Ritual of Magic (Academy of the Damned Book 2) Read online

  Could very well be. I remember back in Oklahoma some of the local churches would host “holy houses” instead of haunted houses, and they would try to get people to learn Bible stories from their displays instead of going to the scary house for a thrill. Even if I weren’t a witch, I would have found them ridiculous. Halloween is just fun.

  I reach to one of the cubbyholes above the writing table of the desk and pull out some papers. It’s a bunch of photographs, but they are so old and faded that some of the details have been lost. There are pictures of the school, as well as young men and women dressed in antebellum and then later Victorian finery.

  I adore these pictures. Just looking at the style of their clothes and hair is endlessly fascinating. I turn the pictures over, but there are no names or specific dates on them. Ugh. Bummer. I would like to know who these early students were. But then one picture stands out.

  “Look!” I say, tapping Jaxon on the arm. I hold the picture up for both of us to look at together. It’s a picture of the front of the La Voisin mansion with five adults standing out front. But what is really shocking is the caption: La Voisin and Founders.

  “Founders!” I say. “These must be the first teachers who founded La Voisin Academy. But why are there five people in the photo? I think I read in the school’s history text last year that there were four founders. One for each coven.”

  “Interesting,” Jaxon says. “Maybe there were four teachers and a substitute.”

  I nod. “Or four teachers and a librarian like we have now, I guess?”

  “Yeah, that makes the most sense,” Jaxon says, taking the photo into his own hands now and turning it over. “Too bad there are no names.”

  Is it weird that it’s supposed to be a picture of the founders and they have a substitute or librarian in it, though? Back in my old schools, no one stood in for other people’s class photos, and this seems like a more historical moment than that. Maybe witches did things differently, though.

  When Jaxon hands the photo back to me, I take a better look, holding it closer to my face, trying to see the details. But the picture didn’t capture the faces of the teachers clearly. I turn the picture over and, as Jaxon indicated, there’s no name or date. I hold the image away from me, almost at arm’s length.

  “Whoa!” I say, shaking Jaxon’s arm. “Notice anything else?”

  “What?” he asks, squinting his eyes at the picture. “What am I looking at?”

  “There’s no hedgerow!” I say. “And look, not a single statue!”

  “Well, the statues were made by a student,” Jaxon says. “Some eccentric guy. So it makes sense they aren’t in the picture.”

  “True...but there’s still no gate. No hedgerow. I wonder why. Did the founders not fear the townspeople like they do today?”

  “Maybe they just hadn’t gotten around to building it yet. And who says they fear the townsfolk today?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Why else do people build fences and lock their doors. Fear, right?”

  “I don’t think Ms. Brewster fears anything,” Jaxon says, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at me.

  “Well, it wouldn’t have been Ms. Brewster, right?” I say, waving the photo. “Someone else must have put the hedgerow up.”

  “Yeah,” Jaxon says. “Of course.”

  The doors to the historical society slam open, and a strong gust of wind blows into the room. Out of instinct, I turn around and push the breeze back out, slamming the doors shut again. Mr. Vaughan and the woman look around in surprise.

  “That was quite shocking,” the woman says. “I saw there was a storm brewing, but it didn’t look that bad.”

  Mr. Vaughan looks at his watch. “Yes, well, I think all of us should head out. It’s closing time, and I’m sure all of you will want to beat the storm home.”

  I do want to beat the storm home, but I didn’t find anything useful yet. I glance at my watch. It’s 3:59, and something tells me Mr. Vaughan isn’t staying open late for my benefit. This blows. I glare at Jaxon without meaning to, but he’s looking at the door so he doesn’t notice.

  It’s kind of his fault I didn’t have more time. All that sightseeing, him trying to prove some point. I clench my teeth and tamp down the anger. He didn’t mean to derail me, and he was the only friend willing to come along. I shouldn’t be mad. Besides, now that I know this information is here, I can always come back.

