Idols and Enemies (Amplifier 4)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  As she stretched a hand toward the principal, I could see that she wasn’t much taller than Emily. Her wrist and part of her hand was covered in heart-shaped rainbows. A knitted rainbow. “Principal Whitaker.”

  The elder witch blinked, then shook the newcomer’s hand stiffly. “Morana. Thank you for joining us.”

  “Well, you did say I could use it as one of my work-study credits.”

  Principal Whitaker nodded.

  The stranger — Morana, apparently — shifted her gaze to Jack, Emily, and me. “Are these the delinquents?”

  Principal Whitaker cleared her throat disapprovingly, then appeared to hesitate. Though why she wouldn’t rebuke an apprentice in her early twenties, I had no idea.

  Or maybe I did. She needed the apprentice to take care of the artifact. And doing so was dangerous. The suppression spell had already tried to kill us once.

  “Morana Novak,” the elder witch said, introducing her. “Necromancer of the Godfrey coven. Soul seer.”

  Emily stiffened beside me.

  So ‘soul seer’ meant something. Or maybe Emily was reacting to Morana’s coven affiliation. The Godfrey witches oversaw the Pacific Northwest, so I’d heard of them already. Though I’d missed out on cupcakes at the Godfrey bakery when Ember and Capri had taken me into Vancouver. Ember Pine, my lawyer, was Capri’s cousin. I’d been too busy escaping back to where I belonged.

  “Mory,” the soul seer said, cheerfully blunt.

  Principal Whitaker nodded at the correction, then gestured to Emily. “Emily of the Hawes necromancers. A first year.”

  “Oh, hey,” Mory said. “I think we share a great-uncle and a cousin or two. You know necromancers.”

  Emily nodded, blushing.

  I didn’t know what the soul seer meant, but I would ask Emily later.

  “Jack Fairchild.” Principal Whittaker nodded toward Jack on my right. “First-year witch.”

  Jack nodded stiffly, most likely pissed that the elder witch hadn’t introduced him properly. He was a bit rabid about that sort of thing.

  Mory’s grin widened. “Jack! I know your auntie!” She bared her teeth, hooking her fingers into claws.

  Weird.

  “Total badass,” the soul seer continued. “Great tech. I can use my phone anywhere in the Academy, mostly thanks to Jasmine. Not to mention that she seriously helped save our collective asses last year.”

  Jack’s shoulders stiffened. He cast a furtive gaze at Principal Whitaker, whose expression remained neutral.

  Was Mory mimicking fangs and claws? Jack’s aunt was a werewolf? That was really weird. Especially because the Fairchilds were a super-old witch family. And witches like that were really prejudiced. That was one of the reasons Ember had wanted me to join the Godfrey coven. They were different, apparently. They held more power than the Sherwoods, and so were less likely to be intimidated by my unusual family.

  Jack shifted uncomfortably. “You’re from Vancouver?”

  “Yep.” Mory was already looking at me, reaching out her hand to shake, though she hadn’t offered it to anyone else. “Opal, right?”

  I took her hand, even though most Adepts didn’t touch and it was weird that she already knew my name. Her skin was as pale as Emma’s, but a slightly different tone. A huge contrast to mine. I gazed at the knitted rainbows on both her wrists. They were some sort of fingerless mittens.

  “Opal Sherwood,” Principal Whitaker said. “Witch. Dream walker.”

  “Soon to be inducted into the Godfrey coven,” Mory said.

  That was new information. To me. And probably also why the soul seer had known my name ahead of time. Principal Whitaker didn’t seem surprised.

  “You and Olive’s niece, Juniper.” Mory squeezed and then released my hand. “I just ran into Juniper in the hall. She’s second year. She has your invitation. I won’t be there this year. Plus, the necromancers usually clear off before all the witchy events take over.” She shrugged, the beads on her poncho clacking together. “I’ll tell my friend Burgundy to say hi. She’s training to be a healer.”

