Outcast: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Warden of the West Book 1)

by Annabel Chase

  "No," I said. "My mother never told him she was pregnant with me. He confessed to her one night, told her about all his evil deeds. He told her that she deserved better, and that he had to go back to his world where he belonged. She was so horrified by what he told her that she packed up and left the next day."

  She peered at me. "Even though he said he was leaving?"

  "Whatever he told her, it was awful. She never shared the details with me, only that he was evil and she worried that he would decide to come for us one day, especially if he ever found out about me."

  The chancellor swallowed hard. "Your mother was quite right, child. Your father would likely have sought you out had he known of your existence. She was smart to hide you away. To hide herself away. He had a way of poisoning everything he touched."

  "You knew him, then?"

  Her expression darkened. "I wish I could say no." She placed her palms flat on the desk. "I can see why you endeavored to keep this a secret. It is no small burden to share his DNA. Now I better understand the extent of your power."

  “Am I really that powerful?” I asked. It seemed impossible, given that I was in an academy full of talented magical students.

  Chancellor Tilkin’s gaze was steady. “You are. Your magic is in a raw state, however. With proper training and guidance, you could achieve full magus status at a very young age.”

  “I’m not interested in being some kind of all-powerful genie,” I said.

  “It’s a good thing you’re not a genie then,” she said, with a trace of amusement.

  I balked. “Wait. Genies are real, too?”

  She inclined her head slightly. “They are, indeed.”

  “So, who else has magic in this world?” I asked.

  The chancellor’s expression was kind and patient. She reminded me a little of my mother in that regard. My mother had endless patience, a necessity in her line of work.

  “Fairies, pixies, genies, witches, wizards, sorceresses like yourself.” She paused. “There are many paranormals with talents that fall into the category of magic.”

  “What about shifters and vampires?” I asked.

  “No magic, but special skills all their own. Speed, senses, strength, agility. Some have telepathy, like you do with your familiar. You’ll find out soon enough, I imagine.”

  I tried to picture all these fantastical beings in my everyday life.

  "I don't want anyone to know about my father,” I said. “They’ll hate me just for being his daughter. Even though he's dead, he must’ve had a lot of enemies. What if they want to take out their revenge on me? I also worry about…" I trailed off, not wanting to say the words out loud.

  The chancellor seemed to grasp my dilemma. "On the bridge, you told me that you tried not to use magic, even though you didn’t know it was illegal. Your father was the reason why, wasn’t he?”

  “I thought too much magic might trigger some kind of supernatural alarm,” I said. “If I used any at all, I kept it to a minimum.”

  “Your big burst of magic did have consequences, although not the consequences you expected.” She pressed her lips together, waiting. “That wasn’t the only reason, though, was it?”

  I raised my chin a fraction. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The chancellor pushed back her chair and went to stand at the window. Moonlight filtered in behind her, casting her in a muted glow.

  “Your father was a sorcerer who refused formal training despite being wooed by various agencies and organizations. Did you know that?”

  I shook my head. “Is that why he wasn’t a wizard?”

  “He would’ve been, had he chosen formal training. I have no doubt he would have become a renowned magus in time.”

  “Why did he object to formal training?” I asked. It would have been like my mother trying to practice medicine without going to medical school.

  “His hubris, I suspect,” the chancellor replied. “Eventually, he turned to the darker elements of magic and succumbed to their power. It is a difficult calling to resist. Darkness has a way of being seductive. Moldark could have been one of the best in the world had he opted to train, but he chose a different path.”

  I drew my knees to my chest. “Like I said, evil.”

  “And that is the real reason you’ve resisted the call of magic, isn’t it?” The chancellor turned away from the window and fixed me with a penetrating stare. “You worry that if you use his magic—your magic—that you will become like him.”

  I said nothing.

  “I can see from your expression that I’m correct in my assumption.” She crossed the room and settled in the chair beside me. “Let me make this point for you, Bryn Morrow. When given the choice, you chose to come here to Spellslingers Academy of Magic and train.”

  I shrugged. “It was the academy or prison, not much of a choice.”

  She squeezed my hand. “You have nothing to fear, child. You are not like him. Just by virtue of being here, you have already chosen a different path. Use your magic, Miss Morrow, and use it well.”

  “You believe me…about the sword and the…?”

  “I do.” A look of concern swept over her smooth features. “If we are to keep your secret, however, we shall have to find another way of proving your innocence. We have an investigative team, but you will remain under suspicion, I’m afraid. Not the ideal way to begin your academic career.”

  “I’m not like him, Chancellor,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to ever think I’m capable of the awful things he’s done.”

  She gave a quiet nod. “I understand. You should return to your room now and rest while you can. You have a full schedule on the horizon.”

  “Yes, Chancellor,” I said, rising to my feet. I had no intention of resting, however. I knew exactly what I had to do.

  I had to solve the mystery and clear my name, or I’d end up in prison either way.

  7

  The next morning brought me to the prefect’s door. If anyone could offer insight as to where to start with an investigation of my own, it would be Nerdy McTweed.

