nicholas, you know the rules for dress in the academy.”

  “Yeah,” Puck says, “and it’s the weekend. And Halloween. Can’t you take the stick out of your butt for one day?”

  Some third-year boys seated at the table next to us snicker. Merlin glares at Puck, but stalks off without pushing the issue further.

  Nicholas, meanwhile, is almost as jittery as I am.

  “So, you’re excited about tonight?” he asks, between another mouthful of eggs.

  I nod but can’t stop the anxious swirl in my stomach. “Yeah, it’ll be nice to get out of here for once.”

  Puck shakes his head beside me. “I’m jealous. You sure you don’t have any extra tickets Nick? I wanted to be there when this little jailbird finally got out of here.”

  I laugh nervously. On any other night, I’d actually want Puck to come along. He might be the witch most likely to get us arrested, but I also have no doubt he’d also be the first one to put up a fight if we run into trouble. Nicholas is sweet, but he’s not very intimidating.

  The last time I was outside the academy walls, the Crusaders were about ready to burn me on the spot just for existing. We haven’t seen any in weeks now, but that doesn’t mean other witches out there don’t wish me harm as well. I count it as a good thing that we’re not heading into witch territory.

  Well, at least, at first.

  Even though the showing doesn’t technically start until late tonight, Nicholas wants us to sneak out a little early, right when the main celebrations begin.

  For those witches that want to celebrate the holiday here at the academy, there’ll be a special banquet and after-dinner ceremony. I wasn’t exactly pa
ying attention when Headmistress Evanora made the announcement a couple days ago, but I think it has something to do with the black lake. Or the swimming pool. I know whatever it is, it has something to do with a dark body of water.

  Personally, dark pools of liquid have already caused enough trouble in my life.

  It was a dark pool that started all this mess, but now, so many weeks later, I finally have the chance to try to do something about it. I don’t know what I’m more nervous about—sneaking into Highborne Academy, or finally talking to Edgar face to face.

  I thought I’d be excited, but really, all I feel is dread. I thought by now I’d have some proof that this was all a mistake, that I’m not a Dark Witch after all and somehow I’ll get out of here and join him at Highborne like we always planned. But I’m no closer to finding out how I ended up here with an obsidian wand and an affinity for curses. I guess I just have to hope that somehow, maybe, Edgar was able to get ahold of my mother for me.

  If anyone will have actual answers, it’s her.

  Now that the day’s finally arrived, the hours until we leave pass excruciatingly slow. Puck has us running around the Academy on some sort of wild goose-chase looking for hidden passageways in the basement that he swears only open once a year, but even that barely makes the hours scrape by.

  Every hour that passes makes me doubt myself even more. Sneaking into the academy is not only dangerous, but illegal. If I get caught, expulsion will be the least of my worries. The local Highborne council wanted to convict me for living in their village even though I was unaware of my supposed dark nature. I can’t imagine they’d let me go so easily if I came back of my own accord.

  And then there’s Nicholas. If there ever was a witch who didn’t deserve to be betrayed, it’d be him. But in order for my plan to work, that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do.

  Finally, the hour comes.

  Nicholas disappears to fetch his transporter, and Puck meets me at the top of the stairs to give me the costume I asked him to procure earlier this week. He surveys me a little skeptically as he hands over the plastic shopping bags.

  “You sure that’s what you want to wear?” he asks, glancing into the bag one more time. “I picked up a sexy zombie costume too, just in case.”

  I shudder. “Whoever thought that was a good idea hasn’t seen actual zombies,” I say. Puck stands there expectantly as I take the bag, making me pause before slipping back into the girl’s dorms to get ready. “What?” I ask, after he doesn’t say anything.

  “I just,” he starts, “be careful out there. And not just about the whole sneaking out thing, I saw you handle that demon. I’m not worried about you.”

  I feign offense. “Oh thanks for that,” I say. “Glad you’re so concerned for my well-being.”

  “It’s Nicholas I’m worried about,” he says. “Be careful with him, okay?”

  Something about the way he looks at me makes me feel naked. I’m sure, for just a second, that he’s figured out my plan. He knows what I’m about to do.

  But then he lets out a long, forlorn sigh and shakes his head. “I just wish I got to see you in that zombie costume, just the once.” I try to smack him on the head, but he darts out of reach and down the stairs before I can even think to reach for my wand.

  It’s my turn to shake my head as he disappears. In my opinion, that boy is overdue for another stabbing.

  Nicholas’ confused face when I step back into the stairwell says it all.

  “I thought you’d go for something a little less . . . or more . . .” he says, his tongue twisting over itself as he struggles to find the right words.

  I don’t blame him. I’ve traded one uniform for another, just with a little less . . . well . . . black. It’s not perfect, but the crisp white blouse, navy striped skirt, and knee-high socks should help me blend into the Highborne students later tonight. It won’t stand up to close scrutiny, but at first glance I won’t look completely out of place.

  Unfortunately, I still might get a little more attention than I’d hoped. I should’ve known better when I put Puck in charge of picking out the costume because I’m pretty sure skirts this short and tops this tight aren’t standard issue. Compared to this, Veronica’s every-day look is practically a nun’s habit.

