GLOUCESTER’S WITCH ACADEMY
BOOK 1
JESSICA BAKER
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Contents
Title Page
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Introduction
Jane lost her father to cancer, the only person that ever really loved her. With a mentally unstable mother who detested her for just existing, Jane became clinically depressed and had to drop out of college. She had thought her life was over.
A year later, she woke up one day, packed her bags and left home. She had decided to embrace a life of independence and live her life to the fullest. She owed her father that much.
Saddled with student loans and a hope to find love, she moved to the big city of Boston from her small town Torrington. But she never would have guessed what awaited her there. This 21 year-old college dropout is soon plunged into a world she never thought existed outside of movies and books.
To offset her huge student loans, she starts working as a waitress at Whiskey Peak, a busy bar in the downtown area of Boston. A job she struggles to navigate as an introvert.
In her quest to find love like her father wanted her to, she meets Mark; a young medical student who seems to be everything she has ever hoped for in a man; Ray a good-looking vampire alpha male who oozed charm and desire and Franklin, a multi-millionaire who is ready to give her a life of pamper and luxury.
If only the paranormal was not beckoning at her destiny. Or if the veil of her ignorance of the supernatural was not about to be lifted.
Gloucester’s Witch Academy is a reverse harem novel that tells the story of Jane and her paranormal adventure. How a small town girl is set to discover her destiny and her place in a world beyond the ordinary.
But just when she thinks she has started to get the hang of this new life in the big city, inevitable circumstances bring her face-to-face to her biggest fear.
Will she survive? Will she come out stronger? Will she finally accept her destiny and the magic in her veins? Will she take her place and join in the fight? And will her life still remain the fairy tale she hoped?
Get ready for the ride.
Chapter 1
It was a cold windy day in November. I had just pulled up in front of a fading but majestic building. It looks like a mistress who is fighting to retain her dignity even though it presently looks like an ugly duckling sitting in the middle of a block surrounded by other modern high-rise buildings. It is said to have some sentimental value to its owner which was why he had refrained from renovating it. Well, that did not mean it wasn't expensive. I mean, what isn't in this town? For a small-town girl like me, I feel like a fish out of the water. This was not my kind of place. But I knew I had to get out of Torrington and move as far away as I could from my mom.
Our relationship has always been strained but the death of my dad just broke what weak thread held us together. It felt like the restrain holding her from letting out all her venom was finally broken. She became a bitter angry person who used every opportunity to abuse me physically and mentally. Even with just two years of college, I knew enough to understand that she is a psychopath who just has it in her head that she was not loved enough by her husband and child and so she is taking it out on the world. She had always been jealous of the close relationship between my father and I, something I never was able to have with her. We were so different. I never fancied anything she did. I was always more like my dad. Calm, quiet and reserved. She was the opposite and I always felt like I failed her when I did not like what she wanted. Sometimes, I wonder what they ever saw in each other. My parents. There haven't been two polar opposite people in the world. He probably fell for my mother's beauty when she was young and so did not really care that much about her arrogant and selfish personality. Perhaps he must have seen some lovable traits in her that made him marry her but when she began to lose her beauty to aging, she lost it and started exhibiting some erratic behaviors.
Maybe because her own mother had taught her that her beauty was everything she had and so when she began to age, she had felt like a flower fading away. They divorced when I was 13 years old, no surprise there. My mother got custody primary custody. So from Monday to Friday, I lived with her but went to my father for weekends which was unarguably the best time of my week. I love my mother. Or at least, I think so. In the way a daughter should love the woman who birthed her. And maybe that is why I make excuses for her behavior and forgive her each time she gets into one of her episodes, but I know that that kind of cycle is not healthy for me. I have to make a life for myself outside that abusive relationship. It is easier to love from a distance. And I need to get my life together anyway. I had quite a huge debt in the form of student loans to pay. Just two years of college and I owe over $30,000. I had had to leave school when my father died. There was no point. I was clinically depressed. It felt like I had lost a part of me to cancer. I couldn't imagine life without him. My grades were dropping, I couldn't concentrate. I just knew that at that point, my dream of studying psychology and helping people through therapy was not feasible anymore. Also, my mother had started her episodes and I had been so scared that she might hurt herself that I had to move in with her. After a year of terrible living experience with a psychopath, I finally gathered the courage to move to Boston to search for a job and start a life on my own.
