1. WELCOME TO RAVEN’S HEAD SCHOOL FOR THE MAGICALLY GIFTED #2
Martinelli turned and beckoned heartily. Embry blinked in the sun, barely making out three shapes pushed up against the administration building’s exterior. A slim figure separated herself from the mélange of grays and fell in line with the headmaster.
This girl was petite and pale in that full-moon way, hiding under curls fried to within an inch of their life by a blond so platinum it was nearly silver.
The effect only made her look more washed out, her kohl-rimmed eyes a colorless black as they watched Embry.
And she wore a backpack. Embry had never in her life seen a student at Raven’s Head wear one.
Even the freshmen knew satchels, messenger bags, heck, even briefcases, were the only way to go.
Yet this girl’s backpack was so full it threatened to send her sprawling.
She might have well and truly toppled over if it were not for the fact that she was clutching an entire wardrobe’s worth of school uniform pieces in her spindly arms, one awkwardly managing both the wad of clothing as well as the telescoping handle of a roller bag.
“We have quite the paperwork to attend to,” the headmaster announced, gesturing to the shadowy figures Embry took for the girls’ parents. “Oh! And no need to dress in uniform yet, Miss Riddle, what you’re wearing is acceptable for physical education.”
Embry stifled a gasp. First-period gym? That was shorthand for the world’s shittiest schedule, sponsored by late enrollment. Especially for a senior.
“Thank you, goodbye, and welcome to Raven’s Head, Miss Riddle.” Martinelli all but shoved the new girl down the handful of stairs to the brick walkway before proceeding to charge toward her office. The new girl waved a pitiful goodbye.
Heart tugging, Embry smiled warmly. “Embry Woodcross. And you are?”
The girl stepped forward, the roller bag scraping along, its wheels struggling on the seams between bricks. “Oakley—er, do I call you Head Prefect Woodcross?”
“Not necessary. Only administration does that. Embry’s fine. Nice to meet you, Oakley.” Embry checked the time. Five minutes now. “Let’s get you to the gym.”
Embry offered a hand to take the girl’s luggage, and Oakley looked almost relieved to comply, though that relief was superseded by a hesitant glance over her shoulder toward Martinelli’s office. “I thought I was supposed to go by my room first?”
Embry tapped her watch and began lugging the roller bag away. What’d she have in this thing? A dead body? “No time to get you settled with the dorm wards. So, what we’re going to do is stash your luggage and uniform allotment and get you to class.”
“Wards? Like magical wards?” Oakley asked.
“Right. And each wing and floor is secure to only those allowed in the area by residence or invitation. Safety is of the utmost priority at Raven’s Head,” Embry parroted, using the same language she’d used while assigning rooms at orientation the previous weekend.
At the dorm, the wards immediately released for Embry, recognizing her as a resident.
Oakley tried to follow but bounced off the protective magic with a surprised “oof.” After locking the suitcase and all but one uniform in the prefect’s closet, Embry dusted her hands as she flung herself outside.
Four minutes. “Come on. Martinelli is serious about the tardy marks. But Heston shouldn’t give you trouble.
He’s a meathead but a sweetheart meathead. Now let’s get you across the quad.”
They set off toward the athletics complex, which, luckily for Embry, was right beside the STEM building. Raven’s Head had as many athletic nerds as it did nerdy athletes.
“If this is the quad, why does it have five sides?” Oakley asked.
“Raven’s Head was founded by witches.” Embry decided it might sound a little boastful to mention those witches were her relatives.
And that they’d founded the town, the island—pretty much everything from here to the mainland.
“The school adopted quad as a generic and welcoming term for non-witches after the Great Reckoning.”
The new girl nodded. Embry was relieved that she wasn’t so out of touch as to not have heard of the Great Reckoning, when all the magical misfits banded together under the governance of the Table.
Some of the more sheltered students didn’t know how many magical protections were in place to keep the outside world at bay.
At their current pace, they could make it easily before the bell, but it was the first day, and Embry was popular. With every step they took, students greeted her.
“Hi, Embry!”
“Embry, um, hey!”
“Embry, I love that blouse. Houndstooth? So classic!”
Prefect badge glinting in the morning sun, Embry greeted each call with a personal response yet kept up a brisk pace across the stately brick walkway, her hair streaming behind her in a shiny, endless, golden wave.