  I pull my phone out and take a picture of the photograph so I can look at it in more detail later. Then Jaxon and I put everything back where we found it and close the desk.

  “I’ll lock it up later,” the old docent says as he waves us toward the door. “Hurry so I can secure the building.”

  Jaxon and I rush through the door and back outside. As we go down the steps, my heart freezes in my chest. The clouds above are black and thick and heavy. The wind around us is already strong.

  “You should run,” Mr. Vaughan says from where he stands in the doorway.

  I look at him for only a moment, and I cannot help but feel there is more to his warning than simple practicality.

  I don’t have time to ponder it, though. As the wind whips around us, Jaxon grabs my hand, and we run down the sidewalk to the street, heading back to La Voisin and away from any answers.

  Chapter 16

  I can’t believe I let Jaxon convince me to stay in town after I saw the storm was already building. I’m such an idiot.

  Debris and bits of dirt hit my face, blown so hard they hurt. The dust gets in my eyes, making it hard for me to see. As we run, tourists duck into the nearest shops or buildings they can find. Shopkeepers drag in their displays, roll up their awnings, and lock their doors. They even pull their blinds down over their windows once they are safely inside.

  “This way!” Gillian calls out to us as we pass her shop.

  I move toward her, but Jaxon keeps a firm hold on my hand.

  “We got it!” he yells back.

  “Wait!” I say. “Maybe we should ride out the storm here.”

  “Stop wasting time arguing,” Jaxon says. He tugs my arm even harder as we continue to run. “We’re witches. We can handle a little storm.”

  But it’s not a little storm. As if rising to the challenge, the clouds roar as they turn in a circular motion.

  I stop and dig my heels in, jerking Jaxon to a halt. “We need to go back,” I say. “It’s a tornado!”

  “It’s not a tornado,” Jaxon says. “We don’t get tornadoes in New England. We’re closer to the school than downtown anyway. Just keep going.”

  A glance back reveals he’s right. I can’t even see Gillian’s shop anymore; it’s too dark. Jaxon grabs my hand again. We start to run, but I slip, tripping over a bit of debris that has fallen into the road. Jaxon loses his grip on me. I land hard on my knees, catching myself with my hands, and the pavement rips my palms.

  Jaxon looks back at me with fear in his eyes. He knows this was a mistake. The wind is so strong, it pushes him backward. He reaches a hand out to the side of the road, and branches from a nearby shrubbery grow out toward him. The vines wrap around his wrists, and he holds on for dear life as he rises in the air. I call his name, but I don’t think he can hear me, the wind and the churning of the clouds roaring like a freight train toward me.

  It’s happening again. The storm is upon me, and I have to use my powers. But the last time I tried to use my powers to calm a storm, I killed someone.

  I look around to see if anyone is watching, but the street is empty. Still, I know I’m not strong enough to control the storm. That’s why I came to the academy in the first place. But I’m not there yet. I’ve barely learned anything more than the basic tenets of being an air witch.

  “What are you doing?” Jaxon yells. “Help me! Use your powers.”

  “I can’t!” I scream back. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “A little late for that!”

  I’m not sure what’s happening. The clouds aren’t quite
forming a tornado, but they’re still churning, the wind’s strong, and Jaxon is caught in some sort of current pulling him into the air. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like it’s…unnatural.

  I raise my arms and draw the wind toward me. I can handle it. The wind will not be able to attack me. Slowly, Jaxon lowers to the ground as I redirect the wind away from him. Once he is safely back on the ground, I order him to run toward the school.

  “Not without you!” he says as he rushes toward me, his hand outstretched as though to grab me.

  “Get away, you idiot,” I say as I take a step back. “Don’t distract me or we’ll both die.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Jaxon reaches toward the trees and the grass along the side of the road again, and the vines come toward us. One wraps around my torso and drags me across the street.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  Jaxon gives me a wry smile. He wraps his arms around me and grabs a lamp post. The vines entwine around us, securing us in place.

