Page 222 of Castings & Curses

EARTH WITCH

GINA KINCADE & C.D. GORRI

PROLOGUE

One year earlier…

“Are you serious?”Leanna Stolbright gritted her teeth as she waited for the headmistress of Westwood Academy to confirm her next assignment.

How had she sunk so low?

Talent scouts in the magical world were once revered, and the top schools and covens sought the most gifted. Supernatural families had once hired witches and wizards with her gifts to assess the abilities of their offspring, offering a king’s ransom for their service, especially should their predictions offer favorable outcomes. Appearance was everything to those who could afford it—but that was all in the past.

Now, Leanna’s job comprised of finding students with magical potential to attend Westwood Academy. Once upon a time, she’d brought great talent in, believing she was truly making a difference.

Just recently, she’d discovered a water witch living as a normal with the potential to control oceans. Another win, she’d found a direct heir of Constance Fortescue—the last true air witch. Not to mention hunting down a powerful fire witch with the potential to destroy whole cities with just a zap.

Those were the witches Westwood Academy needed. The kind who would bring prestige, representing the academy as they went off to join their respective covens. Some people did not take kindly to the emphasis Westwood placed on elementals. But Leanna did not agree with them.

Everyone had a use, a purpose. Oh, she did not believe in the corrupt vision of her boss, Headmistress Armstrong. But she knew better than to challenge her openly. This last lapse in the older woman’s judgment was just one more nail in her professional coffin, as far as Leanna was concerned. The Council of Covens could not ignore the fact the old witch was squandering her talents, wasting them on fools’ errands.

“Of course, I am quite serious, Stolbright. Why would I be joking about this?”

Leanna gritted her teeth. She had to keep cool. After all, she did not want to give away her true feelings.

Not yet.

“Forgive me, but apigpen? How isthatbeneficial to our cause, headmistress?”

Silence fell in the office as the headmistress ceased perusing the files on her desk. The flames of the several candles on the side table stopped crackling. The fan stopped whirring. Even the clock seemed to stop its incessant ticking in the wake of the headmistress’ displeasure.

Leanna gulped.

“Excuse me?” Headmistress Armstrong’s lips formed a hard line as she glared at Leanna.

“Apologies, I only meant,er, nothing. My apologies,” Stolbright wisely replied.

She knew better than to use insensitive jargon in front of the ex-professor. Helga Armstrong was nothing if not politically correct. She abhorred even an inkling of judgment when it came to her students. Sure, they called each other names likeairheadsandtreaders, but the staff and faculty did no such thing. Headmistress Armstrong did not tolerate disrespect of any kind.

“Pigpen is a derogatory term, and I will not have my people using it. Understood?” she said calmly and waited for Stolbright’s nod of assent.

“Good,” she continued. “Earth witches are vital to our world, Miss Stolbright, as they are to all magic.”

“But a hand delivered message? Why bother? Her family is magical. They will know what to do when they receive the invitation—”

“Be that as it may, I gave you an order and expect it to be fulfilled. Deliver the acceptance letter in person, Miss Stolbright. That is all.”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

Leanna took the silver envelope bearing the emblem of Westwood Academy and left the headmistress’ office. She took her oath to perform her duties to the best of her ability seriously. Even if she did not agree it was necessary to perform them. If Armstrong wanted her to hand deliver an acceptance letter to some silly little pigpen, then she would do just that.

The trip to Cape Mystic, New Jersey, a small suburban town right on the Atlantic Ocean, took only minutes, using hidden portals that very few magicals had access to. Leanna arrived on the street where the Montrose family home sat dead center at precisely half past six.

It was an ordinary colonial with cream-colored siding and a front door painted robin’s egg blue. The wraparound porch held matching rocking chairs, dozens of planters, and a couple of pairs of gardening shoes on a rubber mat. Next to that was a bucket with a couple of muddy hand trowels, pruning shears, and the like.

Typical.

The second daughter was the only earth witch in residence, but as with others of this element, Leanna expected the entire family had an affinity for gardening and growing things.

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