Ghoul Problems

by Sarina Dorie

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Happily Ever After for Wicked Witches

  Stars twinkled in the night sky outside the classroom window. Vega sat in her teacher chair pulled up to a student desk to work. She had another hour and a half to outline her lesson plans before she had to return to her shared dorm room to retire for the night. It was eight-thirty p.m., and students would soon be in their dorms for curfew—if they ever managed to shut up about the events of the day.

  The rumors about Charlotte and what she had done would run rampant for days. Such was the case when a student was witness to a murderer’s confession. Not that Vega tried to stop Henrietta. Let the students gossip. They needed to know the dangers, despite the way good-intentioned people like the principal tried to shelter them from the harsh reality of Fae.

  Also, Vega didn’t mind that the students knew she was the brilliant one, not Malisha.

  Her classroom creaked, the floorboards of the old building settling. It almost sounded like a froggy croak, but she suspected it was her imagination.

  Karen Kazmere walked by Vega’s classroom, giving a little wave as she passed. Her pig snout twitched, and she rubbed it.

  Vega rose and ducked her head out the door. “Karen, wait.”

  Her roommate turned. “Yes?”

  Karen was fairly young, probably only ten years older than Vega. When Vega had seen her without the pig snout, she’d been pretty. Not the kind of beauty that was a curse like a yara’s, but Vega couldn’t imagine why she might make herself ugly. Even using her Witchkin sight, Vega couldn’t see through the enchantment.

  She waved a hand at Karen’s face. “What happened to your nose? Why would you glamour yourself to look this way?”

  Karen’s eyebrows furrowed together. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I saw through your glamour. I saw your real face.” Vega wasn’t about to say how. It was better to let Karen think she was skilled enough to see through enchantments.

  “This is my real face.” Karen’s arms tightened around the books she carried.

  Vega searched Karen’s shocked expression for lies. “No, it isn’t. I used a spell to see the enchantment underneath.” Was this feigned ignorance a façade to hide a secret darker than Demeter’s or did Karen truly not know?

  “I was born this way.” She glared daggers of malice at Vega. “My mom has a pig snout. My dad had a pig snout.”

  “But—”

  “You always were an impertinent brat.” Karen turned away and stalked off.

  Could it be that Karen didn’t actually know how pretty she was? She could have been cursed, or her parents might have had reasons of their own to glamour her face?

  It was a mystery that would be left unsolved.

  Vega returned to the lessons at the student desk, but she was unable to concentrate.

  The murder she had solved revolved around secrets.

  It was sad, really, how hard Charlotte had worked in vain to protect her brother. She had murdered to try to keep her ties with the Fae hidden. She had fed the Geamhradh Court information about her peers, and they had gotten away with hurting teenagers for years. Charlotte must have truly loved her brother. If Vega ever grew that close to someone, she wondered whether she would be willing to murder for them.

  Vega didn’t completely feel bad about lying to Charlotte and telling her that the Witchkin Council had her brother in their care. That false hope Vega had given Charlotte had crushed her spirit worse than any other fate the Witchkin Council could have given her as punishment.

  There was only one lie that Vega felt guilty about telling. Slightly guilty. She didn’t believe in dwelling on guilt. It caused wrinkles.

  But in the moments when the memory of that lie wormed its way into her awareness, she couldn’t help dwelling on it. Vega had told Charlotte she could have told her teachers, and they would have helped her. But that wasn’t true.

  No one could have defeated the Fae who had enslaved her brother and killed her family. No one was that powerful. The most Charlotte could have done was align herself with a more powerful Fae—which she’d tried to do. Unfortunately, Charlotte hadn’t realized a rogue gancanagh wasn’t more powerful than an entire court. Charlotte would have needed to bargain with the Raven Court or the Silver Court, but negotiating with them would have had a greater price than the deal she’d made with the gancanagh or the Geamhradh Court.