  The wind whips up even stronger now, as though it’s angry we thwarted its attempt at ensnaring us. I raise my arm and create a protective pocket of air around us to keep any debris from causing us harm.

  As the storm moves overhead, I close my eyes. I don’t want to see it. The wind thrashes even though it cannot touch us, and it takes all of my strength to hold up the protective pocket of air. Jaxon holds me tightly, lending me his strength.

  Just when I think I can stand no more, the winds begin to subside. I open my eyes and see the clouds are no longer black and churning, but the city is blanketed in a dark gray. It starts to rain. A heavy, driving rain that is sure to drench us soon as I release the pocket of air.

  “What do we do now?” I ask. “We can’t stand here forever. Someone is sure to see us.”

  “Race you home!” Jaxon says. With a flick of his wrist, the vines release us. Then he looks at me, waiting for me to let go of the air bubble. I roll my eyes and wave my hand, and the bubble pops, sending the rain exploding around us. We are instantly drenched.

  “Last one there is a rotten egg!” he says.

  I shake my head and roll my eyes again. There is no point in trying to rush home now. We’re already as soaked as we will ever be, and the danger has passed. And if I run, I’ll most likely slip and hurt myself. I walk toward the school, grateful we survived the storm.

  Jaxon looks back at me as he runs through the gate, and I can hear him laughing. I’m about to follow him when I feel a shiver run down my spine. Like someone “walked over my grave,” as my grandmother would say.

  I look around, wondering if someone saw us. At my first pass, I see no one, but as my eyes scan a nearby tree line a second time, I see a person standing there. She has dark skin and long black hair, but she’s too tall to be Zoey. Her clothes are a muddy brown, which is why I didn’t see her at first. She nearly blends into the trees, especially in the rain.

  I look back at La Voisin and see the front door is open. Jaxon must have left it open for me, expecting me to be right behind him. I look to the woods and see the girl practically melt into the forest.

  “Hey!” I call out, but I have already lost sight of her.

  I cuss and use a wind current to slam the front door of the mansion shut. Then I pull the gate closed as well, and I run down and across the street, toward the trees. Whoever she is, she saw me. I’m sure of it. Why else would she have been watching me? She must have seen Jaxon and me confront the storm. Use our powers. I need to find her and try to explain away what she saw.

  When I leap from the pavement to the grass, I slip again, this time my knees and palms landing in mud. I cuss again. I was already soaked and in pain; now I’m filthy, too. But I grit my teeth and grunt as I get back to my feet and run into the woods.

  “Hey!” I call again. “Where did you go? I…I just want to talk to you!”

  The rain and clouds have lightened, so I’m able to see even though the forest quickly grows thick. The trees here are tall and broad. Old growth. I wonder if these same trees were standing here during the time of the witch trials? I shake myself and try not to think about that. No reason to scare myself.

  Pine cones and leaves crunch underfoot as I walk, and the coos and chatter of birds and other animals flitter through my surroundings. A bush nearby shakes, and my heart leaps into my throat, but I quickly calm myself when a rabbit runs out and darts off.

  I shake my head and look around, straining in the low light for any sign of the girl I saw. But there’s nothing. If she’s a local, I’m sure she knows her way around the woods far better than I do. She’s probably long gone. I might have scared her. I mean, what would I do if I didn’t know magic existed and I saw a woman trying to control a storm and a guy manipulating bushes? I would probably run off screaming.

  I didn’t hear the girl scream, though. In fact, she didn’t look scared at all. I mean, I guess she could have been. I couldn’t see her face very well. But she didn’t run away when I first saw her. She just sort of…disappeared.

  I keep walking, even though I’m sure I’ll never find her. I find the exercise helps me think, order my thoughts. That storm was…strange. As if it had a mind of its own. It may sound crazy, but I feel as though the storm was out to get me. What if that girl… What if she was controlling the storm?

