Senior Witch, Fall Semester

by Ingrid Seymour

Chapter Sixteen

  FALL SEMESTER

  LATE SEPTEMBER

  Time slowed as red and blue sparks rained down from the sky like tiny shooting stars.

  It was a beautiful and horrific kaleidoscope of color, marking the powerful magic that had caused the explosion.

  My heart froze with unyielding terror. My friends were in terrible danger.

  Mystro Ponomarenko stood at the center of it all, his profile illuminated. He wore a flowing, hooded cloak that obscured his features. Its fabric swirled with blue runes. Though I couldn’t see his face, I knew it was him. There was something about his posture and the way he held his magic-illuminated hands that would always be imprinted in my mind. It was arrogance. He was powerful, and he knew it. So powerful that he stood alone against four.

  They crouched in front of him, battle-ready, but with fear on their faces. We were about thirty yards away, but I immediately recognized all of them: Lynssa McIntosh, Yuri Fedorov, Tempest, and Smudge Face.

  My mind twisted in a strange way at the sight of those four standing shoulder to shoulder against a common foe. The four of them were supposed to be enemies, fighting on either side of a battle that raged all last year. I still hadn’t wrapped my head around the fact that they were on our side. One of them had killed Trey and I would always hate him, no matter what side he claimed to support.

  Lynssa was a step ahead of the others, her hands extended in a blocking spell that had surely saved them from the explosion. Though they seemed unscathed, the broken structure that lay smoldering behind them was not. Large logs had collapsed on top of each other and burned with blue fire. Pieces of roof were strewn around the field. A broken door sat flat against the ground.

  From the looks of it, Ponomarenko had blown up my friends’ hideout, what must have been a charming log cabin in the middle of a large field. How had he known they were here? They had just fled Turkey, and they’d already been found. Was there a spy in their ranks? Maybe I wasn’t the only one playing a double game.

  My eyes immediately homed in on Smudge Face and Tempest. If they had done this, I would kill them.

  As I finished processing the scene in the seconds since our arrival, Ponomarenko took a step forward. Keeping his left hand in front of him, he lifted the other one toward the night sky.

  Crimson electricity descended from above in a fork of lightning. It flowed into him as if he were a metal rod. What the hell?! I blinked in confusion. I’d never seen anyone do anything like that. How could he take that much power and survive?

  Crap! They really were in trouble and there was nothing my astral-projected self could do to help. I exchanged glances with my party, seeing the same realization on their faces. This was bad and we were helpless.

  My panic grew into a straightjacket, suffocating me as I watched.

  Lynssa and Fedorov began casting. A protective wall went over their group.

  Distantly, I felt something warm around my wrists. It took me a moment to recognize the feeling. Back by the lake where my body stood, my cuffs were urging me to fight. I obeyed, weaving my hands in a defensive spell, but nothing happened. I might as well have been casting shadow puppets in front of a candle.

  “You can’t do magic in this state, Charlie,” Lawson said, his voice a slight whisper that I barely heard over the crackling of the burning wood.

  “But we gotta help!” I said just as weakly.

  “We can’t,” Lawson said in a growl of frustration. “They’ll be alright. It’s four against one.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  “Can’t they see us?” I asked, wondering if this would blow our cover.

  Lawson shook his head. “Lynssa was supposed to cast a spell to reveal our presence.”

  “How is he doing that?” Disha asked, staring at Ponomarenko, open-mouthed. Blue light danced in her dark eyes as well as Drew’s.

  Lawson took a second to answer her question as red lightning continued to pour into the mentalist’s body while our friends seemed to be arguing inside their protective bubble. When Lawson finally answered, his voice nearly trembled.

  “I think he’s drawing magic from the source. He must’ve broken open the portals.”

  Drew swore. “That’s against the council’s rules. It’s far too dangerous!”

  The phantom of a shiver traveled across my shoulders. What did Drew mean exactly? What would someone like Ponomarenko be able to do with unlimited magical power? I feared the knowledge, and it seemed Fedorov did, too, because he grabbed Lynssa’s arm and pulled her back.

  He mouthed something that looked suspiciously like “We have to get out of here.”

