Good Witches Don't Cheat (Academy of Shadowed Magic Book 2)

by S. W. Clarke

  None of those things happened. We came to the line of magic and he passed right through it. I felt it slide over me again, a cool breeze that raised goosebumps on my arms.

  We were inside. He must have felt it, too. But if he did, he gave no acknowledgement.

  We had lapsed into silence, which didn’t seem to bother him at all. Around us, the forest passed by at a swifter clip than it would have if I were walking on two healthy legs. He was, after all, almost a foot taller. But he also had a quick stride, and I wondered if it was because he was carrying me—with a broken leg, and the other one probably sprained—or if he just walked this fast all the time.

  When his voice cut into the silence, my chest tightened. “You’re a bareback rider. That’s ambitious.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” I said on the heels of his sentence. “That’s how the horse wants to be ridden.”

  “Your horse talks to you, then.”

  We came out into the meadow in a burst of sunlight, his black hair illuminated. I could tell I was being faintly teased, even if he hadn’t met eyes.

  I squinted reflexively, my gaze returning again to Noir, who stopped here and there to yank at the most succulent patches of grass. “He gets his point across.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, just like any of us: he keeps his distance from anything he doesn’t like. Saddles, bridles, bits.”

  He gave a sharp, humored exhale. “And which of the three spooked him today?”

  I paused. Then, in a low voice, “A squirrel.”

  His ghost of a smile grew into a smirk, his eyes still ahead. He didn’t comment. We had come into the center of the meadow and were now nearly back at the academy.

  Soon, I would be in the infirmary being treated by the fae nurse. As if my body sensed the nearness of relief, the pain rushed back over me, gripping me in that way that made your world smaller, more immediate.

  I gritted my teeth, exhaling through my nose. I had one more question before we arrived.

  “What’s your name?” I asked. “Or I could go on calling you ‘demon.’”

  His lips parted, but he was cut off.

  “Clementine!” Quartermistress Farrow bellowed, followed by the thudding of hooves. Siren cantered up, then slowed to a stop as she drew near. Farrow sat atop, her face a canvas of sweat. “Gods, you’re alive.”

  We stopped. Well, I should say he stopped, and so I did, too, in his arms.

  “I’m fine.” I was feeling flustered; for some reason I felt I needed an explanation for the strange portrait Farrow had ridden in to find us in. But instead of that, I only said to him, “You can put me down now.”

  His eyes flicked to me. “Are you certain about that?”

  Farrow stared down at him, her eyes narrow as a knife’s edge. “And who are you?”

  He lowered me to the ground with enough slowness that I could balance on my one semi-good foot as I came down. Even so, the pain deepened; I clenched my jaw past it. “Callum,” he said up to Farrow once I was standing.

  Recognition passed over Farrow’s face, and a bit of awe with it. Her eyes widened. “Callum Rathmore? Marvelous—I should have recognized you. It’s just we weren’t expecting you here so soon.”

  I’d never seen Farrow’s mood change so fast, or the pitch of her voice—from low to high and airy.

  He gave a single nod.

  Professor of what? I managed to wonder past my pain. And why did Farrow seem so precious about him?

  “Thank the gods you were out here to bring her back, Professor,” Farrow said. “With a break like that, Clementine might have been laid out in the wilds for days.”

  I hopped toward Noir, setting one hand on his neck to balance myself and feeling thoroughly ridiculous and childlike.

  “Clementine, eh?” he said. When I turned, his eyes had darkened on me. “I expect she could have made it back on her own. No fire witch would die that way.”

  My breath caught.

  How did he know what I was?

  “Good eye, Professor. Very good eye,” Farrow said, her awe clearly deepening. Then, to me, “Clementine, let’s get you to Nurse Neverwink. It’s a bad break, but she’s seen worse from you.”

  I was still baffled by how I’d been pegged. Did I have “fire witch” branded on my forehead? Did I smell a certain way?

