Page 3 of Goody Magic Academy: Year Three

Two

The high priestess put a hand on the doorknob, the metal gleaming dully in the dim light. Her lips curled into an icy smile and her eyes glinted with malicious amusement. “Enjoy your evening, Peyton. I wouldn’t bother trying to escape. The walls are warded, and the Bloodborne Brotherhood is patrolling the halls. In the meantime… Do try to stay warm.”

As the door creaked shut behind her, the sound echoing with finality, a wave of emotions crashed over me. Terrified and yet at the same time furious, I stood rooted to the spot, trembling. My fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms, but the sharp pain was a welcome distraction from the panic threatening to overwhelm me.

Was my father really here? I clambered up onto the rickety chair again and peered through the window, trying to guess which cell he might be imprisoned in.

“Dad?” I called. The word sounded so foreign on my lips.

There was no answer.

I didn’t want to cry—I really didn’t. I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted copper in an attempt to hold back the flood of emotions. But the dam broke despite my best efforts. Hot, frustrated tearswelled up and spilled down my cheeks, leaving salty trails on my skin.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I got down off the chair again and leaned against the cold stone wall, sliding down until I sank to the floor. The chill of the ground seeped up through my clothes, and I wrapped my arms around my knees, hugging them to my chest, trying to hold myself together.

In the oppressive silence of the cell, even my quiet sobs were deafening. Each tear that fell felt like a small admission of defeat, a crack in my determination. But beneath the fear and frustration, a small spark of defiance still flickered. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, smearing dirt and tears across my face.

My voice, barely audible, broke the silence. “I won’t break,” came my hoarse whisper to the empty room. “She won’t win. I won’t let her. I’ll get out of here, and I’ll save my dad.”

Suddenly, a searing thought cut through my despair. Jaxon. Was he imprisoned here too? My heart raced as I scrambled to my feet, pressing my ear to the cold steel door. I strained again to hear any sound, any sign of life from the other cells.

“Jaxon?” I whispered, then louder, “Jaxon! Can you hear me?”

Only silence answered, heavy and foreboding. My mind raced. What if he wasn’t the only one? Could Twyla be locked up here too? Finn? Maybe even Valentin, or Rose? The possibility that they were suffering the same fate as me made my stomach churn.

No. I refused to be a basket case. Third time’s a charm, right? I grabbed the chair again, its legs scraping loudly against the stone floor. Muscles straining, I climbed onto it, pressing my face against the small window and calling out, my voice cracking, “Is anyone out there?”

Once again, silence was my only response. A chill froze my blood as a new fear suddenly gripped me. Maybe the high priestess’ spell was such that other people couldn’t hear me, same as I couldn’t hear them. The thought made my throat constrict with panic.

I leaned my forehead against the frigid window, the cold seeping deeper into my bones. My fist connected softly with the metal door, each muted thud matching the rhythm of my racing heart. How was I going to escape from this place? What was the Bloodborne Brotherhood doing right now? Were they invisible? Was what why I couldn’t see them, even though the high priestess had said they were roaming the halls? Had they captured any more of my friends? The questions swirled together in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last.

As if summoned by my dark thoughts, the door at the end of the corridor creaked open. A cloaked figure appeared, their face hidden in shadow.

Shitshitshitshit

My heart vaulted into overdrive, pounding so hard I swear I could feel it in my throat. Adrenaline surged through my veins as I leapt from the chair, landing with a bone-jarring thump on the floor. My mind raced, survival instincts kicking in. There was nothing I could do but hit the bastard with a chair if they came into my cell. It was the only weapon I had.

I grabbed the chair, hefting it experimentally above my head. The weight strained my arms a little, but fear gave me strength. Actually, yes! This was a chance of escape! Maybe my only one. I planted my feet, muscles coiled like springs, ready to unleash hell on whoever came through that door.

The door creaked open, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. As the cloaked figure entered, fresh adrenaline surged through my body.

I yelled like a banshee and rushed forward. The chair felt heavy in my hands as I swung it with all my might.

“Peyton, no!” The figure ducked, the voice achingly familiar.

My heart skipped a beat, but doubt gnawed at me—it could all be an illusion. Gritting my teeth, I swung again, my muscles straining.

In a blur of motion, the figure thrust out their arm, yanking the chair from my grasp. The sudden loss of my weapon left me off-balance, and I stumbled back.

“Didn’t I tell you no, or are you deaf?” The hood of the cloak fell back, revealing Jaxon. His dark brown eyes locked onto mine, a familiar smirk playing on his lips. His brownish-blond hair fell across his shoulders, looking ridiculously gorgeous and perfect even in this dire situation.

My breath caught in my throat. He looked as handsome as ever, but still fear coiled in my gut. I backed up, my legs trembling slightly. “S-stay away from me,” I warned, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“Peyton. I’m not here to hurt you.” His eyes darted quickly over his shoulder, his tension evident in the set of his jaw. “I’m here to rescue you.”

I pressed my back against the wall. “B-but you’re under a spell. I saw the high priestess s-summon you.” My voice quaked slightly.

He chuckled, the sound both comforting and unsettling. “Indeed I was. But the spell was broken, thanks to the help of a couple of friends.”

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