Magic Unchained: A Supernatural Academy Romance, page 3
The dragon spun around in a circle like a dog choosing a spot to sleep, then it breathed fire right at her, its little puff of smoke drawing from the fire that made up its tiny torso. She smirked at its pitiful attempt to attack her, then leaned back as it trotted about in midair, sniffing nothing as it enjoyed its temporary life.
Someday, she hoped to make a permanent fire dragon that would serve as a pet. The last pet she had at age six, a hamster, ended up burnt to a crisp while she was practicing magic. Her parents hadn’t let her have a pet since then and making a permanent one out of flames had become a life goal ever since.
The silence became thick in the room as the dragon trotted toward the window, then blew out like a candle before it could hit the glass.
Poof. Gone. Dead. Samara almost felt bad for bringing it to life, just to watch it die a minute later.
She sat there a moment longer, slumping over like a useless lump, and her guard relaxed slightly now that the fire dragon was gone. Even though most of their guards were fire witches, none of them were quite as powerful as Samara was, and as Philip used to be too, so her reputation for lighting things on fire by accident had them nervous around her. They didn’t want to risk getting burnt and not being strong enough to withstand it.
Samara was considering assuring the woman that she needn’t worry about Samara burning her to a crisp when something flashed by out of the corner of her eye. It was bright orange and accompanied by a sudden heat that warmed her right cheek.
She froze, waiting for it to pass by again.
She already knew what it was.
Please go away, she thought. Please leave me alone.
Afraid, she squeezed her eyes shut. The heat returned, this time right on the front of her face. It was right in front of her.
Don’t open your eyes. Don’t acknowledge it and it will go away.
But it didn’t go away. A minute later, she could still feel the heat licking at her skin, taunting her, begging her to act like it was real.
Finally, anger overtaking fear, she opened her eyes and looked at the thing that had appeared in her room without consent.
Standing in front of her couch and leaning down so he was eye-level, was her dead brother Philip. He looked just as he had before he died, still in his early twenties and with a handsome face and crooked nose. His eyebrows were still slanted, giving him the appearance of looking angry even if he wasn’t. Other than having masculine features, he looked similar to their mother, just like how Samara took after their father.
However, his skin wasn’t the same light color as hers was. His was black, charred, and covered in red lines of flames that were slowly eating away at his flesh. Where his green eyes should be were two black holes, his eyeballs cut out by either a knife or fire. His mouth was open too, another black hole that gave the impression that he was screaming forever, in agony and unable to end the torment he was put through in death.
The figure didn’t move. He never attacked her, or hadn’t yet, at least.
He also wasn’t real. Not yet. But he always came to torment Samara when she was at her worst, appearing in different forms because her parents never told her how he died. Sometimes he was burnt to a crisp, other times he was being hung or stabbed through the heart. The fire was the most common one, though, and it gave off this strange feeling that she’d been the one to kill him somehow, just like she did her pet hamster.
She took a deep breath and stayed rooted in place, knowing the figure would go away eventually. It was just a figment of her imagination. She sometimes wondered if her witch blood was what created it and that was why so many other witches went insane in the past. Maybe witches were just prone to hallucinations and insanity if they allowed themselves to get stressed. She wasn’t sure. All she could be sure of was that this figure following her wasn’t real. He was just a reminder of the one she’d lost and the guilt she felt that he’d died while she lived. They’d been close before Philip died and she never got over his absence. Even when she tried to forget him and move on, her parents’ overbearing protectiveness reminded her that he was gone.
Finally, after two more minutes, the figure vanished, turning into ash and flying out the window. Samara’s limbs cracked, stiff from being so tense and motionless for so long. She tried to play it cool, since the guard was still there and watching her, but her heart refused to calm down for the next five minutes.
One day, she expected the figure to strangle her in her sleep or light her body on fire. When the emotional torment dried up, it might change tactics, posing an actual threat.
This was another reason she wanted to escape this mansion and distract herself with new experiences. The longer she lived in isolation, being reminded of Philip, the more the figure appeared. She had to escape it before it made her accidentally jump out a window or fall down the stairs while trying to escape it. It might all be in her head, but that didn’t make it any less of a threat.
4
The following day, Samara awoke to her mother knocking on her door. They hadn’t spoken to her at all yesterday, not after that fight.
As Samara got up and answered the bedroom door with her hair uncombed and clothes wrinkled from sleeping in them last night instead of changing into a clean pair of pajamas, she was unsurprised to find her mother standing there in a well put together outfit consisting of a black top, red pencil skirt, and black heels even though they were at home. Her hair and makeup weren’t as styled as yesterday but still looked good, probably as a precaution in case someone important made a surprise visit.
“Yes, Mother?” Samara asked, trying to keep the bite out of her tone. She was already resigning herself to spending another year cooped up in this mansion, studying politics and magic with tutors who could no longer teach her anything new. What could her mother possibly say now that wouldn’t make this day any worse? She was supposed to be in a car, on her way to the Eternal Light Academy right now.
Her mother sucked in a deep breath, which made Samara suspect this was leading into a long speech her father had already prepared but wanted her to say instead.
