The Witches of Santa Anna ( BKs 1-7 Complete Set)

by Lauren Barnholdt

  THE WITCHES OF SANTA ANNA

  THE COMPLETE SET – SEASON ONE

  (Books 1,2,3,4,5,6,7)

  Includes CLAIMED, TRICKED, RUMORED, HUSHED,

  PURSUED, ENTICED, and RUINED

  Copyright 2011, Lauren Barnholdt and Aaron Gorvine, all rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is

  entirely coincidental

  CLAIMED

  (The Witches of Santa Anna, Book 1)

  by Lauren Barnholdt & Aaron Gorvine

  Copyright 2011, Lauren Barnholdt and Aaron Gorvine, all rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is a coincidence.

  Chapter One

  Natalia

  Here’s how my first day of school at Santa Anna is supposed to go: 1. I will cruise effortlessly through the halls, never once getting lost, misplacing my schedule, or embarrassing myself in any way.

  2. I will meet a boy who will fall madly in love with me. (Think Edward from Twilight, but without that whole weird there’s-a-vampire-staring-at-me-while-I-sleep thing. So I guess think Robert Pattison. Which would actually be perfect, since I’m English. Well, sort of. I grew up in England, but I’ve been in the US ever since I was ten. I still have a tiny bit of an accent, which people usually think is cool, so sometimes I try to play it up and make it more pronounced than it actually is. I figure if it worked for Madonna, it should work for me.)

  3. I will hook up with a new crowd of amazing friends that will become my friends for life. These girls will be into girly things like nail polish and lip gloss, but will also read and be concerned about the environment. They won’t have boyfriends. (Well.

  I’m flexible on this one. They can have boyfriends if a) It doesn’t interfere with the time they spend with me and/or b) their boyfriends are friends with my boyfriend, aka fake Robert Pattison.)

  Unfortunately, I’m not off to a great start if I want to make this fantasy day of school a reality, because right now I’m standing in the front hallway of school, looking around, totally lost, unable to find my locker or my homeroom. There’s a run in my tights, my hair is slightly frizzy because even though it’s October it’s still a million degrees out, and my stomach is churning because I’m so anxious.

  At least didn’t have to worry about what I was going to wear. Santa Anna is a private school, which means we all have to wear the same thing – white shirt, red and blue plaid skirt, tights, and flat black shoes. (I really don’t know how Blair Waldorf makes her school uniform look so fashionable. It’s probably all the headbands. Which I so cannot pull off.)

  “Do you need help finding your locker?” a girl next to me asks.

  “Is it that obvious?” I say, giving her a grateful look.

  “Nah,” she says. She readjusts her bag on her shoulder and smiles at me sheepishly. “Well, kind of.”

  “I’m going to have to work on not looking so lost.” I force my features into a bright smile. “How’s that?”

  “Hmm,” she says, “That looks a little more like a creepy serial killer than a girl who’s not lost.”

  I tone it down a little. “Better?”

  “Perfect,” she says, “But just to warn you, this is a small school. People are going to know you’re new blood. Even with the new smile.”

  “Great,” I say. I glance back down at my schedule. “I’m trying to find locker 2127. I thought it would be on the second floor but apparently not.”

  “Nope,” she says, “All the junior classrooms and lockers are downstairs.” I follow her as she navigates through the tangle of laughing, happy students (who all seem to know each other, fyi), until finally we head down a stairway into some other wing. A wing where finally the lockers all start with the number two.

  “Here you go,” she says with a flourish, “Number 2127.” She puts her hands up and presents it like it’s a game show prize.

  “Oh, thank God,” I say, “And it’s a top locker. Bonus.”

  “I’m Adrianna,” my new BFF says.

  “Natalia.”

  “So you just moved here?”

  “Nope,” I say, “Transferred. From Woodburne Public.”

  She looks at me, and her eyebrows shoot up. Probably she’s used to girls showing up here as transfer students. Probably they come because of all sorts of nefarious reasons, like drugs and secret pregnancies and criminal records. She opens her mouth, like maybe she wants to say something else, but she must see something in my eyes that lets her know I don’t want to talk about it, because finally, all she says is, “Well, you can find me at lunch if you want. All the juniors have second lunch.”

  “Thanks,” I say gratefully.

  “No prob.” The bell rings then, and she gives me a wave before turning on her flat but fashionable shiny flat black pump and walking away.

  I take a deep breath and then pull out the piece of paper they sent us over the summer, the one that lists our homeroom, our locker number, and our locker combo.

  Everything in this school looks shiny and new – the overhead lights, the gleaming marble floors, the two statues of lions (the school’s mascot) that flank the outside stairs – and so my locker pops right open on the first try.

  I load my things into it, wondering if the girls here carry their purses around with them or leave them in their lockers. A quick glance around tells me it’s about half and half, and so I grab mine and sling it over my shoulder, then slam my locker door shut.

  And realize too late that the paper with my schedule and my combination on it is still in there. I try to grab it before the door slams shut, but all I end up doing is nicking my finger on the ventilation slats at the top. “Shit, shit, shit!” I swear, and shove the tip of my finger into my mouth. A quick glance shows me it’s not bleeding, but it’s all red and hurts like hell.

