Ritual of Magic (Academy of the Damned Book 2) Page 17

  “Well, if they had wanted to kill me, they would have, right?” I say, trying to make the quip sound like a joke, but there is no humor in my voice.

  “This is serious,” Ivy says, reaching out and taking my hand. “I think we should tell Ms. Brewster.”

  “No!” I say. “I…I just want a chance to figure out for myself what’s going on.”

  “Why?” Krista asks.

  “Because,” I say, “I’m not sure I really trust everyone around here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ivy asks.

  I pull my blanket back and swing my feet to the floor, feeling energized. “Mr. Stewart wasn’t alone, and there aren’t many adults around here.”

  “You think Ms. Brewster was conspiring with Mr. Stewart…about the statues, or whatever?” Krista asks.

  “Maybe,” I say. “I wish I could remember what they were talking about. But if it wasn’t her, then it had to be Ms. Keen or Ms. Laurent.”

  “You are sure they were female voices?” Ivy asks.

  “Pretty sure,” I confirm. “Except…when I was checking out the hedgerow yesterday, someone stepped on my arm. And it looked like a man’s boot.”

  “What do you mean checking out the hedgerow?” Ivy asks.

  “Just walking along, trying to see inside,” I say. “Someone threw a football toward the bushes, and when I reached inside to grab it, someone stepped on my arm.”

  “Mr. Stewart?” Krista asks. “We’ve seen him in the hedgerow before. And he’s powerful enough that he doesn’t fear the hedge beasts.”

  “Hmm, that is a good theory,” I say. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

  “Umm, maybe because of the giant knot on your head,” Ivy says. Then she pulls my head toward her and moves the hairs at my scalp so she can get a better look at the damage.

  “How bad is it?” I ask.

  “A little swollen still,” she says. “If this happened on movie night, it should have healed more by now. If you are worried about Ms. Keen, we could go to the Danvers emergency room. This is a mundane injury, so we wouldn’t need to worry about them learning anything magical about you.”

  “I ended up hurting myself again,” I say. “Last night. I was smudging the room and had a vision or something. It was like I was in the school back in olden times. Everyone was dressed in old clothes, and there were…slaves, carrying linens and cleaning supplies up the back staircase.”

  The girls go silent.

  “That must have been…awkward,” Ivy says finally. “What did you do? What did you say?”

  “I just apologized and then went down the main staircase,” I say. “I was so out of my element, I didn’t know what to do. There was this one girl, a student, who was like chasing me because she could see I was out of place.” I stop talking before I mention seeing my statue man. “Anyway, when I woke up, I realized I had fallen and hit my head again.”

  “Damn,” Krista says. “No wonder you couldn’t get up for classes this morning, hitting your head twice in the same place.”

  I nod. “That’s why it looks so bad. But I had experiences with concussions when I was in cheer at my old school. There’s really nothing I can do but rest—and not fall down again.”

  “Well, I suppose,” Ivy says. “But if I think you are acting weird at all, I’m going to take you to the emergency room myself.”

  “How will you be able to tell if she’s acting weird?” Krista asks. “She’s always a bit nutty. And what about Mr. Stewart?”

  I’m sure Krista is only teasing, sort of, in her way, but she’s also right.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be alone,” Ivy says, looking at me. “Just in case you have another dizzy spell or stumble across any other secret meetings.”

  I glance across the room at Zoey’s bed. It seems wrong for one of the other girls to sleep there, as if Zoey isn’t coming back. But I do like the idea of having someone around.

  “I’d…like for someone to stay with me, if you two don’t mind,” I say sheepishly.

  Ivy wraps her arms around me and gives me a squeeze. “Of course!” she says. “Don’t worry about it. We can take turns sleeping here.”

  “I was wondering why you had this,” Krista says, reaching to my desk and picking up my smudge stick. “Where did you get it?”

