Broken Wand Academy

by Marisa Claire

  Episodes 1-4: Wands and Witches

  By Marisa Claire, Jenetta Penner, and David R. Bernstein

  Broken Wand Academy Copyright © 2020 by Torment Publishing. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Broken Wand Academy: Episodes 1-4: Wands and Witches

  Marisa Claire, Jenetta Penner, and David R. Bernstein

  www.tormentpublishing.com

  www.marisaclaire.com

  www.davidrbernstein.com

  www.jenettapenner.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents:

  Episode One: A Curse of Magic

  Episode Two: The Forgotten Sacrifice

  Episode Three: A Hidden Truth

  Episode Four: A Misuse of Time

  Episode One: A Curse of Magic

  Chapter 1

  “You know, community colleges are not known for their quality of men.” Vicky, seated on the stool next to Eric, raised her eyebrows and smiled wickedly.

  I pressed the button to start a fresh pot of coffee and grinned down at her with mock-sweetness. “And since when have you cared about quality?”

  Eric snorted as Vicky threw a plastic creamer pod across the counter at me. It bounced harmlessly off my apron, but exploded when it hit the floor.

  “Dang it, V.” I feigned frustration to make her feel guilty. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do than come in here and make more work for me?” A long lock of my black hair fell out of my ponytail and onto my face.

  Vicky grimaced and sucked air through her teeth, her eyes wide in apology. “Ooh, sorry, Meena. You want me to clean that up?”

  After I tucked my hair behind my ear, I chuckled and waved her off, stooping to grab the split creamer pod and tossing a rag over the spilled liquid. “Nah, it’s fine. We’ll mop the whole place soon anyway, no worries.” Even if they could be pests sometimes, it was nice to have the company on slow days like today. It made the shift go by faster.

  The Quaker Diner was usually mostly empty on Monday afternoons, and my manager didn’t mind Eric and Vicky hanging around and drinking free coffee if they weren’t taking up space that we needed for paying customers. That meant they could hang out pretty much any time except for weekend mornings.

  “I can’t believe you’re starting at Twin Rivers in a few weeks.” Eric gazed across the counter with the same doubtful expression he’d worn the previous twelve times we’d had this conversation. “You have to try and transfer after the first semester. You know it’ll be way more fun with us at City Tech.”

  “Be honest, you just want me there so I can keep cleaning up after you two.” I eyed Vicky accusingly.

  “Hey, you had it coming.” She frowned at me, eyes narrowed. “That was a cheap shot. And also totally not true.” She straightened her posture and lifted her chin, drawing her mouth down and speaking with a comically pretentious tone. “Everyone knows very well that I only cavort with men of the most-highest excellence.”

  Eric’s howling laughter drew stares from the few customers sprinkled around the diner. “Yeah, Xavier the DJ was definitely ‘of the most-highest excellence.’ Now remind me, where did he take you on your first date?” He tilted his head and looked down his nose at Vicky.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, her mouth open as she tried to think of something to say. She sighed and hung her head. “The Suds ‘N Stuff laundromat.”

  I laughed as I wrapped sets of silverware in napkins and slipped little paper rings over the neat bundles. “Oh, V. That is very unfortunate.”

  “What? Apparently they have the best pinball machine in town.”

  “Right, the Simpsons one.” Eric quirked a brow at Vicky. “The one where if you hit the ball under his little gate, Bart moons you and tells you to ‘eat his shorts.’ How romantic.” He continued his interrogation, questioning Vicky like the lawyer he planned to become. “And how did he pay for the pinball games?”

  Vicky pleaded with her eyes, but I held up my hands in innocence, enjoying the show.

  She sighed again. “He knew this trick, where if you press the coin return right before you unplug the change machine, a couple coins pop out when you plug it back in.”

  “And he had you distract the attendant while he did it, yes?”

  She pursed her lips. “Yes.”

  “And did he offer to let you play?”

  Vicky’s nostrils flared. “No.”

  “So, he took you to the laundromat to help him steal quarters and watch him play Simpsons pinball?”

  Vicky deflated. “Well, of course it sounds bad when you put it like that.”

  “One more question, if it pleases the court.” Eric glanced around expectantly, enjoying the little performance.

  I played the judge and nodded my approval. “Very well. Continue, counselor.”

  He grinned at me and turned back to Vicky. “After serving as both accomplice to his petty crime and pinball-cheerleader, he must’ve felt you’d earned a nice meal, no? I should think that would be the least he could do. Now, which one of our little town’s fine dining options did he choose?”

  “Come on, guys, leave me alone.” Vicky alternated between Eric and me helplessly. “I get it. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

  “Answer the question, Victoria!” Eric bared down on her with faux-intensity. “On the night in question, where did he take you to eat?”

  Vicky giggled. She dropped her chin to her chest before looking up and giving a reluctant answer. “His cousin Marcus’ hot dog cart.”

  This time it was I who drew the few Quaker customer’s stares as I erupted with laughter. I could barely breathe, but I managed to squeeze out some words between ragged breaths. “Oh, Vicky. No he did not. A hot dog cart? What is this, Coney Island?”

