Page 40 of Reckless Witch

He removes a laptop from a desk drawer and opens the lid. “We should always see those we are responsible for safe. Familiars are cherished creatures and an important key to a witch’s power.”

His incredible green eyes latch onto mine and I sense a secret. It’s a whopper—no, it’s the king of all secrets. I clear my throat.

“I’ll shoot an email to Administration to send someone round to perform a wellness check at your home,” he says. “The policy that forbids familiars is one of the restrictions I want to change here. I believe all familiars have rights to be here and I’m working with the Grand Witch to change Academy policy.”

I blink. I no longer sense his secret and I’m struck by the kindness in his eyes. My lack of sleep must be affecting my abilities. Or maybe it’s the damn sigil.

“Thanks,” I reply and find myself relaxing.

“Just respect the curfew, eh?” He lifts a brow.

I smile. Maybe Domini will be able to offset Raith’s coldness and make the other students as comfortable as he has me. The thought tightens my stomach. Fiddlesticks, is that jealousy? I groan inwardly. Yeah, I’m off balance. Shit. If only I could take a nap before class, but I can’t risk pissing off Miss Mack more than I already have.

“Rest easy, Ms. Crowe.” Domini chuckles. “If there’s anything you need, feel free to drop by. I’ll have Admin contact you if there’s any news.”

“Thank you,” I say, and leave.

So, no punishment. I mentally cheer.

I imagine that since I’ve been caught and reprimanded for breaking curfew, no one will suspect I would try again. Especially not as soon at tonight.

Chapter Eighteen

LEILAH

Mystery Man

It’s pure discipline that rolls me out of bed when the 11:00 p.m. alarm blares. I yawn and stumble to the closet, but can’t find my standard-issue gym hoodie. After a search through my room leaves me empty handed, I give up and shrug into the school jacket. It’s a bit formal for a stealth mission to break out of school, but at least it’s black and I don’t have time to waste.

Sorry, Headmaster Domini, I project. I can’t wait until you change school policy. I have to find Stony—and make one stop along the way.

This time, no one will catch me.

I scoop up my cell phone from the desk, then head to the bathroom even though I fully expect to find the bathroom window bristling with wards. To my shock, it isn’t. I stare at the painted glass. It’s got to be a trap. Is it possible Ethan never investigated how I’d escaped yesterday? The possibility makes me even more suspicious. I’ve got about twenty minutes before the Watchmen reach this side of the grounds.

I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. For the second time in as many nights, I slither through the window, land on my feet in a crouch, and listen. When the music of crickets and night frogs continues without interruption, I edge along the building to the corner. A hundred feet beyond the scattered trees, I discern the hazy silhouette of the perimeter wall through a break in the trees. The wards that surround the school are intended to keep The Shadows—and any other nasty beasties—from entering, although no one really knows how well the wards will work until The Shadows return. The wards are some pretty damned powerful magic, which is why there are no spells to prevent students from leaving.

I glance left, then right, and discern no shadows moving within the darkness. I reach the trees and the crickets and night frogs fall silent. To my left, something rustles. I drop to the ground and grimace at the moisture that seeps through the knees of my pants.

Carefully, I shift and search in the direction of the noise. Nothing moves. Damn, four days at The Academy and I’m already losing my edge. I push onto my feet then hurry forward in a crouch until I reach the next tree, press my back against the bark and listen. Silence.

I creep from tree to tree and, five minutes later, reach the wall. I crane my neck and look up at the top. Only about eight feet. I leap, grab the top, and pull myself up in one fluid motion. When I drop down onto the other side, I sprint toward the road. I walk two miles before getting a signal on my phone, so I can call an Uber.

Half an hour later, the Uber drops me on the street where I grew up. The house/potion shop is located ten miles southeast of The Academy in beautiful Westchester County. Streetlights are few and far between on the county’s residential streets. I don’t mind. Unlike most kids, I don’t fear the dark. Sure, nighttime may be the province of the boogie man, but the boogie man isn’t the badass most people think he is. There’s so much beauty in the night.

I glance at the sky. Clouds obscure the January moon, yet it’s warmer than it was five days ago when Ethan Bordeau walked into The Witching Hour and changed my life. I breathe deeply of the crisp night air. The familiar scents evoke a surge of emotion that catches me off guard.

Why, Grams? Fifteen wasn’t old enough to be pushed out of the nest, even a witch’s nest.

I should turn around. There’s nothing but pain for me if I keep walking this direction; the pain of never finding Grams’ shop no matter how hard I try.

The knowledge that she hated me so much that she felt the need to hide her home still hurts as much as it did the first time I tried to return home and couldn’t. Yet, I can’t make my feet veer away from the familiar road.

The red glow of a cigarette flares to my left, near a large tree a mere ten feet away. I freeze.

“Looking for something?” A man’s rich baritone reaches me.

Something deep inside me stirs. That voice seems familiar. Before I can respond, an overweight, orange tabby darts out of the shadows from the opposite direction. The cat skitters to a halt five feet away and arches. With his many fat rolls, he can’t quite make the high arch and ends up looking supremely uncomfortable, like he’s a victim of a vet sticking a thermometer up his rear.