  As Fedorov tried to tug her away, Lynssa didn’t budge. Instead, her expression grew more determined. Wasting no time, she wove and twisted her hands in a near blur. Thrusting them forward with force, she released a huge ball of fire. It went through their protective bubble and shot toward the mentalist. I held my breath, praying her magic would turn him to dust bunnies.

  Ponomarenko’s red lightning ceased as, with a flick of his left hand, he dismissed Lynssa’s powerful spell as if it were no more than a child’s attack and not one from possibly the most talented witch in the world.

  Faraway, my body twitched. My instincts urged me to join the fight, but it was useless. All I could do was watch, transfixed and useless. “We have to do something!”

  “Drew!” Disha cried, trying and failing to tug on his arm. He stood there helpless as did Lawson.

  “Shit!” Tempest cried out loud enough for us to hear. She took a step in front of Lynssa. “Take her out of here, Fedorov. I’ve got this asshole.” She stood tall and slender, her long legs clad in leather. Silky, black hair flowed behind her. She moved her hands in quick circles and two vicious tornadoes came to life.

  Lynssa opened her mouth to protest, but before she uttered a word, Fedorov wrapped her in a bear hug, and they crumpled out of existence. He had taken her away in a dematerializing spell.

  Ponomarenko let out an earth-shaking growl and, at last, lowered his energy-charged hand. It glowed a blinding red as if he’d plucked an electrified sun from the sky. He crouched as if he intended to go after Lynssa and Fedorov, disappearing into nothing.

  “Try this, asshole” Tempest released the twin tornadoes like spinning tops on steroids. They tore through the field, making paths in the tall grass. She didn’t intend to let him go anywhere.

  “Ana, no!” Lawson cried out, lifting a hand in her direction.

  A pang of jealousy flared in my chest at the concern in his voice. It was quickly replaced by anger. This was not the time for jealousy. Lynssa was on the run, the good guys who used to be the bad guys were losing. And worst of all, we couldn’t do jack shit.

  I growled and kicked at the ground, my impotent foot swiping through the grass with no discernible effect. Should I break out of this astral plane and head back to the Academy? Then what? No one there would send help.

  Beyond frustrated, all I could do was watch as one of Tempest’s tornadoes caught Ponomarenko’s cloak and twirled it upward, pushing it over his face. The mentalist growled. With a careless flick of a hand, the cloak vanished. His face and bald head glowed red, reflecting the light from his hand. His mouth was twisted in a sneer and his eyes shone completely black—no whites, just a sea of horrific darkness.

  He sent a death glare at Tempest. Even though his eyes were nothing but pits of evil, there was no doubt where his attention lay. He prepared an offensive spell, but before he struck, Smudge Face threw himself on hands and knees and began vibrating until he was nothing but a blurry shape with near-invisible edges.

  The ground shook.

  I felt it faintly through the soles of my shoes, but it was undeniable. The tableau before me was swaying while I stood still, watching the earthquake as if through a television set.

  “Get out of there. Now!” Lawson screamed, but they couldn’t hear us.

  We were nothing but useless ghosts, the four of us trapped in the most morbid ni
ghtmare, a cage of impotence and pent-up rage.

  Tempest raised herself up, using air powers to avoid being tossed aside. But, Ponomarenko wasn’t so lucky. As Smudge Face’s earthquake raged, he was thrown off balance and, for an instant, I thought there might be hope. But just as quickly as Smudge Face’s surprise attack had come, the mentalist bounded off the ground, throwing himself straight into levitation.

  Not shy to meet him at his level, Tempest rose higher on winds of her own. She swept an arm in a semi-circle, releasing a powerful gale at her opponent. The tall grass around us was blown flat to the ground, but none of it seemed to touch Ponomarenko—not even his clothes stirred.

  With an unimpressed twist of his mouth, he pulled his hand back and threw his blazing sun straight at Tempest. It flew forward like a celestial object bent on destruction.

  “No!” Lawson exclaimed, reaching out a hand.

