Supernatural Academy: Sophomore Witch

by Ingrid Seymour

  Besides, it reminded me of my unfinished business with Trey’s ashes, which I still kept with me because I was too chicken-shit to decide what to do about them.

  God, being back here was dredging up all the awful feelings I had managed to bury. I felt sick with them. My only solace was to turn my attention to the task at hand. I couldn’t help Trey any longer, but I could help Rowan.

  We turned the corner and there it was. Or, rather, there it used to be.

  I stared at our building, once five stories, now barely one. Where it had stood, a charred brick pile occupied the block, shrubs, and weeds already growing up out of the cracks. I swallowed down the tornado of emotions whirling inside me and tried to focus.

  “Where did the book say the portal was exactly?” I asked Rowan.

  Confused, he glanced down at his phone, zooming in on a photo of one of the many library books he’d obsessed over for the last month and a half. “The southeast corner of this building, but…”

  “But the building is gone. Blamo,” Disha added. “Umm, we may want to call that Uber driver back. What was his name? Carl? Carl!” She glanced over her shoulder, but our driver was long gone. No one hung around in this neighborhood if they didn’t have to.

  Walking forward, I headed to where Rowan had indicated. There was one feature on the southeast corner I remembered, the only distinguishing characteristic this building ever had. Could it be?

  We rounded a seven-foot-high corner and there it was. My Never Owl was still standing.

  The graffiti owl looked no worse for wear despite the fire and destruction of every wall around it. The trippy, psychedelic bird with the word “Never” spreading out on either side like wings stared back at us as if he’d been waiting for our arrival all this time. Round black eyes penetrated my soul, staring on as if asking where I had been.

  I put my hand on the brick surface, which, despite the December chill, was warm to the touch. A throb of magic pulsed against my palm and my cuffs responded.

  “This is it,” I said, placing both hands on the brick. “Grab onto me.”

  Disha and Rowan placed their hands on my shoulders. I channeled the picture Rowan had shown me of the tree-filled park on Hilton Head Island.

  Magic swarmed around us like mosquitos and sucked us away.

  We rematerialized in a woodsy spot, all clinging to the exact same vine-covered trellis Rowan had discovered during his research, a bit of human decor in an otherwise wild preserve.

  It had worked. We were here.

  As I glanced around, the remote forest took shape. Tall trees shaded us from the rapidly-setting sun, while shrubs and vines climbed up their trunks. Ahead of us, a tilting wooden walkway cut through the wilderness, giving us a clue about how to get back to civilization.

  The hike out of the preserve was not our favorite, but I could tell the excitement of getting closer to our mystery was spurring everyone on, including Disha who didn’t complain even once about her shoes hurting her feet. The trees were lovely and peaceful, just as I had imagined Hilton Head to be, though I wouldn’t want to be tromping around here in the dark.

  The anti-mosquito spell was a must. Thank God we had Disha who thought ahead.

  Soon, we were out of the woods, both literally and figuratively. Once his cell service worked, Rowan called a cab.

  One hour later we were standing outside The Tempest bar.

  It was a tiny place, the kind only locals frequent. A peeling paint facade and neon beer signs in the windows enhanced its hometown charm. It was off the beaten track and away from the posh area tourists normally frequented. Above the entrance, the words “The Tempest” were written in gold on a black background. Beside the door, a chalkboard boasted beer specials and “All-You-Can-Eat Fish and Chips,” plus something called “The Titty Twister.”

  Disha pointed at it with a sour expression. “Whatever that is, I do not want it.”

  “We aren’t old enough to drink. Will they even let us in?” I asked.

  “I’ve thought of that,” Rowan said, pulling us around the side, away from view.

  Muttering something in what sounded like Japanese, he waved his hands all around. Suddenly, my face started to tingle. I touched my cheeks in time to feel them vibrating. Glancing up, I saw Disha and Rowan’s faces were following suit.