  “Burgundy?” Principal Whitaker asked, frowning. “A healer of the Godfrey coven?”

  “Yep,” Mory said.

  I had absolutely no idea what the soul seer was talking about, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “I like your mittens,” I said instead.

  Mory blinked. Then she laughed huskily. “Arm warmers! I’ll knit you some. It’s always cold at the Academy.”

  I nodded. “It is.”

  The necromancer threw a look at Principal Whitaker.

  She grimaced. “We’ve had this conversation.”

  “And it’s still cold, especially in the dorms.”

  The elder witch sighed. “The artifact, soul seer?”

  “Right.” Mory brushed her hands together. “Let’s see this bad boy.”

  She wandered over to the tree trunk pedestal, tugging something out of her satchel. Crossing the copper line didn’t seem to affect her. Again. She crouched, placing something on the floor.

  It was … a turtle?

  I blinked, pretty sure I was seeing things. Maybe an illusion masking something else? But blinking didn’t change the view. A small green turtle was trundling around on the black floor.

  Mory dumped her satchel to one side, circling the tree trunk and peering at the artifact. “The ward?” she asked, her tone remote and blunt.

  Principal Whitaker pressed her hand against the wall behind us, murmuring a phrase in a language I didn’t know.

  Smart. You really didn’t want to give access to a room as powerful as this one to first years. Or to any students, really.

  The glimmering shield around the tree trunk disappeared.

  Mory leaned forward, eyes narrowed on the tiny music box. “Well, this is a nasty piece of work.” She glanced over at the grouping of necromancy professors.

  An older woman with short, wavy silver hair spoke up. “The suppression spell is still in place. It’s witch magic, but we can try to —”

  Mory shook her head. “Not a problem, Professor. But I’d shield the kids if I were you.”

  Principal Whitaker murmured another phrase, and magic sprang up all around the room along the copper line — a secondary ward. The other professors muttered in protest, but quieted quickly in response to a glance from the elder witch.

  Smirking, Mory pulled off her poncho, dropping it at her feet. She was wearing a plain black T-shirt underneath. The turtle — if that’s what it actually was — made for the red pile, burrowing into it. The soul seer cupped her hands on either side of the artifact. A necklace strung with gold coins swung slightly forward of her collarbone.

  Another mutter ran through the professors. The youngest of the group appeared to be sketching the scene in her notebook.

  “You see that?” Jack whispered, angling his head and shoulders to speak to me because I was way shorter than him. “The necklace?”

  “And the turtle,” I said just as quietly.

  He nodded.

  Objects of power, based on the reaction from the professors. If not for the copper ward line, I might have been able to feel energy pouring off both.

  Mory flipped the lid on the music box.

  No muttered spell.

  No working out the runes. Or anything.

  She just flicked the latch and the artifact opened.

  As far as I could see. Or feel.

  A dark coil of power spiraled from the tiny music box, rapidly expanding. The same suppression spell that had hit Emily and tried to stop her from accessing the power stored in the artifact. The power that came from the part of her great-grandmother’s soul trapped within it.

  Okay. I had just put the whole ‘soul seer’ thing together.

  The dark shadow stretched up over the necromancer. Then it reached around Mory’s head and shoulders, as if it was planning to smother her.

  Principal Whitaker stiffened.

  Emily moaned, grabbing my and Jack’s hands. Mine was c
overed by the overlong sleeve of my sweater.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mory said sarcastically. “Oh no! I’m so, so scared.”

  The suppression spell lunged for the necromancer. And then it just …

  Disappeared?

  Jack muttered under his breath, “Did you see that?”

  I started to shake my head — but then my brain caught up to what my eyes had already seen. I was pretty sure that Mory’s coin necklace had just eaten the suppression spell. I was also pretty sure that wasn’t necromancy magic. “The necklace?”

  Jack nodded, staring at the soul seer.