  “Oh, when Jaxon and I were in town together,” I say. “There’s a metaphysical shop called Ritual of Magic. The shopkeeper, Gillian, she was…interesting. She just, like, knew stuff. She knew I’d had bad luck with roommates, so she suggested I burn the sage to clear the bad energy. I was smudging when I had the vision.”

  Krista holds the smudge stick to her nose and inhales. “Smells fantastic. But this isn’t just sage. I can smell cedar and lavender. This is a top-of-the-line stick. For humans, it would probably just make the air smell fresher. But for you, no wonder you had a weird-ass vision.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Maybe that’s why she gave it to me. She knew what would happen.”

  “What?” Ivy asks. “What do you mean? There aren’t any witches that own magic shops in town. That would be inviting trouble. And a human couldn’t ‘know’ things.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, feeling a little bolder. “I’m beginning to doubt some of the things we’ve been taught around here. Gillian was no mere human. She had some sort of sight, I’m sure of it.”

  Ivy and Krista avoid my gaze as they shuffle uncomfortably. I knew before I said it that my words would rattle them, but I’m tired of keeping my suspicions to myself. There’s more going on in the world around us than what we have been told, and I need people I can talk to about this stuff. I’m going to go crazy if I keep it all bottled up.

  “Ms. Brewster only has our best interests at heart,” Ivy finally says.

  “I agree with you there,” I say. “She is amazing, and I appreciate everything she has taught me, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t also keeping some things from us. Maybe she thinks we don’t need to know everything because we are still so young. Maybe she thinks we aren’t ready or she is protecting us. But some things we have been told don’t add up. You girls are smart. You were all raised in witch families. You have to see the discrepancies in what we have been taught and what we have seen with our own eyes.”

  They both shrug in agreement, as if using words to agree would be too much, too committed.

  “But what can we do about it?” Ivy asks. “We only know what we’ve been taught. We have access to the same books in the library as everyone else.”

  “Then we look outside the library,” I say, standing up and grabbing my phone, showing them the picture of the old photograph I took. “Look, this is from when the school first opened, and it says there are five founders, not four.”

  The girls take my phone, and each look at the image for a long time.

  “But those people could be anyone, really,” Ivy says. “They might not be founders at all. Anyone could have labeled that photo.”

  “That’s a good point,” I concede. “See, this is why I need you with me, to ask the questions I haven’t thought of. But even if you’re right, there could be more to this. Why would someone mislabel the photo? And if they didn’t, who is the fifth person?”

  “Where did you find this?” Ivy asks.

  “The Salem Historical Society,” I say. “I didn’t have time to look as much as I wanted, or to go to the library before the storm…and Jaxon and stuff.”

  Ivy hands the phone back to me. “Well, I suppose you’re right. We shouldn’t send you off exploring on your own anymore. We need to go with you. Two, or even three, heads are better than one, right?”

  “Exactly,” I say, starting to feel lightheaded. I get back into the bed. “I need to rest, but if one of you could stay with me, I’d appreciate it.”

  They both decide to stay while I drift to sleep.

  My eyes pop open as soon as I hear it.

  At first, I’m not sure what I heard other than a sound that spike
d my heart rate and made me open my eyes. I lie there, my breathing shallow, and listen. Then I hear it again, a giggling, like the laughter of a child.

  I shake my head. It’s nothing. Probably just some girls in another room staying up past curfew, talking and laughing.

  As I drift back off, I hear the giggling again, this time louder, closer. I start to sit up, but remembering my head, I don’t. I open my eyes and then roll over slowly, letting my head adjust to the new position.

  Ivy’s sleeping in the other bed, her back to me, her long blonde hair slipping over the side of the bed. Was she laughing in her sleep?

  Then I hear the laughter again, louder, as if it is just on the other side of the door.

  “Zoey?” I call out, looking at the door. “Is that you?”

  “Come find me,” a voice whispers back.

  What looks like the shadows of feet on the other side of the door run away.

