by Sarina Dorie
I also didn’t want it to be possible for him to get onto school grounds. Derrick had no heart.
He was worse off than someone without a soul according to Brogan. I couldn’t resurrect him and make him whole, even for a time. He would always be evil now. It was better to think of him as dead. Sometimes it was better to let go of the past. One had to.
If Khaba could let go of his prejudices against Thatch, if he could mourn Brogan and let him go, I could be strong enough to let go of my ghosts as well.
Camelia took her time on her letter. I should have been impatient to get her back to the crypt. I was missing sixth period. Yet, part of me dreaded returning Camelia. Why did my gifts have to be so fleeting?
Camelia folded her note into three sections. “I don’t have an envelope. You won’t read it, will you?”
“Your secrets are safe with me.”
She smiled and handed it to me. I placed it in my pocket.
“I need you to write one more thing on a piece of paper for me,” I said. “You need to make a list of all the things the Princess of Lies and Truth said to you and describe her. But you need to make it sound like she hasn’t killed you yet. It’s the only way to provide evidence without getting me in trouble.”
“Premortem like this one. Got it.”
That one I did read over when she was done, reminding Camelia of other details she had told me, like the verses and why the Fae had attacked her. I instructed Camelia to fold that one up and keep it in her hand. It was my hope the principal would find it. Or Khaba.
The procession to the crypt was a solemn affair. Neither of us spoke. I helped her into her alcove. She did so with grim resignation. I tried to step back.
She clung to my hand more tightly, her bravery leaving her. “If Balt is bad, tell him I’m watching him from heaven.”
“I will,” I said.
She brought my hand to her chest, holding on with both hands. “Make him behave.”
I tried not to laugh at how unrealistic that was. “I’ll try my best.”
“Help him graduate. I know he isn’t very good with school, but he needs to try.”
“I will help him. I’m sure we’ll all help him.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. I removed my hands from hers, folding the paper in one fist so that it remained almost hidden. Her expression was peaceful as I stepped back. I could have believed she was simply sleeping.
As I passed the table with Rudy lying on top, I noticed the way the blankets had been shifted aside for his examination. The grin on his face still disturbed me. I didn’t know why I had been able to resurrect the others but not Rudy. Was it about unfinished business as Vega had suggested?
I should have left the dead to rest. I had a class to teach. It was dangerous if I was caught. Curiosity lured me to Rudy. I placed my hands on the bare skin of his arm, his flesh like refrigerated leather. Nothing happened. I released one hand. I was about to release the other when his eyes opened. The smile faded from his face. He turned his head to look at me.
“Son of a succubus! What the hell am I—?”
I released him. His muscles relaxed, and his eyes drooped closed. Something about that deed made me feel better. I turned away, about to exit. A light flared to life in the shadows, momentarily blinding me. From the pale white glow, I feared it was the Princess of Lies and Truth.
I stepped back. As I projected my awareness out, I sensed a man. I blinked. The old man I’d seen before with the beard leaned against his staff. “Well, what do you know. It’s the closet necromancer. Back to the scene of your crimes?”
I wanted to say I hadn’t committed a crime. I had prevented crimes, but I knew anything I would say was pointless in a system that dealt in absolutes. Necromancy was bad. Period.
“You caught me,” I said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
GO TO JAIL: Go Directly to Jail. Do Not Pass Go. Do Not Collect $200.
I expected the old man to step into my path and bar my exit. Or to cast some kind of hex on me to keep me from leaving. As I made my way to the door, he stepped aside. I was close enough then to see the fright in his eyes. Perhaps he thought I was powerful and wicked like my biological mother.
“You can examine the other body, Camelia Llewelyn.” I held my head high and walked out with my dignity while I had it.
Khaba said he was bound to fire me and report me to the Witchkin Council for my crimes. Now that I had been caught red-handed, at least he wouldn’t have it forced on him. The entire school would know soon enough what I was. There was no way out of this that I could see. Vega had suggested I figure out some kind of deal with Khaba, but I was past that.
By the time I trudged up to my eighth period, the class was rowdy and students were throwing art supplies at each other. I considered going to my room and packing. Getting a head start might be the most prudent plan, but I didn’t know where I would go.
I tidied my desk and marked grades in my book for the new teacher who would be taking over for me. I had only been back for about thirty minutes before Mrs. Keahi came for me.
“The principal wishes to see you. Now.” She remained in my classroom to supervise while I was gone.
I wasn’t surprised to find Principal Chuck Dean at his desk with Healer Kohl seated across from him. The only part that surprised me was that Khaba wasn’t there. Maybe it was better he didn’t see my demise.
“Please close the doors, Miss Lawrence.” Chuck Dean’s eyes danced with delight. It looked as if it took all his will not to smile. “This is a private matter best left for our ears only.”
“Right.” I was about to be fired. I lost some of my polite exterior as I pushed the double doors closed. “We should close the doors this time because you want privacy. Whereas teachers aren’t allowed to make that decision for themselves when they want to close their doors. Got it.”
Principal Dean exchanged a look with Mr. Kohl. “Crikey! What did I say? This one is as bad as that juvenile delinquent we’re expelling.”
