Dark Witch (Heartstone Academy #1)

PROLOGUE

Death clung to my skin like bitter smoke.

It smelled of dirt, decaying leaves, and despair, the odor so potent that I couldn’t escape it. Everywhere I turned, the stench followed me, growing stronger with each passing second.

Desperate to breathe in anything other than that acrid scent, I started to run. My bare feet slapped against the wet asphalt, carrying me faster and faster until I was all out sprinting.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, I urged myself—despite knowing that I couldn’t outrun it.

This was only a dream. A nightmare. One that I’d endured countless times before.

I still tried to flee from it, still tried to hide, even though I wasn’t death’s target in this scenario. I knew exactly who death wanted, and I couldn’t bear seeing it take her again.

And so I ran. Not toward her but away—not that it would do any good. Death’s presence would continue to cling to me until it claimed its victim. Only then would I be released from this nightmare. From this hellish recurring dream that always ended the same way.

BOOM!

The earsplitting sound came with a blinding flash of light. Startled and disorientated, I stumbled. The feeling of falling finally jerked me awake, and I instinctively flung out my hands. With a grunt, I landed on the road in an inglorious heap, my palms and knees taking the brunt of the impact.

As my scraped flesh lit up in pain, my senses sharpened, bringing me fully back to reality.

It was nighttime, and I was outside in my pajamas during a raging thunderstorm.

Blinking the rain from my eyes, I looked around to see where my nightmare had taken me.

When I spotted Blackrose Manor’s familiar Victorian-style turrets jutting into the night sky, relief filled me.

I was still on Mayweather property, thank the ancestors.

Another fork of lightning lit up the stormy night, followed by a rumbling boom. My heart promptly leapt into my throat. Scrambling to my feet, I prepared to make a mad dash toward the house, but a whiff of something pungent froze me in place.

Dirt. Decaying leaves. Despair.

The scents of death still clung to me.

Fear shivered up my spine, and I spun around, certain I’d find her there.

When a slight figure in a white robe greeted me, her long hair plastered to her skull, I nearly jumped out of my skin. For a split second, I thought the impossible had happened. That an undead spirit had manifested into human form for the sole purpose of haunting me.

A name sprang to my tongue—her name—but before I could utter it, the robed figure spoke in a crisp British accent, “Oh, darling, another nightmare?”

As the concerned voice of my grandmother washed over me, I expelled the fear in a sharp exhale. “It’s okay, Gran. You really didn’t need to come out here.”

Lightning forked through the raging sky again, making her irises almost appear white.

In actuality, they were the palest of blues, a striking color she’d passed down to her son and granddaughter.

I’d inherited her pale skin too but not her whitish-blonde hair.

Mine was jet black like my mother’s, except when light directly hit it.

Then, the wavy tresses became a deep midnight purple.

“Nonsense,” Gran said, stepping forward in her sopping wet robe to grasp one of my hands and turn it over.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the bloody scrapes on my palm, and she clucked her tongue sympathetically.

“It’s been months since you last sleepwalked. I thought you were getting better.”

I inwardly cringed when I heard the faint disappointment in her tone.

Studying my palm for another moment, she dropped it before saying, “Come. Let’s get out of this dreadful storm and into dry clothing. I’ll make you some honeyed Sano tea with a sleeping tincture to help soothe your restless spirit.”

All too ready to leave this nightmare behind, I followed after her as she turned to head back inside.

But I only made it a few steps before the smell of decaying leaves hit me again.

My heart started to pound, and before I could think better of it, I was turning away from the house and following that godawful scent.

“Winter, what are you doing?” Gran called after me, but I was too busy sniffing to answer her.

A bone-deep intuition drove me onward, and I ignored the thunderstorm in my need to find the source of that smell.

It grew stronger with each step, beckoning me forward despite my trepidation.

Maybe what I was smelling was an actual body.

Maybe someone had died and was rotting in the ditch beside our private drive.

I hoped for it. Prayed for it. I didn’t care how crass or morbid that made me sound.