  That wasn’t the only injustice weighing on Vega. So many girls had died over the years because of what Charlotte had done. Vega had never liked Jessica, but she couldn’t help agreeing with Ms. Suarez and her assessment that the administration hadn’t actually provided tools for her survival. The school had failed to help both girls in their very separate ways. It had failed to protect the innocent like Sherry or those who had been abducted.

  The system itself was broken. Lives had been lost as a result.

  It left Vega feeling empty and cold in the pit of her belly. In the quiet solitude of her classroom, she felt more alone in this world of monsters than ever. There was little out there that could satiate the aching need of hunger inside her. Sex might have. Eating corpses definitely would have. Unfortunately, she couldn’t have either.

  Instead, she was forced to remember that this was a Fae eat Witchkin world. Individuals would be left with no other alternative than to help themselves. Vega didn’t like being a Witchkin, stuck in this role. Even being a Celestor, a powerful witch, she needed more strength and skill. She would have to learn more magic. She needed to become a Merlin-class Celestor. She had to rise to be one of the most powerful Witchkin alive and defeat the Fae.

  But before she could take over the world and change it for the better, she had some lesson plans and new seating charts to work on.

  Vega distinctly heard a croaky creak again. It was a definite ribbit. Something shifted in the closet behind her desk.

  “Please don’t be that blasted Prince Charming,” she muttered.

  Vega dreaded what she was going to find. Siobhan would surely want her frog back if Vega had him. Truly she didn’t want to have to explain his miraculous return—and her supposed ineptness explaining how she had failed to keep his curse away.

  Trying to help students was always more trouble than it was worth.

  Vega threw open the door to the closet.

  Standing there, naked save for a gold crown, was a handsome young man. He looked to be in his late twenties. His skin was covered in downy red and yellow feathers, and his black hair was slightly disheveled. He ribbited again.

  Vega’s gaze flickered up and down washboard abs covered in a fuzz of feathers. She had no idea frog princes could be so . . . enticing. Prince Charming snatched up a book from one of the shelves in the closet and held it in front of himself more modestly.

  “Well, hello. I believe you must be Prince Charming.” Vega quirked an eyebrow upward.

  Just as she had told Siobhan, he was far too old for a fifteen-year-old girl. But not too old for a twenty-four-year-old teacher.

  “Indeed. I am Prince Phoenix of the Bennu Clan of Egypt.” He offered a courtly bow. “You must be the witch who freed me from my curse by throwing me into a fire so I could use my affinity and be born again like my namesake.”

  Ah, so he was part phoenix. Technically Charlotte had been the witch who had freed him, but Vega wasn’t about to give credit to a murderer who had just been executed.

  She batted her eyelashes at him. “You are correct. I am that witch. Your savior.”

  He dropped to one knee and took her hand in a gentlemanly gesture. “For that, I will be forever grateful. I owe a debt to you.”

  “Oh? And how do you intend to show me your appreciation?” Vega grinned. She could think of a few ways. Of course, those ways all involved getting rid of her roommate for one night.

  The man glanced at the blackened heap of wood that had been her desk. “I am not only a prince, but a skilled craftsperson and excel
lent with construction magic. I can fashion you a new desk out of stone to make up for the one you lost. It will rival the beauty and sturdiness of the Karnak Temple.”

  Vega crossed her arms. “That’s very . . . practical.” And incredibly disappointing. “You were a frog prince, right? Isn’t there some part of that cure that requires . . . kissing?”

  His dark skin flushed, and he glanced away shyly. “My dear lady, kissing was the problem that got me in trouble in the first place. I must refrain.”

  “I see. How tragic.” Vega frowned. “I don’t suppose other activities would also renew your curse?”

  “I can hardly fathom what other activities a lady such as yourself could mean.”

  * * *

  The following day, coffee in hand, Vega sipped at her liquid caffeine. She sat in her chair, her new lesson-plan book on her lap. Teenage girls glanced at the black heap of wood where her desk had been.

  Vega still didn’t have new furniture. She could have had a colossal desk built from stone, but a night with Prince Charming had been better.

  As Vega had long known, bad ghouls have more fun.

  Thanks for reading until the end.

