14. ONCE AND FOREVER A WITCH
ONCE AND FOREVER A WITCH
ALL HER LIFE, EMbrY WOODCROSS HAD ONLY ENJOYED THE spoils of being a witch. The power, respect, adoration. The envy, leverage, clout.
Of course she knew the burnings of her ancestors like the magic that ran in her veins. But that was forever ago. In her time, everyone loved a witch. Embry had never personally felt the coin flip of what she was—until now.
Until the eyes of her classmates clocked the lump in the grass. The body, the blood, the reality of what lay in the rising sun.
A pale end etched on a face they all knew.
The newest royalty of Raven’s Head School for the Magically Gifted, crowned just the evening before at homecoming, was irrefutably, irrevocably dead. There was no reasonable possibility for her demise other than a killing strike from very powerful magic.
The kind of magic possessed by Embry. The witch who had been her friend, her mentor, her competition.
Her classmates had added it together and turned a collective cloud of suspicion upon Embry, as thick as the fog of unease in her own gut.
Everyone loved a witch… until they didn’t.
And now, for the first time in her very charmed life, Embry had to explain herself.
She sat, legs crossed as primly as possible in her unfortunate choice of sweatpants, facing the desk of Headmaster Martinelli.
The headmaster herself had left Embry alone for more than a half hour before finally sweeping into her grand office on the top floor of the administration building, depositing Merlin in his birdcage by the windows overlooking the quad and herself in the squeaky, high-backed roller chair behind her naval barge of a desk.
A pudgy, mustachioed agent of the Table trailed her into the room and took up sentry over Martinelli’s shoulder.
“Thank you for your patience, Miss Woodcross,” the headmaster said, and a sharp pang stabbed Embry in the solar plexus at the idea that she was not Head Prefect Woodcross in this situation.
Surely she still had that title? They were just here for questioning.
It wasn’t as if she were actually guilty of anything that would cause her to lose the title she’d worked very hard to earn.
“There are many moving parts when something like this happens.”
Headmaster Martinelli had been at Raven’s Head in various capacities since it had opened as a witches’ institution a century ago.
In fact, she was one of the school’s first non-witch hires, because though demigoddesses were many things, including excellent falconers, they technically weren’t witches.
Given her tenure, it was likely that there was a procedure here, and she was accustomed to it, even if she hadn’t utilized it in a long time.
But Embry didn’t want to be presumptive.
“When was the last time something like this happened?”
Surprise rolled across the woman’s makeup-free face. And then a flicker of something else… spiky. Martinelli drew a thin breath in her nose, wet her pale lips, and replied, rather directly, “Miss Woodcross, not to be blunt, but Inspector Brown and I will be the ones who will ask questions here.”
Martinelli gestured to the Table agent behind her—Inspector Brown, then.
The headmaster continued, her expression grim. “We have known each other a very long time. You are a bright and cooperative student. I need you to be both of those things right now, Miss Woodcross.”
Her words sounded like compliments but felt like anything but. Embry’s empty-yet-heavy stomach roiled.
“It is important that you answer my questions as honestly and directly as you can so that we can make quick work of this investigation and provide clarity not only to Miss Riddle’s loved ones but also to the Raven’s Head students, faculty, and board.”
Oakley’s family—Embry hadn’t even thought of them yet. What was it that she’d said? Her mother had “cold feet” about her becoming a student outside of home. That’s why she’d missed orientation and been stuck with such a terrible initial schedule.
Her parents didn’t want Oakley to come. She did anyway. Now she was dead.
Embry’s heart lurched, the vampire’s unsure grin the first day of school playing in her mind’s eye. “Of course, I understand that,” she said as clearly as possible, willing her voice not to shake. “This is a tragedy and I’m personally reeling from the loss of my friend—”
“Very good. Let’s get started.”
Though she was seated, Embry felt as if she’d been pushed back on her heels.
She knew the headmaster was upset, stressed, and likely very concerned about the safety of her students, but Embry had never known her not to let her students engage in an actual conversation.
Which meant now was the time to throw around her weight, even if that wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed.
“I’m a minor. Surely my father, Lazarus Woodcross, a revered coven leader, who is a valued member of the Table, mind you, should be present for this questioning.
” Embry straightened in her chair. She really wished she were wearing something a little more professional than sweats, but that was precisely the point of what she’d just said—she could be wearing a Scream mask and Headmaster Martinelli or literally anyone in their magical community would have to take her seriously.
And, honestly, even if she wasn’t a Woodcross, she probably wasn’t the only student requesting in-person parental support for an interview, especially with so many family members at hand already for homecoming weekend.
Martinelli didn’t blink. “As this is currently a school matter, that’s not necessary.”
That heavy feeling of metal coins surfing the shallows of her gut redoubled.
Embry did plenty of hard things without Daddy.
But none of them usually included actual life-and-death in the stakes.
“With all due respect, Headmaster, I’m not answering questions with Inspector Brown in the room but not my father as both my guardian and a highly respected attorney-at-law. ”
This was a gamble. Technically, the Table ran the school, but they also worked as the governmental body for all the magically gifted people in North America. Having them on campus was like having federal agents up in your business.
Here, Martinelli allowed her first tell. Her smoke-gray eyes flicked over Embry’s shoulder, toward the sealed doors.
The headmaster returned her attention to Embry and shifted the unkempt ends of her bob behind her ear. Her hair had started to frizz despite the cool morning, giving up on staying smooth in the chaos.
