With blood still pouring from my wounds and color not yet returned to my lifeless skin, I look out upon the gaping faces of my classmates and Crusaders alike.
Every face is on me, and yet no one moves.
The dining hall’s been turned into a battleground. Hoods are thrown back and wands drawn. One of the tapestries in the back is on fire, probably from a wayward forgotten candle.
Abacus was not able to keep all the Crusaders out alone. Not when one of them had already infiltrated inside.
The two witches closest to me at the base of the altar look up at me in equal wonder.
Abacus crouches on Bedford’s chest, his knee pinning the Crusader’s body to the floor while his wand is pressed up against a throbbing vein in his neck.
All around him, teachers and long-awaited council members do the same to more men in red and white cloaks. The battle raging around me looks like it was already nearly won.
Then I arrived.
I point the Elder Blade out in front of me, leveling it with Bedford’s gaze. I open my mouth to speak, but at first, only more blood and fluid pours from my lungs.
Bedford gapes up at me, incredulous. His voice, broken with disbelief, carries up to me through the sudden lull.
“You’re dead. I used the Elder Blade. I . . . I made sure of it myself.” His head swivels to search more faces for confirmation. “How’s this possible?”
“I’ll tell you how.”
It’s Abacus.
He straightens up, leaving Bedford prostrate on the floor. He fixes me with his gaze as he strides forward, wand still drawn. “Yes, you killed her. But you forgot to take something into account.”
When he reaches me, he stops to search my features. There’s a curious look there. But then he turns back to face those around us, his voice booming out over their heads.
“You cannot simply kill the descendants of the First Dark Witch,” he says. “Not, at the very least, by inferior magic. And this ceremony performed with corrupt intention and deceit, it was very inferior magic indeed.”
It’s fallen so silent, I can hear the blood dripping to the floor from my own wounds.
“Sorry to disappoint you, fellow witches, but you came here tonight under false pretenses. You came here seeking an imposter. An abomination. But you won’t find one here.” Now, again, Abacus turns to look at me. “For no matter what you’ve been told, this girl is a Dark Witch through and through. And I know better than any, because I’m her father.”
I blink at him stupidly.
He’s my what?
Abacus raises his wand to meet the crowd’s gaze. “Any who wish to contest that will have to go through me first. And let me assure you,” he says, gritting his teeth. His final words come out heavy and laced with rage. “There will be nothing left when I am finished—body or soul—for any who dare. We Graves may be immune to death, but I should remind you . . . you are not.”
It comes as no great surprise when not one witch immediately rises to challenge him.
Us. To challenge us.
The moment stretches on until, with great effort, Bedford finally heaves himself back up to his feet. His footing’s uneven like he’s been injured, but that doesn’t stop him from straightening back up to his full height.
All around him the Crusaders wait and watch.
Bedford fixes the two of us with a level stare. That hatred is still there, burning within.
It doesn’t matter whether or not I’ve actually committed any of the crimes he’s accused me of. In his eyes, I will always be guilty. I will always be hunted.
The Crusader’s wand wavers in his hand. He turns it over in his fingers, wrestling with his desire for righteous justice and his instinct to survive another day.
I make the decision a little easier for him.
My knees threaten to give out as I take a step closer, the Elder Blade still in one hand as I reach for my wand with the other.
I point it directly at Bedford. “I don’t know many curses, so unless you feel like tearing yourself apart, limb by limb, I suggest you do as he says.”
Bedford’s eyes flash, and I half expect him to try and murder me here and now, for the second time in one night. But his gaze drops to the wound in the middle of my chest, and instead, he holds his wand out straight—and drops it.
It clatters to the ground with a hollow echo as the rest of the Crusaders follow suit.
The battle’s over.
Somehow, still, this all just feels like the beginning.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Wren Davies. Daughter of Warlock Abacus Grave, descendent of the First Dark Witch himself.
That’s who I am.
I should be more surprised to learn it than any, but after everything that’s happened—I’m not sure that’s possible anymore.
As “immune to death” as I may be, my body still needs blood to function. The last thing I see before I pass out into my father’s arms are the faces of Puck, Merlin, and Nicholas as they finally shove their way up to the front of the crowd.
They’re bloodstained and battered, but at least they’re alive.
The same can’t be said for everyone.
Even though snow still blankets the grounds outside, Headmistress Evanora has the doors open onto her balcony when I arrive. The guards that escorted me from the infirmary stand at attention just outside the door—joining those that have been permanently stationed on the landing ever since the break-in.
It’s been a week now.
After passing out in Abacus’ arms, I was taken directly to the infirmary to be treated for excessive blood loss. I was fully unconscious for two days, and then hovered in and out for several more. Guess it turns out dying and coming back to life isn’t as simple as you might think.
Though I insisted I’m well enough to finally meet with Headmistress Evanora about the incident, I still have to steady myself against the leather arms of my chair to keep the room from spinning.
In the chair beside me, Abacus’ hand twitches at his side as if he wants to help steady me. Ever since he claimed me as his daughter in front of the whole school—and now the whole witch world—he’s been awkwardly trying to work out what it means to be my father. We both have.