That was why she was surprised when her mother only said this, “We will let you attend Eternal Light.”
To say Samara was shocked was an understatement. By the time midnight came around last night, Samara had convinced herself the academy was just as unlikely as visiting New York. Now, they were totally fine with it? What happened?
“What changed your mind?” she asked cautiously, sure there was some reason behind it she wouldn’t like.
Sure enough, there was.
“We will let you go if you do two things.” Her mother paused, giving Samara a second to counter it. When Samara didn’t, knowing there’d be no point in ruining her one chance to go, she continued. “First of all, you will need to have a bodyguard with you at all times. Eternal Light has a respectable woman in charge of security and she has offered to assign a single guard to you throughout your attendance.”
Samara wasn’t surprised by that but was a little confused as to why one of the mansion guards wasn’t good enough. Maybe it was because the family guards were already wary of her fire magic so someone new would be clueless and less likely to say no when given the offer.
The two stared each other down for a few more moments. Samara was tempted to act grumpy about it, since security was already so tight on the school campus that she knew adding another bodyguard to the mix was just a waste of time, but her mother’s glare made it clear this wasn’t up for negotiation. Either she did this the hard way or not at all.
“Secondly,” her mother continued eventually, “you must wear a charm around your wrist every day. It will limit your power—”
“Are you serious?” Now that was just unreasonable! “I’m going to the academy to study magic. How am I supposed to improve if I’m not even allowed to use my fire? Doesn’t Dad always say that practice makes perfect?” Samara threw her hands up in the air. “I don’t mean to be blunt but taking away magic is—it’s just plain dumb!”
“Watch your tongue, Samara,” her mother warned. “You may be able to call us names in the safety of your own home but if you speak that way when you’re on a council, you’ll see regret it. Greatly.”
“I’m aware.” Samara bit her tongue. “I’m sorry. I only act this way at home.” It was true. She wasn’t stupid enough to speak forcefully to strangers, especially when those other people were as powerful as the nearly immortal fae or vampires.
“And before you continue to belittle your mother and call your father a fool,” her mother continued, accentuating each word, “know that this charm will not completely limit your magic. It will only stop you from reaching your full potential. You can still use magic but you will appear weak to those around you.”
Samara was starting to see where they were going with this.
“If your brother was targeted for his powerful magic, we need to ensure our unseen enemies believe you are weak. If they think your connection to magic isn’t strong, they will be less likely to target you. This charm will only temporarily weaken you. It isn’t permanent.”
That made sense, although it would still be frustrating. While having powerful magic could be annoying in its own way—leading to plenty of disasters and accidental mistakes—being presumed weak by her peers would also make life difficult. As shown by some of the other heirs, magic users could be condescending to those they deemed less than. Fae looked down on demons and humans for being weaker or uglier version of themselves, mages looked down on witches for being granted magic effortlessly, and the higher-class Samara was part of would sometimes look down on those with less power. If she was considered weak, it might create bullying situations or even questions about whether she was fit to inherit her parents’ seat.
“Who made this charm? How do we even know they can be trusted?” Samara questioned, looking for a way out of this. Having a bodyguard? Fine. Whatever. But she still wasn’t sure if this other thing was a smart idea. It made sense from one perspective but in terms of having it on for two to four years? Maybe not a great idea. Magic was her whole reason for inheriting the council seat. Imagine if she lost that permanently!
“Your aunt Melody made it,” her mother said, twisting Samara’s gut with more shame for mistrusting her own family. Aunt Melody was a sweet woman and her mother’s sister. If she made it, it had to be safe. Melody was a head researcher when it came to magical artifacts. She used the family wealth to finance several helpful magical items that could benefit not only the supernatural community but humans outside it too. Plus, she was just a nice lady. She had zero reason to harm Samara. On the contrary, she was one of the few people who verbally opposed Samara being homeschooled and isolated growing up.
“Melody made something similar for your brother too,” her mother added quietly. “But by the time he started wearing it, it was too late. He already had a target on his back. We won’t let that happen again.”
Her mother’s eyes were lined with worry and compassion now—worry for Samara’s life and future, as well as compassion for a sister that had tried so hard to protect her nephew and failed. This charm wasn’t just a way for Samara’s parents to protect her. It was a way for Melody to atone for her past failures too.
A lot was hinging on this—more than just Samara’s school life.
“Fine,” Samara muttered. Then, when her mother raised an eyebrow at the inappropriate tone, she added, “I’ll do it. I’m sorry for being harsh before.” Although she still didn’t agree completely with all of this.
However, when she gave her mind a little time to readjust to the idea, having a single bodyguard and a little less magic wasn’t a horrible fate. She could still leave this mansion, make new friends, and study. Then, once her school years were done, she’d return home with new knowledge, no limits on her magic, and boundless knowledge. This was a small sacrifice for a huge future.
And it would hopefully keep her brother’s cursed soul, or whatever the phantom was, away.