  Ugh, ugh, ugh. Now I’m going to have to walk into homeroom and ask the teacher for my locker combination. How completely humiliating. There will probably be kids in there, sitting at the desks, and it will be all quiet because it always is when you have something embarrassing to say to a teacher, and they’ll hear me and --- ugh. It’s best not to think about it. I lean my head against the cool metal of the locker, and after a few deep breaths. I turn around, ready to walk into my homeroom and face the music.

  And that’s when I notice him. The hottest guy I’ve ever seen, standing across the hall, staring at me.

  Chapter Two

  Campbell

  “Dude, you know you’re going to have a threesome, right?” That’s what Aiden says to me after I’m done talking with Raine and her two friends, Becca and Teri.

  I’m still watching the three of them as they saunter down the hallway, their asses swaying from side to side like only hot girls can pull off.

  “Did you even hear what I just said, Campbell?”

  I finally pull my gaze away from the girls and look at Aiden. He’s like five inches shorter than me so I have to look down at him. “I heard you, I heard you,” I say.

  “And?”

  “And what?” I grab my books out of my locker and slam it shut.

  “You do realize this will be the best thing that’s ever happened to you—to any of us—in our whole lives…”

  I start walking and Aiden trots along at my side, still yapping.

  “I don’t see what you or anyone else has to do with it,” I tell him.

  “Shit, Brody is going to freak when he hears about this.”

  “There’s nothing to hear.” I stop and gently push him toward the wall near the bathrooms. “
And you’re not going to start talking a bunch of shit either.”

  “Dude, I HEARD her. Raine. She asked you to hang out, just you and them, this weekend. At—“

  “I know. I was there. Remember? But it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Right.” Aiden’s smile turns into a pumpkin grin. He gives me a crazy wink. “I get it. Say no more.”

  “No, you don’t get it Aiden. If—IF—I choose to go hang with Raine and her friends, that’s my business.” We start walking again. Of course, I’m not going to admit to Aiden that I had the very same thought he did. Not necessarily about a threesome. But definitely about at least a twosome. Either way, the best way to ruin my chances with Raine would be to let a rumor start spreading around school before anything even happens.

  “I wish I had ten percent of your luck,” Aiden says.

  “Or five percent of my brains.”

  “Somehow I don’t think your brains are the reason Raine Marsden wants to hang out with you this weekend.”

  “What are you, ten years old? They probably want to watch New Moon or something and paint each other’s nails while I sit there and pretend to give a shit.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The truth is, I don’t know what Raine’s sudden interest in me is all about. But I can remember when it started. A few weeks before school, I saw her and Becca and Teri hanging out by the football field during double sessions. They were just kind of strolling around the fence, laughing, talking and occasionally yelling stuff at us as Coach Walker kicked our asses up and down the field. Eventually Coach told them to leave because they were “distracting” the players. More like, he was probably getting an uncontrollable woody from them himself.

  Anyway, after practice mercifully ended for the day, I was heading to my car when Raine stopped me and asked me where I’d been all summer. I answered that I’d been up in Maine at my dad’s house, same as always. Then she asked me if I realized I’d gotten more built over the last year.

  “All the girls are starting to talk about you. Those workouts must be paying off,”

  she’d said. She reached out and squeezed my bicep.

  That was the beginning. From then on, it’s like I keep running into her and her friends…at the movie theatre, at Royal’s ice cream, even the supermarket one time.

  “Bring me with you, dude, please,” Aiden begs, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “It’s not even going to happen. Forget about it,” I tell him.

  “At least promise you’ll tell me all the details.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell you everything. You can write it all down and publish the tell-all book,” I say as we make out way downstairs to the junior hall.

  Aiden claps his hands. “Yes! That could make me a rich man. And then the ladies definitely won’t be able to resist me.”

  But I’ve stopped listening to Aiden because out of nowhere I see this girl—dark hair, pale skin—standing by herself. She looks confused. She’s wringing her hand like she hurt it. She leans her head against her locker. She’s probably new. She’s probably lost or has the wrong locker or whatever other stupid shit people do when they’re in a new place and disoriented.

  I know I should ask if she needs help, but honestly, I don’t want to get involved.

  I’m already in trouble for being late to homeroom all the time, and if it happens again, Mr. Alm is going to tell Coach Walker, and then I’ll have to run suicides, which I really hate because –

  Shit. The girl turns around, and catches me looking at her. Our eyes meet across the hall, and now if I walk by, she’ll think I’m a complete and total dick.

  Shit, shit, shit. “I’ll catch you at lunch,” I tell Aiden. And then I walk over to the girl with the hurt finger. This better be quick.

  . Chapter Three

  Natalia

  Great. Now the hot guy is coming over. What is it about hot guys always thinking they have to get involved? It’s like they think they have to rescue you or something. And he’s definitely hot. Dark hair. Dark skin. Very…smoldering. And probably a complete asshole.