“Now that we’ve had some time to examine the exact nature of the incident that occurred here last week, I think there are some things we should discuss,” Evanora starts, clasping her hands on the table in front of her.
“What more could there possibly be?” Abacus says, anxious as ever as he shifts in his seat. He moves around so much I’m afraid I’ll get vertigo if I look at him too long. “We must’ve already been over this a thousand times.”
“You and I, maybe,” the headmistress says, curtly, “but perhaps Wren should have some input in the matter.”
I flash her a sheepish smile. “Actually,” I say, “I do have some questions.”
She nods her head, waiting patiently for me to gather my thoughts. Behind her, the city guard trudges knee-high through the snow.
“How did . . . did you ever find out how the Crusaders knew to come that night?” I ask, looking first from the headmistress to Abacus.
“You mean how they knew your mother was supposed to be meeting with you?” Evanora says, arching her eyebrow.
I redden. “I wondered if the boys told you.”
“I promised I wouldn’t say who—”
“Don’t worry,” I say, holding up my hand. “I already know.” Of course I do, but I’m not mad. I can’t fault Merlin for being who he is. I’m just impressed he kept it a secret as long as he did.
“Actually,” Headmistress Evanora says, hesitantly. “We think we have an idea.”
Abacus stands from his seat and takes three steps to cross the room. He pulls something from inside one of the cabinets and tosses it across my knees. It’s a black cloak.
“You recognize this?”
I don’t at first, but Abacus uses a stiff finger to prod it over to show me the in
ner tag—with my own name scrawled in black pen across it.
I grab the cloak and turn it over in my hands.
“I haven’t seen this in ages,” I say, holding it up to the light. “I thought I lost it.”
Abacus’ mouth makes a thin line. “It was found in one of the Crusader’s rooms at a local inn.”
I stare up at him blankly for a second before it all rushes back. I don’t need to ask him which Crusader he means. My gaze shifts to the cloak, but I’m not really looking at it. I’m remembering, after all this time, how I lost it in the first place.
“Edgar,” the name’s barely a whisper on my lips. “I left it at Highborne Academy the night he gave me the note from my mother, telling me when to meet her. But . . .” I look back up to meet Abacus’ gaze, “he wouldn’t do this.”
Would he?
It’s Headmistress Evanora’s turn to press her lips together disapprovingly. “I’m not going to ask you what you were doing at Highborne, but I do feel it’s my duty to recommend you don’t do that again in the future. Especially now.”
I squirm under her gaze, but I don’t disagree. Ever since the Crusaders broke into the grounds on the solstice, we’ve all felt the shift around us. Abacus isn’t the only one acknowledging the unrest anymore. Something’s changing, I just don’t know quite what yet.
I’m still trying to process the fact that it was Edgar who told the Crusaders about that night. I cover the top half of my face with my hand, using my thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of my nose. My head feels fuzzy and light.
“But then how did they get in? Bedford? And . . . and Professor Hardbloom. What happened to him? Bedford took his place when he left to get the blade, didn’t he?”
“We’re still trying to work that out,” Headmistress Evanora says, too quickly. “All we know is that the Crusaders entered through a tunnel under the school. Bedford must have come early to take the officiant’s place.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, touching my arm. “The tunnel’s been sealed. Professor Hardbloom didn’t make it, unfortunately, but it won’t happen again.”
I’ll say. I won’t be participating in any more so-called rituals any time soon.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I heard Hardbloom was killed, but I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe it. I won’t lie and say I’ll miss him, but that doesn’t mean I ever wished him dead.
There’s one question I won’t ask, however. I don’t have to ask which tunnel they used. I’m pretty sure I already know.
And I think I have an idea who tipped Bedford off.
That night we snuck into the city we must not have shaken Veronica off like I thought we did. She probably followed us the whole way, just waiting for an opportunity to get back at me. I led her straight to a way past the protection spells, and then straight to Bedford himself.
I’ll never be able to prove it, of course.
Not, at least, without incriminating myself.
“Knowing how they got in doesn’t change the fact that they did get in,” Abacus growls at my side.
“Which brings us to the matter at hand,” Evanora says. “Your father and I have discussed it at length, and we’ve decided that it’s not a good idea for you to be here at this time.”
“Wait,” I say, leaning forward in my seat so quickly that my head spins. “Are you saying I have to leave?”
My head swivels from her to Abacus.
He nods once. “Just ‘til the new safety measures have been put in place. Until then it isn’t safe here for you.”
“But the Crusaders were caught,” I say.
“And,” Headmistress Evanora says, “some of them escaped. Most of the rest have already been released.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say, forgetting myself for a moment. My hands grasp at the edges of my chair so tight that the tops of my knuckles grow white.
Abacus grunts angrily. “And that bastard Bedford was among those that escaped, of course.”
I fall back into the chair with an exasperated sigh. Thankfully that sigh hides the excruciating pain that follows, stabbing into the middle of my chest.
If Bedford truly is on the loose, then maybe it is a good idea for me to leave after all. At least for a while. I saw the look on his face. He doesn’t care who I am. I doubt the solstice ceremony is the last time he’ll try to make sure my days are cut short by his own hand.
