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

  My wound pulses, and I can’t help but hold it. I know her words are not meant to be threatening. I have acted impulsively in the past and paid the price for it. She’s just warning me away before I end up hurt again. But still, I can’t help but feel something sinister in her words. As if there isn’t just a chance I will get hurt if I pursue this, but a certainty.

  I look around at the faces in the room. Jaxon, Ivy, and Krista are all avoiding my gaze, as though they wish they could melt into the floor. Ms. Laurent is preening, glad I’m being put in my place. I sure would like to know what’s stuck in her craw.

  Ms. Brewster, as always, shows almost no emotion on her face. She’s simply stating the facts. It’s her job to find Zoey, not mine, and she wants me to respect that.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I finally say, dropping my head.

  “Now, make the rounds to your classes and find out what assignments you’ve missed while you’ve been ill,” Ms. Brewster says. “You don’t want to fall behind again.”

  “No, ma’am,” I say, and I turn to leave the room.

  My friends follow me out, but as Jaxon closes the door, I can hear Ms. Laurent’s voice.

  “About time you told that brat what was what,” she says.

  I clench my fists as I continue to walk away. I can’t hear Ms. Brewster’s reply.

  Krista’s warm hand comes to rest on my shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be okay. Zoey will turn up.”

  Some of my anger melts away, and despair take its place as my eyes water. “It’s been four days. She wouldn’t be gone that long on her own.”

  Ivy comes up beside me. “What do you want to do?”

  “Can we try scrying?” I ask. “It worked for Giselle. I know Ms. Brewster said she already tried that, but it would really put my mind at ease.”

  They all look at each other and then shrug.

  “Sure,” Ivy finally says. “Why not? It can’t hurt. It won’t be getting in anyone’s way. At least we’ll be able to find out where in the world she is.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a sigh.

  Once we arrive back at my room, I prepare to do the scrying spell like we did with Giselle.

  Krista leans over the map of Danvers we used before, but the crystal just sways over it, not stopping.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  She pulls the crystal away and palms it. “It means she’s not in the city.”

  “That…that’s okay,” I say. “We are witches and can travel through mirror portals. It’s not surprising that whoever took her has left Danvers.” I go to my desk and pick up one of my textbooks. I find a map of America and lay it on the floor. “Try again.”

  Krista holds the crystal pendulum over the map, but again, the crystal doesn’t stop over any one place.

  I cuss and find a map of the world.

  “Madison—” Krista starts to say.

  “Just do it,” I tell her.

  She grimaces but leans over the map and concentrates. She moves the pendulum over the entire map, the crystal swinging back and forth. Krista is focusing so hard, I see sweat beading on her forehead.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” I mumble as the crystal hovers over the map. “Where are you?”

  I see a drop of blood fall onto the map. At first, I think it is a sign, but when I look up, I see that Krista’s nose is bleeding.

  “Krista—”

  “Shut up,” she hisses.

  I look at Jaxon and Ivy, but they say nothing, just watch silently.

  I go back to the map. We have to find her. Krista can’t be suffering for nothing.

  After traversing the map at least twice, Krista finally gasps and drops the pendulum.

  “I’m sorry,” she says between pants. “She’s not there.”

  Ivy runs to the bathroom and comes back with some tissue for Krista’s nose.

  “Not where?” I ask.

  “Anywhere,” Krista says. “She’s not anywhere. She’s just…gone.”

  “But how is that possible?” I ask. “She…she’s not…dead, is she?”

  “That’s the most likely explanation,” Jaxon says gently, but I refuse to believe him.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “That can’t be it. Giselle died, but scrying still led us to her body.”

  “Giselle’s spirit was still here, though,” Ivy says. “Her ghost.”

  “So, you are saying that Zoey is dead but her spirit has already passed on?” I ask. “That…that’s not possible. That’s horrible! No! She can’t be dead! You’re wrong!”

  Jaxon takes me in his arms and holds me tight as I begin to cry.

  “No! No!” I say over and over again as if it will make a difference. I don’t think I can survive this grief, this crippling pain in my chest. It’s all too much.

  I can’t sleep.

  Once again, my roommate is gone. I lay in my bed on my side, staring at Zoey’s side of the room, her perfectly made bed, her fluffy pillows, the posters on her wall. Everything just as she left it the last time I saw her.

  I look at my phone and the missed calls from her, and my stomach clenches. Tears fall from my eyes onto my pillow. She called me. She needed me. She was in danger, but I ignored her.

  Was she scared? In pain? Could I have stopped whatever happened to her? I don’t know. I’ll never know.

  I sit up in the dark room, only a bit of moonlight and some light from a streetlamp off of school grounds illuminating the room.

  “Are you here?” I ask quietly.

  When Giselle died, her spirit lingered, and she was able to communicate with me when she wanted to. I was afraid of her at first. Who wouldn’t be? But I’m not scared of Zoey. I want her to be here. To reach out to me. To let me know who hurt her. I need to make sure that whoever did this is caught and dealt with. I can’t let the person hurt more innocent children.

