Senior Witch, Fall Semester

by Ingrid Seymour

  I charged my cuffs. This had to stop.

  Below us, the regents also seemed to be divided. Several were on their feet, including Drew and his father. Drew looked pale and sickly as if everything that had happened was making him nauseous. Still, he stood by his father while a heated conversation brewed with Dean Nyquist in the center.

  Another howl went up from the arena floor.

  The fae warrior’s calf sprayed greenish-blue blood as he uselessly swiped at the air with his spear. A gladiator jumped back, twirling his blood-tinged sword.

  A horrible crash echoed through the coliseum. The structure trembled as if an earthquake were tearing it apart.

  Screams erupted down below.

  In the booth of honor, a figure was staggering around. The regents and other dignitaries had moved to one side, cowering as a man grew to nearly twice his height. Clothes ripping and features changing, the Goliath towered over everyone, then gave a deafening roar. Soon the brownish-gray Hulk-like figure began raging, punching and smashing his way out of the booth and through the crowd. Bodies went flying as others ran out of its way. The figure tore down statues and punched columns as if the very structure offended him.

  A Goliath. My body went cold. “Is that…?”

  “Drew!” Disha said. In seconds, her fingers were moving and then she was gone, reappearing near the chaos in a split second.

  “Disha, wait!” I ran after her, pushing through the stampeding crowd. Bodies bumped into me, jostling me back. Lawson and Bridget called after me, but my focus was on Disha as I wished I could use my crumpling spell to catch up, but I couldn’t, not in this chaos. Drew was raging, tossing people like ragdolls with no regard for their safety.

  “Disha!” I spotted her two rows down, blocked by the crowd. She wiggled her fingers again and disappeared.

  Searching, I saw her reappear right next to Drew who was currently ripping stone chunks from the wall that surrounded the arena as easily as if they were bits of paper.

  She put her hand on his Goliath arm, trying to soothe him. He turned his face in her direction, craning his massive neck down.

  She waved.

  He didn’t.

  His face showed only hatred as he picked her up and threw her into the arena.

  Disha fell two stories, sailing through the air. Her body hit the ground. And didn’t get up.

  The horror of it ripped through me. Disha.

  My friend. Was she…? Why would he...?

  I’d never seen Drew have a violent bone in his body.

  My cuffs pulsed, drawing my attention to a huge stream of magic coming from the other side of the stadium. It was directed at Drew. Tears blurring my eyes, I almost didn’t spot the dark shape retreating behind a pillar down an empty archway.

  But I knew that hooded figure all too well.

  Mystro Ponomarenko.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  FALL SEMESTER

  LATE OCTOBER

  As Ponomarenko disappeared behind the pillar, I stood, torn. Part of me wanted to crumple into thin air and shoot after him, materializing in his path to expose what he had done. But who was I kidding? He was probably already gone, whisked far away by one of his powerful spells. There could be no proof of his presence here. He would make sure of that.

  But, Disha. Oh, God, Disha.

  Craning my neck and standing on tip-toes to get a clear view over the panicked students, I spotted her. Just the sight of her immobile body on the ground gutted me, but I needed to keep my head. A second later, I materialized next to her abandoned shape as chaos reigned in the stands.

  “Disha! Are you okay?” I took her hand.

  She was lying on her stomach, dark hair covering her face, one cheek resting on the dusty arena floor. She didn’t move. Her eyes remained closed and her body lifeless.

  She had to be alright. I would not be able to stand it if she…

  With trembling fingers, I checked her pulse. My lungs were frozen as I held my breath and focused on her heartbeat. When I felt it, relief washed over me and left me almost limp.

  The ground shook and debris rained down, barely missing us. Stones cracked and statues fell. Drew was still raging, destroying the stadium as people ran in fear. He was doing things he would have never done, not without the influence of Ponomarenko’s magic. Except no one knew that but me.

  I had no idea where Bridget and Lawson were, but they knew how to take care of themselves. I couldn’t worry about them. I had to save Disha.