  I cuss as my heart races, and I toss my blanket back. I know it’s not Zoey. She’s been missing so long; she must know I’m worried, and she hadn’t been much of a prankster.

  I sit up, relieved my head isn’t spinning and that I don’t feel nauseous. The concussion must finally be healing. I slip on some slippers and grab my robe from a nearby chair.

  I shouldn’t be leaving the room alone. Isn’t that the whole reason Ivy is staying here in the first place?

  “Ivy?” I say softly.

  But she doesn’t move.

  Her gentle breathing whispers into the room as I walk over and peek down at her. Damn, she even sleeps beautifully. I reach out and nudge her shoulder, saying her name again, but she doesn’t stir at all.

  A single loud bang on the door sends me jumping in my skin. I put my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

  “Come find me,” the voice whispers again, and I see the feet through the bottom of the door run off again.

  Damn it! I’m legit scared now, but if that didn’t wake Ivy up, nothing will.

  I pinch myself to make sure I’m not having a dream or vision. Once I’m sure this is real, I pull my robe tight around me and crack the door open. At first, I don’t see anything, but then I see the shadow of someone move at the end of the hall. I step out and close the door behind me. As I head down the hall, I realize whoever I saw has slipped down the old servant staircase.

  I gulp as I open the door to the dark, narrow staircase. I don’t see anyone, but I feel like I can…sense something. Are the spirits of the slaves here, watching me? Waiting to see what I do?

  At the bottom of the staircase, footsteps thud and a door creaks open and closed. I force myself to take one step after another down the stairs, holding so tightly to the handrail someone would have to use a crowbar to pry my fingers loose if they wanted to push me.

  When I open the door to the first floor, I’m unsure which way to go until I hear the voice again.

  “Come find me.”

  “You could just stay in one place and talk to me like a normal ghost!” I grumble to the night air. I get no response at that, so I follow the voice to a back door that goes to the lawn.

  The moon is large overhead, though not quite full. The air is chill and the dew on the grass is slightly frosted. I look around and see there are small footprints in the crystalline grass. With one step, I can feel the dew seep into my slippers, but I walk across the lawn anyway.

  The footsteps I’m following are surprisingly clear in the pale light of the moon, but I can’t see who left them, as though they are quite far ahead of me.

  I have to wonder why the…ghost? apparition? spirit? is leading me out here and not talking to me directly. When Giselle was a ghost, she spoke to me. At least she did eventually. It took her a while after she died to build up enough strength or energy to be able to appear human-ish, though, so maybe that is what is happening to Zoey.

  Tears sting my eyes and pinch my throat at the thought. But if Zoey is dead, she might not be strong enough to speak to me yet, so she is leaving me clues. And as much as I don’t want to think she’s beyond saving, I can’t ignore her if she’s trying to reach me from the other side.

  Finally, the footprints end, and I look up to see where I am.

  I stumble back when I see that I’m at the grotto.

  Why would Zoey lead me here?

  Chapter 20

  Can I even go any farther? I haven’t found any answers here in the grotto. Only more questions. I’m only led deeper and deeper down a path of confusion and distrust.

  And for what? I’m no closer to finding out what is going on around here than I was the first day.

  Maybe there’s no mystery at all. I mean, it’s crazy to think the statues hold some big secret. It would be better if I could just focus on my studies and become the best witch I can. In only two more years, I’ll be out of here. I can leave this place, forget Turkey Hollow, and start over on my own terms.

  I like the sound of that. Just keep my head down for the next two years and then get the hell outta Dodge.

  I turn my back on the grotto, but a gust of wind blows out so strong my hair whips around me, and I hold myself tight.

  “Okay,” I say, facing the grotto again. “But you better have some answers for me!”

  I step into the grotto, holding my breath. The light from the moon is shining through the open ceiling, illuminating the stone room. Wet footprints of the ghost I was following lead to the statue of the unknown man. The one I saw in my dream. But the spirit that left the footprints is gone, and the prints fade as they dry.