I drove up to Boston one day, three weeks ago and tried to look for work. There weren't many options for a 21-year-old college dropout without enough working experience. I was even lucky to have gotten the job with Ricky as a bartender. I still don't know what made me apply. I was passing by the bar when I overheard someone mention something about a spot for a bartender. After a frustrating day of job search, I went in and was interviewed. Sometimes I wonder what Ricky was thinking when he hired me. Though I don't frequent bars very much, I knew enough that bartenders should be outgoing friendly extroverts. And I was definitely not all that. I am more of a homebody. An introvert who prefers the company of books to people. I mean, I am friendly but not enough to engage different people that would come to the bar and be lively and fun. But hey, by some sort of miracle, I got the job and now, I have an a
partment. A small one which is no surprise for my budget. In fact, I had lucked out with the kitchen. It was big enough. My apartment was on the top floor and had a great view of the city. Most tiny low rent apartments in Boston had small kitchens, but this one was different. Big enough for me to engage in my favorite activity: cooking!
I couldn't wait to get into the house and explore my kitchen- and other parts of the house, of course, I cheekily added in my mind. I hurriedly stepped out of the rental van. I look up and see two old women peep out of their windows. Probably wondering who their new neighbor is. I then muster a smile and wave a greeting at them. They just stared and soon shut their windows. Well, there goes the friendly neighbor scenario I had pictured in my head. I probably would make friends another way. Maybe at work. Bartenders are usually friendly people. And maybe, who knows? I just might find the love of my life there.
The thought brought a smile to my face. I am a hopeless romantic. I am one of those girls who shameless dreams of a Prince Charming coming to sweep them off their feet. My father had a lot to do with that. He was the perfect gentleman. They say almost all girls look for their father in their partners. My father was amazing, funny and kind-hearted. The best man I know. Which was why his cancer diagnosis and ng away had left me shattered. I couldn't move on without him. As an only child who is an introvert and loves to hole up in the library, it is not much news that I had no friends. I am my daddy's girl. And now, I want a man like him. A man who would love me for who I am. To be honest, as much as I love being on my own, I still long for a partner. My ride or die. The kind of fairytale butterfly-in-the-belly love that transcends through time. Which was why I had been very choosy. I knew what I wanted and never settled for less. When my mates in high school were having boyfriends just because, I knew I was waiting for my One. When my mates in college were having flings, I knew I couldn’t very well give myself to a guy outside love. And so, here I was. A single 21-year-old virgin who had never had a boyfriend, living alone in the big city of Boston.
I shake my head and sighed at my boring life.
Well, now that I am in a boisterous place like Boston, things were certainly going to change. Here, I am. Living on my own for the first time. I hope to go on dates and put myself out there as much as my introverted nature will be comfortable with.
I take a deep breath. Adventures are waiting for me here. I can feel it. I know I made the right choice moving to this big city.
Now, it is time to get to work. My new world awaits me.
I walk to the back of the van to begin unloading my stuff that I had carefully arranged the night before. I had to at least get them inside and arrange them so I can get to the bar early for my first shift. Punctuality is a test of character like my father used to say. I lift some boxes and carry them into the building. Then I climb into the elevator and ride to the last floor, giddy with excitement. Little Jane is finally on her own. I couldn't believe it. I have my own place!
The elevator stops on my floor and I step out into an empty hallway. I move towards the end of the hall and then put the box down to bring out my key from my back pocket. I open the door and carried the boxes in. I smile as I took in the place. It was small but mine. All mine. My own space. I quickly drop the boxes and go down again to carry the next set of boxes up. After several trips back and forth, I still am not tired. I check the time on my wristwatch and it read 2:30 pm. Looks like I still have the time to get the house in order before I leave for work. The agent had said that the place had just come on the market when I came along. The previous owner had left the country in a hurry, so I got a good deal on the furniture and other things already in the apartment. It had come with a bed in the bedroom and some drawers. Which was good because I wasn't sure I would have splurged on them. The room had a queen-sized bed. The former owner must have loved a big bed that occupied more than half of the room with a fancy canopy painted pale pink. I had cut a good deal with the agent since it was obvious the former owner doesn't want it anymore. So that was settled. I just went into the adjoining bathroom to arrange my toiletries. I take a minute to look at myself in the mirror. Not much for vanity but today, I feel like I have to practice my friendly smile if I wanted to keep this job as a bartender. I have one of those faces. Striking, my mother called it. Would draw attention even if I don’t want it. The red hair does not help, I sighed.
