Root Rot Academy: Term 1

by Rhea Watson

  Once tidied, from the books to the leeches to the carving on my desk that Alecto charmed out of existence, we left for supper together, the incident officially a conversational no-fly zone.

  And my classroom door locked tight for the first time all year.

  10

  Alecto

  Ahhhh yes, the old late-night grind in the staff room nursing a disgustingly cold cup of coffee and a stack of assignments waiting to be graded.

  A familiar scene, one I had played a major role in many times over the years and would revisit again in the very near future. Sick of grading on the couch in our apartment, my back and neck sore while Bjorn was just open to a change of scenery, we had migrated to the staff room after curfew for our nightly ritual of marking, lesson planning, and student shit-talking.

  Since his classes were mandatory for everyone and mine were for the first two years, we had a lot of student crossover—and the first and second years were honestly the worst of the bunch. Mouthiest. Touchiest. In the least control of their powers. One had recently made an entire shelf of seedlings explode because some other student insulted her newly dyed pink hair—cue a super-dramatic evacuation in the middle of my lecture, herb gardens ruined, den mothers descending from all sides with security close at their heels.

  Just fantastic.

  Still. I loved my job—not necessarily Root Rot Academy, per se, but being a teacher was my life’s calling. Bad apples came with the territory, only here, they were almost all bad apples, many of whom couldn’t be assed to put even a little effort into their work. The plants they liked, sure, but everything went to shit when they had to put pen to paper.

  At first, it hadn’t felt right to complain about kids who already had so much stacked against them, but now, six weeks into my first term, I just needed an outlet, and Bjorn was more than happy to lend an ear.

  Only about student issues, of course, along with the occasional rage-rant about our coworkers over wine and blood and reality TV. The heavy stuff, the undercurrent punting my stress to unsafe levels, stayed with me and me alone.

  Because when it came to Benedict Hammond, I was no better off now than I was two weeks ago, and the thought of sharing that with someone, shining a spotlight on my failings—and cowardice—made me want to jump off the top of the tower.

  A sleepy quiet blanketed the staff room tonight, the chaotic atmosphere of that first shindig dead and buried. Students in bed, castle settling into the night, many of my colleagues flocked here to get some work done, figures scattered along the massive table under the crystal chandelier, papers everywhere, quills with inkpots and ballpoint pens alike alongside empty coffee cups and half-drunk wine. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed, but as soon as Bjorn had returned from a quick trip down to our place, he seemed to exude some stupid force field that made even those staff I liked pick up and move down the table.

  Sure, blood had a potent, tangy odor, unmistakable compared to the coffee, tea, and wines we all nursed, but they had to be used to it by now. He was a vampire. Blood was his jam.

  Fucking get over it.

  My roomie seemed not to notice—or care, really—that his colleagues raised the drawbridge when he reappeared with a cup of type O. I, however, had noted every crinkled nose and eye roll and scoff when I dared heat his mug—as I always did—with a very mild warming spell, tapping my wand to the rim to get it just right.

  And that pissed me off.

  Not quite as much as his classroom vandalism, but I hated seeing it—from the casual prejudice to the overt disdain. As academics we ought to be better than that.

  After scribbling a 73 in my red pen of doom at the top of the latest quiz, I added this parchment to the stack, then slumped into my chair with a sigh. Even though the couch was murder on my lower back, hunching over a table created a knot the size of Jupiter in my neck, just at the base of my skull. Forcing my jaw to unlock, I jabbed my fingers into the worst of it and massaged the ache, then stretched left and right, not stopping until the telltale crick rippled down my spine, taking some of the sharper pain with it.

  A quick glance at the grandfather clock told me we were nearing midnight—still a few hours to go before I finished what I needed to tonight. Idiot. Never combine multiple choice, short answer, and essay questions in a single quiz; it was a recipe for hours and hours and hours of grading and a tension headache behind my left eye.