  Eric spread his arms. “I rest my case.”

  Vicky laughed along with us. “Hey, okay, clearly it wasn’t the best date. But I did get a free hot dog, with all the fixings.” She shrugged. “So not a complete loss.”

  I finally stopped laughing enough to function. “All right, I’m going to make a coffee-round. Don’t make too much trouble, okay?” I grabbed the fresh pot and started toward one of my few customers.

  “We should get going, actually.” Vicky grabbed her purse, and they both stood. “But hit us up when you get off, and we’ll hang, yeah? I think some people are having a big bonfire up by the power lines later. Kind of an end of summer bash before everyone heads off to school, you know?” She leaned in for side hug, careful to not make me spill my coffee. Vicky had a good five inches over my petite 5’ 3” frame.

  “Yeah, uh, maybe. I’ll text you.”

  Vicky frowned. “Meena, you said that the last seven times there’s been a party, and you never end up going.” She gave me a soft smile. “I know you really miss your grandma. I get it. But she would want you to enjoy yourself. It’s the last summer before college. Have some fun while everyone’s still around, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I shrugged. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it, though. I have to bring dinner home for Dad, and there will probably be some dishes and laundry and other stuff to do. I’ll see.”

  “Okay
. Well, promise me you’ll think about it. Chase and his friends are going to be there, and I could definitely use my wing-girl there to help me out.”

  Eric shot Vicky an offended look. “Hey, what about me? I can help you get laid. I’m a good wingman.”

  “Oh good, you’re gonna help me ‘get laid’?” Vicky gave me an exasperated smile. “See what I’m working with here? This is exactly why I need you. Promise you’ll think about it?”

  I chuckled. Eric and Vicky never failed to entertain me. “Okay, I promise. Now get out of here, I got work to do.”

  My friends headed for the door as I made my way toward the man at the end of the counter. He came in every weekday at the same time for a hamburger with fries and a cup of coffee. He was a nice man, and a decent tipper.

  “More coffee, Fred?”

  “No thanks, honey.” He smiled up at me. “I’ll take the check when you get a chance, though.”

  “You got it.”

  I refilled the mugs of a pair of older ladies chatting happily in a booth near the front windows and moved on to the suited man in the next booth, who was talking loudly on his phone. I winced and pointed apologetically at the full coffee pot, and he gave me a curt nod, nudging his half-empty mug toward me.

  I was about to head back toward the counter when I noticed another customer seated all the way in the diner’s back corner, near the bathrooms. He was casually reading the paper as if he had all the time in the world and didn’t care whether I served him or not.

  His presence struck me as odd since I hadn’t seen anyone come in through the front door. Maybe he had slipped in when I bent behind the counter to pick up the spilled creamer? But how had I not noticed him until now? And why hadn’t he tried to get my attention for service?

  I walked cautiously over to him, feeling uneasy. Though he was sitting, I could tell he was tall and lean. He wore a dark brown fedora, a long beige coat, and had one leg crossed over his knee, revealing charcoal-colored slacks and well-worn brown boots. I forced myself to be calm as I approached him, but his unexpected and vaguely ominous presence had already set me on edge.

  “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t see you come in. Would you like some coffee?” I raised the pot and gestured to the upside-down mug on his table.

  He looked up from his paper and fixed me with dark, intense eyes. He flashed me a broad, warm smile, and his intense eyes softened, along with the rest of his features. “Ah, that would be lovely, my dear. Meena, is it?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I briefly panicked at his mention of my name before I realized that my name tag declared the information for all to see. I flipped his mug and filled it with coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Oh, no, that’s quite all right. I prefer it black.”

  “Cool. You need a menu?”

  “No, the coffee’s fine for now.” He took a sip and let out a pleased sigh, then fixed me with his warm gaze once more. “Can I ask you something, Meena?”

  “Uh, sure.” I was wary, but my curiosity overcame my apprehension.

  He cocked his head at me. “You just graduated high school, yes?”

  “I did.” I didn’t love the direction this was headed, and peered around for a way out.

  “College plans?” His tone was friendly and casual, but I was waiting for the lecture to begin.

  “Yes, actually. I’m starting at Twin Rivers Community College in a few weeks.”

  “Community college, huh?” He furrowed his brow. “If you don’t mind my saying, you seem like quite a bright young lady. Surely you could have gained acceptance to somewhere more prestigious, no?”

  And there it was. I was quickly learning that after you graduated high school, everybody suddenly seemed very concerned with what you were doing. It seemed like everyone, even complete strangers, had a judgment or opinion on the matter. And they really had no problem sharing them.

  “Uh, yeah.” I chuckled uncomfortably. “I probably could have. But then I’d have to take out a bunch of loans. My family doesn’t have the money to help out much, and I really don’t want to graduate with a bunch of debt, so I figured I’d just go somewhere affordable for now and work my way through.”

  “Here?” He gestured around the mostly-empty diner.