  But there’s no response.

  I stand and go to my closet. I saw Giselle often in mirrors, both in my closet and in the bathroom. I’ve always known that mirrors are portals for traveling, but I didn’t realize until I saw Giselle that they could also be portals to another realm. The spirit realm. Something I have had to keep to myself.

  Supposedly, witches can’t contact the spirit realm. There are no psychics or mediums. But I’m not convinced. I don’t know why someone like Ms. Brewster would lie about that, but what I’m being told here at La Voisin about witches and our powers isn’t adding up.

  I open the door to my closet and lightly touch the mirror.

  “Show me Zoey,” I whisper.

  The mirror ripples as if it’s working, and my heart races. Maybe I’m about to get answers.

  But when the rippling stops, I see nothing but darkness.

  I whack the palm of my hand against the mirror and then slam the door shut. I go back to my bed and wrap myself in my blankets.

  I’ll never be able to sleep. I slept for three days already. I can’t believe that I went out partying and then slept for three days while Zoey was missing. I hate myself for being so selfish.

  Why do other people always end up paying for my mistakes?

  Chapter 9

  I don’t know why I smile when Justin enters the room. This is hardly a happy occasion—a one-on-one counseling session—and I hardly know him. It should be weird. Awkward. Uncomfortable, right?

  Justin smiles as well as he closes the door and comes to me with his hand outstretched for a shake.

  “Good to see you again,” he says.

  “Likewise,” I say.

  He motions to the blue overstuffed chair while he takes a seat in a rolling desk chair. I smooth my skirt under me as I sit, bounce a couple of times to get a feel for how soft the cushion is, and then let myself sink into it.

  “Yeah, it’s a little too comfortable, isn’t it?” Justin says.

  I stretch a little. “I could take a nap here.”

  “Tired?” he asks, opening his notebook and getting his pen ready, then I remember that we aren’
t two friends having coffee. He’s a social worker. Not a psychologist exactly, but similar, I guess. He’s someone I’m supposed to talk through my problems with to get whatever help or support I need.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah,” I say. “My roommate sort of disappeared, so I’ve been having a hard time sleeping.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He takes a note. “What do you mean disappeared?”

  “Just poof.” I make a popping motion with my hands. “I went out with some friends last Friday night, and when I woke up the next morning, she was gone.”

  “By choice?” he asks. “Did she just go home?”

  “She didn’t have a home,” I say. “Her dad died, leaving her an orphan. She’d only been at the school a few weeks. No one seems to know what happened to her.”

  “Are the police involved?” he asks.

  I clench my teeth. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t exactly want to tell the truth, either. “The...authorities know.” I really don’t want to bad-mouth La Voisin or Ms. Brewster, so my voice kind of dies away as I search for the right words. I probably should have rehearsed this before I came. “They say they are doing all they can.”

  “But you have doubts?” Justin helpfully suggests.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “What kind of school is it?” he asks. “Your mom has been rather vague about where you are.”

  “Just a private school,” I say. “A boarding school, I guess you could say. For people who don’t have anywhere else to go to get support for the things they need.”

  “Are you enjoying it?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say so quickly I surprise myself. After all the weird shit that’s gone on, there have been times I thought I should leave. But I really do like living there. I like my friends. I like learning more about my powers. I like being away from Mama.

  “So, you are happy there, except for your friend going missing,” he says.

  “Well, there have been a few other things to happen...but I think my life there is still better than living at home with Mama.”

  He makes another note. Then says, “How do you feel about that?”

  I shrug. “Okay, I guess. I mean, I always knew my home life was messed up. I just thought I would suck it up and get through it until I left for college. I ended up leaving earlier than I planned, though.”

  “So, in general, your life is pretty stable?” he says. “You’re happy. Safe. Getting your education. You have friends and support.”

  I nod along. “Yeah. Things are okay.”

  He puts down his pen. “So what brought you in today?”

  “What do you mean?” Why are my palms sweating? I wipe them on the thighs of my jeans. “You said I could come in any time and talk.”

  “Of course.” He nods as if to further confirm. “I didn’t mean to insinuate you weren’t welcome. But people don’t usually book a counseling session for no reason. There’s usually some sort of crisis or precipitating event. I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. What prompted you to finally make that call?”

  “My friend is missing,” I say. “I told you.”

  “Oh.” He lifts his pen again and jots something in his notes. “Geez, sorry. I’m still really bad at this. Sure, let’s talk more about that. This is bothering you quite a bit, then.”

  I shift in my seat. The super soft cushiony chair that was cozy before now feels as though it’s sucked me in, trapped me.

  “Yeah,” I say. “That’s why I mentioned it. Why? What did you think I was here for?”

  “I assumed it would be about your mother,” he says, now shifting in his own chair. “But you know what they say when you assume.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say, a little annoyed.

  “So, let’s talk about that,” he says. “You knew the missing girl for a couple of weeks?”

  I nod.

