Page 72 of Reckless Witch

“His change of heart is not,” I say with vehemence intended to drown the fear twisting like a snake inside my belly, “because he agrees with Raith that I’m a bad seed.”

I sit upright. Maybe he told Miss Mack he’s unavailable in order to save her feelings? Oh God, that would only mean his change of attitude toward me isn’t because he has someone else. I lay back down and release a breath. Fuck, I’m acting like a lovesick teenager. If Stony were here, she would make so much fun of me.

I don’t need Ethan Bordeau, Blade Tyrion or Raith Vanderkoff. The wargames are three days away. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to the games. We’re supposed to train hard these next two days in preparation. Which only means more time with Ethan. An odd sense of déjà vu washes over me and a watery picture springs to mind filled with images that press against my consciousness like an insistent itch just out of reach. I tell myself not to reach for the picture, but it’s impossible not to and the picture vanishes. The itch intensifies.

I jump from the bed, cross to the window, and gaze across the southern part of the campus. In the distance, I can just make out the bridge connecting Westchester and Rockland counties.

Think about something else, anything else other than this place.

My home. The home I won’t let anyone take from me.

Who besides The Three and the Grand Witch know what’s going on with Grams’ investigation? I learned of Grams’ death through the grapevine. The death of a powerful witch is big news, especially when people believe she committed suicide—and consorted with Shadows. A thought occurs. The Three told me there was no body, yet there has to be an ME’s report to confirm suicide. Without a body, the Illumina had to call in some serious favors in high places to get the ME to sign off on a fake death certificate.

The police… I had put off contacting the police about Grams’ death. Guilt stabs. Did a part of me believe that Grams might have committed suicide? I shove the thought aside. Damn. The Illumina—and The Three—have gotten inside my head.

I need to visit the police ASAP and get a copy of the ME’s report, if there is one. Disquiet tightens my stomach. Margiddians are taught early on not to involve people without magical abilities in our business. Death, however, isn’t easy to hide from the mundane world. We all know that. While the general population isn’t aware of what we are, some individuals high up the food chain do know of our existence.

Grams kept me ignorant of specific connections and warned me to keep quiet about what I am. Just who up the food chain knows of Margidda? Police Chief, mayor, governor…president? How many details concerning Grams’ death had the Illumina shared with those in the know? Maybe if I shake that tree, someone of interest will fall out. Once I prove Grams isn’t guilty of treason, the Illumina won’t be able to stop me from taking possession of the house. I’ll be able to put her to rest, and squash this fucking self-doubt that’s eating its way through my brain.

Pursuing that line of action is a moot point. My keepers have locked me up good and tight. There will be no crawling out my window or the window in the girl’s restroom. Even if I wanted to rappel from my window to the ground, the magic surrounding my room would knock me on my ass—as it did the two times I’ve tried.

What kind of fucked up school is this? I’ve heard rumors about students who entered and never left. Were they murdered? The words of the song Hotel California come to mind: ‘You can check in, but you can never leave.’

A shiver snakes down my back. Is Blade right? Is Jennifer Hanson too gutless to attempt murder? She belongs to the mean-girl club, and those chicks can be pretty ruthless. Not long before Grams kicked me out, I heard of a group of white cheerleaders who beat a black girl so badly they put her in the hospital, all because the boys from the football team were flirting with her. Thankfully, the girls were arrested. At least, there’s a smidgen of justice in the world.

The door handle jiggles. I whirl. I have no pending class. Does Raith intend to free me, or… The knob slowly turns. The latch disengages and the door swings open a few inches. I glance at the swords, too far away for me to reach before the door opens. Fingers curve around the edge of the door, which opens farther. Eyes peek around the door and I recognize the thirteen-year-old kid.

I blow out a loud breath. “What the hell are you doing here, kid?”

He shrugs.

“You don’t know what you’re doing here?”

He shakes his head.

“You’ll get in trouble for being here.”

He nods.

I scowl. “Get out of here.”

He hesitates, then starts to back away.

A thought hits me. “Hey, how did you get past Blade’s spell?”

“Easy,” he replies.

“Easy, how?”

“I redirected the spell to the empty room next door.”

I blink. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head.

“Is Blade’s magic that easy to get around?” I murmur. Or am I just that inept?

“No way,” the kid says. “Blade’s magic is pretty invincible.”