The older man nodded sympathetically.
“Are you talking about Balthasar?” I asked. “Why would you expel him? He needs help.”
Dean folded his metal-encased hands in front of himself. “This school isn’t equipped to help a student like that. He put his classmates in danger today in that undignified cry for attention.”
“How did he put his classmates in danger? You do realize he was trying to keep other people away from him. That’s why he was wearing the electronics.” I glanced around the office for another chair, but there didn’t seem to be another. I remained standing. “Balthasar was broken up about his sister dying. He needs guidance and nurturing. Kicking him out of school isn’t going to make anything better for him.”
Dean snorted. “Are you done?”
“No. I am not.” It was one thing to fire me. It was another to expel my students. “Balthasar has half a year left. His sister wanted him to try to graduate. You need to give him that chance.”
“I don’t need to do anything.” A malicious smile curled Mr. Dean’s lips upward. “Especially not anything recommended by such an irresponsible teacher. You left your class unattended so that you could use forbidden magic and resurrect the dead. Not only is that a negligence of duties, but it’s a criminal offense. You do realize what this means, don’t you?”
I did. I had used forbidden magic knowing full-well what the consequences would be. I looked the coroner up and down, uncertain whether he had found the note with Camelia’s attacker described or he had dismissed the evidence since I had technically tampered with the corpse.
“Did you find what you needed, to figure out who killed the security guards?” I asked.
He tugged at his beard. “Only Camelia Llewelyn was murdered. I found evidence to suggest her attacker had been Fae.”
He withdrew the note from his pocket. Yes! I had saved Thatch! I might have failed to save myself, but at least he would be free.
No! All that work for nothing?
Khaba burst through the doors. “Clarissa, I’m here for you! I know how to fix this.”
All of us turned to look. He held something in his hands. It might have been a piece of clay pottery from my classroom, but I wasn’t certain.
“I know the answer.” Khaba scooped me up in his arms and hugged me. “I know what I need to do to save you. I need to make you my master.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On the Bong Side of the Law
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Are you talking about the lamp? You need to be bound to the lamp again?” That would mean he’d be giving up his freedom.
Khaba lifted me off my feet in a bear hug before setting me down again.
“Mr. Khaba, you can’t just come barging in here during a meeting,” the principal said. “This is a very delicate matter that doesn’t pertain to you.”
Khaba stared down at the principal with a coolness in his eyes that belied his demon nature. “I’m on the administration team. I’m always invited to assist with hiring and firing staff. This is my business.” Smoke drifted up from his feet.
“I beg your pardon,” the elderly Witchkin said. “Is that a bong you’re holding? For smoking drugs?” He eyed the swirling vapor around Khaba’s feet with disdain as if it were made of pot smoke.
It didn’t smell like drugs, more like frankincense and sandalwood.
“I will not permit smoking or drug use in my office,” Principal Dean said.
Khaba put up a hand. The two men in the room silenced. More than silenced. They were frozen. Khaba shook with exertion.
Khaba held the bong out to me. “I don’t have the lamp, and you don’t have the Seal of Solomon or the Ruby of Divine Wisdom so you can force me in there. I have to let you do this to me voluntarily.”
“But you won’t be free. I don’t want to make you into a slave,” I said.
“I’m not free now. I’m less free than I was before. Don’t you see that? I can’t even use the full extent of my magic because if I do, I’ll lose control again. I don’t want to be evil. I want to be myself.” His eyes glittered with determination.
It was Brogan’s words that had reminded him of who he was. This was the answer Vega had been suggesting that neither of us had been willing to see.
“Bind me to the bong, and then I can grant you three wishes,” he said.
“I don’t know how.”
“I will help you. Push your will into the vessel. Visualize binding me into the interior. Repeat the chant I tell you. When I fully release myself, you have to keep chanting. Can you do this?”
I nodded. He spoke the chant, the words sounding different from Arabic or Indian. I repeated the chant.
More smoke filled the room. As Khaba released himself from his human form, he grew in size. His voice changed in pitch and timbre. At first opaque, he turned translucent.
The principal and the member of the council coughed and waved the smoke away from their faces. The smoke didn’t bother me. The air tasted like jasmine and sandalwood. Puns danced on notes of piano music. The cosmos slowed to breathe between the ticks of a clock. I willed Khaba’s essence into the vessel, using the words we chanted together.
His voice rose into a deafening screech. I kept on pushing. I continued chanting. The bong sucked up the smoke. He slowly dissipated. His voice faded away. The only sound in my ears was the music of my words. I clutched the clay bong in my sweaty palms.
“What have you done?” the principal shouted.
“This is splendid! She’s captured a djinn in a bottle. You can rub the vessel, and he’ll grant our wishes.” The old man reached for the bong.
I stepped out of his reach, rubbing at the unfired clay and smearing red-brown clay on my palms. In a dramatic puff, Khaba appeared before me. He wore a hot-pink shirt unbuttoned down to his navel, far lower than what the new principal allowed. He exuded power and authority and enough shimmer to fill ten glitter bombs.
