Hex Hall

by Рейчел Хоукинс

  "So can we start over?" Chaston asked. "Friends?"

  They were all smiling hopefully at me, even Elodie. I should have known right then and there that this could not end well, but I stupidly smiled back and said, "Yeah. Friends."

  "Great!" Chaston and Anna squealed in unison. Elodie sort of muttered it a split second afterward.

  "Okay," Chaston said as we approached the green-house. "So as your friends, we thought we should give you a heads up about Defense."

  "The Vandy teaches it, and she's awful," Elodie said.

  "Right, the scrunchie lady."

  Simultaneous eye roll. Were these girls synchronized swimmers in their spare time?

  "Yes," Anna sighed. "That stupid scrunchie."

  "Jen . . . um, I heard someone call it her portable portal to hell."

  All three of them laughed at that. "She wishes," Anna snorted.

  "The Vandy was a pretty decent dark witch," Elodie explained, "but she got a little big for her britches, as they say down here. She worked for the Council. Tried to make a play for running Hecate, and . . . well, it's a long story. But it ended with her getting sent to the Council for the

  Removal."

  "And," Anna added in a conspiratorial whisper, "part of her punishment was that she had to come to Hecate but not as a headmistress.

  Just a regular teacher. She's supposed to be an example to others. That's why she's such a bitch."

  "She'll definitely pick on you because you're new," Chaston said.

  "But," Elodie cut in, "she's super vain. So if you get in trouble, compliment her on her tattoos."

  "Tattoos?" I asked. Up close, the greenhouse was even bigger than I'd thought. What the hell had they grown in it? Redwoods?

  "She has these really pretty purple tattoos all over her arms. They're magical symbols of some kind, like runes or something," Elodie continued.

  "She's really proud of them. Say you like them, and you're in for life with the

  Vandy."

  We walked through the front door of the greenhouse, Chaston's arm still in mine. The room was huge, and felt especially big because only about fifty people were in there. Defense wasn't split up by age for some reason, so

  I noticed a couple of very freaked-out-looking twelve-year-olds. It was bright, obviously, but not hot. There was cool air flowing all around me, so I figured this building had the same spell going on as the main house.

  In a lot of ways it was like a normal high school gym: wooden floors, blue exercise mats, weights. But I couldn't help noticing that some things were most definitely not normal.

  Like several iron manacles bolted to the wall. And a full-size gallows erected at the back of the room.

  Elodie immediately ran off to find Archer, who, it turns out, was not as skinny as I'd thought. The boys' uniforms were basically the same as the girls', and his blue T-shirt clung to a chest that was a lot more defined than I would have guessed. I tried not to look, and I definitely tried to stamp down the little icy spark of jealousy that shot through me when he lowered his lips to Elodie's for a quick kiss.

  A tall redhead waved at me. "Hi, Sophie!"

  I waved back, wondering who the heck . . . Oh, right. Red hair. Beth the werewolf. I liked her lots better when she wasn't drooling on me. She gestured for me to come stand by her, but before I could, a loud nasal voice broke through the chatter.

  "All right, people!"

  The Vandy moved through the crowd, wearing the same uniform we were. I immediately noticed the tattoos. They were a deep vibrant purple that looked even brighter against her pale flabby skin.

  The ever-present scrunchie held back her brown hair. She had small piggish dark eyes that scanned the crowd, and even from a distance, I could see this weird eager look on her face. Like she was hoping someone would defy her so that she could squash them like a bug.

  Put simply, she freaked me the hell out.

  "Listen up!" she barked in a thin voice. Like Mrs. Casnoff, she had a

  Southern accent, but hers sounded harsh instead of smooth and melodic. "I'm sure your other teachers will tell you that your classes in Magical History or

  Classifications of Vampires, or, what, Personal Grooming of Werewolves"--I noticed a few boys, including Justin, bristle, but the Vandy continued--"are more important than this one. But tell me this: how much are those classes going to help you when you're under attack from a human? Or a Brannick?

  Or, worst of all, an Eye? You think books are going to save you when

  L'Occhio di Dio comes calling?"