  I gave another nervous laugh. “Yeah, well, this was my job through high school, so it’s fine for now.”

  He uncrossed his legs and sat up taller in his chair, leaning toward me with a gleam in his eyes. “What if I told you that you could attend one of the most prestigious universities in the country, at absolutely no expense to yourself, and study the most exciting subject in the known universe?”

  I glanced around the room. “Well, I guess that sounds pretty good? But what’s this exciting subject?”

  He glanced around the room before leaning closer to me and speaking quietly.

  “Magic.”

  I hadn’t pegged this guy as a crazy, but looks could be deceiving.

  “Oh, okay.” I gave him a polite smile. “So, did you want to order any food, or do you need another minute?”

  He considered me for a moment, his features contorted in concentration. Then his easy, warm smile returned, and he sat back in his chair, re-crossed his legs, and picked up his paper. “No, I’ll just stick with the coffee.”

  I nodded and turned away, but peeked back over my shoulder as he spoke again.

  “Oh, by the way, you’re all out of toilet paper in the restroom there, miss.” He kept his eyes on his newspaper as he tipped his head in the bathroom’s direction.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I returned the pot of coffee to the burner and grabbed a fresh roll of toilet paper from under the counter. The strange man smiled at me as I passed him on my way to the bathroom, and his expression sent a shiver up my spine.

  I dismissed the strange interaction as a bored, lonely, potentially-unstable man amusing himself. I ran into that enough at the Quaker. But his bizarre statements made me think of my grandmother, nonetheless.

  She shared so many fascinating stories about her life in Korea before she immigrated to the US. When I was a child, she also had told me stories of a secret, magical underworld that existed just beneath the surface of our own world. I wanted more than anything for it to be true. As a kid, it had felt true. I even remember helping her with spells and rituals, burning incense and sage and drawing chalk shapes on the floor of her house. My dad told me she was just very superstitious, but it had always seemed so real to me.

  My dad never liked her talk of magic, probably because it reminded him of Mom. She died when I was young, so I can’t really remember her, but grandma told me she used to help her with the same stuff when she was a little girl. I cut myself with one of my grandmother’s weird ritual knives one day, though, and after that my dad forbid me from helping her. We were still close, but I could tell that it hurt her to not be able to share that side of herself with me.

  Vicky had been right about me not wanting to do anything all summer. Since grandma died, right after graduation, it’s pretty much been a struggle just to get out of bed in the morning, never mind dragging myself to a party with a bunch of people I don’t care about. My dad said the feeling would pass, but that wasn’t exactly reassuring, judging by how he seems to have handled Mom’s death fifteen years ago.

  I was lost in thought as I pushed open the bathroom door, so it took me a moment to realize that I hadn’t actually entered the Quaker Diner bathroom. An exotic smell of herbs and smoke scented the air.

  My mouth hung open as I studied the charming, cozy office. The wooden shelves that adorned the room’s walls were lined with hundreds of books. A colorful, ornately patterned rug covered the floor in front of me, where a hideously plaid-upholstered couch faced a pair of worn leather armchairs across a low wooden coffee table. On the other side of this furniture was a massive wooden desk cluttered by books, loose papers, and several strange vials and beakers.

  Behind the desk was a high-backed leather chair, and I was somehow not surpr
ised to find the strange man from the diner seated in it, gazing at me with an amused smile on his face.

  “Meena! Good, you made it.” He laughed, evidently pleased with himself. “Well, of course you did. I made sure of that, didn’t I?”

  I shook my head, trying to clear away the apparent hallucination. I narrowed my eyes at the strange, smiling man in front of me.

  “Nope.” I turned on my heels and strode back out through the bathroom door. I would have to talk with my manager about the type of disinfectant we were using in the bathrooms because clearly it was way too strong.

  But in place of the Quaker’s familiar confines, with its smells of burnt coffee and bacon grease, I found myself in a grand hallway bustling with young people.

  Most of them seemed reassuringly normal, in attire such as blue jeans and t-shirts. But a few wore robes that billowed out behind them dramatically as they strode through the high-ceilinged, stone passageway. Enormous windows flooded the majestic space with light, and a few panes were decorated with intricate patterns of stained glass that cast warm, colorful shafts of light onto the stone floor. In my apron, open-mouthed, and shocked, my vacant stare elicited a few strange looks from passersby, and I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. I turned back to the office and marched up to the desk, fixing the bizarre man with a menacing stare.

  “What’s going on? What kind of a game are you playing, weirdo? Did you drug me or something? Where are we?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” He smiled sympathetically. “You would have a great many questions.”

  He rose from his stately chair and waved me over to a large window. Outside was a large quad surrounded by magnificent stone buildings complete with spires and enormous stained-glass windows.

  He stood next to me and raised his hands in a grand gesture. “This, my dear, is Broken Wand Academy. It is the finest school of witchcraft in the country, if not the whole world.” He turned to me, beaming with excitement. “And you, Meena Song, have been admitted on a full scholarship.” He grinned at me as I stared back at him, dumbfounded. “Isn’t that wonderful, dear?”