  His cry was echoed by Smudge Face, just as he jumped into action, leaping to his feet and into one of Tempest’s rogue tornadoes. In the blink of an eye, the twisting mass of wind lifted him off the ground, then sent him straight into the path of the speeding comet.

  It hit him square in the chest.

  There was a loud hiss, like hot metal meeting cold water. One instant, Smudge Face was aloft in Tempest’s tornado, the next only steam remained.

  “Rick!” Tempest cried out just as Ponomarenko sped in her direction, moved his hands into a circular pattern that ended in a clap.

  As if she were made of nothing but wind, Tempest disappeared. An instant later, all of her tornadoes dissolved into nothing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  FALL SEMESTER

  LATE SEPTEMBER

  We broke out of astral projection a second after Tempest succumbed to Ponomarenko’s spell. Trembling, I fell to my knees beside the lake. My chest pumped at a rapid rate and sweat trickled down my back and brow. My ears were ringing. My eyes were burning as if someone had poured hot sauce into them.

  Tempest was dead. Smudge Face was dead. They must be. Trey’s murderer had finally paid for his sins, and I felt no satisfaction.

  I blinked repeatedly. Even the little moonlight reflecting on the water’s surface seemed too bright to handle. I rubbed my eyes, then squeezed them shut, trying to clear my spotty vision. I lifted a sweaty hand to cover my brow and found that I was still clenching the small box Fedorov had given me.

  Panic hit me like a slap in the face as all the events of the night rushed back.

  I glanced around, expecting M.L.E. officers to come running through the trees, but no one else was there. Just us four. Fedorov’s box had worked perfectly. If only it could've helped him.

  As my breathing slowly went back to normal, and I convinced myself that our magic-making hadn’t attracted any undesired attention, I looked to my friends.

  Disha was kneeling on the ground with Drew tending to her.

  “Shh, it’s okay,” he was saying, smoothing her hair.

  Strands were plastered to her forehead, shining with sweat. She was staring at the ground, blinking and rubbing her eyes, the same way I had. Her hands shook slightly. She seemed to be in shock.

  Drew, for his part, appeared no worse for wear. He was a Goliath, a sort of being that was known to be strong and resilient. It seemed like this had been no harder than a walk in the park for him.

  Me? I was falling apart.

  My gaze fell on Lawson. For some reason, I had been avoiding glancing his way, and when I drank in his stricken expression, I knew why.

  His hands were pulling on his pink-tipped hair and he was shaking his head, dark eyes staring straight ahead. It was like he was still on the field, replaying the moment when Tempest had vanished out of thin air.

  Ana. His Ana.

  He was on his knees, breathing hard, air hissing past clenched teeth, on the verge of hyperventilating. As a vampire, he needed no air, but he sure was taking in tons of it.

  Satisfied with Disha’s calmer state, Drew turned to Lawson and placed a steady hand on his shoulder, trying to capture his gaze.

  “Are you alright, mate?” Drew asked, shaking him slightly.

  Slowly, Lawson seemed to come back to the here and now. His eyes drifted to Drew’s. As if noticing his own agitated breaths for the first time, he snapped his mouth shut and stopped taking in air altogether.

  After a short pause, he said, “Ana and Rick are dead.” His voice sounded like a scared child's.

  Drew inhaled deeply, then said, “I’m sorry, Rowan.”

  Drew’s words of sympathy seemed to strike a chord in Lawson. He jumped to his feet, fists clenched. He shook with rage as if ready to tear Ponomarenko to pieces.

  “Calm down, Rowan,” Drew said. “Look, I don’t want to give you false hope, but Ponomarenko didn’t kill Ana.”

  Rowan’s attention snapped back to Drew. Hope remade itself on his features. His eyes grew wide, his mouth stopped frowning.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “He cast a seize and arrest spell on her. It confines people,” Drew explained. “Only M.L.E. officers are permitted to legally use it. It’s not injurious, but…”

  He glanced down without explaining the obvious… that there was no telling what Ponomarenko or any of the others would do to Tempest while they held her prisoner. We had heard nothing back from Kiana, and every day that went by, my hope that she was still alive shrank a little more. We might never hear from either of them again.