  “Want to head back?” Bjorn rumbled from my left, barely glancing up as he crossed out an entire paragraph in the essay in front of him. He then scribbled something in the margins, his red cursive all rough lines and exaggerated lettering; if his kids could read that, whatever it was, they deserved a bonus 10 percent on top of their final mark.

  “Nah.” My fingers crept up my neck, really gritted into the dullness radiating from the top of my spine. “I’m only halfway through.”

  With another fifteen quizzes to go, then an additional thirty tomorrow night, I was nowhere near ready to call it quits yet.

  “Need more coffee though,” I added under my breath, pushing away from the table. Just as I stood, Bjorn smirked and flipped the parchment over.

  “Need coffee. No function without coffee,” he grunted back at me. “System error—”

  A sharp flick at his ear—something he let me do, because he could have dodged it and retaliated in the time it took me to blink—had him trailing off into chuckles. Sky-blue coffee mug in hand, I meandered over to the condiments table near one of the windows. The pot was running low, but after I filled my cup, there was just enough left to give one more sleep-deprived professor a boost after me, which meant I had narrowly avoided having to brew a new pot. Score one for Alecto.

  After adding my usual cream and sugar, then a few drops of vanilla, I drifted along the windows, ignoring my haggard reflection in the glass and slowly stirring everything in with a little wooden stick. My lower back ached. My hips were tight. Everything was begging for a run, but I just hadn’t had time to hit the trails outside the campus walls. A faculty group went jogging every Saturday morning, and I’d been tempted to join when invited—until I learned Benedict fucking Hammond was one of the runners.

  Nope.

  Fuck no.

  I’d rather run alone forever than have that bastard on my heels.

  But soon. All the poor posture from grading and the shit sleep and the never-ending work around the school’s gardens had my body desperate for relief—and nothing beat the physical high of running.

  Well. Actually. Fantastic sex topped that by an inch—

  Wait.

  I stumbled back to the farthest left window, and even though it was a challenge and a half to see it on the other side of the castle, I did.

  A light in the greenhouse.

  My greenhouse.

  At ten after midnight.

  Security didn’t patrol much of my kingdom; I kept all three greenhouses locked tight, almost paranoid about making sure they were secure after Bjorn’s classroom break-in.

  But there was no mistaking it: beyond the fifth-year tower, barely above the castle’s rooftop, I could just make out the far end of the largest greenhouse.

  And that was a light. Someone was inside.

  My heart skipped a beat as I whipped around, suddenly wide-awake without a drop of lukewarm coffee.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah…” I waved Bjorn off as I planted my coffee on the table, frowning when a little slopped over the edge and dribbled down the side. My roommate had been so insistent that I drop the vandalism incident, that I not tell Headmaster Clemonte, not involve anyone else—none of which I was comfortable with, even two weeks later, but for the sake of our fledgling friendship, I’d agreed. This wasn’t exactly a tit-for-tat situation, but if someone was in my greenhouse, fucking with my plant babies, I felt it was my responsibility to handle it.

  A few kids sneaking out after curfew? Totally manageable. The standard not angry, just disappointed lecture followed by a weekend detention for e
veryone involved? Yeah. Definitely in my wheelhouse.

  I mean. No one had better be doing any of that. It wasn’t that I thought the kids here had too much freedom, but there were plenty of leaky holes in the Root Rot ship that I’d slowly been finding since my arrival. And if yet another professor’s workspace was vandalized, it was time for a more serious talk about security.

  “Totally fine,” I added under Bjorn’s unflinching scrutiny. After wiping the coffee dribble up with my sleeve, I flashed a quick smile. “Just need to… I’ll be right back.”

  Famous last words in every human horror film. Unfortunately for the idiots in those scenarios, I wasn’t going up against an enemy ten times stronger than me empty-handed. With my wand in its forearm holster, I descended the staff tower in a hurry, stumbling through the portrait door at the base, dizzy from the round and round and round of the stairwell. Wearing a pair of lace-up flats, black boyfriend-style jeans—my blue ones had deeply offended Madame Prewett’s sensibilities the other day—and a slouchy purple sweater, I moved through the castle corridors soundlessly, my shoes whispering a tip-tap rather than the thunderous click-clack of heels.