  “But you grew pretty close in that time?”

  “Well, we are—were—roommates,” I say. “I guess I sort of felt responsible for her.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, she was younger than me.” I spread my hands. “Only twelve. I mean thirteen. She wouldn’t like it if I got her age wrong. But she was a small thirteen.”

  “You’re smiling,” Justin says.

  “What?”

  “Just a little bit,” he says, motioning to me with his pen. “The edge of your lip there was up when you spoke about her.”

  I touch my cheek. “Yeah, I guess. Sort of like a little sister. The first night, I held her while she cried herself to sleep. She was missing her dad.”

  “That must have been hard for both of you,” he says. “She just lost her dad, and you being separated from your mom. And both of you lost the other parent when you were even younger I guess.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We seemed to have a lot in common. She was way smarter than me, though.”

  “It seems the two of you got pretty close in a short amount of time,” he says. “Do you do that a lot? Form attachments quickly?”

  I open my mouth to say no, but then I think about Krista and Ivy and Jaxon. We became pretty good friends fast, too. I’d also trusted Ms. Boucher.

  “I suppose...” I admit.

  “Do you have a lot of friends?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “Both here in Turkey Hollow and at my new school, I only ever had a few close friends.”

  “But the friendships you do have tend to form quickly,” he confirms. “And are rather strong?”

  “Is that...bad?”

  “Not necessarily,” he says, making another note.

  I find myself shifting forward in my seat, but I can’t see what he’s written, and now I’m starting to get upset about this note-taking business.

  “A lot of kids of addicts have trouble forming attachments,” he continues. “After their sense of trust is broken at a young age, and often more than once, they can have difficulties making friends. You don’t have that problem. That’s good. There’s nothing wrong with having a limited number of close friends.”

  “I still seem to sense a but coming.”

  He chuckles. “Don’t burn yourself out. You say you felt responsible for this girl, but you only just met her. And even if you were friends, you aren’t her parent or guardian. She would never be your responsibility. Understand?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I say. “But she tried to call me, and I ignored her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was out with my friends, remember? But she wasn’t with us. At some point during the night, she tried to call me. I missed her call, and she didn’t leave a message. The next day, I realized she was missing. If I had answered the call, I could have done something. I could have...”

  “Could have what?” he pushes.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “That’s the problem. Could I have helped her? Saved her? Found her? I’ll never know.”

  “I see,” he says. He leans back and closes the notebook, then puts it and his pen aside. He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “This isn’t about friendships or responsibility. It’s about guilt. You feel guilty for going out and having a good time while something happened to your friend.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Exactly. Even now, I don’t know where she is. I keep trying to help. Trying to do something, but I just get ignored or pushed aside.”

  “That can be frustrating,” he says. “But you must know that whatever happened to this girl...”

  “Zoey,” I say.

  “Whatever happened to Zoey, it’s not your fault. You were out. Even if Zoey had gotten in touch with you, most likely you couldn’t have done anything. Just like you can’t do anything to save your mom.”

  Inwardly, I groan. Does he have to make everything about her? A part of me inside is burning to tell him how different this is. That I’m a witch. That I have supernatural powers that would have allowed me to do things a mere mortal couldn’t.

  But I can’t tell anyone that secret, and I guess h
e’s still right. At least about the Zoey part. Even if I could fly, that doesn’t mean I could have gotten to Zoey in time.

  “I know,” I say. “I mean, I guess I know that in my head. But my heart still hurts.”

  He nods. “All you can do is wait. The pain will ease with time. First, though, you need to forgive yourself. Accept that there was nothing you could have done.” I open my mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand and continues. “You won’t believe it at first. You’ll have to forgive yourself many times before you finally believe and accept it. But it will happen. It just takes time. You need to be patient with yourself.”

  I let out a long exhale and nod. Surprisingly, I do feel a little better. I’m still not going to give up. If Zoey is out there, I’ll find her. But I have to stop berating myself and blaming myself for her disappearance.

  “Thanks,” I say. “That helps.”

  “I’m glad. Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

  I stand. “Not really. I’m glad I came.”

  “Me too,” he says, rising to meet me. We shake hands again, and he leads me out of the room. “Come back anytime.”

  “I’m going to take you up on that,” I say.

  “If you want to see your mom, I just saw her in the activity room playing solitaire.” He points in that direction.

  Goddess, why does he always seem to be pushing us together?

  “No thanks,” I say. “The less I see of her, the better.”

  “Ouch,” he says, putting a hand over his chest like my words were a strike to the heart. “Brutal.”

  I shrug. “It’s the truth. The separation has been good for me. I’ve been a kid taking care of an adult for way too long. I needed the break.”

  “Sure,” he says. “But you’re still her daughter. Do you think it could be possible to mend that rift? To shift places and have a more normal mother-daughter relationship?”

  “Anything’s possible,” I say. “But I’m not sure I want that.”

  “Really?” He leans against the doorjamb, his arms crossed. “Are you sure? Those are pretty strong words.”