Midnight Magic, page 145
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Will she be able to make a place for herself in this strange world where witches and wizards, and other supernaturals, live under the rule of the omnipotent Council of Covens? Find out in Water Witch!
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Welcome to Westwood Academy. Forget what you know and let your magic run wild.
PROLOGUE
The wind blew harshly against her person, sending Leanna Stolbright’s perfectly arranged hair into disarray as she walked into Goddess of the Hunt Books & More off Monterey and Jacobs Avenue.
She nodded at Mrs. Foley, the proprietor of the shop, and walked to the back of the shop. To anyone else, it was an odd sort of bookstore. Perhaps out of place among the other shops in Cape Mystic, but the small seaside town was used to that.
There were many unexplained phenomena in the region. But the residents had been there so long, they simply ignored it. Still, the bookstore managed to survive by having a strong online presence. Or so Mrs. Foley said. But only when asked.
Leanna Stolbright didn’t have time to worry about how mortals viewed the establishment. The very real task of keeping the magic world a secret among humans was not under her purview.
Ms. Stolbright was a magic scout. One of the few witches imbued with the talent of tracking down magical bloodlines and gauging capabilities of descendants. She supposed it made sense, what with the nature of magic being finite and all, not to mention the fact witches only mated with mortals, thereby diluting familial power passed down through generations, that it was getting harder and harder to find witches of the caliber expected at Westwood Academy.
Lucky for her, Ms. Stolbright had a keen sense of these things. If a young woman or man had enough magical blood in his or her lineage, the chances of being a witch or wizard increased phenomenally.
There was no guarantee, of course. Sometimes it happened where a witch or wizard came from an entirely human line.
But that was rare.
Very, very rare.
Either way, all she had to do to determine if a person was in fact such a witch or wizard, was get within fifty yards of the prospect. Ms. Stolbright was a sort of magical bloodhound. At least, that was what the headmistress called her.
She didn’t mind. After all, it was practically her job to hand pick the candidates for enrollment. That made her one of the most important members of the staff. Far more integral than that snarky Melissa Weaver who taught potions, and the hoity toity Gregor Clarksville who thought metaphysical mysticism was the bees’ knees.
She shook her head. Better stop thinking about all that, she had big news. Along with identifying prospective students, Ms. Stolbright was also tasked with ensuring the witch or wizard received his or her invitation to Westwood Academy. Today, she had made one such delivery.
An extremely important one.
After straightening her cape, she ran her hands over her hair in an attempt to repair the disarray the wind had caused. It simply would not do to meet the headmistress looking like a vagabond. She sucked in a deep breath and approached the very last shelf in a long row that housed dozens of banned and out of print books.
Nerves danced along her skin as she lightly gripped the top of Reginald Scot’s infamous tome, The Discoverie of Witchcraft, and tilted it slightly toward her. Stepping back, Ms. Stolbright allowed for the portal to open completely before striding through it, back straight and shoulders squared.
Her high-heeled boots clicked on the large stone tiles in the main hallway of Westwood Academy, which was where the portal had deposited her.
Tricky things, portals.
One had to focus exclusively on where they wanted to go, or they could potentially wind up anywhere.
There was that same typical buzz the students and professors made in the hallways on a normal school day, but today, Stolbright was not spying or taking notes for the headmistress. New students would arrive within a week, and she’d just landed them their best one yet.
She ignored the group of sentinels patrolling the halls. Normally, she did not miss an opportunity to look down her nose at the inferior shifter males and females who worked like watchdogs for the witches.
Served them right.
Animals should obey their masters.
“Come in, Stolbright. Don’t dawdle.”
Headmistress Armstrong’s voice sounded beside her ear, and Stolbright jumped as she neared the door to the main offices. She was the most powerful witch Stolbright had ever sensed. Formidable and loyal to the Council of Covens, which, as their leader, was not exactly a surprise.
She walked past the secretary and opened the door to the headmistress’ interior office. There she sat, Helga Armstrong, with a coil of tightly braided black hair on top of her head like a halo, as always. She wore the robes befitting her position and green medallion on a heavy gold chain around her neck.
“Well? Have you found her?” the headmistress asked.
“Yes,” Stolbright said, excitedly. “She has more power than her mother ever did,” she continued, getting straight to the point.
“Unfortunate that we lost Isabel before we ever had her,” Armstrong replied with a glare that had Stolbright’s face flaming red.
It was not often she lost a prospect, but Isabel Milagros had chosen love over magic. But she paid the price. Her end was not a happy one.
“No mistakes were made this time, headmistress. The girl is already packing. Her grandfather is driving her this afternoon.”
“Wonderful. Make sure the sentinels are in place.”
“Why do we even need those beasts, headmistress? Isn’t our magic enough to protect this place?” Stolbright asked.
“My instructions were not an invitation to debate, nor to hear your petty complaints,” the headmistress replied, seemingly calm, but the flash of power in her eyes said otherwise.
“Yes, headmistress,” Stolbright said, properly chastised.
