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

by S. W. Clarke

  I swept my leg out, caught him at the ankle. He nearly toppled before he caught himself, swung around to a crouch farther away. “You know what it was, don’t you?”

  I pressed myself up to a crouch, facing him. Inside me, the Spitfire and Rational Clem contended for who would respond. I lowered my chin, nostrils widening with each breath.

  I wanted to obliterate him. It wasn’t clear to me which of the forces inside me wanted that more, or why.

  How dare he dig into my life. It was none of his business.

  Maybe he’s trying to help, Rational Clem whispered.

  The asshole was helping me? Unlikely. Then again, that could be the Spitfire coloring things.

  Rathmore hadn’t moved. His strong fingers were tented against the floor as he crouched. “Think about what happened to you, Cole. Remember it.”

  I snarled at him, biting his words from the air. Even so, a slap flashed into my mind. The sound of it, the feel of those callused fingers on my cheek. That man’s indifferent face as he did it.

  That man who was my first foster parent.

  Another flash—the moment they held me down. Him and my foster mother, their knees on my legs. Their hands on my arms as I writhed and spat and struggled and snapped.

  “Give her the syringe,” the wife said, almost laughing with the ridiculousness of it—holding a thirteen-year-old down like this.

  Medicine, they called it. They were trying to give me medicine I didn’t want. It tasted like acid and they called it sertraline.

  If I wouldn’t drink it, they would force-feed it to me like a dog. But they didn’t know what kind of bitch they were messing with. We struggled for a minute or two, and I watched it all from across the living room, not even part of my own body. I was an audience to it.

  At the end, they gave up, the two of them covered in my spit. Their eardrums must have been ringing with my screams. They couldn’t make me take it—not unless they wanted a finger bitten off.

  They didn’t try that again.

  “You found it,” Rathmore murmured.

  My eyes flicked open. I hadn’t realized they’d been shut. And my face was wet. “Why the hell would you do that to me?” I breathed.

  He sighed. “Was that moment the first time you felt the Spitfire inside you?”

  I blinked the tears away. “It was the first time I gave it a name.”

  “You allowed it to take control, even though you didn’t know what it was. Didn’t you?”

  I nodded, felt the flames simmer low along my arms.

  “And every time you felt out of control, you relied on it to take care of you. To be the control you needed.”

  I glared at him. “I didn’t sign up for therapy, Rathmore.”

  His eyebrow rose. “Neither did I. Caused a lot more problems for me in the long run.”

  The flames hissed as they doused, and I lifted my hands, gazing at them.

  Rathmore stood, walked to me. When he crouched in front of me, his scent enveloped me. “Remember this, Cole: you aren’t that little girl anymore. You’re a witch, and you have control over your life. The Spitfire belongs to you, not you to it.”

  I lifted my eyes to his, swallowed. The rare softness in his eyes made me uncomfortable. “I hate that you made me do that.”

  “Made you? You could walk out that door any time, Cole.” He straightened, crossed the room to gather his cloak and bag. “Hating me is probably for the best, anyway. I won’t let up on you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You can’t take it personally,” Jericho said as we filed into the dining hall. “His brand is abrasiveness, Clementine.”

  “Really, Jericho?” I shrugged both hands out of my formal robes. Tonight was the induction of the first-years into their houses, and everyone had to sit with the members of their house throughout the ceremony. “His brand?”

  “Yes, he’s like that with everyone.” Jericho took a seat at one of the tables, and I dropped next to him. “It’s just his way. Every professor has their own style for handling an element.”

  Somehow I suspected he and I were getting different versions of Callum Rathmore.

  Across the room, the professors had all seated themselves at a table, their house sashes hung over their shoulders. Rathmore sat with one of the young professors from House Whisper, a striking fae with impossibly violet eyes. She was laughing at something he’d said.

  I picked up the goblet of cider already at my spot. Refreshments had been provided for a toast Umbra would lead before the procession out to the amphitheater. I gestured at the two of them. “What could he possibly have said that was funny?”

  Jericho shrugged. “Could be he’s actually funny in his personal life.”

  “I don’t believe it. She must be the easiest laugh in the fae world.”

  Jericho leaned his folded arms on the table, angled toward me. “They would make a cute couple.”

  I rolled my eyes and took a big swig of cider. “Gag.”

  Jericho laughed. “Then stop staring at them.”

  I slowly sat up, turning around toward Jericho. “I was not staring.”

  Jericho gave me a knowing half-smile. “Sure.”

  I groaned. “You’re wrong about them. Nobody could want a human being that irritating. All I need is for him to teach me how to use my powers, not make me dredge up my whole life’s history.”

  Jericho set a hand around the neck of his goblet, tapped one finger against it. “Are you able to tap into your fire more often?”

  This was supposed to be my unreasonable bitching session, and Jericho was injecting logic and sense into it. Spoilsport. I lifted one shoulder. “I’m not keeping a record.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  I leveled a finger at him. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Yours, if there were sides. I’ve got no love for the guy, but there’s no doubt he’s a brilliant mage. People love his classes because he makes us better fire mages. If you let your dislike for him cloud your ability to learn, what’s the point?”

