Page 33 of Reckless Witch

“I haven’t forgotten a thing,” he snaps. “Despite the struggle, she was better off before her magic came into fruition.”

“Struggle?” I repeat. “She was a mess. Half the time she hid from her powers, the other half, she feared she was going mad.” I release a breath. “She’s a witch. Magic is who she is.”

“Bullshit.” The ice mask returns. “Did you get the damn howling night pig off the grounds?”

“I didn’t have to. It shifted into a hawk and flew away. You didn’t have to be so cruel.”

“It’s cruel to let her go on as she is.” He scowls. “The howling night pig shifted into hawk form and flew away? It’ll be back. They’re stubborn as hell.”

“Loyal,” I say. “Leilah is fortunate to have such a familiar. I didn’t think there were any left. I wonder if Leilah knows what the creature is. If you’re right, and The Shadows return, Leilah will be fortunate to have the creature protecting her.”

Raith grunts. “Keep an eye out for it.” He stands, signaling the end of our conversation. “When it returns, I’ll need to kill it.”

“Kill it?” I blurt. “Why?”

Raith flashes a cool smile. “I don’t think it likes me.”

Chapter Thirteen

LEILAH

Longthorpes or Middlewiches?

In the shower the following morning, I examine the remnants of the burns on my hand. Yesterday afternoon, Ethan ordered me to go to the infirmary and have the burn looked at. Lacy, the healer, is quite good. Only the barest of scabs is visible. By this afternoon, I’ll be as good as new.

I skip breakfast. I’m in no mood to face the stares and whispers of the other students. I slow my walk along the campus walkway and look left—south—in the direction of the apartment I shared with Stony. Might she have returned there? At least there are plenty of holes in that dump for her mouse form to squeeze through and get inside. I return my attention to the pavement and pick up the pace. I’m stupid to worry about her. She’s not helpless, not by a longshot. She can turn into pretty much any animal and eat almost anything. Hell, by now, she’s probably lying on a plush carpet in some old lady’s home in the guise of a cat—a well fed cat. Still, I can’t help worrying.

So far, all I’ve gotten from The Academy is trouble, and separation from Stony. I had thought I could get close to Raith Vanderkoff and learn something about Grams’ death, but yesterday assured me that particular idea is about as idiotic as they get. He clearly doesn’t like me. Why should he? Aside from Blade and maybe Ethan, no one else wants me here.

Truth is, I have no one to blame but myself for getting nowhere in finding out what really happened to Grams. I wasted my first two weeks in New York grappling with the past, then got drafted into The Academy. I’ve got to make a plan, a real plan that will force the Illumina’s hand.

I finally locate my 102 Conjuring classroom in Redwood Hall. I sigh in relief. As with Miss Mack’s class, when I step into the room, the sigil on my hand feels feather light. In the last few days, I’ve grown accustomed to the damn thing, but I can’t deny I’m glad to be rid of it, even for a couple hours.

Unlike Miss Mack’s classroom, this room is filled with desks and shelves of books. Spell books, I imagine. I notice the same thirteen-year-old kid I’d seen in Miss Mack’s class. He sits at the back of the room. I pick a desk near his. Other students filter in and find seats, and a short balding man wearing a wizard’s robe strides into the room. I want to laugh, but he radiates an endearing quality that kind of makes me like him.

He lays an old satchel on the desk at the front of the class, then faces the blackboard. He picks up chalk and says, “I am Mr. Cornwall,” as he writes his name on the board. He next writes, Is all magic equal? Then he faces the class and says, “Witch or Wizard?” He scans the room.

“Middlewich is better,” a guy calls out.

The Middlewich clan has been at odds with the Longthorpes from the beginning of time. As mages and wizards are masters of potions, the Middlewich clan brags that their magic is better than that of the Longthorpes. I have yet to see any evidence they’re right.

“Is that why you’re wearing a wizard’s robe?” a girl asks. “Are you finally going to show the Longthorpes that Middlewiches rule?”

“On the contrary,” he says. “I intend to demonstrate the synergy.”

The students groan. He turns and, again, writes on the blackboard. It’s a simple conjuring spell, something I could accomplished when I was ten. Written in Latin, of course. Most believe the old language has more power than other languages. Grams taught me that power comes from the witch.

The door opens and Fran enters.

“Thank you for joining us, Ms. Shelton,” he says.

She smiles at him from under her lashes. “Sorry, Mr. Cornwall.” She slides into an empty seat in the second row and leans forward as if anticipating the fall of pearls from his mouth.

Mr. Cornwall scans the room. “Who wants to try this quick spell?”

A girl of about eighteen raises her hand.

He nods at her.