  A gust of furious cold air struck the second I stepped outside, this morning’s thunderstorm painting the grounds with a summer chill that would only get worse when September hit. I absolutely dreaded trudging out to the greenhouses in the dead of winter, but I knew what I’d signed up for—professionally, anyway. Tonight, a starless sky stretched overhead, pitch-black and shimmering as the wind dragged storm clouds toward the horizon. Hair whipping about, I tucked my chin into my chest and followed the familiar stone path down to the stairs, still slick with rainwater, and then plucked out my wand when I reached the bottom.

  Someone had turned the light off since I spotted it.

  The door to the main greenhouse was open and clattering, tossed back and forth in the breeze. How security hadn’t heard it was beyond me, but given the wind sounded like a chorus of banshees tonight, I let it go.

  “Fax,” I whispered, and seconds later a piercing white light sliced through the shadows. Using my wand like a flashlight, I hurried inside and struggled to drag the door closed, the wind fighting me the whole way. When it finally clicked shut, the banshee cries dulled, muted against the trembling glass walls and ceiling. After throwing my curls back, all of them extra floofed courtesy of the weather, I scanned my main lecture space slowly, then prowled down the aisle, shining my wand under each desk.

  Nothing.

  Just air thick with plant life, with newly potted darlings snoozing away along the shelves, each one waiting for sunlight. The wind struck like a battering ram, pounding at the glass from all sides like it had a point to prove.

  Like it was meant for me.

  “Hello?” Had the wind just blown the door open? I could have sworn I’d seen a light, but maybe it was just security on the prowl. Maybe it was a light from another tower. Maybe my eyes, exhausted from reading bullshit all night, had been playing tricks on me. “Is someone there? You’re breaking curfew…”

  I made it all the way up to my desk and whiteboard without finding a single thing to validate what I’d seen. Outside of my wand’s glow, the place was a bit creepy in the dark, all reaching plants and empty desks and stools that I couldn’t remember tucking in or leaving out before I went to dinner—

  A figure darted by out of the corner of my eye, skulking through the next greenhouse, the silhouette along the glass wall upright and bipedal.

  Victory surged—but it was short-lived because now I had to deal with someone sneaking around in the dark. Teeth gritted, I sprinted for the seldom-used door just off the side of my desk, barreling over the gravel walkway between this greenhouse and its smaller twin, then charged clear into that side door with my wand blazing.

  “Hello?” I leveled my wand down the first aisle of abundant plant life, this greenhouse specifically designated for all the flora worth studying but not growing. Only elective students and up were permitted in here; for my first and second years, I brought over the specific plant of the day to the other greenhouse, where they could look but not touch, everything in here either deadly or medically beneficial. Rarely an in-between with these beauties. In a few months, I’d harvest seedlings and petals and leaves and roots for the infirmary, but as it stood, the thought of someone in here unsupervised made my stomach turn. “I know you’re in here, and you’re breaking curfew. Please do not touch anything.”

  Or, even worse, eat anything. Some of these buds could produce quite the high—I imagined my predecessor had needed special permission to grow the wolfsbane. We had so many potential addicts at Root Rot, a rough home life waiting for them outside the academy, desperately in need of a little something to make them forget.

  A feeling I understood well.

  The temptation had always been there, but I knew too much about the side effects and lifelong marks most magical plants left on users to ever touch the stuff.

  So, I made do with booze and sex and teenage rebellion—even in my twenties.

  Faint, barely there footfalls whispered throughout the greenhouse, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I crept down the aisle. I searched through the pots and gently sifted amongst the vines. I gave the underside of the reaching tables a thorough inspection.

  Nothing.

  But I felt it—a presence. Eyes on me.

  I flashed my wand into a dark corner, my mind a total asshole as it imagined Benedict Hammond lurking there, waiting. Again—nothing. That warlock made me paranoid, and with good reason, but I trusted my gut. Someone else was here. Someone was where they shouldn’t be.

