Hidden Magic: Harper Shadow Academy (Book One)

by Luna Pierce

  She takes the papers without a word and makes her way around the room.

  “What you’re receiving right now is your course syllabus. We’ll spend the morning going over it, answering any questions anyone may have, and beginning our material if the time presents itself. Today should be rather straightforward and simple, but I still expect you to pay attention and give me your all, now, and the remainder of your time here at Harper. I won’t lie to you and say I’m a harsh professor because I’m probably the most lenient of them all, but I won’t tolerate people who don’t put forth an effort, so please, try to give your best.”

  He glances around, almost like he’s waiting for some type of response. He doesn’t get one, so he speaks again. “Now, let’s get the first-day awkwardness out of the way with a little icebreaker.”

  Oh god.

  “Everyone introduce and tell us something about yourself.” He points again to the girl who passed out the papers. “You can start.”

  “I’m Sophie and I love playing the piano.”

  “Great, good job. Next.” He points to another student.

  “My name’s Brock. I—uh… have two sets of twin siblings.”

  The next person goes, and then the next. My blood temperature seems to rise the closer it gets to me. What the hell am I going to say? Oh god, oh god. Maybe I could bolt out the door before they get to me?

  Another student, and another. I’m in such a panic I don’t really recall what they said.

  My mind stumbles to a stop watching Deghan adjust in his seat.

  He bumps his nose with his hand and inhales, speaking with confidence. “Hey, everyone, I’m Deghan James, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve made it a point to look at the sunset every single night.”

  “That’s quite impressive,” Weller admits. He then points to me, signaling that it’s now my turn.

  You got this.

  “Hi, I’m Willow Oliver and…” I’m crazy… “I really like brownies.” Brownies? Really? Did I just say that? I guess it’s better than my first thought.

  The heat in my face passes, and I glance over to catch Deghan grinning my way.

  “I can agree with that one, Willow,” Professor remarks. “It’s great to meet everyone. Now, if you’ll draw your attention to the syllabus, we’ll go ahead and get started.”

  The rest of the class goes fairly smoothly, sans the couple of strange occurrences of the buzzing between my brow. My headache must be fighting the medicine I took this morning, forging a battle it’s not ready to give up.

  Weller dismisses us and we all stand and pack our things. I take a step away from my desk but am stopped by Deghan’s hand on my elbow, pulling me back.

  “What’s up?” I ask him.

  “What’s next?”

  “Umm… what do you mean?” I adjust the straps to my backpack.

  “Your classes. What do you have next?”

  “Oh, right. Duh. Creative writing. E… five, you?”

  “I’m in S one next,” he frowns. “Can I walk you to class?”

  “Seriously?” I blurt out.

  “Yeah, is that bad? Am I being too forward? Oh, wait, do you have a boyfriend? You totally have a boyfriend. I shouldn’t have asked. Of course you do.”

  Watching him unravel, I can’t help but laugh.

  “No. No, it’s perfectly okay for you to walk me.” I blush. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  His chocolatey eyes darken and widen all at once. “You don’t? Well, that’s great then.”

  We step out of the classroom, and I look down the hall, the purple haze settles over the entrance to the north wing. I stop completely and observe the shadow form and then disappear. Trying not to draw any unwanted concern to myself, I blink away my insanity and continue on.

  Deghan side-eyes me. “Are you dorming in the west wing?”

  “South,” I answer. “You?”

  “North.”

  Without me really thinking about it, my mouth forms words. “Was that true what you said during your introduction?”

  He nudges me and smirks. “You calling me a liar, Wills?”

  “No, not at all. That’s… incredible. Good for you.”

  “I remember being a kid. I would sit out on the front porch in the evening and wait for my parents to come home, and it never failed that I would see the sun setting on the horizon. It just kind of stuck, ya know?” He sidesteps another student and then approaches again. “Now I’m not sure I could get through the day without it. It’s like the one good thing I can always count on and look forward to.”

  “That’s wonderfully poetic.”

  “And on that note, you owe me some deep dark secret, because wow, I did not expect things to get so intense right there.”

  “Maybe Friday?” I volunteer.

  “I would be honored, Willow Oliver.”

  I look up to realize that we’ve reached my next classroom, E five. I hate to admit that I’m let down that the walk to class was this brief. I would have been happy with another minute with Deghan.

  “Is that your schedule?” he peers over my shoulder and questions.

  “Yep.” I lean in closer, letting him study it over, his chest pressed up against my shoulder to get a better vantage point. The heat from his body radiates into mine, sending a shiver through me. The scent of earth and cedar takes hold.

  “Bummer,” he admits. “We don’t have anything else together. If we don’t run into each other between classes, hopefully I’ll see you this evening. And if not, you better save me a seat in first.”

  “Ditto. Thanks for walking me to class, Deghan.”

  “The pleasure was all mine.” He bows and takes hold of my hand, sending invisible sparks flying, and raises it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

  He takes off down the hall, toward his next class, and I stand there dumbfounded for a moment.

  A loud throat-clearing grabs my interest, and I turn. Remi stands a few feet into my next class. Her eyes are wide, and she shakes her head in a give-me-the-details kind of way.