  Quickly, I cast a combination of a protective spell and a cloaking spell over us. All sounds faded into the background.

  “Disha, you’re gonna be alright. I promise,” I said, tears sliding down my face.

  I wanted to grab her and materialize her straight into the infirmary, but that kind of spell was her specialty, not mine. Besides, I couldn’t move her. What if I did more damage than good?

  I pushed dark hair away from her forehead to reveal a face twisted in pain even in her unconscious state. Everything had happened so fast, she hadn’t had time to react or do anything to soften her landing.

  Something large whizzed past over my head. A brick? A sword? I didn’t know what, but I had no time to look.

  Focusing through my panic, I assessed Disha’s body. One of her legs was twisted at a weird angle, broken for sure. I wanted to roll her over, lift her face off the ground, but I knew better than to move her.

  Gently, I lay my hands on her back and began a general wellbeing/healing spell. I didn’t know how to repair broken bones and, without understanding what else was wrong with her, this was the best I could do.

  After a few heavy seconds, Disha exhaled and her face relaxed. The chain-like apprehension that encircled my chest eased up a little. It seemed I’d alleviated some of her pain, at least.

  Breathing a little easier, I stood and took in the scene.

  Most students had abandoned the stadium, but there were still some trickling out, limping, holding their heads as friends helped them exit. A few lay on the ground, curled up in pain, trying not to be noticed. Others were unconscious. At least I hoped they were passed out and not dead.

  A whole section of the stadium had collapsed. Arches and pillars lay crushed, the stands caved in over them. A line of warlocks stood on the arena, facing the ruined section, their backs to me. Nyquist stood a few steps behind them. It took me a second to realize why.

  Drew, the massive Goliath that he had become, was standing on top of the wreckage, broad shoulders hunched over, chest heaving. His terrifying eyes glowered at all the warlocks who stood in challenge. He trembled slightly, appearing as if an inner struggle were boiling inside of him.

  “Aim to kill,” Regent Knightley said, lifting his hands toward Drew.

  “No!” Drew’s father came running through one of the arches. I didn’t know where he had gone, maybe to take his wife to safety, but he was back and, from the determined look on his face, ready to defend his son.

  Drew let out a deep growl as if in recognition, but he remained where he stood.

  “Don’t hurt him,” his father said, standing between his son and the line of warlocks.

  I was surprised to see him there, defending Drew. From what Disha had told me, he was embarrassed of his son’s true nature and, all his life, had forced Drew to hide it.

  “Don’t hurt him?” Nyquist demanded, taking a step forward. “Who is he to you, Mishra?”

  Drew’s dad appeared to choke at the question. Drew took a leap from the top of the rubble and landed closer to the warlocks. Whatever emotional turmoil was raging inside of him didn’t seem to be working. He appeared at the verge of going all Hulk Smash again.

  Head Councilor Mishra turned to his son. “Please, calm down.”

  Drew blinked, his semi-reptilian face scrunching together as if his internal struggle was making a comeback.

  “Get out of the way, Mishra,” Knightley said. “He’s dangerous.”

  “No, please.” Drew’s father put his
hands up. “He… he’s my son,” he said, at last, with considerable effort. “It’s Drew. But something must be wrong in this place. He’s not violent. He’s not like this.”

  “Not like this,” Nyquist said, spreading his arms to demonstrate the destruction.

  “Whatever he is to you,” Knightley said, “he must be dealt with.”

  Without another word, he wove his hands and unleashed a bolt of lightning straight at the Goliath’s chest. Sparks flew all around Drew. He stumbled back, but when the smoke cleared, he stood just as before, except pissed. Really pissed.

  Drew beat his chest and bared his throat, letting out an earth-shaking growl that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  The warlocks began weaving spells. Drew crouched, ready to leap toward his adversaries.

  “Stop, Drew!” a small voice said at my side.

