Page 41 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
A vein began throbbing in Tommy's temple with the persistence of a broken metronome, his fists clenching and unclenching as he clearly debated whether physical violence was worth the potential consequences. Part of me almost hoped he'd make that particular mistake. Before he could escalate further, however, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through our increasingly hostile exchange like a sword through silk.
"Mr. Bishop! Miss Blackstone! What exactly is transpiring on my school grounds?"
We both turned to see Principal Weatherby approaching with the swift, decisive stride of someone accustomed to managing chaos. She was a formidable woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun and the kind of no-nonsense expression that made even the most rebellious teenagers reconsider their life choices.
Tommy's demeanor shifted instantly from menacing to obsequious, his smile becoming so sickeningly sweet it could have caused diabetes. "Principal Weatherby!" he exclaimed with false cheer that fooled absolutely no one. "I was simply engaging Miss Blackstone in friendly conversation, welcoming her to our fine educational establishment."
Principal Weatherby's hawk-like gaze flicked betweenus with the sharp assessment of someone who'd seen every variety of adolescent deception. "Is that so?" she asked, her tone suggesting she'd rather believe in fairy tales. "Because from my vantage point, it appeared more like harassment and intimidation."
Tommy sputtered indignantly, his face achieving new and interesting shades of red. "I would never engage in such behavior! Principal Weatherby, surely you know my character better than that. I'm simply concerned about the safety and well-being of our student body, given the recent tragic events."
I snorted with delicate disdain. "Oh please, spare us the concerned citizen performance, Tommy. We all know you're simply using these disappearances as an excuse to spread your family's pureblood propaganda and generate hysteria against anyone who doesn't conform to your narrow definition of acceptable society."
Principal Weatherby raised her hand, silencing Tommy's indignant squawk before it could gain momentum. "That's quite sufficient, both of you. Mr. Bishop, I suggest you find somewhere else to loiter before I decide to have a conversation with your father about your habit of haunting school grounds. Miss Blackstone..." She turned to me, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. "I believe you have legitimate business here?"
I nodded, shooting Tommy a triumphant look as he slunk away with wounded dignity. "Yes, thank you, Principal Weatherby. I was hoping to discuss several matters with you, particularly given the current atmosphere of suspicion and fear."
She gestured for me to follow her inside, and we navigated the bustling hallways while dodging energetic students and harried teachers. I couldn't help but notice the looks of unease and suspicion that followed me like hungry shadows. Whispers and furtive glances marked my passage, the tension in the air thick enough to require a machete.
Principal Weatherby ushered me into her office, closing the door firmly and offering me a seat in one of the leather chairs facing her imposing oak desk. She settled behind it with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent decades managing controlled chaos.
"Now, Miss Blackstone," she began, her voice crisp and businesslike, "before we discuss Paige's academic standing, I feel compelled to address the rather large elephant currently trampling through our conversation. These disappearances have everyone on edge, and I'm afraid your reputation has made you a convenient target for fear-mongering and baseless accusations. Unfortunately, this has created additional challenges for Paige as well."
I sighed, running a hand through my unruly curls. "Believe me, Principal Weatherby, I'm painfully aware of my status as Old Hollows' designated scapegoat. But I assure you, I had nothing to do with those girls vanishing. I want to find them and bring them home safely just as much as anyone else. In fact, that's precisely why I'm here, I'm assisting with the investigation. Have you noticed any suspicious activity or behavior that might be relevant?"
Principal Weatherby leaned back, a thoughtful frowncreasing her features. "I want to believe you, Miss Blackstone. Truly. But you must understand the impossible position I'm in. Parents are terrified, the council is applying pressure from every direction, and the students..." She paused, a haunted expression flickering across her stern features.
"The students are living in a state of constant fear," she continued heavily. "I've never witnessed anything quite like it. The girls, particularly those with mixed magical heritage, cluster together in hallways like frightened animals, jumping at shadows and speaking in whispers. Some families have stopped sending their children to school altogether, too afraid to let them leave their sight."
As she spoke, a new thought occurred to me. "Earlier you mentioned some strange occurrences at the school. Can you tell me more about what you've observed - any unusual sounds or unexpected visitors?"
Her frown deepened with consideration. "Now that you mention it, there have been some peculiar occurrences. The custodial staff reported hearing sounds from the basement level during their night shifts, but when they investigated, they found nothing unusual. And there was that issue with the old tunnel entrance in the sub-basement that we sealed years ago for safety reasons."
My pulse quickened with interest. "Tunnel entrance?"
"Oh yes, Old Hollows is absolutely riddled with them. They were constructed long before the town was officially established and connect various buildings throughout the downtown area. We sealed ours as a precautionary measure, naturally."
A mixture of sympathy and righteous anger cutthrough me as I processed this information. "These children shouldn't have to live in such terror," I murmured, my hands clenching involuntarily. "It's fundamentally wrong."
Principal Weatherby nodded, a glimmer of shared outrage flickering in her eyes. "No, they absolutely shouldn't. But I'm at a complete loss regarding how to reassure my students when I myself don't feel confident in their safety anymore. After what happened to Beverly..." She trailed off, genuine sadness crossing her features.
"Speaking of the students," I said, shifting the conversation to more immediate concerns, "I wanted to discuss Paige's attendance. She's been skipping classes frequently, and her grades are starting to slip. Given everything that's happening, I'm worried about her."
Principal Weatherby's expression grew more troubled. "Yes, I've noticed the pattern as well. She's been increasingly withdrawn since the first disappearance, and her teachers have mentioned that she seems distracted when she does attend. Have you spoken with her about it?"
"I've tried, but she's not very forthcoming. She's dealing with a lot of fear and anxiety, which is completely understandable under the circumstances."
"I can arrange for some additional support from our guidance counselor," Principal Weatherby offered. "Perhaps having someone neutral to talk to might help her process what she's experiencing."
"That would be helpful, thank you."
"I understand completely. And if you notice anything that seems even remotely connected to these disappearances, please contact me or Agent Renshaw immediately."
"I will, and thank you for your assistance," she said, standing to escort me out.
A few minutes later, I waited outside Paige's classroom until her blonde hair appeared around the corner. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying; she'd already learned that her friend wouldn't be returning to school ever again.
Together, we walked toward Gran's house, silence stretching between us like a bridge neither of us wanted to cross until I finally broke it.