  More logic. More sense.

  I pressed my face into my goblet to avoid the rightness of what Jericho was saying. He was, of course, touching on a habit I’d grown into from the age of twelve: I found flaws in certain people and inflated them to enormous proportions until I couldn’t even stand to be around that person. Until I couldn’t see a single good quality anymore.

  I had done it with Callum Rathmore, too. Almost immediately.

  It was obvious why. Between the two of us, we could hardly fit all our brooding impulsiveness in the same room. If we were ever friends, one of us would get mad at the other and we’d never speak again.

  Why was I even thinking about this?

  I pointed at Torsten and Eva, who were seated together at a table. “Look. Whisper and Gaia breaking the rules.”

  Jericho chuckled. “Torsten gets away with anything. There’s nobody at the academy who doesn’t indulge him.”

  “And Evanora Whitewillow is at the top of that list.”

  I was happy for Eva. She was touching elbows with Torsten, their heads leaned close. The man seemed wholly engrossed in whatever they were talking about.

  She deserved it. She deserved the world.

  And Torsten? He was my first-year combat instructor. Even I, who tended not to like big, burly men who inhabited their burly manliness knew that Torsten was special.

  “Welcome, students,” Umbra’s voice sounded from the head of the dining hall, “to Shadow’s End yearly induction ceremony.”

  I picked up my goblet in preparation, glanced back at Jericho. “Are you ready for pomp and circumstance, oh brave guardian?”

  Despite my teasing, he lifted his own goblet with an unmistakably wistful smile. “Someday, Clementine, you’ll miss this stuff. And that’ll happen once you can’t get it back.”

  I shook my head, turning back toward Umbra as the room hushed. “This part? Never.”

  Jericho didn’t challenge me. But I c
ould practically feel his attention on Umbra as the ceremony began. He was a fifth-year, and this was his last time participating in an induction.

  When Umbra had finished her speech welcoming the new students to the academy and the first-years stood up to lead us in a procession outside to the amphitheater, I wondered if Jericho would be someone I could tell my secrets to.

  He’d already offered to help me become a guardian. If he knew why I needed to pass the trials—all of which he’d already been through—he might know something about the Boundless Labyrinth and the deceiver’s rod.

  I decided to start with a small secret.

  As we sat in the amphitheater and the students began, one by one, to climb the stage and approach the brazier, I whispered to Jericho, “I’ve decided to become a guardian.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Really?”

  “You can’t tell anyone, though. I don’t want to ruin my reputation.”

  He smirked, staring ahead. “As the fire witch?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But if you enter the trials, you’ll be outed anyway.”

  On stage, sashes were placed over students’ shoulders one by one. “That’s the idea—to shock the hell out of everyone on the day of. The fire witch has joined the game. Maybe it’ll give me an edge.”

  “All right,” he said. “So you’ve got three things to train in: riding, fighting, and stamina. All are crucial, and you’ll need to start a daily regimen tomorrow. And—”

  “Jericho.” I turned to him. “I’m trusting you.”

  He set a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Cole—your secret’s safe with me.”

  We’d see about that. It wouldn’t take long; if he wasn’t good at keeping secrets, it would be out by the time we left the amphitheater.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The following week, much to Milonakis’s shock, I passed her test. It was a simple multiple choice, with questions like: How many books can a student remove from the Room of the Ancients at one time? and What are the room’s hours?

  I was here most days of the week with Aidan. Milonakis had nothing on me. Now I had entry to the Room of the Ancients, and there was nothing she or her spectacles could do about it.

  That day, I started my research. I brought out a stack of history books—anything that discussed the Shade or the Battle of the Ages. I used the note-taking system I’d developed back in high school, handwriting all passages I found even peripherally relevant.

  I wasn’t a brainiac. I wasn’t a bookworm. But when I needed to study, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

  Problem was, I didn’t know Faerish. It was stunning how many old books were written in a language that had exactly zero overlap with English or any of its root languages.

  But I improvised. When the book was in Faerish, I just looked at the pretty pictures. It was in one of those books I found the first illustration of the Shade I’d encountered.

  As I picked off a bite of conjured sweet roll, I turned the page, and there she was. Whoever had drawn her had envisioned her in battle. She was on horseback, and she swung a weapon unlike anything I’d seen. I knew instantly what it was; the components were obvious.

  A three-foot rod connecting two chains. Each chain with a lethal, curved blade at its end like the cousin of a farmer’s scythe.

  The deceiver’s rod. The cursed chain. The thief’s blade.

  I squinted, but I couldn’t make out where the key would fit. Didn’t matter; this had to be the Shade’s sundered weapon.

  Trouble was, I couldn’t read any of the writing around the picture.

  Across the room, Liara Youngblood sat with her back to me, chatting with a friend. Her blue-black hair hung like a gorgeous shielding curtain to halfway down her back. She had gotten to the third guardian trial last year. That fact had never really meant much to me until now.

  “Hey, Liara,” I called.

  She went rigid. Then, with aching slowness, she turned toward me. Her eyes were slitted almost shut. Her mouth had gone as tight as a raspberry.