“So then, what’s next?” I ask.
Abacus nods towards the grounds on the other side of the balcony. “We’ll head to one of my safe houses for a while. Maybe try to get ahold of your mother.”
I glance sharply over. “Really?”
“Unless you think that’s a bad idea.”
“No,” I say, breathless. “I’d like that a lot.” I’ve been wondering what happened to her after our ill-fated meeting by the lake. Wherever she is now, I fear for her safety more than ever.
I cut my eyes over to Abacus. He might be my father, but he doesn’t seem overly attached to the witch that gave birth to me. One day I might ask my mother how the two of them met in the first place, let alone how I came from it. This Dark Witch doesn’t exactly seem the romantic type she always made my father out to be.
But then, those were just stories. Maybe she made them up to cover for the fact that her daughter got sired by an illegal dalliance with a Dark Witch.
To think, all these years she’s been harboring a secret like that. No wonder she looked scared on the day of my initiation rites. I’m surprised she let me go through with it, but then again . . . she had no way of knowing the spectacular mess it would become. Highborne and Dark Witches simply don’t breed, so she didn’t exactly have any past examples to draw from.
How could she know I’d take on my father’s Dark nature?
To my side, Abacus checks his wristwatch and gets back to his feet. “We should be going. Renault and Arachna will be arriving at any minute.”
I have to fight the shivers that race through me at the mention of the spider-person. “Before we go, I have a little request.”
A moment later, Headmistress Evanora places the set of silver scales back in the center of her desk. I pluck a hair from my head and watch alongside my father as they settle.
The headmistress and I lock eyes as I stand up.
“You always knew, didn’t you?” I ask.
A sly smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. “From the moment I laid eyes on you. The resemblance to Abacus was too uncanny.”
I glance at the scales one more time. “I guess this is it. Until we meet again.”
“Until then.”
If Abacus had his way, I’d already be climbing into the back seat of Arachna’s nightmare vehicle out front.
As it is, I catch a glimpse of him pacing anxiously outside the gates. Several more guards stand to either side, keeping watch as I wait under the awning at the top of the front steps.
I don’t have to wait long.
“Wren!”
No sooner has Nicholas appeared from around the corner than he’s sweeping me up into his arms. I grimace in pain, but I can’t stop from giggling at his goofy grin as he spins me around once before setting me back down.
“What did I tell you?” Merlin says, grumpily shaking his head. “She’s hurt.”
“Sorry,” Nicholas says, still breathlessly smiling. “I couldn’t help myself.”
While Merlin and Puck exchange a surly glance, Nicholas keeps grinning from ear to ear like he just won the human lottery and gets to spend the rest of his life watching reality TV and eating fast food he made in his very own deep fryer.
“Oh come on now,” I say. I ignore the stabbing pain in my ribs as I reach up to clap Merlin on the upper arm. “Don’t be such a spoil-sport. It’s fine, really.”
All around us, a flurry of snow has started to fall. It collects on the ends of my lashes and mingles with the fog of breath in front of our faces.
Behind me on the street, the car engi
ne rumbles as a reminder of how little time we have left.
Merlin follows my gaze, glancing over his shoulder. “So it’s true then, you’re leaving?”
My feet scuff the icy ground. “Just for a little while.”
Puck stiffens, and I glance up to look at him through my snow-covered lashes. “You’ve been awfully quiet this whole time.” Of the three boys, he’s the only one who hasn’t said a word. It’s unusual, especially for him.
As soon as he takes my hand, I understand his silence. His touch is firm but gentle, squeezing me back without being able to look me directly in the eyes.
“Wren, that night . . . when I told you to be careful . . .” He stops to clear his throat. “I never would’ve let you go out to the lake alone if we thought there was even a chance the Crusaders would get through the barriers.”
I let out a strangled laugh. “That wouldn’t have changed anything. Bedford had already gotten in at that point.”
Nicholas matches my scuffling feet. “Did we ever figure out why they were here to begin with?”
I look down at my feet a moment before I tell them about the cloak.
To my left, Merlin’s hands grip the edge of the wooden stair railing so tight, I think it’s going to splinter. “I told you that boy Edgar was no good. I told you I’d kill him if he ever touched you again. Now he’s gone and done this?”
“You’re right,” I say, to everyone’s obvious surprise.
For a moment, my breaths go short and the boys have to help me sit down on the top step.
Though I know it’s the truth, it doesn’t stop it from hurting me to my core. I hold tight to Nicholas and Puck’s forearms and close my eyes for a second—not from the physical pain, but from the way it feels like I’m cutting out a part of myself.
That last little part of me that still held onto Edgar.
“It had to be him. He was the only one who knew.”
When my lips part, I taste salt. I didn’t know I was crying, but now I can’t stop the stream of tears slipping down my cheeks.
Veronica might have led the Crusaders to our doorstep, but Edgar sent them here in the first place.
Dark Witch: A Paranormal Academy Romance (Academy of the Dark Arts Book 1) Page 31