She’d forgotten herself in her excitement. It wouldn’t do to question Armstrong like that. She knew better than that. Loyalty to the Council and to Westwood were all she had.
“Now, have you found the others?”
“I have found three. The other is proving elusive,” she confessed.
Being dubbed the bloodhound meant a lot to Leanna. She had earned the nickname through sheer hard work and determination. She was not about to risk her reputation on some flighty little twenty-something witch who did not want to be found.
“I will find her, Headmistress.”
“Yes,” Armstrong replied, nodding her head in agreement.
“We need all five enrolled by the start of the term, Stolbright. Much depends on it.”
CHAPTER 1
I received my letter on a Tuesday evening. I knew it was special from the envelope alone. The stock was thick and sturdy. Way too fancy for a credit card application, some scammy phishing letter, or a voter registration packet. Definitely too fine for some late bill.
The color of the card stock was silver. Not gray. There were flecks of ultrafine glitter embedded in it, almost giving it a metallic effect. I lifted it to my nose and took a sniff.
Just something I did, I don’t really know why. It smelled faintly of lavender oil and ozone.
Odd.
I turned it over and weighed it in my hands. Not too heavy. What really impressed me, though, was the dark red wax seal holding it closed. It had a large, ornate W pressed into it.
Is the stamp gold or silver?
Was it done by hand or some sort of automated thing?
My curiosity was a bit over the top, but like with most things I encountered, I found myself filled with questions about it.
The seconds ticked by, seemingly slower than usual. I ran my thumb over the seal once more before flicking it open. I paused before pulling the paper out as the front door to the shop opened.
“Rio, make sure you triple the cod order. Saint Rosa’s is having their fried fish dinner this week!” My grandfather called out to me as he walked in. His tanned face was wrinkled, but his hair was only just beginning to show the signs of his age, graying at the temples. He smiled kindly and patted my arm as he walked past.
“Yes, Lelo,” I replied affectionately, using the nickname I’d always called him.
Who knows why these things stick, right?
When I was a little girl, I couldn’t pronounce the Spanish word for grandfather, which is abuelo. Lelo was all I could manage, and it stuck.
I loved my grandfather immensely. After all, he’d raised me when no one else was around to do it. A widower for over forty years, Lelo’s life had been fraught with one hardship after another. Losing his only daughter had not been easy, but he remained strong for me, and I owed him my life.
I looked down at the scars on my wrist and forearm and shivered at the memories that haunted me. I was only two years old when my mother had given in to her grief, like her mother before her. Sometimes, I felt like my fate was sealed.
“Hey, did you do as I asked?”
“Right now, Lelo,” I replied, putting the silver envelope into my backpack and grabbing the old wall phone.
The line rang while I scribbled a note on the back of my hand to remind myself what to say. Sometimes I zoned out and forgot what I was doing.
More cod. St. Rosa’s. Check.
Someone answered, and I was put on hold for a few minutes. Good thing I wrote the note, I thought to myself as my mind wandered.
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah, this is Rio,” I began, and gave the other person on the line my information, then proceeded to increase the order as Lelo instructed.
After I jotted down the confirmation number, I looked for my grandfather. He was chatting with an old customer over a cup of coffee. Good. That meant I had a moment to myself.
Grabbing my backpack from the hook, I retrieved the lavender scented, silver missive that I’d received. Goosebumps broke out across my arms and stomach. I didn’t know whether to be scared or excited.
Maybe a bit of both.
When I held the envelope in my hand, it was like all my breath left me. This was the doorway to a new world. One where I belonged, but never really quite believed in.
My mother and grandmother didn’t get their letters until it was too late. Neither of them would ever have abandoned their children to learn to control the magic that later damned them.
The cross I wore around my neck was both my connection to them and a reminder of what could happen. My mother’s soul was damned, as her mother’s was before her.
The only question now was, would I be damned too?
I frowned at the cracked red patches on my knuckles and skin. Working at my grandfather’s fish market was tough on my hands. I rubbed cream on them nightly, but they always wound up looking like this by noon.
What else did I expect?
Working with raw fish meant I was constantly washing my hands or dipping them in ice-filled trays or buckets. Sometimes, they hurt so badly I wanted to cry. But mostly, I just creamed them up at night, and hoped for the best the next day.
The few friends I had used to tease me about working in a fish market. But I never minded the smell or waking up early. Besides, it was a family run operation. I was proud of it.
We were the only fish market in the area and lived a few streets away in a small two family house. Lelo had recently rented the downstairs apartment to an older man who was on a fixed income. It was big enough for a family, but there were reasons my grandfather did not rent to couples or anyone with children.
I felt my hands shake as I read the letter. Anger, resentment, and then shame passed through me. The latter lasted the longest. I was a terrible granddaughter.
Ungrateful was the word that immediately sprang to my mind. It buzzed ominously, hanging there like a neon sign in a darkened window.
Ungrateful, Rio.
How can you be so ungrateful?