The one gift I got from her which she never let me forget. It stood out, bright and lively, framing my pale alabaster skin. My red hair contrasted my eyes which were moss green and like my father used to say, made me look like I had all the answers in the world. Wise and kind eyes, he used to call it. But I know I am not pretty or drop-dead gorgeous. Nothing close to breath-taking beautiful. I know that. I am what you call passable. I know I am not pretty. But my father, bless his soul, always tried to feel like the Mona Lisa. I smile wistfully remembering what an awesome man he was. At least, these days I can think about him without bursting into tears. Now I know I'm not alone. I believe he is watching over me. He would. Well, enough of this pity party, I still have work to do. I bring out my other stuff and found spaces for them around the house. I quickly erected my makeshift library and brought out my collection of books from their boxes. God, I love books. They have always been a constant in my life. My father loved to give me new books while hearing about the ones I have already read. We had a ritual, ever since I learned how to read. He would sit beside my bed at night and listen while I read to myself till I dozed off. Then he would kiss the top of my head and switch off the lights. I lived for those beautiful moments.
I arrange my books which were a collection of different types of genre ranging from cookbooks from different countries to fictional romance novels and then more serious stuff about human psychology, archaeology, history, arts and just about anything that tickled my fancy. I love to learn about new things and what better way to go about it than reading?
After sorting and arranging them in the tiny living room which also came with a sofa. A comfy-looking brown sofa, let me add. After several jumps on it, I declared it perfectly comfortable and a great place to read a book and dove off while watching a movie. I like my media set. Even though I got it cheap. I probably could never afford this size if it had not come with the house. Now I can keep up with my favorite romcoms without my mother's bitter commentary about how life is never fair and that fairytales are only in my dreams. No more of those, thank God! I look around the cozy living room and then went on to hang my curtains. I set a center table, a piece I had gotten at the flea market alongside a lamp and flower vase. The small space had an advantage in that it would hide the fact that I didn't have much stuff. But I don't care. I am a young woman making my own way. These things would come with time. Although my first priority is paying off my student loan. I almost cannot believe that I have such a huge debt and no degree to show for it. Sometimes I wonder how different my life would have been if I had not left school, if my father had not died. But there I go again imagining the impossible. 'Life happens, and but you have to go on living'- my dad had said on his sickbed the day before he died. He had tried to fight cancer with chemo and surgery but in the end, he still couldn't survive it. He made me promise I would live my life to the fullest. And to make sure I have adventures. I hope I am making you proud, Dad. Here I am in this big city hoping to find adventures. I hope you’re smiling wherever you are.
I quickly shake off the sad feeling and glanced at my wristwatch. 3:30 pm. I still had time to get to the most important part of my chore; setting up my favorite part of the house. The kitchen. My own kitchen. I cannot believe I have this kitchen all to myself. It may not be big, but it is everything. My father taught me how to cook. He had started cooking out of necessity since my mother never cared for the duty even though they had a young child to feed. So, my father started cooking and soon became quite a pro because he loved doing it, making different culinary delicacies for me. And soon when he saw how interested I was, he began to teach me how to cook so
when they divorced, I became the resident chef for my mother.
Now, I long to cook for my man. The love of my life. And hopefully soon, my children. But till then, I would continue to cook and experiment with different types of recipes for myself. I are out my new collection of pots and pans which I had gone out of a whim to buy. They are not inferior brands because I honestly cannot stand those. So, although they may not be all that expensive, but they are very efficient. And that is what matters. I clean out the cabinets and arrange my spice shelf. I had brought along some basics for my fridge. I would have to do the general restocking later. But for now, I put away all the groceries and decide to take a shower before I head out to work. It is safer to be earlier than late. I sure would not want to give Rick a chance to fire me on my first day on the job.
The rumbling in my stomach reminds me that I have not eaten since morning. I had wanted to get an early start, so I left Torrington before dawn. If I was being honest, I was intentionally trying to avoid my mother. I couldn't handle her nagging and open disapproval. She didn't even hide the fact that she didn't want me to move for her own selfish reasons. I'm sure as much as she detested my presence, she knew she really could not do much without me. I always cleaned, cooked and did everything to take off her while she just drank herself to hysteria every night. I remember one particular night I had sat in front of my dressing mirror brushing my hair out absentmindedly. I had not known she was standing by the door in a pink shift, her flaccid hair in disarray.
“I used to have hair like that.” My mother had said softly. “Bright, red, glorious. People would stare at the beauty of it. I flaunted it.” Her voice became dreamy. Childlike “Everyone had wanted to be with me.”
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