  “We have to find her,” Rowan said, glancing around as if Tempest was nearby, maybe hiding under a rock or behind a bush.

  Good luck with that. You won’t find her any more than I’d found Kiana.

  The thought was spiteful, bitter. It surprised me, and I tried to smother it, but a mixture of twisted emotions was unfurling in my chest. Seeing him so upset about Tempest highlighted all the questions I had about their relationship and made that conversation we’d been postponing seem more pressing now.

  “Lynssa and Fedorov are okay,” I said in a near whisper. The words were out of my mouth before I had time to understand their full meaning.

  Rowan glanced at me for the first time, his eyes narrowing, a frown creating a deep line between his eyebrows.

  “What are you saying, Charlie?” he asked, his tone as quiet as mine.

  I shook my head and laboriously got to my feet.

  “Nothing.” I dusted my pants, wishing I didn’t feel so weak. Was this a side effect of astral projection? Or was I feeling this way because our bodies had been tense as guitar strings while we’d witnessed the battle?

  “You mean Rick and Ana don’t matter,” Rowan stated, plain and simple.

  The mention of Smudge Face sent my blood into an instant boil. “Rick,” I said, my words tipped with venom, “murdered my best friend. So forgive me if I don’t mourn his… departure.”

  Rowan took a step forward, a challenge in his posture. “He wasn’t proud of that. He said it was a mistake. He thought Trey was dangerous.”

  In a snap, tears spilled down my cheeks, and a burning ache flared behind my breastbone. The pain of Trey’s death assaulted me as if he’d died just yesterday, making me realize that the wound left by his sudden death hadn’t healed as well as I’d thought.

  “He. Murdered. My. Friend,” I said through clenched teeth. “Nothing that monster thought will ever make that alright.”

  “Guys,” Disha said, getting to her feet with Drew’s help. “This might not be the best time for this conversation.”

  I blinked at her, trying to let her advice hit home, except Rowan’s emotions seemed more out of control than mine and he kept right on.

  “And what about Ana? I guess it’s okay if she dies, too?” he demanded.

  “I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth.” I held his intense gaze. “But I don’t think she’s exactly trustworthy. She stabbed Bridget’s brother and almost killed him. She was in league with Sebastian Mink.”

  Bringing up Sebastian Mink w
as the stupidest thing I could have done. I knew it the moment when—even through all the glamours that made Rowan look like Lawson Rush—his eyes flashed red, dark veins snaked around them, and his fangs unsheathed. He hissed, his face a combination of brutality and pain.

  He had a wound of his own that hadn’t healed and probably never would. Sebastian Mink had killed his father and that same night the darkest side of Rowan had been unleashed.

  “Mate!” Drew shouldered himself between us and pushed him back.

  Rowan glared at Drew and seemed ready to rip his head off, but after a tense second, he shook himself and grabbed his head in confusion. His features settled back into a harried semblance of Lawson.

  He sent a regretful glance my way, then turned his back on me. His shoulders moved up and down as he breathed in agitation.

  I ran a hand across my forehead, feeling feverish and embarrassed. Why didn’t I listen to Disha? I’d wanted to talk to Rowan about some of these things, but not this way.

  “I’m sorry, Rowan,” I said, staring at the ground.

  “I’m sorry, too,” he said, though he kept his back turned.

  “Charlie, we should get back before someone notices we’re missing,” Disha said. “We can talk tomorrow, figure out what we should do.”

  Drew nodded. “I’ll go back and speak to my father. After this, the High Council needs to act. They can’t maintain this neutral crap for much longer.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Disha said, peering warily from Rowan to me.

  She sidled next to me and gingerly put an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go, sweetie.”

  I let her take me, but my eyes remained glued on Rowan as we left.

  He never turned to watch me go.

  Chapter Eighteen

  FALL SEMESTER

  EARLY OCTOBER

  The next week swirled by in a blur. Even though Disha, Drew, Rowan, and I had witnessed violence and suffered trauma, the rest of the campus moved on as if nothing had happened. And for them, nothing had. Classes continued with their monotonous slowness. Couples flirted, friends studied together, and M.L.E. presence became somewhat normal, even mundane.