  I glanced down. “Disha!” I knelt next to her, helped her as she struggled to sit.

  Magic crackled in the air. Spells flew from the line of warlocks in front of Nyquist, hitting Drew.

  “Go.” Disha croaked. “Leave. Please.”

  For a moment, Drew just took each attack. Magic crashed into him, driving him backward, and still, he looked as if he might stay and fight. He was a Goliath. Regular magic couldn’t hurt him.

  Tears slid down Disha’s face as she mumbled the same words over and over. “Leave, please. Leave.”

  Then, to my surprise as well as to everyone else’s, Drew turned and leaped over broken concrete until he reached the unharmed stands. From there, he ran upward and when he reached the very top of the stands, he jumped out of the stadium, plummeting and disappearing into the night.

  As soon as he was gone, Disha fell limp in my arms. I cradled her close to my chest and rocked her back and forth, wishing I could take it all back. This entire horrible night.

  Rigidly, as if playing a part he hadn’t fully rehearsed, Regent Winthrops ran toward a cluster of fallen students.

  “Oh, the students!” he exclaimed. “We have to help the students.”

  A few of the other warlocks joined him and started administering healing spells and helping newly-healed people stand.

  Nyquist, Huntington, and Knightley stayed behind. Their undivided attention set on Drew’s father.

  “This is your fault,” Nyquist spat.

  For a moment, Head Councilor Mishra looked defeated. Shoulders slumped, he stared at the ground and said nothing.

  “You brought that beast here,” Nyquist went on, raising his voice as some of the fallen students began to perk up and take an interest in what was going on. “You put our students at risk, so many lives. What were you thinking?!” He shook his head, looking shocked and appalled.

  “How long have you been lying to us?” another regent asked.

  “You are unfit for your office,” Knightley said, pointing a finger at Drew’s dad.

  Head Councilor Mishra glanced up then, his demeanor changing by degrees until his face was the unreadable mask of a trained politician. Slowly, he shook himself and, with measured steps, approached the regents, squaring his shoulders toward the dean.

  “Good job, Nyquist,” he said in an icy tone. “I never suspected your game.”

  They stared at each other. Head Councilor Mishra’s eyes were cold.

  “You won’t get away with this,” Drew’s father said, then turned and walked away from the regents, leaving all the chaos behind.

  Disha spent four days in the infirmary, two under a magical spell that mended her broken leg. The other two days she spent crying silently.

  We had no way of knowing were Drew was, and it was eating her alive.

  Had he stopped raging? Did Mystro Ponomarenko have him?

  How many people would have to retreat into the shadows to escape Nyquist? How many more would be captured and imprisoned?

  Our last hope had been the High Council, but, after what happened at the Homecoming game, after Drew’s true form was exposed, his father had been ridiculed and forced to resign. In his place, they had appointed Regent Dromgoole. How Nyquist managed to stick one of his cronies in the High Council I had no idea, but it revealed the depth of his influence. Dromgoole was known for his fear-mongering and hatred toward Lessers. He was practically Nyquist’s soulmate.

  Rowan had assured us there would be no help coming from him, no matter what. He knew this because his father and Dromgoole had been stout opponents after the non-wizard changes took place at the Academy.

  With the council corrupted at its core, there was no one else we could hope would intervene.

  We were alone.

  The realization stripped me to the bone, leaving me feeling exposed, like a baby left out in the rain to die. Anger seethed in my chest, showing me what must be done.

  “I’ll kill him,” I whispered into Disha’s ear one morning when I visited her before I went to class.

  I didn’t need to elaborate. She knew who I meant.

  That afternoon, she was discharged, and she came back to the dorm with a fierce determination in her eyes that felt very much like mine.

  Nyquist had to die. It was as simple as that.

  But to do that, we needed to stop waiting for others to come to our rescue. We needed to take things into our own hands.

  More importantly, we needed a plan.

  I was close to Nyquist. He trusted me and that would be his downfall.