  I guess we didn't look sufficiently impressed, because she seemed to puff up with anger. Her finger practically pierced the clipboard in front of her as she pointed to something.

  "Mercer! Sophia!" she shouted.

  I hissed a very bad word under my breath, but I raised my hand. "Um .

  . . here. Me."

  "Come forward!"

  I did. She yanked me by my arm until I was standing next to her.

  "Now, Miss Mercer, it says here on the chart that this is your first year at

  Hecate, correct?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes, what?"

  "Uh . . . yes, ma'am."

  "So apparently you did a love spell that got you sent to Hecate. Was it for you, or were you just trying to make some human your friend, Miss

  Mercer?"

  I heard snickers from the crowd, and I knew my face was flaming red.

  Stupid pale skin.

  Apparently, it was a rhetorical question, because the Vandy didn't wait for an answer. She turned and knelt down beside a large canvas bag.

  When she straightened up, she was holding a wooden stake.

  "How would you defend yourself against this, Miss Mercer?"

  "I'm a witch," I said automatically, and again I heard the crowd murmur and giggle. I wondered if Archer was laughing, but then decided I really didn't want to know.

  "You're a witch?" the Vandy repeated. "So, what? A large pointy piece of wood slamming into your heart won't kill you?"

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. "I, uh, I guess it would, yeah."

  The Vandy smiled, and it was one of the most disturbing smiles I've ever seen. Clearly I was the bug for today.

  Turning away from me, she looked though the crowd until she saw someone who made her eyes narrow. "Mr. Cross!"

  Oh God, I thought weakly. Oh please, please, no . . .

  Archer made his way to the front and stood on the other side of the

  Vandy, crossing his arms over his chest. The sunlight coming in through the windows glinted off his hair, which wasn't black after all, but the same deep dark brown as his eyes.

  Then the Vandy turned to me and put the stake in my hand.

  I don't know what kind of stakes vampire killers normally use, but this one was pretty crappy. It was made of some cheap yellow wood that felt prickly against my palm. It also felt totally wrong in my grip, and I let it just sort of dangle at my side. But the Vandy grabbed my elbow and positioned my arm so that I was holding it up as if I were ready to jam it through

  Archer's chest.

  I looked up at him, and saw that he was struggling not to laugh. His eyes were nearly watering, and his lips were twitching.

  My hand tightened on the stake. Maybe shoving it into his heart wasn't such a bad idea.

  "Mr. Cross," the Vandy said, still smiling sweetly, "kindly disarm

  Miss Mercer using Skill Nine."

  Instantly, all levity vanished from his face. "You've got to be kidding."

  "Either you demonstrate it or I will."

  CHAPTER 11

  For a second I thought he was still going to refuse, but then he looked back at me and muttered, "Fine."

  "Excellent!" the Vandy trilled. "Now, Miss Mercer, attack Mr. Cross."

  I stared at her. I had never so much as wielded a flyswatter in my life, and this woman expected me to just lunge at a guy with a pointy wooden stick?

  The Vandy's smile hardened. "Any day now."r />
  I wish I could say that I suddenly discovered my inner warrior princess and expertly leaped at Archer, weapon hoisted high, teeth bared.

  That would have been cool.

  Instead I raised the stake to about shoulder height and took two, maybe three shuffling steps forward.

  Then viselike fingers clenched my throat, the stake was wrenched from my hand, and a sharp stabbing pain shot up my right thigh as I landed on the ground with a thump that knocked the breath out of me.

  And as if that wasn't bad enough, once I landed, something hard and heavy--his knee, I thought--hit me right in the sternum. You know, just in case there was one last breath left in my lungs. The point of the stake scraped the sensitive skin just under my chin. I looked up, wheezing, into

  Archer's face.

  He was off of me in a heartbeat, but all I could do was roll onto my side, draw my knees up to my chest, and wait for oxygen to reenter my body.

  "Very good!" I heard the Vandy say from somewhere far off. I was literally seeing stars, and every ragged breath I took felt like I was trying to breathe through broken glass.