  I got it: last winter, she’d had half her hair ripped out by wisps. For whatever reason, they’d flown from Umbra’s office to defend me when Liara had done her level best to harass me.

  But I didn’t control the wisps. That much was made obvious when they offered me the liar’s key and I ended up right at the gates of Hell. Still didn’t have an answer for that one.

  Maybe the wisps had once served the Shade. Maybe Umbra kept them under her control here at the academy for that reason. It was my best guess.

  Still, I couldn’t explain why they’d helped me with Liara and then sent me to the Shade in the same week.

  “This is a library,” Liara whispered.

  “An empty one.” I threw a hand out. “It’s almost closing. Nobody’s here but us.”

  “What do you want?”

  I hauled the book I was holding to an upright position, turned it toward her. “Translation services? Not for free, of course. You’ll get as many fae rolls as you could ever want.”

  She made a face. “I can summon those myself. I’m a fae.”

  Hadn’t thought of that.

  I got up, bringing the book with me and crossing to stand in front of her table. The two fae stared up at me like I’d violated a sacred commandment. “I can’t take the book out of the library, and I really want to know what this page says. Tonight.”

  Liara slid both hands to the endcaps of her chair’s arms, gripping them. “That’s not my problem.”

  I gestured to the empty seat between her and her friend. “Is this taken?”

  “No,” the other fae said. Liara shot her a glare, but I was already sitting. “Well, it isn’t,” the fae added.

  I made a little space for my book, laid it out on the table. “That tea smells nice. What is it?”

  Liara set one hand overtop the pot and just stared at me.

  I looked at the other fae, whose green pixie cut suited her so perfectly I felt certain fae must have pioneered the style. “Nice hair.”

  She narrowly managed to avoid smiling. “Thanks.”

  “I’m Clementine. Second-year fire witch—”

  “Stop,” Liara hissed. “We all know what you are. Why do you think it is you’re not wanted here?”

  I sat back in my chair, turning my attention on Liara. She had an icy, coal-hearted beauty, the kind of mystery that could power a lifelong infatuation. Not even a romantic one, necessarily—even just a platonic preoccupation. She was the type you’d never quite be able to put your finger on, but goddamn if it wasn’t worth trying for your whole adult life.

  I turned to the green-haired pixie. “You want me here, right?”

  Her eyes darted between me and Liara. She gave a shrug-nod, which I took as affirmation.

  I jerked a thumb. “See? Majority rules.”

  Liara lifted one shoulder. “So what do you want? Me to translate that book?”

  “That would be nice.” I leaned forward. “But I also have questions. You got to the third guardian trial last year. I was told it’s a labyrinth.”

  “That’s a secret,” she whispered, eyes narrowing again.

  “So you got as far as the labyrinth?”

  She just stared at me.

  “Your hair’s grown back nicely,” I observed, touching my own head. “Here, and—”

  Her jaw twitched. “The library’s about to close.” She picked up her satchel, grabbing her notebook off the table. I could tell the moment she did it I’d gone too far. Insulted her. When she stood and nodded for her friend to leave with her, I sighed and sat back.

  I shouldn’t have commented on her hair.

  My eyes flitted back down to the book. Damn, it was still in Faerish.

  Two days later, Eva translated the book for me. The passage didn’t say anything about the Shade’s weapon. Only that she was a fire witch, that she’d incited the Battle of the Ages in her attempts to become the world’s empress. She ha
d somehow found a path to immortality, a feat never before achieved.

  And still she’d lost the great battle, been banished by a powerful mage to the underworld, where she’d remained ever since.

  When Eva finished translating, she looked up at me. “There’s one part here I didn’t know about.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Even back when this book was written, she’d found ways to send shards of her power into the world during the witching hour. The creatures that abducted you, they’re some of her shards. It’s like the Shade herself abducting you.”

  Well, that sent a shiver right down the old spine. “She can see the world through them?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Eva straightened. “Clem, Aidan told me you’re going to enter the trials.”

  I nodded. “I am.”

  “Good.” She clapped the book shut; it echoed around the library. “Enough reading, then. Reading’s not going to get you into that labyrinth. And stop eating those.”

  I paused with a sweet roll halfway to my mouth. “Why?”

  “We’ve both got to be in the best shape of our lives.”

  “Both of us?” I said through a wad of dough in my cheek.

  “Have you forgotten? I’m entering, too.”

  Of course she was. It had always been her goal to be a guardian, just like her parents.

  “So where do we start?” I asked doughily.

  She stood, grabbing her bag. “In the meadow.”

  When we got to the center of the empty meadow thirty minutes later, I dropped to a seat. Around us, the leaves were beginning to turn ochre and orange—but it was still hot in the direct sun. “Can we at least talk under the shade?”

  “No. We’re jogging.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “Excuse me—jogging?”

  Eva pulled me up and forced me to start running around the circumference of the meadow. She kept easy pace with me.

  “Why,” I breathed, already winded, “do you have to jog? You can just fly.”

  “Flying doesn’t keep my lungs in shape.”

  In that moment I decided I hated her forevermore.

  In my more sane moments when we stopped to take a breather and I doubled over, I was also reminded of what Jericho had told me back in the amphitheater.