“The Table is leading the investigation as is necessary when a member of our magical community appears to be the victim of foul play. The Ravenwood PD are also involved, as they would with any death on the island.” This was sort of a joke because the Ravenwood PD was a placeholder for the Table—it just had to look like a working police department in case any nonmagical folks popped by.
The Table would use the building as their home base, which was protocol because it was basically a satellite branch.
“All entities are following established protocol and information sharing as is necessary to resolve this case and find justice for Miss Riddle.”
“Which means,” cut in Inspector Brown, with an apologetic hand thrust out toward Martinelli at his abrupt entrance into the conversation, “you will talk to me eventually. It would be beneficial if you answered our questions at the same time, Miss Woodcross.”
Embry didn’t like confrontation, but she also wasn’t stupid. “I understand that. But I’m not speaking to you without my father present.”
Inspector Brown ran a hand down his mustache, which gave the unfortunate impression of his whole face doing a hangdog droop. His voice, though, was as tough as nails—a solid Boston accent. “Fair enough. Headmaster, let me know when Mr. Woodcross arrives.”
As he left, Martinelli leaned out her office door and instructed her assistant to call Mr. Woodcross.
For as wobbly and distraught as Embry felt, she appreciated that Daddy had taught her well enough to keep cool in a matter such as this.
The headmaster shut the door, returned to her desk, and said, “While we wait, you and I need to discuss your presence at this school.”
Her tiny Daddy-shaped victory dissolved. Embry’s face felt at once both hot and cold. Like she’d rubbed a glop of that foul-smelling menthol cream Rye favored after a particularly grueling rowing practice atop her cheekbones. But she ignored it all, dialing in.
Embry wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of Martinelli. In front of Daddy, later? Sure. Here? No way. “My presence at the school where I’m your head prefect and therefore the most well-trusted of all students nominated by the administration to serve as peer ambassadors?”
“Embry,” Martinelli said, so pointedly that Embry felt as if the Goddess herself had just zapped her with more than one lightning bolt—the headmaster had never used her first name in such a way.
“I am well aware of your academic and social résumé. You do not need to tell me or anyone else. In fact, I would advise you not to recite your accomplishments or your family connections in this interview or any other that may be conducted in the name of this investigation as it could be construed as undue influence, or depending on the circumstances, interference, and it is crucial we avoid both during—”
“I would never—”
“But you could.”
The headmaster’s tone was both decisive and perhaps accusing—as if the could actually meant “you are currently.”
Martinelli sighed. “Miss Woodcross, may I remind you that you are a very talented, very connected witch? You may not intend to interfere in our investigation, but your reputation, the reputation of your family, and the collective influence you might wield simply by asking questions of say, someone like Miss Wolverton, who has submitted evidence for our consideration, is of concern.”
“Skye?! You think I’d threaten Skye?!”
Embry knew her reaction was a tad shrieky and uncontrolled, but this was just ludicrous.
“I think you would tell yourself you weren’t threatening Skye, but you’d ask her about the video she recorded and about what else she might have told us, yes.”
Okay, sure. Anyone would have questions. She had plenty of them. But Embry could, in theory, see how that would look to anyone who didn’t understand that she was completely innocent and eager to prove it. Then something else occurred to Embry.
“You said students like Skye. Does someone else have evidence to share? Because there was a lot of nuance to that conversation that Skye’s video didn’t catch.”
The headmaster’s lips thinned, and her shoulders shrugged as she threaded her fingers together and set them heavily on the leather blotter before her.
“Miss Woodcross, it’s not just what was said on the video.” It wasn’t? “You were the last person seen with Miss Riddle—the video corroborates this, as well as testimony from several eyewitnesses.”
It didn’t matter how many zits Embry magically zapped, how many raggedy Stitch body parts she repaired, that she’d just been among the ten seniors recognized by her peers as someone they considered for Raven’s Head royalty.
The Woodcross name meant nothing, even if it was on the school’s charter and deed; the strength and history of her coven was moot; and every good deed she did in the short time her life crossed with Oakley’s was of no consequence.
In that moment, Embry was the sum of her most recent, regrettable actions and the magical person she was at her marrow: a witch. A witch seen in a fight with a girl who was now dead.
So many witches throughout history had been burned for much less and had never gotten the chance to explain.
This was her chance. Embry straightened in her chair. She swallowed down the ball of sadness that had been forming in her throat since she first saw Oakley’s lifeless body on the supernaturally green turf of the football field and fought back.
“There was a whole stadium full of people. Surely, we can find someone in that stadium who saw that Oakley left on her own, while I stayed back and had a discussion with Rye Knighton? I mean, that’s what happened even if the video cuts off.
Talk to Rye. Or Balthazar Hale—he saw us in conversation.
” Embry scrambled for her phone. “Let me text him; I’m sure he can give a statement about how I didn’t go after Oakley—”
“Miss Woodcross, it is exactly this brand of overt witness tampering that has me concerned about your presence on this campus during this investigation.”
That hot-and-cold feeling swept down Embry’s entire body. “Wait, what?”
“As I stated before, there’s an established protocol when something like this happens. It’s one I need to follow to protect my students and ensure they feel safe bringing their concerns to myself and Inspector Brown.”
Embry felt the scythe in the headmaster’s words before it fell.
“Which means, as a suspect in an active homicide investigation, you are to be suspended from Raven’s Head until further notice.”