Page 20 of Goody Magic Academy: Year Three

The thought of being a sex slave sent a violent shudder through me. The tension in the room was almost visible, acrackling energy that set my teeth on edge. Twyla’s face had drained of all color, Rose sat unnaturally still, her eyes wide with a shock, and a muscle twitched over Valentin’s clenched jaw. Everyone’s gaze shot through me as if they could see the terror bubbling up inside me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My tongue felt thick and clumsy, stuck to the roof of my mouth. The taste of fear lingered on it, sharp and acrid, and as the silence stretched on, filled only by the pounding of my heart and the relentless ticking of the clock, one thought crystallized in my mind: what if I did this, and then my friends couldn’t find me?

I cleared my throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. My voice came out as a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “There’s no other way?”

The headmaster’s eyes locked onto mine, their intensity making me want to shrink back into my chair. “No. I’m sorry,” he said. “If you tried to enter Simon’s estate as anything more than an item up for auction, you would be captured. Santi has attacked Ravenwood before and Simon has had his witch ward it with strong black magic—magic you don’t want to be cursed by.”

Goosebumps prickled along my arms. The room suddenly felt colder, as if the mere mention of black magic had sucked all the warmth from the air.

Finn threw up his hands in frustration. “Why doesn’t she just go as a dragon?”

The headmaster released an impatient sigh. “Because Simon possesses the Dragon Nexus. If Peyton shifts into a dragon, he, or most likely his witch, will be able to use it to control her.”

The thought of becoming a slave turned my blood ice cold.

“But if there’s truly black magic involved,” Jaxon said his voice full of skepticism, “then how is she going to be able to let us in?”

The headmaster’s lips curled into a cold, cruel smirk. “Simon has only warded the outside of Ravenwood—not the inside. He doesn’t think anyone could thwart his witch Marsha’s magic on the inside.”

My stomach twisted into knots at the idea of going up against such a powerful witch. “And Marsha?”

“Marsha’s arrogance will prevent her from thinking an up-and-coming witch’s magic would be superior to hers,” the headmaster replied with another smirk.

I blinked rapidly. The room swam before my eyes. “Superior to hers? How can you think that? You don’t even know me.”

The headmaster’s gaze softened slightly, but the steel in his voice remained. “Because I know Abigail. Abigail would only have taken such a dislike to you if she felt you threatened her magic, which is considerable. Therefore, I think you will easily rival Marsha’s magic.”

Fear clawed at my insides. That was a big stretch, going straight from A to Z without reading the rest of the alphabet in between. “And what if I can’t?”

Twyla looked at me with determination in her eyes. “But you are so powerful, Peyton. You have all four elements. I bet Marsha doesn’t.”

“Precisely,” the headmaster said crisply. “I believe she only has three, and, in a confrontation, I’m sure she will bet that her greater experience will count for more than your greater expertise.”

I slid down in my chair; their expectations were too high, too unrealistic. “I don’t feel like an expert,” I said miserably, my voice cracking. “I don’t even have control over my powers yet.”

The headmaster reached across the table, his cool fingers clasping my shaking hand. The contact sent a jolt through me, like static electricity. “Your dragon will help you with yourmagic. That’s what will defeat not only Marsha but the high priestess too.”

Jaxon crossed his arms. His face was still a mask of skepticism. “And who is going to notify Simon that Peyton is available for sale?”

The headmaster flashed him a grin. “You are.”

Jaxon’s face fell, shock and disbelief etched in every line. “What?! Why would I do that? And more importantly, why would Simon believe me?”

The headmaster flicked his hand dismissively, the gesture somehow both elegant and condescending. “Because you persist in this delusion that you’re descended from royalty, yet you’re merely the dishwasher at Goody Magic Academy. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re not rolling in money. Your motivation would be getting money to escape Goody Magic Academy.”

He made it sound as if all Jaxon cared about was money, but I knew better. Jaxon had risked his life to free me—a gesture with no profit attached to it. Why would someone who only cared about money do that? My mind flooded with memories: The intense look in Jaxon’s eyes as he revealed the high priestess’ schemes; his efforts to protect Finn, Kamaron, and me; the way he confided in me about the Easteys’ coma at the Enchanted Eldercare Center; perhaps most importantly, his declaration of loyalty to me. The headmaster’s words were contradicted by these recollections. Was he deliberately trying to paint Jaxon in a bad light? And if so, why?

Jaxon snorted and cocked an eyebrow dubiously. “You actually think they would buy such a lame explanation?”

Finn let out a chuckle, the sound breaking the tense atmosphere like a bolt of lightning. His eyes danced with amusement as he turned to Jaxon. “Come on, Jaxon. You hate working in the kitchen,” he said, his voice tinged with barely suppressed laughter.

Jaxon’s posture stiffened and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, clearly trying to control his emotions.

Finn continued, warming to his theme. “And you hate being forced to live at a witch academy.” He leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he delivered his verdict. “Yeah, I think they one hundred percent will buy it.”

I glanced between Finn and Jaxon, the tension between them almost palpable. Jaxon’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching at the corner of his tightly pursed lips. For a moment, I thought he might lash out at Finn. But instead he exhaled slowly, the sound hissing between his teeth.

“Fine,” Jaxon growled, the single word filled with reluctant acceptance. “I’ll do it. But I don’t like it.”

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