  I do a little mock twirl for Nicholas while he’s still too flabbergasted for words. “What? You don’t like it?”

  I think the joke’s obvious, but he chokes on his words again as he tries to stammer out an apology and a compliment at the same time.

  It ends up coming out as, “Sorry, I didn’t mean you look nice.”

  He shifts uncomfortably where he stands, but I’m not ready to ease him of his suffering yet. “So, you’re saying you don’t like how I look in this?” I ask, putting one hand on my hip and popping it out in a dramatic caricature of a high-school drama queen. Ever the expert on all things human pop-culture related, Nicholas just balks even further.

  His cheeks go so red, I wonder if this is kind of a fantasy of his. No, I don’t wonder. I know. Some things can’t be hidden, especially by the cheap spandex pants of a drugstore vampire costume.

  As much fun as it would be to torture Nicholas a little longer, I know it’s time. With a ragged breath barely able to conceal the anxiety simmering underneath, I tell Nicholas to get us out of here.

  “Quickly now,” I say, trying to tug my skirt down at least enough to keep the entirety of my ass cheeks from hanging out, “before I overthink what’ll happen to us if we get caught.”

  Nicholas shoots me a reassuring look. “It’s just a show, Wren, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  We sneak out the back and onto the grounds before he takes the transporter out of his shirt and holds it out, his fingers fumbling with the tiny dials.

  For Nicholas, it might be just a show, but for me, it’s so much more.

  I take another breath and let it out slowly, then I take Nicholas’ arm and he switches the transporter on.

  I’ve been teleported magically before, but this is different. With teleportation, there’s a moment where you feel like you’re both shrinking and expanding, like the very fiber of your being is slipping between the spaces.

  With the teleporter, it’s more like I simply blink my eyes and suddenly, I’m no longer looking out at the dark lake. The only shift I feel around me is a change in the air and the texture of the street now beneath my feet.

  The winding cobblestone streets yet to be paved, the old stone buildings, the overgrown gardens—it’s similar enough to the village I grew up in to fill me with a flood of unexpected emotions.

  As smooth as the transition is, it’s surprisingly disorienting. I’m so used to feeling magic that not feeling it is somehow worse. I have to clutch tighter to Nicholas’ arm as a shiver runs across my body, wracking me from my shoulders down to my toes.

  The air here is colder, cold enough that my next breath steams up in a cloud in front of my face.

  “You okay?” Nicholas asks, patting my arm. It’s only now that I realize I’ve been digging my nails into his shirt, probably hard enough to leave little half-moon crescent shapes in the flesh beneath.

  “Yeah,” I say, carefully. I force myself to let go of him and slip on the cloak I brought, but my fingers are stiff. Whether it’s from the cold or what I’m about to do, I don’t know.

  It’s been a couple weeks now since I saw the last glimpse of a Crusader outside my window. There’s no reason for them to be here, in this ordinary human village, let alone looking for me. That doesn’t stop my eyes from suddenly searching every shadow for signs of the rogue witches.

  Nicholas fishes in his pocket and takes out the two tickets to the show. “You’re really going to love it,” he says, breathless in his own right—but for a completely different reason. His eyes have taken on that glazed, far-off look that they get when he’s started asking me about what it was like living alongside humans my whole life. “It’s just up ahead, at the theater there.”
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  He points down to the end of the street, where a tiny streetlamp is illuminating a sign painted with the classic double-mask symbol.

  But I’m not paying attention to the sign. My eyes are glued to the transporter still around his neck. If I don’t do it now, I might never get another chance.

  I swallow back my fear and guilt and try to force my voice to sound normal as I reach out and gingerly touch it. “This thing is crazy,” I say, glancing up at Nicholas. “Where’d you get it again?”

  “My parents gave it to me when I was thirteen or something. They said it was to help with my, err, hobby . . . but I think they just got tired of having to take me places.”

  “Uh huh,” I say, my finger still brushing the metal side. “I’ve always wanted to try one of these things on. I bet they’re heavier than they look.”

  I cringe at how obvious I’m being, but he’s barely paying attention. He keeps double-checking our seats for the evening, but glances back at me just long enough to tell me to go ahead and try it on.

  I have to stand on my tip-toes to raise the chain up and over Nicholas’ head. If he wasn’t so oblivious, he’d see the way my hands have started to shake . . . and not from the cold this time.

  The moment I slip the chain over my own head, I feel a rush spreading through me. This is it. This is my one chance.

  The tiny cylinder has a string of digits along one side like a padlock, meant to represent coordinates on a map. I take a close look at the ones currently there, memorizing them for my return.

  “Come on, we’re going to be late,” Nicholas says, making me glance back up. He’s taken a couple steps down the street without realizing I’m not following. He holds out his hand to me, a goofy excited grin on his face. His eyes briefly glance down to the transporter still in my fingers. “Careful, or you’ll set it off.”

  I swallow again, keeping my eyes on him as my fingers change the digits. He still holds his hand out to me, but his grin has started slipping.

  “Wren?”

  I look away from him once, just to check the digits on the teleporter. When I look back up, I see the moment he realizes what I’ve done. That I’ve used him.