“Good day to you, Master. I am Khaba, the djinn of the lamp. Thank you for releasing me from my prison. I now owe you three favors to show you my gratitude.” He winked at me with comical bravado. “Any wish it is in my power to perform, I will grant you. The only three favors I cannot grant are: the creation of life, a wide-scale wish such as world peace, and more wishes. What does your heart desire?”
In the past, I had been rash in my wishes and favors. I needed to be strategic here.
“Ask for unlimited funds for your school,” Mr. Kohl said.
Chuck Dean clomped around his desk. “I’m the principal here. If anyone gets to make a wish, it should be me. I want my old body restored. I want my wife to come back to me. I want my old job back at Kangadillo’s School for—”
Khaba put up a hand and shoved Principal Dean back. “Don’t even try to talk to me. You are not my master.” He spoke with the confidence and authority of a Fae ruler, even if he was temporarily a slave.
I had my wish. “I would like to make sure that Balthasar Llewelyn is safe and getting the care he needs to be successful, graduate, and have a chance to emotionally recover while attending this school. Is that possible for my first wish?”
Khaba’s tone softened, and he patted me on the head as though I were an endearing human pet. “Of course it is, honey. Just remember to state that as a wish.”
I repeated what I’d said, only changing the wording into the form of a wish.
A tap came at the door. Balthasar stood there. He was fully dressed in his school uniform, though bits of tape still stuck to it in places. “Can I come in?”
“Of course you can,” Khaba said.
Chuck Dean tried to speak, but his lips were sealed closed. He tried to pry his lips apart, but he couldn’t. He walked backward, his steps and movements in reverse as he seated himself. From his confused expression, I took it he didn’t understand why he’d just been turned into a puppet directed by the strings of an invisible master.
Balthasar stared at the floor. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. I realize I did some stupid things this week, today being the worst.” He sighed despondently. “I wondered if you might reconsider your decision to expel me?”
“Done.” Khaba removed a paper from the principal’s desk, waved his hand over it, and handed it to Balthasar. “Here is your detention schedule for the next month, along with the community service projects you will be enjoying as part of your consequences.”
Balthasar’s nose scrunched up in disgust. “Bathroom cleanup? Unicorn poop duty in the woods? Isn’t that what we have a custodian and groundskeeper for?”
I tried not to laugh. I could see how there was a freedom being able to interpret wishes as one saw fit.
Khaba grinned. “That’s also what we have delinquent students for. Lucky you! Unless . . . you don’t want to be here.”
Balthasar rolled his eyes. He trudged toward the door. He hesitated in the doorway and turned to me. “Thanks, Miss Lawrence.”
I waved and smiled.
“Are you ready for your next wish, Master Clarissa?” Khaba asked.
I looked from one man to the next. I needed to word this next wish carefully. I needed to solve as much as I could in as few words as possible. “I want all the crimes that have been committed in the last few days at our school to be resolved. Or maybe I should ask for ‘fixed’ instead?” I wanted the Princess of Lies and Truth to be held accountable for her crimes, but if I said I wanted all criminals tried and convicted, that would also include myself since I technically had broken the law with necromancy.
Khaba radiated power and majesty that I hadn’t seen in him in a long time. This magic became him. “Might I suggest you wish for all those accused of crimes unjustly or crimes that were committed out of selflessness be . . . forgiven and fo
rgotten?”
Forgiven? I wondered if that included himself as well. Could he forgive Thatch? Could he forgive me for not being able to give him more than a fleeting glimpse of Brogan?
“Yes,” I said. “I wish for that.” I repeated the words he had suggested.
“Your wish is my command.” Khaba snapped his fingers.
The grumpy expression on Chuck Dean’s face softened. Mr. Kohl unfolded a piece of paper in his hands. “I found this on the corpse’s person. It appears to be evidence regarding a certain Fae who attacked her. I will turn it in as evidence when I file my report this afternoon.” He turned to me and extended his hand.
I held the bong to my chest, afraid he wanted to take it.
Khaba leaned in close to my ear. “He wants to shake your hand.”
I extended my hand toward his. He didn’t seem to notice the residue of clay on my palm.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Mr. Kohl said. “Your assistance in the crypt was quite helpful, Miss Lawrence.” He nodded to the principal before shuffling off with his staff and briefcase.
Principal Dean smiled pleasantly. ‘What were we discussing, mates? Crikey, I seem to have forgotten.”
“Um. . . .” I glanced at Khaba, uncertain if this was real. It felt too good to be true.
“I believe you were about to fetch Felix Thatch and Gertrude Periwinkle from their incarceration,” Khaba said. “I imagine they will be freed shortly.”
“Righty-ho! I’d best be getting on.” The principal stood and rushed toward the door, leaving Khaba and me alone.
I waited until Chuck Dean was out of the room and out of earshot. “Does that mean you don’t have to report me for what I did?”
“What did you do?” Khaba winked at me.
I had a third and final wish. There were so many things I could ask for. To be rid of the Princess of Lies and Truth—or at least for her to be identified. To give Khaba freedom—or freedom with restrictions. I could figure out how to make Thatch not ejaculate lightning. I could grant Vega the ability to resurrect the dead.