  Halfway down the other side of the center aisle, I stopped, that unseen stare burning into the back of my head. Sucking down a steadying breath, I pivoted in place and—

  “Fuck’s sake, Alecto.”

  And flashed my light directly into the gorgeous, mysterious grey eyes of Gavriel.

  “Oh my gods,” I snapped, a hand slapped to my racing heart as I lilted into the table, hip taking the brunt of its sharp edge. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I saw the light.” The fae motioned for me to lower my wand, which I did, no longer needing to blind someone who wasn’t a student out of bed. “Thought someone might be breaking curfew… You do know what the kiddies do in the conservatory—”

  “I’ve heard the stories,” I said tersely, in no mood to hear sordid tales about teenagers—again. Professors saw things and overheard gossip that turned our hair prematurely grey enough as it was; I didn’t need any specifics about awkward, burgeoning sexuality.

  “There’s nobody in the other one,” Gavriel noted with a toss of his head toward the third greenhouse. “Door’s locked anyway.”

  “I lock all the doors.”

  “Well, maybe you forgot—”

  “Whoever was here, they’re gone now,” I muttered, wiping the cold adrenaline sweats off my forehead. “Thanks for scaring the absolute shit out of me though.”

  “My pleasure. Thanks for permanently fucking up my vision.”

  I offered a crooked smile. “Anytime.”

  Wand on the table, the tip’s glow illuminated parts of the greenhouse around us, vines and leaves and shrubbery casting shadows across the rest. Gavriel was another one of the staff I rarely saw, but hardly a surprise given our domains were practically opposites. He had a small legion of lesser librarians managing the day-to-day tasks of that great literary kingdom in the sky, while he holed up in his office doing fuck knows what—archiving or whatever.

  But gods, looking at him now, I wished he skulked around the gardens more. Such eye candy in those tailored grey slacks and the white dress shirt, his sleeves scrunched to his elbows and the top button open. No formal suits tonight. In fact, he looked strangely undone, silvery-brown locks tousled and eyes wild.

  Maybe he was from a night court. Maybe this was his time to shine.

  Maybe—

  Wait. Why the hell was he outsi
de anyway? This weather was made for curling up under ten blankets with a spiked coffee and a good movie, not a starless stroll through the muck.

  “What are you—”

  “Since we’re…” We both trailed off after stumbling over each other, and Gavriel’s seductive mouth twitched, then arched into a delicious smirk. “Since we’re both here. Alone.”

  Interest zinged through me, but I schooled my features and lifted my eyebrows instead. Not a lot of reading between the lines required to see what he was getting at. Still, the fae’s grin had me weak in the knees, and as he smoothed his hands into his pockets, strolling down the aisle, it was like he knew it, too. Cockiness had never done it for me before, but he radiated this annoyingly attractive confidence in the way he approached me, not stopping until about a foot of distance remained between us. He smelled like spearmint again—but musk, too, a spicy, luxe cologne wafting off him that made my mouth water.

  He brushed a curl away from my face, and the graze of his knuckle on my cheek sent goosebumps rippling down my entire body.

  “How about an encore?”

  Gods. Since that first night, I had been trying hard to be both professional and personable with my coworkers, to get along with everyone and not draw any unnecessary attention to myself. So, really, a casual fuck buddy was the last thing I needed—but Gavriel looked good and smelled good and had made me come real good.

  And the stress of teaching along with the whole Benedict situation—I was wound too tight and bound to snap. It could either be with a sobbing meltdown in the shower…

  Or with him.

  I sucked in my cheeks, considering the gorgeous fae, pretending to really scrutinize him, and let out a sigh that sounded meaner than I meant. “Fine.”

  Gavriel stared at me for a beat, seduction fading, and then rolled his eyes. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic, little fury.”

  Totally fair, but I also wasn’t going to stand here and bicker about my tone. Flipping him the bird, I had just started to turn away when he grabbed my wrist and hauled me to him. Smile back in place, eyes hooded and wanting, Gavriel yanked our bodies together and claimed my mouth with a biting kiss.