  In a moment, their features changed. Small wrinkles appeared around Rowan’s eyes and on Disha’s forehead. Gray hairs sprouted in streaks. Skin sagged slightly on their cheeks and jowls.

  “There,” Rowan said, pulling out his phone and using the camera app to examine his handiwork. “I’ve made us twenty years older, at least.”

  Disha gaped, smacking Rowan’s arm. “How dare you?!” She pulled a compact out of her purse to inspect the damage. “This is horrible. Will I really look this bad at forty? No, no. My father knows a wonderful plastic surgeon and a few anti-gravity sessions will help for a while, too.” She groaned as she pulled back loose skin.

  “Calm down,” Rowan said, handing out fake IDs. “It’ll only last a few hours.”

  This did not seem to calm Disha in the slightest. I worried she might curse Rowan and end our mission before it even began.

  “Focus, people,” I said. “We go in and start asking harmless questions. Also, I will put the feelers out to see if I get a magical vibe from anything while we’re in there.” I indicated to my cuffs, before pulling my jacket down over them.

  We walked around to the front, took a deep breath and pushed inside.

  The door thwacked open and everyone turned around to stare at us. It was like a scene in a movie where the record scratched as we walked in.

  There was no record though, only classic rock playing from an old speaker in the corner. The seven or eight patrons, nearly all male plus one haggard-looking female, stared for a moment, but their interest soon returned to their drinks or talking quietly over the din.

  The three of us found a corner table and sat down, staring tensely around the small establishment. The interior was a lot like the exterior—pretty standard with chipped wood tables, creaky chairs and a wooden bar running the length of the opposite wall. A TV on one side showed a golf match, while another played the news. The smell of stale smoke and bleach hung in the air.

  A tired waitress in her mid-forties meandered over and flipped open a small notepad. “What can I get ya?”

  “Three beers, please,” Rowan said, not missing a beat. Disha made a face, but he kept on going. “Hey, do you know if the drummer from the band Scorpions comes in here at all?”

  A confused expression crossed over the waitress’s face. “I don’t think so. I don’t really know who that is. What kind of beer do you want?”

  While Rowan looked at the beer list, I began to feel out the room. Slowly, I became aware of a dim magical pulse from the opposite corner, where a man sat alone with his back to us.

  After the waitress left, I leaned in, talking in a hushed whisper. “Check out my three o’clock. At the table. Definitely getting something from over there.”

  Rowan glanced back while Disha and I tried to appear inconspicuous.

  “Okay, Charlie. This is all you. Go talk to him,” Rowan said.

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Because you have the cuffs and they’ll at least give you a vibe for what the guy is capable of,” he reasoned.

  “And what do I say? ‘Um, hi. Can you do magic?’ I’ll sound like an idiot.”

  Disha shook her head. “Hit on him.”

  “What?!”

  “Just go up and say, ‘Hi, handsome. Come here often?’” She batted flirty eyelashes.

  “Maybe you should go,” I argued.

  She waved me away. “You’re the one with the all-powerful cuffs. If he tries anything funny, just blast him.”

  I waited for Rowan to disagree, but he seemed to give the idea credit.

  “I hate both of you,” I said, standing up.

  Slowly, I walked across the bar, eyeing the bathroom and wanting v
ery much to duck in there and forget this whole thing.

  Instead, I found myself standing at the guy’s table.

  With his back to me, I couldn’t really see his face, but he appeared to be a local, not intent on impressing anyone with his dirty boots, stained jeans, and big black duster jacket. His hair was long and peppered with gray. An unwashed smell wafted from his general direction.

  He didn’t look up as I cleared my throat.

  “Excuse me. Um. Do you come here often?” Lord, I sounded stupid. Disha really should be doing this. Flirting was her superpower.

  I heard him take a big swig of liquid from his glass before answering.

  “Drop the act. I know who you are and what you want. I’ll show you what you came here to see.” He glanced back through dark sunglasses.

