“What happened?”
“A witch who practiced black magic stumbled into the agency and spewed off a super powerful curse. The magic was so strong that it killed her. She literally exploded all over the human receptionist at the front desk.” Eva stuck out her tongue and shuddered.
My nose wrinkled. That had probably been one hell of a job for the memory witches to reverse.
“What did the black witch say?”
“The human was hysterical afterward,” Hunter said, “but she remembered bits and pieces once the agents got her to calm down. The witch talked about children born in the first year of the new millennia, children whose ancestors had defied the natural order of the world and shared revelatory secrets with humans. And how the darkness would come for them.”
I sucked in a breath. Although the words seemed kind of vague, they weren’t. Witches weren’t a large portion of the population, and unlike normal humans, we had a difficult time reproducing, so narrowing it down to the year of birth shrank the pool considerably. The ‘natural order’ was easy. There were factions of dark magicals all over the world—black witches included—who hated that their kind worked with humans instead of against them. Since we’d been born with gifts, they thought magicals should rule, not humans. As for ‘secrets’, few magicals had more secrets than spies.
Slowly, I released my inhale. “So children of spies would be the primary targets.”
“Bingo,” Eva breathed. “There’s a theory that because the witch was at the agency when she cast the curse, it even made it easier for her magic to find those who she wanted to prey upon. There’s no way to know whether that’s true or not, but since the year we were born, kids our age from spy families have died under mysterious circumstances. No one has been able to figure it out, and some—like Headmistress Wake—flat out deny that the curse is real.
“We all know Spellcasters is super secure, and yet Tabitha just died. Vamps, demons, fae, shifters, humans, and even other witches and wizards can’t simply waltz onto these grounds, but one thing can, no matter what.”
“Magic—particularly the black kind that’s been lying in wait for its chance,” Hunter finished.
“Headmistress Wake doesn’t believe in it? But if so many people have died, the curse has to be real, right?” My words came out slowly as I worked out the details.
Hunter and Eva nodded simultaneously.
My confusion over my parents’ reluctance to bring me to Spellcasters disappeared. They hadn’t thought I couldn’t handle it, or probably even that a spy academy was too dangerous. Or if they had, it had been secondary to another concern.
They thought coming here made it even easier for the curse to find me.
Chapter Fourteen
Summer had slipped away in a haze of classes, exercise, long nights studying, and many, many tears of frustration. Now a fall chill permeated the air, as September gave way to October.
Despite knowing about it for almost three months, I still wasn’t sure what to think about the curse.
Not wanting to risk embarrassment, the only people who I broached the subject with were Eva and Hunter. And as the Samhain challenge neared, they became far less interested in rehashing it.
For my friends, the curse was a fact of life—one they’d known about for years.
For me, it explained a whole hell of a lot. Like my parents manically warding our Beverly Hills home. Or their extreme anxiety over me attending Spellcasters. And why I’d overheard them talking to Headmistress Wake about the academy’s protection being lax.
But as much as the curse helped to explain, it also prompted more questions, which suited me fine. They were a welcome distraction during a difficult time in my life.
Not only had a certain subset of peers not gotten over the fact that I was the only witch in years to decline the admissions test, but being the one to find Tabitha’s body hadn’t helped my reputation. Despite Headmistress Wake’s assurances that I’d had nothing to do with my classmate’s death, a fair number of people still regarded me with unease.
My status was not what I’d desired when I came to Spellcasters, but considering the academy was more competitive and cliquey than I could have imagined, I’d stopped fighting it.
Or at least, I was trying to.
Sometimes, it felt like all my efforts were futile. Like in our Conjuring class, when certain students produced representations of animals that walked, while I struggled to create a complete teacup. Frustratingly, mine always seemed to be missing half a handle.
As if she could sense my annoyance, Amethyst’s lifelike fox loped up to me and opened its mouth. “That’s a beautiful pattern you’ve made there, Odette,” it said in Amethyst’s sing-song voice.
I grunted at the unexpected quirk. Even if I could see the fox’s blurred edges, telling that it was still an illusion and not a solid object, no one else had gotten their creations to talk yet. As my attention strayed, the hazy form of my teacup evaporated into a shimmer of pastel pink magic that dissipated into the air. I let out a frustrated sigh. “Thanks. Unfortunately, I don’t have your focus. The damn cup has yet to materialize how I envision it—even in non-solid form.”
The fox shrugged. “It’ll come. Let me know if you want help.”
I nodded at the fox. “Thanks, Amethyst.”
The fox did a cute little head bob and ran back to its creator, whose purple hair flew everywhere as she jumped up and down. Even though I was envious of Amethyst’s progress in Conjuring, I had to grin at her glee.