  Callum Rathmore’s eyes had flashed with humor at Farrow’s comment on my injuries. Now the two of them were focused on me.

  I just shook my head, turned away. For as much as it bugged me that Farrow had let slip all my injuries, it bugged me even more that this man knew things about me. And it bugged me most of all that I didn’t know how he knew things.

  “Come on, Guy,” I said to Noir, beginning a slow, laborious limp toward the infirmary, “time to show that squirrel who’s brave.”

  Noir had just started into motion when Callum came forward. Without preamble, he lifted me onto the horse’s back, where I ended up sitting side-saddle. The whole thing happened with such fluidity, such suddenness, that his hands were already back at his sides by the time my mouth opened.

  I stared down at him, my fist twining in Noir’s mane. “Never touch me without my consent.”

  His dark eyes gleamed in the sunlight. “I’m sorry. Would you like me to help you back down?”

  I turned my face away, toward the academy.

  “Professor,” Farrow said as she brought Siren around, “Maeve will be glad to host you in her office. She’s there now, in fact.”

  In my periphery, Callum turned. “I’ll head there directly.”

  And so Farrow and I rode toward the infirmary, Noir the picture of a gentle horse as we left Callum Rathmore behind in the meadow. As we passed beyond the tree line and were alone, Farrow clucked.

  She only clucked when she disapproved of something—or someone.

  I glanced at her. “What?”

  “I wouldn’t be so frosty with him,” she said at once, the words clearly just waiting for their airtime. “He’s one of the best mages in the world. And he’s to be your most important teacher.”

  “My teacher?” I came a little unbalanced on Noir’s back before I found a better seat.

  “And the academy’s most renowned,” she went on, a girlish tenor now lacing into her voice. Then, her eyes trailing to Noir, her lips formed a straight line. “I think you need a saddle and bit.”

  “No,” I said at once, which pushed aside any thoughts of Callum Rathmore. “He won’t let me ride him that way.”

  “This isn’t the first time Noir’s thrown you, Clementine.”

  “He didn’t throw me—I dismounted.”

  “Oh, was that it?” She sighed as we came to the infirmary and swung herself off Siren, stepping to the ground. “Then I suppose all that needs work is your dismount.”

  She helped me down, and I limped with her support to the door of the infirmary.

  “Will you take Noir back?” I asked her.

  “No, I’ll let him roam the grounds. Surely that horse won’t get into any trouble.”

  I smirked. “I think he’d be less of a problem if he could roam.”

  “That’s one pipe dream I wouldn’t count on,” she said as we came through the doorway.

  “Oh gods.” Nurse Neverwink leapt from her seat, wings fluttering as she saw my face—and my broken leg. “Not again.”

  Six hours, a spate of healing magic, and a helping of tea and biscuits later, I walked out of the infirmary and into the night with a vague, painful limp. It would take a few days to return to normal, but the bone was fully reseamed.

  Around me, the academy lay silent and hardly lit. This had been every summertime evening, when only Farrow and I and a few of the staff had remained here.

  Eva had invited me to spend the months with her in Vienna, but Headmistress Umbra had forbidden me from leaving. It was too dangerous outside the academy, particularly after I’d been followed in the Viennese fae market over winter recess, and what had happened to me at t
he gates of Hell.

  I stopped hard when a clipped meow sounded at my feet. There, seated with his tail curled around him, was my familiar.

  Loki, whose coat was so black the night rendered him invisible. Loki, who clearly sat in silent judgment of my life choices. “You were about to step on me,” he said.

  “I was not.”

  “Wouldn’t have been the first time.”

  “Maybe if you weren’t such a cat,” I said as I stepped around him, “I wouldn’t have to worry about stepping on you.”

  He fell into a trot alongside me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You put yourself directly in front of me.”

  “Maybe if you were more of a cat, you wouldn’t stumble into me.” He paused, studying my walk. “You fell off the horse again, didn’t you?”