Yeah, so that was how I felt. But it was not the reason I trembled when I received my official invitation to Westwood Academy. My breathing increased, and I felt my heart thud heavily inside my chest.
“Oh shit,” I mumbled.
My chance at being normal was over. I was not normal. I was one of them.
“No, no, no,” I began to repeat, stuffing my hair behind my ears with one hand while I read the letter over and again.
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Dear Rio Milagros,
We are pleased to extend this invitation for you to join us at the esteemed Westwood Academy for instruction in the magical arts and sciences. The Council of Covens has approved your joining us and we look forward to seeing you on campus immediately. Directions are attached.
Sincerely,
Headmistress Helga Armstrong
Westwood Academy
Head Witch of the Council of Covens
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“Fuck!”
So, it was true then. Like the other women in my family who had come before me, I was gifted.
Or cursed.
It all depended on how you looked at it. Either way, my days in my grandfather’s fish market were over.
Shouldn’t I be glad?
Is that what you’re thinking?
I should be excited or eager to embrace my magical destiny, right?
Well, what the hell would you know about it, anyway?
Being a witch isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Especially if you’re me.
Yes. I am a witch.
Whoopdeefuckingdoo.
My bitterness about the entire thing went deeper than the daily trials of living as a young, orphaned, half-Mexican woman in an America that barely acknowledged me.
This wasn’t about racism, or sexism, or anything like that. This was far more personal.
I ran a hand over my thick hair and closed my eyes. I’d been so foolish and cowardly, wishing so damn hard that this was not happening to me.
Why couldn’t this skip a generation?
Why couldn’t I take after my father’s family? Hmm?
Then again, I knew so little about them. It might actually be worse. My father had been tall and blond. Of Scandinavian decent, or so I’d been told. There’s a picture of him and my mom in the bottom of my sock drawer. It was taken when they first met in high school.
He was an exchange student, new and exciting. They were both so young when they met, fell in love, and had me. But like most things, the reality was much worse than they’d thought.
Relationships were difficult at the best of times. But when you had no money and no job, not to mention a curse hanging over your head, things were worse. I think he left us just months after I was born.
It did not take all that long for my mother to succumb to her grief, to embrace the curse that plagued all the women of my family. It’s funny. With a name like Milagros, you’d expect us to be lucky. But there were no miracles waiting for the women of my family tree.
Only tragedy and heartache.
“Rio? Don’t you hear me, mija?”
Lelo stood in front of me, his beloved face cocked to the side. The moment he saw the letter in my hand, he stilled. For the first time since I could remember, my grandfather looked every one of his sixty-three years on this earth.
“No, Rio, oh no, not you too,” he said softly, shaking his head.
“Ah! No, mija, not you. I hoped you would be spared.”
He opened his arms, and I ran to them, allowing my grandfather to hug me tight. We both cried a bit.
“What am I saying? This is good, no? Your mother, she rejected this letter when she got it. But you, you must go. Be the first Milagros to beat this thing,” he said, rubbing my back and pretending to laugh heartily.
I leaned back and smiled through my tears. I couldn’t let him down. We might be just pretending, but maybe he was right. Maybe I could be the one to stop tragedy before it happened.
“Sure, Lelo. I got this.”
CHAPTER 2
Cape Mystic was over an hour’s drive down the coast. Normally, we listened to music or talked about things, but today was not the day for idle chitchat. In fact, we managed to get through the entire drive in relative silence.
Lelo’s pickup truck seemed to hit every bump on the highway, but I knew it was something he did for me. I wish I could have managed a smile for him. I always did like the bumps. But my stomach was twisted in knots, and I could hardly breathe, let alone pretend to be happy.
“You make sure you call me or write when you can,” he said, exiting the truck outside the bus stop we’d been directed to. The letter gave specific instructions in a PostScript.
Drive to the bus stop off Main Street and Vine in Cape Mystic. The number 13 bus will arrive promptly at 9 am. Students only. Family members are to leave immediately. Show the driver the enclosed bus pass. We look forward to your arrival.
The bus pass looked like any other I’d seen and used in my lifetime. Nothing spectacular about it. Nothing that screamed witch. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. Except for the large W inscribed on the bottom left hand corner. The same one that was pressed onto the wax seal of the envelope.
Lelo grabbed my suitcase from the truck and walked around to my side. I had on my good pair of black jeans and boots, a clean blouse, and my best jacket. We did all right money wise, but fashion wasn’t really a priority for me.
My backpack was stuffed with my laptop, notebooks, and pens. I didn’t exactly know what to bring with me, so I opted for regular school stuff.
Lelo nodded as he looked me over from head to toe, stopping to smile approvingly at the gold chain with the small cross pendant that I wore around my neck.
It had belonged to my mother, and her mother before her. Catholic witches might seem strange, but the Church was important to my grandfather and his people. Part of the Milagros family’s Mexican American traditions. I celebrated all the holidays, received the sacraments, even went to parochial school when I was a kid.