  On the upside, my crush on Archer was totally gone. Over. Once a boy has slammed his kneecap into your rib cage, I think any romantic feelings should naturally go the way of the ghost.

  Then I felt hands under my arms, lifting me to my feet. "I'm sorry,"

  Archer murmured, but I just glared at him. My throat still felt thick and swollen, and I didn't want to try to push any words through it.

  Much less all the words I wanted to say to him.

  "Now," the Vandy was saying brightly, "Mr. Cross showed excellent technique there, although I would have definitely stayed on the opponent's chest longer."

  Archer nodded very slightly at me when she said that, and I wondered if he was trying to say that's why he'd done it; I would have been worse off if it had been the Vandy. I really didn't care. I was still pissed.

  "And now, Mr. Cross, Skill Four," the Vandy chirped.

  But this time Archer shook his head. "No."

  "Mr. Cross," the Vandy said sharply, but Archer just tossed the stake at her feet. I waited for the disemboweling or the caning or, at the very least, the writing up, but once again, the Vandy just smiled her tight smile. She picked up the stake and handed it to me.

  I was certain I was going to throw up. Wasn't there some other newbie she could torture? I glanced around and caught a few sympathetic looks, but everyone else just seemed relieved it wasn't them about to get squashed.

  "Very well. Watch and learn, people. Skill Four. Come at me, Miss

  Mercer."

  I just stood there staring at her.

  She pursed her lips in irritation, and then, without warning, her hand shot out to grab me. But I was ready this time, and angry and hurt. Without thinking, I pulled my leg up and thrust it out.

  Hard.

  I saw my sneaker-clad foot slam into her chest as if that foot belonged to someone else. It couldn't possibly have been mine. I'd never kicked anyone in my life; I certainly wouldn't kick a teacher.

  But I had. I had kicked the Vandy in the chest, and she went sprawling onto the blue mat, not far from the very spot where I had sprawled earlier.

  I heard the other students draw in a collective breath. I mean, really.

  All fifty of them seemed to gasp at the same time.

  It was right about then that the enormity of what I'd done hit me.

  I knelt down and offered her my hand. "Oh my God! I . . . I didn't mean . . ."

  She threw off my hand and got to her feet, nostrils flaring. I was so very, very screwed.

  "Miss Mercer," she said, breathing heavily, making me think of a bull, "is there any reason you can think of that I shouldn't give you detention for the next month?"

  My mouth moved, but nothing came out.

  Then, like a godsend, I remembered Elodie's advice. "I like your tattoos!" I blurted out.

  I only thought the class had gasped before. Now the sound they made was like the air escaping from a balloon.

  The Vandy tilted her head at me and narrowed her tiny eyes. "You what?"

  "I . . . I like your tattoos. Your ink. Your, um, tats. They're really cool."

  I'd never seen anyone have an aneurysm before, but I was afraid that was exactly what the Vandy was about to do. Frantic, I looked out at the crowd of students until I met Elodie's eyes. She was grinning, and I realized that I had just made a truly horrible mistake.

  "I hope you weren't planning on having any free time here at Hecate, Miss Mercer," the Vandy sneered. "Detention. Cellar duty. Rest of the semester."

  The semester? I shook my head. Who had ever heard of detention that lasted eighteen weeks? That was insane! And cellar duty? What was that?

  "Oh, come on," I heard someone say, and I looked up to see Archer glaring at the Vandy. "She didn't know, okay? She wasn't raised like us."

  The Vandy shoved a lock of hair off her forehead. "Really, Mr. Cross?

  So you think Miss Mercer's punishment is unfair?"

  He didn't answer, but she nodded as though he had. "Fine. Share it, then."

  Elodie squawked, and I took some satisfaction in that.

  "Now, both of you get out of my gym and report to Mrs. Casnoff," the

  Vandy said, rubbing her chest.

  Archer was out the door almost before the words left the Vandy's mouth, but I was still feeling a little stunned, not to mention hurt. I limped toward the exit, ignoring Elodie and Chaston's glares.