  So, after Disha told me she was done with crying, I delivered secret messages to Bridget and Lawson using Fedorov’s box.

  They were to meet us by the lake at the witching hour.

  And then, for good or ill, our final stand would begin.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  FALL SEMESTER

  LATE OCTOBER

  The night was bitter. Wind cutting off the lake whipped through our little party, but we didn’t perform spells that might draw any attention to our illegal gathering. Instead of heating incantations, we huddled together, bodies close as we whispered under the double cloaking spells from our twin boxes. Too much was at stake.

  “We have to kill Nyquist,” I said. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “What do you mean kill Nyquist?” Rowan asked. He was dressed in a faux fur coat, purple collar turned up against the cold. His hair was buzzed nearly to the skull this time and his skin looked sallow. The Homecoming game had taken a lot out of him. Out of all of us. Students were still healing from Drew’s attack and new rules regarding safety had plunged the school into a draconian lock-down mode that made prison seem like a vacation timeshare.

  Disha, the one out of us who had lost the most, seemed pulled together the best. Her hair was plaited tight against her head and her face was makeup-less, giving her a no-nonsense look that kind of scared me. What was Disha without her jokes and levity? I worried that what had happened to Drew had changed her for good.

  There’d been no sign of him, no word. Disha had been devastated. Then she’d gotten pissed.

  “We have to take Nyquist out,” she answered for me. “He’s ruining everyone’s lives with that awful mentalist on his payroll. And the Loopers, who knows what he’s planning to do once he figures out how to use them to travel in time. We have to do something. No more waiting.” She shivered, pulling her leather jacket closer around her too-thin body.

  Rowan shook his head, but Bridget spoke up, siding with us. “We have to kill him. You saw how he pitted the ‘horde’ against his ‘golden gods.’ It’s only a matter of time before they allow creature hunting again. Before my brother and you,” she jabbed a finger into Rowan’s chest, “have your heads on spikes. That used to happen. You know that, right? Vampire hunters. Werewolf heads on walls like trophies.”

  “Of course, I know that,” Rowan shot back. “But don’t you think killing Nyquist might be a little hard, hmm? Don’t you think that if it were possible Lynssa and Fedorov would have done it already? You think we are stronger than them? The best witch and the best warlock in the world?”

&n
bsp; “What if we can do it because we are closer to the problem?” I offered. “Nyquist trusts me. That was the whole point of everything I’ve endured since March, right? To gain his trust.”

  Disha nodded. “If you’re in someone’s inner circle, it’s much easier to stab them.”

  Rowan stood his ground. “Maybe. But what about Tempest? And Kiana? If we kill Nyquist, how are we ever going to rescue them? They’ll be lost forever.” I had gotten him to understand this before. Now, he was throwing it back at me.

  I knew it was true. We were pretty sure Nyquist was keeping them hostage like he had with Anama and the other Loopers last year. He didn’t trust others, so he likely hadn’t shared the location of his prison with anyone.

  I’d checked all over for his dreamscape, scouting out his house on multiple occasions, even inviting myself in once to check for magical signatures. There were none. The dreamscape wasn’t where I’d last seen it and I’d found no clues as to where he might have moved it.

  What if no one else knew where they were and that secret died with him? Or, worse, he set it to explode in the event of his death? Then it would be my fault all those people died. I didn’t know what to say to that, but Disha did.

  “His dreamscape wouldn’t be far,” she offered. “He’d want to keep an eye on his prisoners.”

  I nodded. “And he’d want to be able to draw from the Loopers if things got really bad. If you think you’re going to be attacked, you don’t hide your loaded gun halfway across the county. They have to be here somewhere.” Frustration welled in my gut. Why couldn’t I figure this out?

  Bridget, who had been quiet for most of the exchange, lifted her head. She was wearing the black parka she’d worn to Canada last year. She unzipped it, drawing out a tiny glowing orb.

  “What is that?” I asked as we gathered around her, trying to get a closer look.