  I take a seat in the back with Remi, Cameron, and Lillian, but opening my mouth to speak, I’m cut off by the professor starting class.

  “Morning. I’m Professor Elliot, welcome to Creative Writing.” She has a kind, young face despite sounding a lot rougher around the edges. She must be a smoker like Strong, too.

  Luckily, Elliot doesn’t torture us with ice-breaking awkwardness and moves on with our syllabus once she does a brief introduction. She informs us that all majors are required to take Creative Writing, along with all of the other first-year classes, and that we won’t be getting into the ‘meat and potatoes’ of our major for a little bit.

  Harper Academy doesn’t offer many degrees to choose from. Business, Economics, English, Psychology, and Communication. It keeps things simple and probably doesn’t require much overhead, considering we have such a little town and not ample funding being brought into the school. For us local folks, though, we get a small grant for going to Harper, an enticement to keep people living around here, and incentive for us to choose Harper for higher education. It’s not the typical college experience, but it serves its purpose being an accredited college, and somehow the term ‘academy’ has stuck since the early days. Not like most of us could afford anything else, anyways.

  The remainder of our time in class doesn’t really allow any room to chat. Elliot keeps things flowing with pushing through the syllabus and starting us with our first assignment. She passes out notebooks to each of us and tells us that we will be keeping a daily journal. Each day we are to fill one page. The words will not be graded, but we are to show her our pages for verification that we are putting words on the paper. She encourages us to think of ourselves as onions, peeling back a layer at a time and processing our thoughts and emotions, diving into deeper layers hidden within.

  It sounds terrifying to me. I’d rather just keep things to myself and process them on my own, not flesh them out onto paper for someone to
possibly read.

  My stomach growls, and on cue, Elliot thanks us for our cooperation and dismisses us for the day.

  Class ends, and Cameron stands next to my desk while I pack my things.

  “I thought that was never going to end,” he says.

  “It wasn’t too bad, but I’m not thrilled about these.” I hold out my notebook and shove it into my bag.

  “You’re telling me,” Lillian chimes in.

  Grabbing her bag from her seat and swinging it across her shoulder, Remi deadpans.

  I roll my eyes at her and walk away, knowing the Deghan thing is driving her crazy.

  She catches up to me in the hallway in a flash. “Tell me everything,” she demands.

  Chapter Six

  “He walked you to class? How is that nothing?” Remi exclaims. “Wait until I tell Kyra about this.”

  “Can you please not? It’s really not a big deal, he was just being nice,” I explain, walking the path to the dining hall for lunch.

  With another step, a familiar feeling settles over me. Someone is watching. I peer over my shoulder, not trying to draw attention to myself and notice a memorable face. The one from the patio the time I went to retrieve my cell. His dark eyes bore into mine for an intense moment, and when I blink, he disappears. That was weird. What’s with that guy?

  A warm sensation courses through me, and my heart pitter-patters.

  Like he can sense the slightest shift in my being, Cameron offers me a warm smile.

  We reach the dining hall and head straight to the food selections. Surprisingly enough, the choices don’t seem that bad. Pre-made salads. Grab-n-go sandwiches. Pizza. And thankfully, there’s a dessert area with—you guessed it—brownies. The drinks are near the end of the line, in glass dispensers with glass jars, a great effort for reducing plastic waste.

  I seize a grilled chicken salad, pour a glass of unsweet tea, and follow behind Remi to whatever table she deems fit.

  The mean girl from next door eyes me suspiciously and whispers something to her friend.

  I meet the friend’s stare and make out the word, “Freak,” leaving her mouth.

  I brush it off, not wanting to make enemies, and pretend like nothing happened. Cameron takes the seat next to me, Lillian and Remi across the table.

  “Where’s Kyra?” I ask, scanning the dining area.

  “Right here!” she calls from behind me. “Did you miss me already?” She relaxes in next to me with her slice of cheese pizza and continues, “So, what did I miss?”

  My gaze darts across the table at Remi, me pleading her not to say anything to Kyra. It’s not that I don’t want her to know Deghan walked me to class, I just really hate being in the limelight and don’t want all of the gossip to be about me.

  “I forgot a fork, that’s what you missed,” I blurt out in an attempt to change the subject.

  I start to stand, but then Cameron cuts me off.

  “I’ll get it.” He announces cheerfully.

  I smile up at him, “Are you sure?”

  He nods and is off before I can protest.

  “Oohhhh, he likessss you,” Kyra boasts.

  “He’s not the only one,” Remi betrays.

  Kyra’s eyes go wide in response.

  I’m going to drop out of school, right here, right now.

  I throw a cherry tomato from my salad at Remi, and it bounces off of her and lands on her sandwich.

  “Gross,” she whines.

  “I have more.” I point to my salad. “And I’m not afraid to use them,” I threaten.

  Cameron sits back down and hands me a fork, ever the gentleman.

  “Thanks.” I smile.

  “No problem.”

  The girls decide to be kind and not bring up the boy talk anymore. Part of me thinks it’s because they don’t want to hurt Cameron’s feelings by talking about another man in front of him when he clearly has a thing for me.