  “The question is, little lady,” he said, finishing his drink. “Can you and your friends pay the fee?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  WINTER BREAK

  LATE DECEMBER

  We were in a limousine with a stranger who wanted a “fee.”

  I squirmed in my seat, a ball of energy bouncing inside my chest, ready to be unleashed at the least sign of something weird.

  God! For all we knew, this guy was a mafia boss or a serial killer, and a “fee” would consist of one of our heads on a platter. How stupid were we?

  Buttons glowed everywhere inside the semi-dark interior, most with no function I could discern. The windows were tinted, and a smoked-glass divider separated us from the driver. We sat in the back seat while the guy who we thought was the Scorpions’ drummer sat across from us, a thick chain with a ruby-eyed skull hanging from his neck.

  Seriously. What were we thinking?!

  Except for the limousine, nothing about this man screamed wealth or influence, but then again, the band hadn’t had any big hits since the early nineties, or at least that was what I’d read in the quick glance I gave their Wikipedia page. The man did look like the images we’d seen on the internet, but why the dark sunglasses and the dirty clothes? Maybe he was incognito. He didn’t want fans knowing it was him.

  Still, all of this seemed very odd to say the least.

  I glanced sideways at Rowan, fearing we were going too far to help him in this new quest. We were risking a lot for him, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he would do the same for me. Just like before, he’d climbed into his shell, keeping us at a distance, self-absorbed, obsessed even. Which begged the question, did I really know him? Was there truly a connection between us, something more than mere physical attraction? I pushed the doubts away, attributing them to fear.

  “Something troubling you, little lady?” our “host” asked from behind dark sunglasses. He wore a knowing smile that made me wonder if he’d read my thoughts. He had gone to the Academy, so we knew he could use magic. Mind reading was extremely difficult, but not impossible.

  “What’s your name?” I said in response.

  “You can call me Ze German,” he answered with a half-smile, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

  Disha and I exchanged a look.

  “Where are you taking us?” Disha asked, sounding as if she was also questioning our decision.

  “To my crib,” he said, pushing a button. “Would you all care for a drink?”

  A wooden panel rose out of the way, revealing a small bar stocked with glasses and bottles of liquor like the ones offered in hotels.

  “A whiskey would be great,” Rowan said.

  What?! Was he crazy taking a drink from this guy? It could be poisoned. I elbowed him in the ribs, but he completely ignored me and took the glass Ze German held out to him. He downed it in one gulp, throwing his head back and wincing slightly.

  Ze German’s smile widened a little.

  “How far is your… crib?” Disha asked, squinting through the dark window.

  “We’re actually here,” he said as the limousine slowed, then came to a stop.

  We got out onto a paved driveway at the back of a huge mansion. A five-car garage stood to our left and attached to it was a house bigger than our sophomore dorm. Palm trees with lights shining at their bases surrounded us. Pristine flower beds went around the entire perimeter of the house. To the side, there was a wrap-around wooden deck with lounge chairs and oversized umbrellas. The smell of briny water and the lolling sounds of the ocean rode the air, letting us know this was a waterfront property.

  Without a word, Ze German walked toward an arched doorway. Dim lights shone from a few of the windows, not nearly enough for a house this size. Maybe Ze German wanted a “fee” to help pay for the electric bill, which had to be sizable.

  We walked into a dark foyer, illuminated by a lonely night light connected to one of the outlets. The air smelled stale as if the house had sat boarded up and undisturbed for some time.

  A rapid clicking sound sent my already rattled nerves to the very edge.

  I sidled up to Disha and whispered. “Maybe we should leave.”

  She swallowed audibly as a dark shape appeared around the bend. A throaty growl reverberated around us. Rowan stepped protectively in front of us.

  “Easy, Sting,” Ze German said. “They’re guests.”

  The shape moved closer to Ze German who clicked on a lamp. A large dog stood at his side, its amber-colored eyes fixed on Rowan. Its head was thick with short ears that appeared to have been cut to points. Its coat was dappled, black and brown with a white patch down the chest. Long, black nails stood out starkly against the white, marble floor.

