CHAPTER 3 #2
“Do whatever it takes to survive,” Gran’s words reminded me. “But you must stay away from Thorne Hudson at all costs.”
I should have known better than to think I could do both of those things. Thorne didn’t just hate me. He wanted me dead. And now here I was, standing before him alone and terrified, far from my coven and any form of protection.
This was his chance to finish what he started. To exact his revenge.
I could see it in his storm-filled eyes. The hatred. The desire for vengeance. He loathed my guts, and yet . . .
I couldn’t blame him.
Not after what I’d done to his sister.
Knowing he could end me with a flick of his wrist, my hands began to shake. But instead of willing magic to them, instead of preparing to defend myself, I curled them into fists at my sides.
Do it, I silently threw at him, even as fear made me tremble harder, as the darkness within me rose up in response to his threatening presence. Put an end to this.
His eyes narrowed to slits as if he’d heard my message loud and clear.
Time all but stopped, the tension between us fit to explode.
I waited for the inevitable, my whole body trembling like a decaying leaf about to be severed from its life source.
I’d hoped to last longer than one day at Heartstone Academy, and although I was disappointed with myself, no one could cheat death.
Not even a witch who could sense it coming.
The tension became unbearable, but I didn’t move a muscle, frozen in place by guilt, by the painful memories of my past. It was like my survival instincts had switched off, a deep sense of resignation filling me instead.
I waited. Waited and waited for Thorne to lift a hand, to strike me down where I stood.
What are you waiting for? I wanted to scream in the awful stillness. Do it!
His right hand twitched, and I squeezed my eyes shut, too much of a coward to face my own death. I waited. Waited and waited for the agonizing blow.
Nothing happened.
The sudden sound of angry footfalls had my eyes snapping back open. I nearly swallowed my tongue at the sight of Thorne and his familiar only feet away from me and closing in fast. He kept coming and coming, his presence looming larger and larger, reminding me of just how huge he was.
At the last second, right when a collision seemed inevitable, I shifted to the side.
He swept by me, his arm brushing against mine.
The graze was featherlight, but I felt a sharp zap anyway.
The electrical current shot through me like a mini lightning bolt, shocking my insides more than hurting them.
The sensation wrenched a startled gasp from me anyway, one that he completely ignored as he stormed from the great hall.
Flustered, my heart trilling like a hummingbird’s wings, I turned to watch him stalk down the stairs, across the foyer, and out the building. The front doors slammed shut behind him, echoing loudly in the dead silence that followed.
Not knowing what to do, I continued to stand in the doorway like a gaping fish. It was only when a male voice finally broke the silence that I turned back to the great hall, to the sea of faces still staring at me.
“Well, it would seem not everyone is pleased to see a Mayweather grace these hallowed halls.”
The words had an immediate effect on the audience. The verbal response was visceral, ranging from shock to blatant fury. Several students shot up from their seats and started to shout, the flurry of words making their feelings about my presence more than clear.
“What is a Mayweather doing here?”
“She’s exiled! She doesn’t belong at this school!”
“She’s trash. Kick her out.”
“We don’t want her here!”
I’d expected to receive some animosity, even though I’d only been ten years old when the elders and their families had been excommunicated.
I still vividly remembered the trial, the anger and resentment when the community had cast us out.
It didn’t matter that I’d been an innocent child.
All they saw was another Mayweather, and that made me guilty.
But it was clear that ten years of exile wasn’t enough to cool the lingering grudge over what had happened. Witches weren’t exactly the most forgiving bunch, that was for sure. My family’s actions had disgraced the whole community, ruining not only their own reputations but the entire witch race.
A sin like that couldn’t go unpunished, and it was my duty to pay the price.
But it was also my duty to fix it, to regain what had been taken from us. Which was why I didn’t allow the hateful words being spewed to break me. The only way forward was to face their judgment, even if it hurt.
Even if it killed me.
Overwhelmed by the sheer force of the hostility, I focused on the far side of the room, on the male standing on the great hall’s stage who’d outed me.
He was tall and lean, his dark three-piece suit contrasting sharply with his fair skintone.