  I feel almost sick at the thought, but it is possible. From her skin tone and hair, I have to wonder if she was Native American. And what did Ms. Boucher say about the Native American witches here? That they prefer to teach their own, or something like that? That girl could have been another air witch, like me, but far more advanced. One who could control the storm. But if that is the case, I should probably get out of here. What if she just tried to kill me? I don’t know why she would, but something weird is going on…

  And I’m here in the woods all alone.

  I turn to head back to La Voisin but stop in my tracks. Only a few feet away from me stands the Native American girl. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her face in a tight frown.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she says.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice cracks. “I’m new here. I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed in the woods. Is it some sort of truce—”

  “You should not be in Salem,” she says, and I’m taken a little aback by that. La Voisin Academy has been here for well over a hundred years, and European witches have been here since the Mayflower. She can’t really be serious that I don’t have a right to be here, can she?

  “Look,” I say, holding up my hands. “I don’t know who you are or what you are talking about. I am a student at La Voisin and—”

  The girl, who appears to be about my age, darkens her gaze at that, and I swear I can hear a low growling. I think mentioning La Voisin was a wrong move. I take a step back.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just want to talk. I respect your traditions. If I have offended you in some way, let me make amends.”

  “For five hundred years of treachery?” the girl asks.

  I nod. “If that is what it takes,” I say. I might not have been on the Mayflower, and I didn’t commit genocide against this girl or her people, but my ancestors did. They might be long dead, but I’m here now, and I’ll do what I can to help mend whatever strife is between us.

  “Leave Salem,” she says. “Now.”

  “I can’t do that,” I say. “But—”

  The growling grows louder, cutting me off. From behind the girl, a large white wolf steps out. I gasp and step back again as the wolf bares its teeth at me. I look at the girl, and a hint of a smile crosses her lips.

  “C-c-call it off,” I say, my whole body shaking.

  “Cannot,” the girl says. “You should run.”

  I don’t even take a second to think about it before I heed her warning. I turn and flee, running as fast as I can. It’s only after I hear the pounding footfalls of the wolf behind me that I realize how stupid I am. I’ll never outrun a wolf! I scream, though I doubt anyone wil
l hear me or come to my aid.

  I leap over a log, and it takes longer than it should for me to hit the ground on the other side. I try not to stop and think about this since the wolf is not far behind me, but the only way I can possibly hope to get away will be if I fly.

  Only one problem: I don’t know how.

  I shriek as I hear the wolf snarl and snap at my heels. I don’t know how it hasn’t caught me already.

  “Come on,” I grunt to myself as I try to imagine myself lifting off the ground and soaring through the air. But I can’t take even a second to myself to concentrate and communicate with the power inside me. If I falter, my throat will be ripped out in a second.

  I keep running, thankful for the years of athletics I got as a cheerleader. I pump my arms and lift my knees, knowing that every step matters. Then, the ground under me ends. There is a sharp drop as the forest floor angles down toward a creek bed. But I don’t follow the ground. I jump, calling forth a great gust of wind and ordering it to carry me to safety.

  I hold my breath as I see that I’m floating—floating away from the ground, the ledge, the wolf. I look back and see her raise her head and let out a frustrated howl. I chuckle to myself, hardly able to believe I did it. I move my arms through the air, not unlike I’m swimming, as I try to move as far away from the wolf as possible. She disappears into the brush.

  I don’t know how far I float, but too soon, I’m drifting back toward the earth.

  “No...” I say, realizing I wasted my time in the air. I should have been heading back home. Now, I’m even deeper in the woods. I actually have no idea where I am. My heart races, pounding hard, as the ground comes closer.

  “No, no, no!” I say, and I try to summon a gust of wind to lift me up again, but I’m exhausted. It takes far more energy to control the wind than I have now. Only a moment later, I’m on the ground, on my hands and knees, feeling the dirt and leaves on my skin.

  Then I hear the growling again.