  A Preview of

  Tardy Bells

  And

  Witches’ Spells

  BOOK 1

  WOMBY’S SCHOOL FOR WAYWARD WITCHES SERIES

  PROLOGUE

  Oops, I Did It Again

  “Magic is not real,” I said as I waited for my therapist to come in.

  Magic wasn’t real—because if it was—that would mean I was a witch. And if I was a witch, it would mean I had killed two people using my magic. It was better to be normal. It was safer.

  But after everything I had experienced in my sixteen years, it was hard to believe magic didn’t exist.

  The antique clock on the wall ticked away, the rhythm slow and lethargic. Even through the haze of medications, my therapist’s tardiness made me uneasy.

  I hugged a potted orchid in my hands, trying not to damage the white flowers. It grounded me to hold onto something. Another orchid my mom had given Dr. Bach rested on his desk, stretching toward the cheery sunshine beyond the misty veil of curtains.

  My mind dipped into the well of dark memories I wanted to forget. I pushed away unbidden thoughts of my older sister and what had happened to her and my first love, Derrick. I would not think about it. Dr. Bach said what had happened wasn’t my fault.

  I remembered Derrick’s blue eyes, full of sunshine and optimism. The way he used to smile at me banished the cold cynicism of the world and reminded me anything was possible. I imagined his lips on mine, his arms pulling me into the sanctuary of his embrace. The old yearning returned, bittersweet and suffocating in its intensity. Tears filled my eyes.

  The room grew eerily silent. The clock no longer ticked. The lamps in the corners flickered and hummed. Haltingly, the mechanisms of the clock started up again, but this time the beat ticked irregularly.

  Tick-tick-tick-thunk.

  Silence.

  Tick-tick-tick-thunk.

  The second hand spun counterclockwise in spurts. The scents of potted plants and dusty chairs faded under the sharp tingle of ozone and metal. Electricity tingled under my skin.

  “Oh no.” I flinched and looked around, ready for something to explode.

  This was not happening again. It had to be one of my hallucinations. I didn’t want to be crazy, but the alternative was worse.

  Beyond the window, the black silhouettes of birds cast ominous shadows over the interior of the room. Their wings slapped against the glass as if trying to break their way in. I squeezed my eyes closed, my apprehension growing. Those were just birds. They were not evil Fae, I told myself. No one was about to abduct me like they had with my sister.

  “Magic is not real.”

  I said it, but I was wrong.

  CHAPTER ONE

  If You Believe in Fairies, Clap Your Hands

  “You’re a liar, ginger,” Karen Walker said as we walked home from school with her older brother and his friend.

  “No, I’m not!” I said. No one managed to make my blood boil the way the neighbor kids did. Had it been anyone else, I could have ignored them. “And don’t call me that, squib.” I hoped I wasn’t going to get in trouble for saying that word. My older sister said it wasn’t a real swearword, but it felt like one.

  “If you’re a witch, prove it.” A little smirk tugged Peter Walker’s mouth into a sneer. “Do something magical for us.” He nudged his buddy, Jordan Burke, like it was a joke. They were fifth graders, two years older than Karen and me.

  “Maybe I will.” I held my head up high, imagining myself impervious to the sting of insults in my witch hat, black cape and Gryffindor scarf. Even so, a prickle of hurt wormed its way under my armor of striped socks.

  If I was going to prove myself, I would have to hurry before my parents came home from work and stopped me.

  Our two-story brick house was a lush oasis surrounded by green gardens and shady trees in a desert of boring cookie cutter homes with dead grass. Once we’d made it through the gate of the white picket fence, the four of us kids dragged the large trampoline over to the side of the house, under the lower part of the roof where it was only one story. I tried to direct them so they didn’t stomp through Mom’s artful arrangement of flowers planted along the perimeter of the patio, but they didn’t listen. Karen chewed on the end of her brown braid, listening as Jordan whispered to her. He usually didn’t deign to speak to third graders, but today he had walked home with Karen’s older brother, Peter.