Discovering a body in the ditch was far better than the alternative.

But as the smell became suffocating, there was no dead body in sight. All I could find was . . .

With a frown, I stopped in front of our mailbox.

“Winter Snow, what on earth?” Gran questioned, arriving beside me just as I grasped the mailbox handle and pulled it down.

The second I spotted the black envelope inside addressed to me, her voice and the world around me muted. A cold foreboding crept up my spine, and that feeling of despair grew tenfold. Darkness edged my vision, and my hands began to shake.

Whatever was in that envelope would change my life—and I doubted it would be for the better. Everything in me recoiled from it, but before I could slam the mailbox shut, a muted voice said, “It’s calling to you, darling. Open it.”

Blinking rapidly, I pulled my gaze from the envelope to glance at my grandmother. Instead of trepidation, anticipation twinkled in her bright eyes. I flinched as another flash of lightning and crack of thunder reported through the sky, torn between curiosity and fleeing for my life.

Open me, the envelope seemed to whisper, muting the world around me once more.

All on their own, my eyes went back to it, drawn to the foreboding mystery like a moth to a flame.

When I hesitated, a sensation like cold fingers wrapped around my wrist, urging my hand upward and into the mailbox.

I quickly yanked my hand back, but it was too late.

The envelope was tightly gripped in my trembling fingers.

Open. OPEN, the disembodied voice continued to prod me.

I glanced at Gran again, but her gaze was glued to the envelope with a fervor that sent another chill up my spine.

Knowing I had no choice but to open it, I slid a nail beneath the silver wax seal and broke it.

The second I exposed the letter within, the rain stopped pounding on my head.

A purple light edged in shadows flared into existence before me, and a metallic scent bit at my nose, announcing the presence of magic.

My grandmother might be in her seventies, but her power hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. With a quick flick of her wrist, she’d managed to conjure a shielding spell around us and a bright undulating orb that hovered eerily in the air.

Still shaking from the chilling sense of foreboding, I gingerly grasped the letter and pulled it out. As I unfolded it and began to read, I stopped breathing, knowing in just one sentence who the letter was from.

Dear Ms. Mayweather,

Congratulations on your admission to Heartstone Academy.

Before I could read more, Gran cackled with glee and sang, “Praise be to our illustrious ancestors!”

Numb with shock, I didn’t react when she threw her bony arms around me and squeezed, clearly elated by the news of my acceptance.

“I’m so happy for you, Winter,” she continued, pulling back to beam up at me. “After all that we’ve been through this past decade, our luck is finally changing.”

I stared down at her, too dumbstruck to respond. She didn’t seem to notice, grabbing the letter from my limp hands to reread it with a Cheshire Cat grin.

“Heartstone Academy, can you believe it?” she gushed, more animated than I’d seen her in a long time. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d finally sent in your application?”

“I, um . . .” I stammered, still struggling to form words. “Surprise?”

“Oh, Winter, this is the best news I’ve had in years. I had my doubts, but I shouldn’t have. You’re a Mayweather, so of course the school would accept you. No other bloodline compares to ours, and fate is finally giving you the chance to prove it.”

I opened my mouth again, needing to tell her the truth.

But when one of her tears plopped onto the letter, I swallowed my confession.

She was so proud of me, so proud of the granddaughter who could drag our family name out of obscurity.

Against all odds, the most prestigious college in the world for witches and warlocks had accepted a Mayweather.

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and maybe Gran was right.

Maybe fate was finally shining her face on us.

This was my chance. My moment. I could change everything. Everything.

The scent of death chose that moment to invade my senses again, and I could have sworn I heard a voice on the wind. Her voice. Whispering a single word, an accusation that turned my insides to ice.

Murderer.

That one word immediately brought me back to reality, to the realization that I was the last witch on earth who should be attending Heartstone Academy.

I took in my grandmother’s proud expression for another beat, then glanced down at the acceptance letter once more.

Whatever my decision, I knew one thing with absolute certainty . . .

I’d never sent in my application.