  I take a few cautious steps toward the statue, and something crinkles. I look down and see a piece of paper. I sigh as I pick it up, not looking forward to having to decipher another riddle. But when I open it, I can read it perfectly, even though it’s written in runes.

  “Help me, help Zoey.”

  At this, rage bubbles up inside me.

  “You son of a bitch!” I push at the statue, wishing I could shove it off its pedestal and smash it to the ground. “If you know where Zoey is, you need to tell me!”

  But there is no reply.

  “I hate you,” I yell. “Why are you doing this to me? Why don’t you leave me and my friends alone?”

  I try to shove the statue again, but it’s hopeless. It must weigh a million tons. I step back and summon a great wind. I wave my arms to gather the air around me, swirling and spinning around me, gaining strength and speed.

  “Tell me where Zoey is or I’ll smash you to a million pieces!” I have to yell over the roar of the growing wind.

  The air is spinning so fast, sparks of lightning flash through it, the sound of thunder ricocheting off the walls of the grotto. Still, the statue is motionless.

  “I warned you,” I say, and I let my anger take over.

  The wind lifts me up into the air, and I gather more around me, faster and faster, so fast it’s as though I’m inside one of those tornados that usually fill me with dread. From my new vantage point above the statue, staring down at him, I would say he looks afraid. I have no idea if his expression has really changed or it only looks that way in the sparks of lightning that illuminate his face. I don’t really care. I’m tired of being dragged around by a statue.

  I clap my hands together, sending the full force of my windstorm into the chest of the statue. What I don’t expect is for the wind to bounce off the statue and back into me.

  I’m hurled across the grotto, my back slamming into the wall before I fall facedown to the ground.

  I gasp and groan, trying to regain the breath that was knocked out of me. There are small pieces of stone all around me, but when I look up, the statue man is still in perfect condition.

  “You really are a son of a bitch,” I mumble hoarsely as I get to my knees.

  I look around and see that I did quite a bit of damage to the grotto, knocking several stones loose and breaking the pedestal that didn’t have a statue on it nearly in half. How there is no damage to the statue man is a mystery to me. It shoul
dn’t be possible. I shake my head as I turn my back to him and hug my knees to my chest, my anger replaced with despair. A few tears escape my eyes as I lay my head on my arms.

  “I just want to help Zoey,” I say softly. “I just want to keep my friends safe.”

  I sniff and feel a comforting hand on my shoulder. I look up, expecting that someone from the house must have heard the wind and seen the lightning and come running. Perhaps Ms. Brewster.

  But when I look up, no one is there.

  I look toward the statue and see him holding his hand out to me invitingly like he always is.

  “No,” I say to him as I get to my feet. “I’m finished with the games, and I’m finished with you.”

  “Madison!” Mama says on the other end of the line. “Oh, baby, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

  “Yeah,” I say, though with considerably less excitement. “You, too.”

  “I’m so happy to hear from you,” she says. “How are you? How’s school?”

  “It’s okay,” I say, wishing I had planned my words better.

  I’m not sure why I am calling her. I just…need my mama, I guess. Ivy is in class, but Krista is sitting on Zoey’s bed doing some homework, her headphones over her ears so she’s not listening in on my conversation.

  “Just okay?” Mama asks. “You must be learning so much.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a lot to take in,” I say. “But I was actually wondering how you are doing.”

  “I’m doing real good, baby,” she says. “I’m hoping to get some day passes to leave soon. Maybe I can come to the school, or you could come back here and we can go to IHOP.”

  “That sounds great,” I say, and I mean it. “I can’t remember the last time I had a big stack of pancakes.”

  “Well, I’m working real hard to make it happen, I promise,” she says, and then the line fills with silence, as if she’s as unsure of what to say as I am. Finally, she says, “Are you sure everything is all right, honey? You sound… Well, to be frank, you sound like you are about to cry.”

  “Dang, Mama,” I say, unable to hold back the tears. “How do you do that?”