  Archer was already way ahead of me and walking so fast that I could hardly catch up.

  "You like her 'ink'?" he all but snarled when I was finally next to him.

  "Like she doesn't have enough reasons to hate you."

  "I'm sorry, but are you pissed at me? Me? I'm the one who had your knee practically crushing my spine, buddy, so let's check the attitude."

  He stopped so suddenly that I actually walked three steps past him and had to turn around.

  "If the Vandy had pulled that maneuver, you'd be at the infirmary right now. Sorry for trying to save your ass. Again."

  "I don't need anyone saving my ass," I shot back, my face hot.

  "Right," he drawled before walking toward the house. But then something he'd said struck me.

  "What do you mean she has enough reasons to hate me?"

  He clearly wasn't going to stop walking, so I had to jog to catch up.

  "Your dad's the one who gave her those 'tats.'"

  I grabbed his elbow, my fingers slipping on his sweaty skin. "Wait.

  What?"

  "Those marks mean she's gone through the Removal. They're a symbol of her screwup, not a point of pride with her. Why would you . . ."

  He trailed off, probably because I was glaring at him.

  "Elodie," he muttered.

  "Yeah," I fired back. "Your girlfriend and her friends were really helpful in filling me in on the Vandy this morning."

  He sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck, which had the effect of pulling his T-shirt even tighter across his chest. Not that I cared. "Look, Elodie . . . she's--"

  "So do not care," I said, holding up my hand. "Now, what did you mean when you said my dad gave her those tattoos?"

  Archer looked at me incredulously. "Whoa."

  "What?"

  "You seriously don't know?"

  I'd never been able to actually feel my blood pressure rising before, but it certainly was now. It felt kind of the way magic used to feel, only with more homicidal rage thrown in.

  "Don't. Know. What?" I managed to say.

  "Your dad is the head of the Council. As in, the guy who sent us all here."

  CHAPTER 12

  After that little tidbit of information, I did something I have never done in my entire life.

  I had a full-on drama queen meltdown.

  By which I mean I burst into tears. And not tragically beautiful, elegant tears either. No, I had the big messy ones involving a red face and snot.

>   I usually make it a point not to cry in front of people, especially hot boys that I'd been totally crushing on before they'd tried to choke me.

  But for some reason, hearing that there was yet another thing I didn't know just sent me right on over the edge.

  Archer, to his credit, didn't look exactly horrified by my sobbing, and he even reached out like he might grab hold of my shoulders. Or possibly smack me.

  But before he could either comfort me or commit further acts of violence upon my person, I spun away from him and made my drama queen moment complete by running away.

  It wasn't pretty.

  But by that point I was beyond caring. I just ran, my chest burning, my throat aching from a combination of Archer's chokehold and tears.

  My feet pounded against the thick grass with dull thumps, and all I could think was what an idiot I was.

  Don't know about blocking spells.

  Don't know about tattoos.

  Don't know about big, stupid, evil Italian Eyes.

  Don't know about Dad.

  Don't know anything about being a witch.

  Don't know, don't know, don't know.

  I wasn't sure exactly how far I'd run, but by the time I got to the pond at the back of the school, my legs were shaking and my side ached. I had to sit down. Luckily, there was a little stone bench right next to the edge of the water. I was so out of breath between the running and the crying that I totally overlooked the moss creeping over the seat and flopped down. It was hot from the sun, and I winced a little.

  I sat there, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, listening to my breath saw in and out of my lungs. Sweat dripped from my forehead to my thighs, and I started to feel a little dizzy.

  I was just so . . . pissed. Okay, so Mom had been freaked out by Dad being a warlock. Fair enough. But why couldn't she at least have let me talk to the guy? It would have been nice to get a little heads up about the Vandy.

  You know, just a friendly "Oh, and by the way, your gym teacher hates me a lot, and so, by extension, hates you! Best o' luck!"

  I groaned and lay across the bench, only to come shooting back into a sitting position when the hot stone touched my bare arm.

  Without really thinking, I laid my hand on the bench and thought, Comfy.