  He seemed surprised to see me. “Yes, Miss Morrow? Were you hoping to schedule the rest of your tour?” He took in my haggard appearance. “Is everything quite all right? I suppose you’ve heard about Calvin Motley.”

  I gulped. “Yes, it’s terrible.” Thankfully, Robin hadn’t heard of my alleged involvement yet, or I had no doubt he’d be shutting the door in my face.

  “He was an excellent Master at Arms,” Robin said. “You would have learned a great deal from him.” He frowned. “Are you here to ask about Mr. Motley?”

  “Um, no.” Not exactly. “I have a few questions and I figured you’re the most knowledgeable student here, so…” Inwardly, I hoped flattery worked on guys who wore tweed. I didn’t exactly have experience in this area.

  He cracked the door open and invited me in.

  “I’m working on my term paper for independent study, but I’d be happy to take a break,” Robin said. “How can I help?” He fumbled around the room, straightening knickknacks like he’d never had a guest in his dorm room before. Maybe he hadn’t.

  “I’m trying to understand the different roles in the AMF.” I paused. “What does that stand for again?”

  “Agency of Magical Forces,” Robin said.

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s right. And I know there are four quadrants. So, will we all do the same jobs in the different quadrants? For example, if Dani is a Sentry of the South, will she and I perform the same job, only in different places?”

  “Not necessarily.” He appeared relieved this was a question he could answer.

  “There are different classes of agents, ranging from Class A to Class F,” he explained. His tweed jacket was draped over the back of his chair, and he seemed more relaxed in his own space. “The letters are no reflection on ability. They’re merely a guide as to the category an agent falls under. A Warden of the West, Class A, is responsible for apprehending criminals in the
paranormal world in the Western Quadrant. Class B is responsible for retrieving stolen artifacts or dark objects that have fallen into the wrong hands. Class C involves staving off particularly egregious crimes, such as causing the next apocalypse.”

  Wow. The system was more intricate than I realized. “Do I get to decide which category I want to be in?”

  “Eventually, you’ll choose a track,” he said. “Or the academy will decide which position best suits your skills and encourage you in that direction.”

  “The AMF is global, right?”

  “Yes. Spellslingers is a feeder school to the AMF, but there are others like the Sentinel near Savannah for vampires and The Fae School in Ireland. There are also academies of magic throughout Europe.”

  “What about criminal investigations?” I queried. “Would that be part of Class A’s job description?”

  “Depends on the crime,” he said. He moved to his bookshelf. “This might help you. A Guide to the AMF.” He handed it to me and smiled. “Not all good resources are located in the library, it seems.”

  He offered a toothy smile, and something clicked in my brain.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Robin asked. He retrieved a white cloth from his shirt pocket and began to dust the top edges of his picture frames.

  “I feel like I recognize you from somewhere,” I said. As hard as I tried to make the mental connection, it refused to come.

  “I don’t see how,” Robin said. “You’ve only just arrived here.”

  “It’s been bugging me, though.” I continued to stare at him, hoping to spark my memory.

  Robin turned his back to me and focused on his cleaning. “I have one of those garden variety faces. White male. Bland features. Hard to identify in a line-up. You know the type.”

  “That’s not it.” I began to explore the contents of his room. A framed photograph rested on his bedside table of a young Robin in a seersucker suit flanked by a man and a woman. “Are these your parents?”

  Robin swooped in and removed the photograph from my view. “Yes. Right before they divorced. I keep it as a reminder of happier times.”

  “You don’t want me to look at it?” I couldn’t imagine why. He looked ridiculously adorable in that outfit…

  A light bulb switched on.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said under my breath.

  Robin clutched the framed photograph, eyeing me intently. “What?”

  “You’re him!”

  He slid the frame into a desk drawer and closed it quickly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You do,” I insisted. “You’re Magic Robbie. I remember you now.” And here I’d been resisting the urge to call him ‘Boy Wonder,’ thanks to Batman.

  The bright red of his cheeks gave him away. “I’ve never heard of Magic Robbie.”

  “Liar.” I laughed. “My mom and I used to watch you on that show.” I clapped my hands. “Talented Kids of America.”

  Robin rushed behind me and slammed the door closed. He leaned against it and shot me a pleading look. “You cannot tell anyone. I beg you.”

  “I didn’t know you lived in the human world,” I said.

  “We didn’t,” he replied. “Not really.” His whole body sagged. “My parents were going through a divorce and my mother needed money. She’d always wanted to be a performer, but she gave up her dreams when she got married.”

  “And then tried to live them vicariously through you?”

  He nodded. “She was the ultimate stage mother.”

  I burst into more laughter, remembering a smaller version of Robin performing magic tricks on television.

  “You were the cutest kid,” I said. “We always wondered what happened to you.”

  “My father happened,” he said. “He wasn’t thrilled with the attention in the human world. He worried about our secret getting out, so he threatened to take my mother to court for full custody if she didn’t stop taking me to the human world.”

  I plopped on the edge of his bed. “I’m sorry, Robin. That had to be rough.”

  “I felt like I was crushing my mother’s dreams,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “She’d been unhappy with the divorce, and then suddenly she was happy again with me on television. When it all came to an abrupt end, I felt like it was my fault.”