“I’m so glad. Thank you, Samara.” Her mother gently wrapped a manicured hand around Samara’s shoulder and led her down the hall toward the stairs. “Melody is on her way here with the charm. Then you can pack and leave by the time lunch rolls around.”
So, they had already known she would agree and sent for Aunt Melody beforehand. That was likely her father’s doing. Samara was apparently too predictable.
5
Aunt Melody was all smiles when she arrived, dressed in all black and mirroring Samara’s mother’s penciled skirt and clean, crisp top. Her middle-aged face had some smile wrinkles that gave anyone looking a feeling of warmth and comfort, though when Samara looked at her, she could see sadness within her eyes too. Ever since Philip died, Aunt Melody’s light had shined a little less. She stopped dying her brown hair blonde, the candy treats she used to bring during her visits vanished, and she never spoke about Philip except when warning Samara about danger.
Aunt Melody used to be the doting, single aunt Samara and Philip had and loved, but after Philip died, Aunt Melody became a reminder of what was lost and what used to be. Samara could tell both she and her aunt had been changed by Philip’s absence.
Maybe Aunt Melody saw the same visions of Philip’s death that she did.
“I’m so excited that you’re going to Eternal Light,” Aunt Melody told Samara as she waltzed through the door, a golden purse dangling from her wrist. Samara studied the purse as she allowed her aunt to hug her. The charm bracelet was probably inside, waiting to dull her magic. If she focused on it hard enough, she could almost feel its presence, though it was probably all in her head.
“You know,” her aunt said as she led Samara toward one of their sitting rooms, Samara’s mother trailing along behind and listening silently, “when I was your age, I wanted to go to Eternal Light. It was the most scandalous thing to go but—”
“Scandalous?” Samara stifled a laugh. What could be scandalous about studying?
“It’s changed since then,” her mother reminded them both. “Eternal Light used to house a lot of dark magic and secret vampire or fae clubs whose members would get into trouble. That’s since been wiped out.”
“Anyway.” Aunt Melody wiggled her eyebrows at Samara. “While things have calmed down, I’m excited for you to meet a bunch of people. It’s best to make friends while you’re young and unburdened by adult responsibilities.”
Samara didn’t bother reminding her that she was twenty-one now. It wouldn’t have made much of a difference. She was basically still a teenager in the eyes of her family. “We’ll see. I’m not sure who would want to be my friend when I have a bodyguard tailing me the entire time.”
Aunt Melody glanced at Samara’s mother, clearly unsure what to say. Then, when she didn’t get a response, Aunt Melody shrugged. “Let’s hope the bodyguard is young enough to pass as one of your friends.”
“Unlikely,” Samara’s mother cut in. “All Eternal Light guards dress in uniform.”
“Oh, hush! I’m trying to encourage the girl!” Aunt Melody shushed her sister, then squeezed Samara tight, pulling her close by grabbing the edge of her arm. “You’ll be just fine. As long as you make just one friend, I’ll be happy.”
“Thanks,” Samara said, wanting to move on.
“And if that one friend ends up being your bodyguard, I’ll still be happy. Guards are people too.”
“Thank you, Aunt Melody.” Well, now this conversation was just going down a silly road. “Can I see the charm you’re going to be locking onto me?”
“Locking? No!” As they entered the sitting room and rested on some bright yellow couches, Aunt Melody pulled the aforementioned charm from her golden purse. It was silver, small enough to wrap around the wrist securely but loose enough to be removed. “You can take it off for emergencies. I think it would be dangerous to give you something you can’t use as a tool.” She paused, biting her lip for a second as she thought her next words through. “Only take it off when absolutely necessary, though. You can even keep it on while you bathe. Those can be the most crucial times to wear it, as most assassins strike when you’re in your most vulnerable—”
“Melody,” Samara’s mother warned quietly.
“Right.” Melody blew some hair out of her face, then leaned toward Samara to clasp the charm on her wrist. It was made of a metal material but was light on her skin, not itching or pinching in any way. It also snapped on, as though held together by invisible magnets that could then be removed if given enough force by the user. “How does it feel?”
Like handcuffs.
“Fine.” Samara shrugged, imitating her aunt’s previous movements. She sometimes found herself mimicking her aunt Melody, in part because she didn’t want to end up being too serious like her parents were most of the time. It would be hard to make friends at school if she was constantly stoic.
“Wonderful. Then I think my work here is done.” Aunt Melody rose to leave but Samara stopped her with a raise of her hand.
“I wanted to ask one thing before you go.”
“What is it, my dear?”
Samara glanced at her mother, knowing she shouldn’t say it, but hearing Aunt Melody mention assassins had brought the idea back into her head. “If I’m going to be in danger, I want to know…”
Aunt Melody’s brow creased with worry lines. “Know what?”
She might regret this. “How did my brother die?”
Aunt Melody’s eyes darkened and Samara’s mother rose from her seat, all poise and posture gone.
“Samara—” her mother began.
Samara cut her off. She’d waited long enough to hear the truth. “Every one of you constantly warns me to be vigilant yet you have never once told me what to be vigilant for. If our family is being targeted, I need to know what got Philip killed so I can learn to avoid it!”
