Page 61 of Forbidden Magic
His haunted voice scatters icy shivers along my back.
There’s a pause. Celeste rests her hand over Cole’s, her knuckles twitching. “Alright. I know you’ll help me make things right.”
Make things right.What does that mean?
I back away from the wall and set the magic free.
When I return to the main room, Dad is sitting on my bed. His gray hair curls behind his ears, and his cape is slightly wrinkled around the collar area. “How are you, Munchkin?”
“I’m okay.” I smooth down the deepest bend in the red velvet.
We both jerk a glance at the two closed doors. The walls have ears, and whatever serious discussion we need to have will wait.
“Let’s go to your room to change and get you an overnight bag. I’m bringing you girls home for the weekend.” He summons a warm pair of boots and wraps his coat around me.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I whisper, meeting his pensive gaze.
He squeezes my shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing.”
But the students roaming the grounds sing a different tune. Everyone we cross paths with scampers away like I’m infected with some highly contagious disease. Like I’m a goddamn walking pandemic. Stolen glances and vicious whispers echo at the back of my skull, and from the way Dad’s shoulders tense, I know I’m not imagining things. Nuggets of conversation like “She almost killed him,” “what a freak,” and “just a demon whore” sizzle inside my mind. They clearly think I made some type of deal to juice up my powers. I bet I know who I can thank for that rumor.
Droopy strings of honeysuckle sag against the banister in front of Summer Hall.
Naomie and Krystel skirt around us on the terrace, their fiery stares drilling holes into the back of my head. I bet I would’ve gotten an earful if Dad wasn’t here.
Miss Eillis is cooking in the kitchen as we enter, and Dad gives her a small wave. He turns to me. “I’ll have a quick chat with Beth while you pack.”
It throws me for a loop how Dad addresses my professors by their first name.
I climb up the stairs to my room, trying to shake off the crushing shame that weights on my shoulders. Infernal magic is not only forbidden, it’s got an awfully bad rep. Dark Magus use it. Demons. Murderers.
Only the worst scum on Earth and beyond favors this type of all-consuming power, and I summoned it to win a bet.
Stop it! You did nothing wrong. Dad said so himself.
The trickle of hope expanding in my chest shrivels when I open the door. Lydia is cramming her clothes in her big suitcase. Her red-rimmed eyes and frizzy hair send a surge of panic through me.
“Lydia? What’s wrong? Why are you packing?”
She drags the back of her hand against her face, mascara stains darkening the sleeve of her uniform. “I’m sorry, Jules. My parents freaked out when they learned you were my roommate. They asked for an immediate transfer and forbade me to speak to you.”
“Err—What?” My heart gives one painful beat.
Her eyes remain glued to the floorboards between our feet. “It’ll die down. These things always do. But for now, if I don’t want to end up at MIT after all, I’ve got to keep my distance. You understand, right?”
My mouth opens and closes on a throaty cry that sounds like ayesand means everything but.
No. I don’t understand at all. Some witches can summon infernal magic. It’s not unheard of. Why is everyone acting like I suddenly turned into a demon? Lydia can’t think I’m responsible for the attack on Holly, but clearly, everyone else does.
I’m the wicked witch of the dorm.
24
Not Officially
Home. It used to be a quaint bungalow in Connecticut or a two-story brownstone in Chicago. Today, it’s a high-rise condo on the west coast. The sun reflecting off the sparkling blue ocean through the humongous bay windows is almost blinding after the Autumn drizzle of the Academy. A tall artificial Christmas tree clashes against the beach scenery. Fake snow frosts the tips of its branches. The familiar smells are those of Dad’s turkey and the too-clean paint job. Moving around every couple of years reminds you that Spackle walls and creaky stairways are not what makes a family.
Dad is the backbone of ours, so wherever he is, home follows. He’s cooking yams on the granite island cook top, the hood above it sucking out the Holiday scents with the rumble of a small airplane. Allie is in the shower, so Dad and I are alone for the first time since he dropped me off at school.