  I sigh and turn away from him, deciding to pretend that everything’s fine. I try my locker combo one more time, figuring I’ll wait until he passes by before heading into room 212 and trying to obtain my locker combination. Nothing to see here, la la la.

  But there’s a tap on my shoulder, and I know it’s him before I even turn around.

  Sigh.

  “Hey,” he says, flashing a perfect smile.

  I swallow. Hard. He’s even more gorgeous close up. And he smells amazing,

  “Hi.”

  “Something wrong with your locker?”

  “Um, no,” I say.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” My throat is suddenly dry and I lick my lips.

  “Because I happen to be an expert at lockers.” He leans against the one next to mine and the side of his mouth twists up into a cocky grin. “In fact they’re kind of like my specialty.”

  “Spoken like a true thief,” I say.

  “Not thief,” he corrects, “Borrower.”

  “And what sorts of things do you borrow?”

  “Whatever I want,” he says, and grins again. Ugh. He must be able to tell by my face that stealing things is less than sexy (well, at least my brain is thinking it’s less than sexy – my body is responding in an entirely different way, thank you very much), because he shakes his head like I can’t take a joke (which is so not true – I have a fabulous sense of humor, thank you very much) and says, “No, but seriously. My dad has a locksmith company. Which is why I’m good with locks.”

  I think about this, and decide it’s probably a lie. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time a hot boy has lied to me. But beggars can’t be choosers, and I really need to get into my locker. So I step aside, “Be my guest,” I say. His chest brushes against me as I move by him, and I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through my body.

  He puts his ear up against the metal, holds his finger to his lips for me to be quiet (like I was going to say anything anyway) and turns the dial slowly. After a few seconds, he pulls away, then turns the lock, and pops open the locker. “There you go,” he says.

  “Wow,” I say. “Impressive.” I pull out my schedule and locker combination, then slam it shut. “So how do I know that you’re not going to ‘borrow’ from me now that you know my combination?”

  “I have a horrible memory,” he says, “And so I’ve already forgotten it.”

  “Even if that’s true,” I say, “You could easily figure it out again.”

  “Good point,” he says, “But I can figure out anyone’s locker combination in the whole school. What makes your think yours is so special?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I say, feeling myself blush.

  “And besides, don’t you trust me?”

  “Why would I trust you? I don’t even know your name.”

  “Because I’m very trustworthy.” He grins again, and then holds his hand out.

  “And my name’s Campbell. Campbell Elliott.”

  “Natalia Moore,” I say, and take his hand. That same shot of electricity flows up my arm, and I feel like it’s not my imagination that he holds my hand a second longer than necessary.

  “So what’s – ” I start, but I’m interrupted. By a girl. A very good-looking girl.

  A very skinny good-looking girl, with long blonde hair and perfect skin.

  “Cam,” she says, “I forgot to tell you that we might have to meet at Becca’s first, because – ” she cuts off when she sees us. He’s still holding my hand, and I drop it quickly.

  Cam grins, I guess because he can tell I’m uncomfortable. My hand feels like it’s on fire, and I wipe it on my skirt.

  “Oh,” the girl says, “I didn’t know there was a new girl.” She says “new girl” the way you’d say “oh, I didn’t know there was gum stuck on my shoe.”

  “Is it that obvious?” I ask for the second time today. Only this time my tone
is a little more clipped.

  “Sort of.” She smiles at me tightly. “Everyone knows everyone here, so if you’re new, you stick out.” I wait for her to add something comforting like ‘but don’t worry you’ll fit right in’ or ‘it’s okay though I’ll show you around.’ But all she says is, “I’m Raine.”

  “Natalia,” I say. “And starting a new school where everyone knows each other?

  Sounds perfect.”

  It must come out more pathetic than sarcastic, because Cam says, “Ah, Raine’s just being dramatic. You’ll be fine. In fact, we were just talking about hanging out tomorrow night. You up for it?”

  I see the look that passes across Raine’s face. The look that says she doesn’t really want me there. But she recovers quickly and says, “Totally. You should come.

  Find me at lunch and I’ll give you the deets.” She turns to Cam. “I’ll text you.” And then she kisses him on the cheek and takes off down the hall.

  I watch her go, wondering what’s going on between the two of them. They’re obviously not together, because she wouldn’t have been hanging out with him in a group on a Friday night. On the other hand, she did kiss him on the cheek, so… she must be interested, right? But is he? I’m not sure. He’s too hard to read. Not like it matters. I have my own problems to worry about.

  The bell rings then, and Campbell turns around and starts heading down the hall.

  He walks backwards, staring at me as he goes. “Catch you later, Brit,” he says.

  “My name’s Natalia,” I yell after him.

  But he just grins and keeps going. And then I get it. He’s calling me Brit because of my accent. I sigh, then readjust my purse and head into homeroom.

  Chapter Four

  Campbell

  I’m about to take a jump shot when an all-too familiar voice calls out from nearby.

  “Pass it, pass it!”

  I stop and pump-fake the ball instead of making the shot even though I had an open look.

  Brody waves his arms. “Hey, I’m open—what are you, blind?”