  I didn’t answer. We came through the clearing, heading toward my dorm. All I wanted was my bed and one final night of not having to share it with anyone else. Not that I wasn’t fond of Eva, my fae roommate, but I was fonder of living alone when I had the chance.

  And tomorrow, that would change. The school year would begin.

  “Clementine,” Loki said, “are you going to tell her about it?”

  I knew what it was. He knew what it was. And yet I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  We started up the winding steps, circling around the massive oak tree single file, his upright tail leading the way. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Back before I’d known my cat could talk, I had never kept any secrets from him. Now, I’d found, it was impossible; he knew me better than anyone. I sighed. “I don’t see why I have to tell her.”

  “Because,” he said as we came to the landing and he turned around to stare up at me with those vivid green eyes, “she’s going to find out eventually if you keep bringing it out and stroking it every night.”

  I made a face as I opened the door. “That’s dirty.”

  He darted inside ahead of me, and I nearly tripped over him again. “Well, now you’ve made it awkward.”

  I groaned, flopping onto my bed. And as I pulled it out of my pocket and held it up, staring at it once again, I knew Loki was right.

  She would find out about the key one way or another.

  Chapter Three

  On the first day of September, I woke before sunrise. It was my habit now after working every morning in the stables for more than half a year, but today was different.

  I sat up in bed, staring at my uniform laid over my desk chair. The plaid skirt, the white shirt, the blazer.

  I was a second-year. Today was the first day of Shadow’s End Academy’s new year.

  Loki never rose with me; he’d always gotten up later, around mid-morning. And so I walked on aching legs through the silent grounds toward the stables in my work clothes, feeling the fullness of the last morning before over a hundred students would arrive.

  “Clementine!”

  I stopped. I hadn’t heard that voice in three months.

  Don’t reach into your pocket, I instructed myself. Keep your hand off the key.

  When I turned, I was nearly knocked over by a five-foot fae, the scent of vanilla filling my nose. Through her gauzy wings, the world took on a purple hue. “Geez, have you been lifting?” I grunted.

  Evanora Whitewillow laughed, stepping back with her hands seated on my shoulders. “Maybe someone hasn’t been practicing in the meadow.”

  I lowered my chin, eyebrows rising. “Maybe someone’s combat trainer left her high and dry.”

  Her rosebud of a mouth widened, dimples appearing at both sides of her face. I was once again reminded of the picture-perfectness of this fae’s entire being. “So you did miss me.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” I couldn’t help my own grin. “You’re here early, Eva.”

  She waved a hand. “It’s already seven in Vienna.”

  Morning people. I still didn’t consider myself one, and I still viewed them with the same slant-eyed wariness.

  When she hooked her arm through mine and turned us in the direction I’d been headed, she said, “Now look at you. You’re up, too.” Then, “Where are you going?”

  “Stables.”

  “Oh gods,” she said. “Have you been moving manure all summer long?”

  “When you put it that way, I’m reminded of the fact that I shovel horse poop every day. I had managed to forget.” Then, “Now’s the part where you tell me all about your cosmopolitan life in Viennese coffee houses.”

  She laughed. “I did drink a lot of coffee. Oh!” She unslung one arm of her small backpack, reaching inside. I knew it was a cavern in there; the thing had been tangibly manipulated to fit the equivalent of a small car’s worth of stuff. “Mama sent this for you.”

  In her hand was a tray of wrapped, magical cinnamon buns, what I had come to think of as fae rolls. It was the best food I had ever tasted.

  “And,” Eva added, “she says she misses you. Obe and Papa, too.”

  I sighed as she passed the plate into my hand. This kind of thing brought a simultaneous lightness and discomfort into my chest. I wanted and didn’t want this sincerity, this sweetness. Maybe because I didn’t know what to do with it. Maybe because I wasn’t sure if anyone could ever truly miss me.

  I would eat the buns with absolute ferociousness, but it was this moment—the gifting, the sweet message, the exchange of feeling—that I would rather be anywhere else.