  They wouldn’t be sorry they’d come. I was going to show them magic.

  Awkwardly, I held the broom while I climbed up the ladder my dad had left leaning against the roof to fix the satellite dish. My heart hammered in my chest as I shuffled along the angled edge of the roof. I placed the broom between my legs. This would be like all those times I’d successfully practiced flying onto the trampoline before. Only, those times had been from the top of the three-foot brick wall that separated the patio and fire pit from my mom’s garden.

  I gazed down at my audience below. My witch cape billowed around my shoulders and my red hair danced into my eyes. This was the moment I would prove I was a witch. I would fly. Tomorrow they’d be nice to me and Karen would invite me to sit with her and the cool kids during lunch.

  “Hurry up, Clarissa,” Karen said.

  A niggling doubt worked its way into my mind. What if I wasn’t a witch? No, that was impossible. But if I wasn’t, the trampoline would surely break my fall.

  “Chicken,” Peter taunted.

  It occurred to me I might be wrong. I might be a fairy, not a witch. If that was the case, the broom wouldn’t work. I needed to ensure I would fly. I poured the bottle of pixie dust from the amulet around my neck. I just had to have light, happy thoughts like in Peter Pan. Or was that Mary Poppins?

  I closed my eyes and edged closer to the gutter. I had to concentrate. Magic only worked in stories when a witch focused—and when she needed it most. A door slammed somewhere behind me. I tried to ignore the sound. It probably was my sister getting home from her after school club. She would go straight up to her room to do homework like she usually did.

  Another door opened and thudded closed.

  “What are you doing over here, Karen?” my older sister, Missy asked. “Where’s Clarissa?”

  My accomplices chuckled.

  “She’s going to fly.” Karen tee-heed.

  “What are you talking about?” Missy came into view.

  Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she wore a blue and green dress that reminded me of water. She joined them out on the lawn, trampling through Mom’s petunias.

  Great. My sister was about to ruin everything.

  Missy followed their gazes. Her curiosity transformed into anger as she shouted at me. “Oh, no you don’t! You get down, this instant.”

/>   “Okay,” I said. I inched forward, my toes over the gutter. My heart pounded in my ears.

  “No! You go over to that ladder and get down. Right now.” Missy punched Karen in the arm. “You should be ashamed of yourself, encouraging her like that.”

  “Ow!” Karen squealed.

  Missy shoved Peter and rounded on Jordan. “You’re all a bunch of jerks.”

  “It’s okay, Missy,” I called down. “I can fly. I’m going to prove it. Just watch.”

  It didn’t count if no one watched. She had to be looking at me.

  “I told you to climb down. You get off the roof before you break your neck. Now!” Missy pointed to the ladder.

  I tried to explain why I needed to do this, but she talked over me. “Whatever these losers told you, ignore them. You don’t have to prove anything.”

  “Missy, listen,” I said. “You don’t have to worry. I know I can do magic, and I’m going to show you all. I just need you to be quiet so I can concentrate.”

  “If you do this, I’ll tell Mom and Dad.” She started up the ladder.

  “Good,” I said. They would see it was true and stop telling me I lived in a fantasy world.

  “No!” Missy said. “Do NOT do it. Stay where you are. I’ll get you down.”

  “I don’t need your help. You, stay where you are. Don’t come any closer.” Why did she have to embarrass me in front of the neighbors?

  This wasn’t going well. If she tried to stop me, I was going to have to leap off the roof before I was ready. My clammy hands gripped the wood of the broom.

  She reached the top of the ladder. “If you don’t stop, I’ll make sure you get grounded. If you don’t stop I’ll—”

  I inched away from her, slowly, not wanting to trip over the uneven shingles of the roof. “I don’t care.”

  Only, I did. I didn’t want to get in trouble. But this was going to be worth it. No one would punish me once they understood I had powers.

  “Stop being like this.” Missy inched toward me, arms out to balance herself on the incline. “If you do this, I’ll be mean to you. I won’t give you the toys in my Happy Meal. I’ll take back that dress I gave you yesterday.”