  Across the room, the necromancy professors were collectively losing their shit again. Though quietly. Professor Whitaker was smiling. A pleased expression that I’d never seen on the elder witch’s face before.

  Mory didn’t seem at all thrown or hurt. She reached out, appearing to tickle her fingers on the front of the blue-and-gold music box. “Come out, come out. Time to cross over.”

  Reacting to something I couldn’t see at all, Mory stepped back, gazing forward and slightly up as if someone taller than her was standing before her.

  The necromancy professors went quiet.

  Dead quiet.

  Emily shoved herself in front of Jack and me, then tried to shield us with her body.

  “What do you see?” Jack hissed.

  Emily shook her head, swallowing. “Shade? Ghost? She looks like … looks like a picture, a painting, in the study at home.”

  “I’m Mory,” the soul seer said. Then she frowned and snapped her fingers. “Nope. Pay attention to me.” She tilted her head, listening. Then she launched into a rapid, one-sided conversation with the invisible ghost. “A Novak … I have every right. Because it’s time for you to rest.” Another pause. “There is a Hawes necromancer right there …” She pointed at Emily.

  My friend stretched up to her full height, lifting her chin defiantly.

  “Emily. Tell your granny it’s time to rest,” Mory said patiently. “To cross over. She’s been held on this plane for far too long already.”

  “It’s time to rest, Grandmother,” Emily said. Her words were steady and sure. Confident. “Thank you for … protecting us. But you deserve a rest. Now.”

  Mory nodded. “Yes.” She reached out her hands, hovering them over the artifact, palms up.

  An indistinct grayed-out form appeared in front of the soul seer, holding her hands. A woman, standing at least a foot taller than Mory and clothed in a flowing dress. Her hair was a cascade of curls down her back. She was looking at Emily, not the soul seer.

  She looked like Emily but older.

  And more … evil.

  A wicked grin spread across the ghost’s face. She tried to step away from Mory.

  But the soul seer didn’t let her go. She murmured, “Rest now. Rest now. Your great-granddaughter carries your name, your power into the future. You can cross over now.”

  The ghost looked back at Mory, leaning in closer and closer. The soul seer didn’t seem worried or scared.

  The turtle had abandoned the poncho and was now perched on Mory’s booted foot. Its long neck stretched up, gazing at the soul seer.

  Slowly, the ghost just … faded.

  The soul seer didn’t move, didn’t react.

  Something was happening that I couldn’t see, but Emily and the necromancy professors were enraptured.

  Jack glanced at me questioningly.

  I shook my head.

  Then Mory abruptly scooped the turtle up in one hand, grabbing the artifact in the other. She crossed toward us, toward Emily, who still partially shielded Jack and me with her body.

  A murmured command from Principal Whitaker dissipated the ward along the copper line, and Mory offered the music box to Emily. The soul seer was definitely holding a green turtle with white-orbed eyes in her other hand. It wiggled the long claws of its front legs, looking at Emily.

  The head witch opened her mouth to protest.

  Mory interrupted her, speaking to Emily. “This belongs to your family.”

  Emily took the music box. The lid was still raised.

  “Slicing into someone’s soul is wrong,” Mory said firmly. “Just plain wrong. No matter how powerful having that artifact made the Hawes necromancers.”

  Emily nodded. Her shoulders curled forward as she cupped the music box. “I understand.”

  Mory stared at her a moment longer, then said quietly, “I’d hate to have to remind you, Emily. Me or … someone like me.”

  Principal Whitaker clamped her mouth shut.

  Emily bobbed her head, then looked at the music box in her hands instead of holding Mory’s hard gaze.

  Mory glanced at Principal Whitaker, and they exchanged a nod. Then the soul seer collected her satchel and poncho, exiting the null room without another word.

  I didn’t like that Mory had threatened Emily — though I also thought it was creepy that a piece of her great-grandmother’s soul had been harvested like that.