Her only pause across the quad was when a transfer Frankenstein’s monster, Lydia, jogged over from a group of Stitches—all clutching coffees and looking exactly as aggrieved as any naturally nocturnal being would be at the start of the daytime school year—and thrust her newly mended knuckles in Embry’s face.
“The skin perfector salve worked perfectly. Thank you soooo much.” The girl then wrapped Embry in a hug, capturing her in a vise between her biceps.
“Anytime,” Embry assured Lydia, extracting herself with a wave and the discreet rearranging of her now wayward vest as she pointed herself back en route.
Oakley shuffled to catch up. “Are you homecoming queen or something?”
Embry laughed. “We don’t do queen and king here, just two all-gender royalty winners.
Not to mention homecoming isn’t for another month.
” It was true, though she was probably a front-runner, even on the first day.
Only seniors were elected to homecoming court, and the list of seniors with Embry’s social and political capital was very short.
She shrugged. “Just a witch who happens to be good at zapping zits and repairing ragged body parts.”
She tugged three pouches out of her shoulder bag, each embroidered with the name of her top-sellers—skin perfector salve, stink stopper, stain-be-gone—vials clinking merrily within.
The potions were marked with a price well below market value.
She didn’t need the money, but her time was valuable and her skill better than any other witch on campus.
And, honestly, every potion made her school a little more magical—who would have an issue with that?
This was where it would be natural for the new girl to share where she fell in the magical continuum of Witches to Glitches, given that Embry had confirmed herself as a witch. Instead, she just eyed the pouches as Embry returned them to her bag. “Cool.”
Their progress improved as the number of people on the grounds began to dwindle. Oakley’s neck craned as they walked, apparently taking in the buildings’ brick facades as they pressed against the summer green canopy. “Wow, this place is the size of a university.”
It was actually one of the tiniest (and most exclusive) schools run by the Table. Raven’s Head prided itself on its cozy, idyllic setting, and small class sizes while providing the state-required “normie” education to its magical students. “Where were you before?”
Oakley’s pale cheeks flushed. “Oh, at… uh, home. I was homeschooled.”
“Hang on.” Embry clamped down on her marble-cold wrist, halting their procession.
Oakley’s mouth popped open as she gaped from Embry’s grasp to her furrowed brow.
“You were homeschooled for your entire education… and your parents dropped you off at an elite boarding school and peaced out for your senior year? Your last year in group education is your first and it’s at one of the most competitive and prestigious schools for the magically gifted in the country? ”
The girl blinked, eyes wide. “Yeah?”
“Are your parents sadists?”
Oakley shrugged, one side of her mouth flickering upward. “Verifiably?” She laughed, revealing beautiful, bright teeth—a large smile on a small face. She was like a poorly dyed fairy with an addiction to kohl. Not that Oakley was a fairy. The lack of wings was a dead giveaway.
Still, no matter what she was, this new girl was in for it. She’d never attended school. Never sat in a full class. Never dressed out for gym. Never had to find a place to sit at lunch.
Oakley Riddle was a senior in high school and completely, utterly clueless.
In that moment, Embry decided it would be her job to help this poor girl survive Raven’s Head School for the Magically Gifted. She had the status, the popularity, the legacy. If anyone could ensure this girl didn’t get eaten by literal (were)wolves, it was her.
Embry checked her watch. Two minutes.
“Oakley, we’re going to walk through these doors, get you set up with a locker for your backpack with no tardy from Heston, then”—here, Embry again reached into her own bag and slipped out a vial of stink stopper—“you’re going to use a little of this, just in the sweaty places, put on your uniform”—she pointed at it, whispering a wrinkle-release spell—“and arrive to your next three classes on time, making an excellent first impression as you go.”
Oakley bit her lip, glancing from the vial to her newly freshened uniform. “I can’t—”
“It’s my gift. First rule of actual, in-person high school: You only have one chance to make a first impression.”
Oakley gulped.
“At lunch, we’ll get you settled in the dorm. Then I’ll introduce you to my friends, we’ll eat, and you’ll be on your way.”
“On my way to where?”
“To a senior year you’ll never forget. In the best way.” With that, Embry spun the girl around and hauled her into the gymnasium. “Welcome to Raven’s Head, Oakley.”