  “Is… is that a Pit Bull?” Disha asked.

  “Of course not!” Ze German said with disapproval. “It’s an Alano Español, bred to be used in bullfights.” I half expected him to give the dog a head ruffle, but the two merely exchanged a glance. This was no lap dog. He was here for protection.

  The dog gave us a last dirty look, then turned and left, nails clicking against the floor once more. With the creature gone, I finally peered around, expecting I don’t know what… a dungeon? Implements of torture?

  Instead, I found myself surrounded by decor that could have belonged in Martha Stewart’s beach home—blue and coral pastel colors on the walls, conch shells and sea stars decorating the entrance table, framed pictures of sandy white beaches hanging on the wall.

  Disha glanced in my direction, a “what the hell” frown wrinkling her forehead, though not as much as a moment ago. It seemed the aging spell was wearing out.

  “Excuse the decor,” Ze German said. “My wife is not right in the head.” He took off his glasses and set them on the table. Milky-white eyes stared at us, making me feel as if he could see down into my very soul despite their murky state. He gave a slight shudder as if he’d just gotten a chill, while I got a chill of my own, trying to reconcile all the pieces of this weird situation.

  “Follow me,” he said, walking deeper into the house.

  Rowan followed without hesitation, leaving us behind. Didn’t he think any of this was ultra-weird? None of it jived.

  Staying open to any warning from my cuffs, I walked behind Disha. We passed through a large, airy living room, fronted by a wall of tall windows. Everything was covered in shadows as if the house was shut off for the season, but what little I could see suggested the design was just as.... beachy.

  Ze German led us into a game room dominated by a pool table, its overhead light shining with a slight hum. A man cave. Framed jerseys, sport posters, a piece of art made out of drumsticks, and a couple of electronic dartboards hung from the walls. A pinball machine sat next to a poker table and, at the end of the long space, tall stools stood in front of a wooden counter and liquor shelving.

  We crossed the entire length of the room, and when Ze German stepped behind the counter, I thought he was about to offer us another drink but, instead, he walked up to the liquor shelf and pushed a button.

  The entire wall slid to the side, revealing a dark, hidden space. I froze, wondering why this guy would guide us here. It didn’t make sense for
him to show us this secret compartment—not unless he didn’t expect us to get out of here alive.

  I reached for Rowan’s arm and pulled him back as he started to follow Ze German down the rabbit hole.

  “We shouldn’t go in there, Rowan. Let’s get out of here while we still can.”

  “I’m not leaving,” he said, glancing back at me as if I’d lost my mind. “I didn’t come all this way just to turn back around.”

  “I agree with Charlie,” Disha whispered vehemently. “This smells like the Academy’s excuse for a tuna steak. Let’s get the hell out.”

  “You’re right. You two should leave, but I’m afraid I have to stay,” Rowan said, gently tugging his arm out of my grip and walking into the dark room.

  You might be dead already, but you can still be killed, you idiot. That’s what I wanted to yell at his retreating figure, but all I could do was grab my head and glance at Disha for answers.

  “Don’t look at me,” she said, lifting up her hands as if to say none of this was her idea in the first place.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, doing my best to stay calm. “You stay here, and I’ll go in.”

  Disha started to protest, but I cut her off.

  “Disha, no one knows we’re here, so if something happens while we’re in there, you can… um, I don’t know… tell people how we died.”

  “Charlie, I—”

  I held up a hand and, gathering all my courage, I followed after Rowan, leaving Disha behind.

  I went in expecting a damp staircase leading to a medieval dungeon, but there were no stairs, just a long, dark hall.

  Conjuring a small witch light in the palm of my hand, I pushed forward until the narrow passage opened up into a space about the size of a racquetball court.

  As I took in the dimly-lit surroundings, I was reminded of that “restricted area” in the American Magical Historical Society back at the Academy, the place where my cuffs had been stored until Georgia Copeland died trying to steal them for Henderson.