  I won’t lie and say I don’t have a thing for him either. Because I’m drawn to him, a sort of comfort I didn’t know was possible to have with someone. But, if I had to choose between him and Deghan right now, it would be an impossible decision I’m not capable of making. I expected to go to Harper, get an education, and focus on myself for a while. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d have two of the most gorgeous people at this school fawning over me in the first week.

  “Hey, did you guys hear about that party?” I ask curiously.

  “The tradition one?” Kyra mutters between bites.

  Remi’s eyebrows raise. “Party? I am absolutely in.”

  Lillian shrugs and adds, “Whatever.”

  I’m not really sure if that means she’s down to go or not, her simple face not giving any insight either way.

  “You want to go, Willow?” Cameron questions.

  “I think it might be fun. What about you?”

  “I’m there if you are. When is it?”

  “Tomorrow night. I don’t really have any other details. I’m sure it’ll spread around school by then, though.”

  It’s then that it hits me that Deghan made me promise I would go to the party, and now Cameron is telling me that he’ll go if I do. I’m in trouble. But do I have to be? They’re both my friends, and I haven’t had to call dibs yet. I could go to the party and spend time with both of them. That’s possible, right?

  We finish lunch and say our goodbyes, most of the group having their next class in the south wing while mine is in the dreaded north. Cameron hangs around for an extended second like he’s wanting a moment alone, but I tell him I have to get going to class. It’s not that I don’t want a second alone with him, too, but I’m a weirdo concerning being on time and I really don’t want to be late, especially to this class.

  A memory of the purple haze flashes in my mind, but I quickly push it away. Don’t go crazy, Willow. None of my new friends are in this next class, so I’m not really sure what to expect. I’d secretly wished that Deghan would be, given he got me through my anxious north wing time this morning. I’ll have to make do with myself and focus on not losing my mind. At least I’m halfway through the first day of classes.

  On cue, the moment I make my way toward the entrance of the north wing, the purple shadow appears and then dissipates in front of my eyes. It has to be the lighting in this building. That’s the one thing that makes sense of what’s happening. Maybe I need to get my eyes checked. I should make it a point to stop at the infirmary in the future and see if the nurse can give me an eye exam. Or maybe my headaches are getting more intense and this is some weird precursor to my next unbearable migraine. There has to be some logical explanation for what I was seeing. But then again, how do I explain the illuminating flowers leading me back to the school when I didn’t know how to get back?

  I’m going crazy, that has to be it.

  Focused on my thoughts, I walk the long corridor to the last room on the right, N six. Only a few students have arrived, so I make quick work of finding a seat near the back with a clear exit path. Typically, I’m not one to choose a seat next to someone if I can avoid it, but the person seems so entranced in whatever they’re doing that they might not bother me. Facedown in a book seems like the exact kind of person I want to be around.

  I make an attempt to peek at the cover of their book, but his nearly onyx hair-covered head blocks it from my line of sight. Whatever it might be has his undivided attention. He doesn’t bother to stir while I claim the seat next to his.

  I open a notebook and flip it to a clean section, placing a pen on top in preparation for what’s to come. This class is a bit shorter than the rest, so it should help propel me well into the last two classes of the day. Ethics, then Psych 101 with Cam, and Accounting with Lillian. Pretty boring lineup of courses, but it is what it is—an education. It’ll do the job just fine.

  My nearby seat partner starts when the teacher clears their throat. Well, more of a hacking up a lung and practically dying in front of us. This time it’s a gray-
haired man, nearing his seventies with thick bi-focal glasses.

  The mysterious dark-haired guy shoves his book into his bookbag without allowing me a glimpse at what was so consuming. He slops a notebook onto his desk and shuffles around inside his bag for an extra few seconds, shaking his head and letting out a sigh. He looks to his right, at an empty seat, and then turns my direction.

  His emerald eyes meet mine, and his lips part. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?” He exudes kindness and purity, mixed with secrets and longing.

  How do I know that?

  “Yeah, absolutely.” I reach into my bag to pull out a spare. Of course I have an extra pen. A couple of pencils, highlighters, permanent markers, and sticky notes, too, along with pretty much anything else you might need.

  I hold out the pen, and he graciously takes it, but upon him grabbing it from my hand, I swear to everything actual fire kisses my fingers. Entirely ever so gently but a fierce sensation all the same.

  His brows furrow. “Are you from the west wing?”

  What a weirdly timed question. Maybe he thought he recognized me from there.

  “No,” I respond, a bit caught off guard.

  “Huh,” is all he mutters, turning around.

  What the hell is his problem?

  He moves toward me again. “Did you go to admission with Abigail?”

  Another odd question? “Yes…”

  “Was the Wi-Fi working?”

  Really, he’s asking me about Wi-Fi right now? “She waved some wand thing and told me the Wi-Fi wasn’t working. Why?”

  His intense gaze falls to the floor in thought. “No reason. Err, well, I was just wondering.” He holds out the pen. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” I drone while being utterly confused about what just happened.

  “I’m Sydney, by the way.” He extends his hand, like he’s challenging me in some way, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.