  I forced my eyes onto Eva. “Thank you.”

  Not so hard, was it?

  But her attention was already elsewhere. She had stopped, and so I stopped with her, one of my arms still entwined with hers. And she was staring across the clearing toward the entrance to Umbra’s office.

  The door had opened, and a man stepped out.

  “No,” Eva breathed. “It can’t be.”

  I squinted. Then, recognizing him, I sighed even harder. “Oh, that guy.”

  “What is Callum Rathmore doing at the academy?” She leaned close to me and gripped my arm. “Gods, he’s dreamier than I imagined. You can just never really know until you see their walk, you know?”

  I stared at him. “Their walk?”

  “The way a person walks is so important. There’s a certain energy they convey. And he is conveying a lot right now.”

  I watched as he headed away from Umbra’s office, his face now in profile. He did have a certain gravity to his walk, a sense of command. “Someone needs to tell me who this Callum Rathmore is.”

  Eva spun on me. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’d be lying, but sure: I’m joking.”

  “He’s the best fire mage in the world.” She paused. “Well, one of the best for his age. An absolute prodigy.”

  My heart dropped into my gut. Now I understood what Farrow had meant about him being my most important teacher. “I know what he’s doing at the academy,” I murmured.

  “Tell me!” Eva breathed.

  I turned, watching him head toward the Spark common room. My common room. That was where we would be getting our class schedules later today. “He’s going to be a professor here.”

  Her squeal made birds flutter out of the trees and into the sky. And Callum Rathmore stopped, his back to us.

  I spun, clapped my hand over her mouth. “Don’t look at him. He’s going to turn around, but you cannot look at him. Maybe he’ll think it was someone else.”

  “But there’s no one else here,” she said, muffled by my hand.

  “There’s Umbra. And Farrow.”

  “Oh my gods,” Eva said, eyes going wide. “He’s looking.” Her wings started into a furious, excitable motion, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  I was not going to fangirl over this guy. Not after what had happened outside the school grounds. Not when he reminded me so much of a demon I’d seen once in the darkness. I considered telling Eva about my suspicion, but decided against it; I had nothing except a faint, adrenaline-fu
eled memory as my evidence.

  And it was there, as I glanced at Eva, I made a resolution. Maybe an unconscious one, but it solidified inside me all the same.

  I would not let myself be swept away by his famousness or his dreaminess like Quartermistress Farrow and Eva.

  Whoever this Callum Rathmore was, he was just another man. Prodigy or no.

  Eva turned at the entrance to the newly-opened dining hall, watching me limp up the stairs. We had decided to get breakfast together, and I would start late at the stables today. “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “A squirrel happened.”

  “Oh gods.” She opened the door for me when I reached the landing, and we went in together. “Was it rabid?”

  “I wish. That would have been a better story.” Inside the dining hall, steaming platters had been laid out on the serving table—pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash browns. The dining tables were almost empty barring a few teachers and staff. “Worse—it was a cute, fluffy one.”

  “A fluffy squirrel gave you that limp?” Eva picked up a plate and delicately set one boiled egg on it.

  “Dismounting a galloping horse did it, actually.”

  Her eyes went wide on me. “Noir.”

  I picked up my own plate. “The one and only.”

  She stood there with the plate before her, the single egg wobbling. “Are you sure about that horse, Clem?”

  I stopped in front of the grits, shot her my most serious, no-nonsense eye. “Absolutely.” And then I scooped up a downright bitching portion and set the grits on my plate as punctuation.

  I was as sure about that horse as I’d been about Loki. He was mine, and I was his. Now and always.

  She said nothing else on the matter, and that was one thing I’d come to appreciate about Eva: she knew when a battle was lost. She didn’t use needless words at times like these.

  Our food acquired, we sat down across from one another at one of the long, empty tables. The quietness of the place came to me. “Rare to be alone in here for once, isn’t it?”