  But I also secretly hoped Mory would still knit me the arm warmers she’d promised.

  The Academy was often cold.

  “You are dismissed,” Principal Whitaker said, striding across the room to speak with the professors who’d grouped around the tree trunk pedestal.

  I glanced at Emily. Her hands were shaking. Jack was watching her with narrowed eyes.

  “Can I show the artifact to Aiden?” I asked. “Because he helped us? I’ll give it back.”

  Emily handed me the music box so quickly that I almost dropped it. As if it hurt her to touch it. “You can keep it for as long as you like.”

  Even pushing up the sleeves of my sweater to fully expose my hands, I couldn’t feel any of the magic the artifact had once held.

  Emily took off toward the door, her head still bowed, shoulders curled. Even though she’d stood straight and tall when talking to the ghost, when placing herself in front of Jack and me.

  Jack took the music box from me. He looked at it all over, grunted, then handed it back.

  “Impressive,” I said.

  “More than impressive.” He watched Emily as she opened the door, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “Let’s get something to eat.”

  Jack glanced over at the gathering of professors. “We’re not supposed to fraternize while we’ve got detention.”

  “Think they’ll notice?” I didn’t.

  Jack grunted, as agreeable as he ever was. He kept pace with me as I headed for the doors.

  Emily was leaning against the wall a few feet beyond the door, which had opened with a brush of my fingers despite seeming to be made out of thick steel. Her hands were stuffed deeply in the pockets of her bejeweled hoodie. The hood was pulled up, but not quite covering all her curls.

  I didn’t have any pockets big enough to carry the music box, so I just held it loose in my hand.

  Emily looked up at us as we approached, her eyes reddened again. She sniffed, then looked down at her feet. “You hate me now,” she muttered miserably. “Because all necromancers turn evil … eventually.”

  “So?” I shrugged.

  Jack grunted, agreeing.

  Emily blinked at us, confused. A wide grin spread over her face, and she pushed herself off the wall. “So … we’re okay?”

  “Yep,” I said.

  Still grinning, she linked her arm through mine, then grabbed Jack the same way.

  We headed up the hall like that. Awkwardly, because Emily was practically bouncing between us.

  “We’ve got a sorcerer to interview at dinner,” I said.

  Jack groaned. “You’re still on that?”

  “I think it’s a good idea, Jack,” Emily said, still smiling.

  He snorted.

  “I’ve got the perfect person lined up,” I said. “She’s top of her class in runes and methodology.”

  “Fine.”

  I flashed Jack a grin over Emily’s head. “Fine.”

  With a sorcerer in our
group, we wouldn’t have had so much trouble with the artifact. Wouldn’t have had to turn to family for help. Wouldn’t have then had to give up the artifact so we didn’t get suspended.

  A shapeshifter would be a good idea as well. Just not a wolf. They traveled in packs.

  It wasn’t that I wasn’t cool with the rules and all. I was just perfectly happy breaking them when anything else was too boring to contemplate.

  Also, I wondered how hard it would be to learn a spell to streak my hair, like Mory’s had been, except maybe in gold and silver …

  Acknowledgments

  For Michael

  Twenty-plus years. And I still love you so much it hurts.

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  With thanks to:

  * * *

  My story & line editor

  Scott Fitzgerald Gray

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  My proofreader

  Pauline Nolet

  * * *

  My beta readers

  Anteia Consorto, Terry Daigle, Gael Fleming, Beth Patterson, and Megan Gayeski Pirajno

  * * *

  For their continual encouragement, feedback, & general advice

  Sara Jo Foley — for spotting that I’d totally spelled Kader’s name wrong throughout Amplifier 2!

  SFWA

  The Office

  The Retreat

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  * * *

  Meghan Ciana Doidge is an award-winning writer based out of Salt Spring Island, British Columbia, Canada. She has a penchant for bloody love stories, superheroes, and the supernatural. She also has a thing for chocolate, potatoes, and cashmere.

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