  “You know it wasn’t, though, right? You were only a little boy. You weren’t in charge.”

  “I know that on an intellectual level,” he said, trailing off. “Marian Chambers is a wonderful witch, albeit with a huge personality, probably too much for my father to handle.”

  If he was anything like Robin, that was understandable. “Wait. Your mother’s name is Marian and she named you Robin?”

  Robin heaved a sigh. “She was a huge Robin Hood fan. After the divorce, she referred to my father as the Sheriff of Nottingham.” He gave me a pointed look. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  “I guess it’s good she didn’t call you Little John. That might’ve made dating difficult.”

  He chuckled, despite his distressed expression.

  “I can’t believe Magic Robbie was an actual wizard. I never would’ve imagined.” If I’d known the truth, maybe I would’ve felt less alone in the world. It wasn’t easy running from your evil father and hiding your true nature from everyone you ever met.

  Robin stepped away from the door. “Please don’t tell anyone. If word ever got out, it could compromise my entire future.”

  “Why?” I queried. “You were so cute.” I pictured young Magic Robbie on stage, producing not one, but ten rabbits out of a hat. The crowd adored him.

  “It’s not about that,” he said. “Technically, we were in violation of several paranormal regulations. It could jeopardize my chances of moving up in rank once I graduate, not to mention the relentless teasing that would be sure to follow.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “That would be a huge hurdle.” I smelled an opportunity. “I’ll tell you what—you help me and I promise to keep your secret.”

  Robin’s throat tightened. “Help you how?”

  I told him about my role in the discovery of Calvin Motley’s body and the missing sword.

  He gaped at me. “Miss Morrow, this must be so distressing for you. A new home and now this.”

  “I need to clear my name before Craig Tipperary drags it through the mud. That means finding out who killed Calvin Motley and stole the sword,” I said. “I don’t know anything about this world. I have no clue where to begin.”

  Robin appeared to mull it over. “All right. I know a place that can help you get started.”

  “A place? Like a private investigator?”

  “No, nothing like that,” he said. “An oracle. They provide leads when there’s nothing to go on. Many agents use oracles.” He puffed out his chest. “I know how to find the local one, and, more importantly, how to appeal to them.”

  “You can’t appeal to them with money?” I asked.

  His brow shot up. “You really don’t know anything about the paranormal world, do you?”

  “My mother was a human,” I said. “Not even a witch human. I mean, she had magical skills as far as I was concerned, but that’s only because she was an excellent doctor.”

  “That’s right. Your father was the magical one,” Robin said.

  I smoothed the plaid comforter. “Yes, but I didn’t know him. Never met him.”

  “That can’t be easy for you. Do you know his name?” Robin asked.

  “No,” I lied. “My mother didn’t think it was necessary to pass along that information.”

  “It must be awful, not really knowing where you came from. My childhood was difficult in its own way, but I knew my parents loved me.”

  “I know enough,” I said, although if I’d really meant it, I wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. It was my interest in my father that had brought me to the library in the middle of the night. If Cato hadn’t thrown me for a giant loop w
ith his revelation, I never would’ve wandered downstairs in a stupor.

  Robin rubbed his hands together. “I have a little time to spare. Why don’t we take a field trip? I can teach you how to make your first offering. It’ll be fun and, more importantly, educational.”

  “Fun?” An offering didn’t sound fun. I conjured up images of demons and puppy sacrifices.

  He grabbed a brown bag from the back of his door and slung it over his shoulder. “Come along, Miss Morrow. You’ll see.”

  “What’s in the handbag?” I asked.

  “It isn’t a handbag,” he sniffed. “It’s a satchel.”

  “Pot-ay-to. Pot-ah-to.”

  “Clearly, it’s pot-ay-to,” Robin said. “No one in any world says po-tah-to.”

  “Have you been everywhere in every world?” I asked pointedly.

  Robin pressed his pouty lips together.

  “So, what’s in the satchel?” I persisted.

  “Nothing yet,” he replied. “That’s what’s on the agenda now. The offering.”

  "Like what, homemade pie?" I had no baking skills to speak of, but I knew a good pie when I saw one.

  "A pie would never make a good offering," Robin said with disdain. "The oracle needs something far less…mundane."

  "An Amazon gift card?" I queried.

  Robin shook his head in disgust. "We must quickly get you out of neophyte status or you'll never survive here. The oracle is an ancient diviner. They have direct access to visions of the gods.”

  I shrugged. "I don't know. I’ve read some of those stories about the gods, and I don't think I would want to share those visions. Swan rape? I mean, come on."

  Robin ignored me. "We need to raid the mixology cupboard."

  "How do we do that? Break in?" I wasn't so sure about breaking in to a room in the academy, not when the whole point of this was to defend my name.

  "I'm a prefect, remember? No breaking and entering required." He opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a key.

  “A key?" I said with mock fascination. "Now that is ancient."

  "Let's go, Morrow. If we hope to achieve anything, then we need to get to the oracle before sundown."

  "Why, what happens at sundown?"