Heavy stubble darkened the lower half of his face, his black hair cut short.
Probably in his late forties or early fifties, he looked like a Keanu Reeves doppelganger.
Nothing about him seemed overtly menacing, but the wry twist of his lips immediately put me on edge.
I know all about you, Winter Snow Mayweather, the smile seemed to say. You can’t hide anything from me.
A bead of sweat slid down my spine, my instincts screaming at me in warning. A trap. This felt like a trap. Like a perverted game designed to oust me, to expose my deepest darkest secrets.
Maybe Gran had been right. Maybe the Hudsons were behind my admission to Heartstone, encouraging the school board to accept me for the sole purpose of publicly exposing my crimes.
If that happened, this would all be over before it could even start.
Just the thought of what they would do to me sent another shiver of fear through my body.
As the students’ voices rose in volume, my trepidation grew.
At this rate, I’d be dead before they could schedule a trial.
Images flashed through my mind of my body up in flames as they burnt me at the stake.
Humans had started the practice centuries ago, but the only ones burning witches these days were other witches.
The intense need to flee nearly choked me, but I stayed where I was, knowing this was the only way to prove myself.
The man standing on the stage allowed the students to rage, watching me with his mouth still fixed in that wry twist. After a moment, it became painfully clear that this was another test. Another trial.
Not the kind that ended with me burnt to a crisp, but I was being tried and judged all the same. One wrong move would seal my fate.
Sudden anger at how unfair this was washed over me, and I dug my broken nails into my palms. Thorne Hudson might have a valid reason to hate me, but no one in here actually knew me.
They knew of me, of the name I bore like a scarlet letter.
But they didn’t know me or what I’d been through to get here.
They didn’t know about the constant guilt and pain I carried or the crushing responsibility I felt every day.
They didn’t know, and they didn’t care. I was nothing but an ugly stain to them. Something to be ashamed of, to hide, to erase, to throw away.
I was a mistake, and they wanted nothing more than to be rid of me.
Digging my nails into my skin hard enough to break it, I straightened my spine and bore the abuse, focusing on Gran’s final words to me instead of the irate crowd’s.
“Don’t bow to anyone. You’re royalty; they’ve just forgotten.”
They’d forgotten, all right. They saw me as nothing more than a stray, flea-infested mutt.
Insults and threats continued to hurl through the air, striking me like stones.
My lips quivered, but I clenched my jaw, raising my chin a notch for good measure.
Something about the action caused the man on the stage to smile.
It was creepy, not to mention downright sadistic. Was he enjoying my suffering?
He abruptly raised his hands and barked, “Rigescunt indutae!”
Just like that, dead silence fell over the student body. But I knew it was more than the commanding words that had shut them up. He’d cast a spell over the entire congregation. Hundreds of students were frozen where they stood or sat, many of them with their mouths still wide open.
“Really, Cyrus?” a new voice said, this one female. “Don’t you think that was a little dramatic?”
With that same creepy grin still plastered on his face, the warlock glanced at the black woman sitting in a chair to his left.
“Not in the least, Venetia. The students should know who’s in charge at this academy, and that I don’t appreciate uncivilized outbursts.
The spell will only last a few minutes anyway. ”
The middle-aged woman pursed her full lips in disapproval, but instead of arguing, she swung her gaze to me and said, “Come, child. There’s a seat for you up front.”
I blinked, then blinked again, surprised to discover that I could move.
But even more surprising was the kind smile the woman directed my way.
Her umber-colored skin crinkled at the corners of her warm brown eyes as she beckoned me forward encouragingly.
Unlike the warlock who’d frozen all the students—except for me, apparently—her black hair was poofed out in a large afro.
One of the coils caught the light and seemed to move independently from the rest, but it was probably just a draft.
Not seeing a single trace of anger or judgement on her face, I immediately wanted to like her, to trust her. Maybe not everyone here hated me after all.
Careful, my intuition whispered, more like hissed to me. A reminder that letting my guard down at this school could have deadly consequences. Even the seemingly harmless ones could be the death of me if it served their agenda.