Witches Gone Wicked Page 18

And if I wasn’t afraid of the storm of magic brewing inside me.

  Julian continued, “Miss Lawrence doesn’t have a wand, I notice. She needs a mentor to get her started.”

  “Witchkin don’t need to rely on a phallic object to harness their energies,” Jackie Frost said.

  Coach Kutchi nodded in agreement. “It was a tradition started by the male institution of warlocks centuries ago meant to exclude women.”

  I tried not to laugh. I knew who the two feminists on staff were.

  “What? What was that?” Jeb squinted at the teachers before his gaze fell on Thatch.

  Thatch cleared his throat. “Might I suggest Coach Kutchi? She’s a formidable defense teacher, and Miss Lawrence is unlikely to encounter any … roving wands with the coach’s teaching methods.” He glanced at Julian.

  Julian shook his head, his eyebrows kneading together. “What? No! That’s a horrible thing to imply.”

  “Hmm. Yes, clever idea.” The principal grinned broadly.

  Professor Kutchi crossed her arms. “As if I need one more thing on my plate.”

  This was almost as bad as being picked last for dodgeball. I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone.

  Jeb went on. “Thank you kindly for volunteering, Professor Thatch. I can’t think of a more suitable teacher.”

  I shook my head, trying to catch Jeb’s eye. I did not want Thatch as a teacher again.

  Thatch tilted his head to the side. “Excuse me, sir, but I believe you misunderstood my suggestion. Professor Kutchi would be the obvious choice as instructor for Miss Lawrence’s education. She’s her department head.”

  “I reckon so. Her education will be safe in your hands. Thank you kindly.”

  Thatch raised his voice. “I said, ‘Professor Kutchi should teach her.’ Or any of the female teachers. It would be inappropriate for a male teacher to work so intimately with Miss Lawrence. Especially after your decree that relationships among staff be forbidden. We wouldn’t want Miss Lawrence to have another … accident.” He quirked an eyebrow at me.

  My face burned with shame.

  “Yep, I wholeheartedly agree. There’s no beatin’ the devil around the stump on this one. You’re the best candidate. I’ve got no worries about your professionalism.”

  Thatch’s face turned red. A few of the teachers snickered.

  I nudged Josie. “What is up with Jeb? Is he under the influence of some kind of spell?”

  She shook her head and whispered, “He probably forgot to recharge his hearing spell again, and he’s not a very good lip-reader.”

  Thatch and Jeb exchanged a few more words which I missed as I whispered to Josie.

  Thatch burst out, “Merlin’s balls! I don’t want to teach her.” He rose and stormed out, his long dark hair billowing behind him like liquid shadows. The gray tweed of his suit twisted and spun into smoke that dissipated into the air.

  That was one way to make a dramatic exit. It was vaguely reminiscent of the Raven Court. Not a good sign considering they were supposed to be the ultimate evil and he was my teacher. Still, the spiraling remnants of his spell was impressive.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Someone doesn’t like being volun-told.”

  Vega’s perfectly groomed eyebrows came together. “Volun-told? That sounds like a spell I would like to learn.”

  I shrugged. “It has about the same amount of power as a minor hex.”

  The meeting finished half an hour before third period started. Jeb was out the door first, the other teachers sluggishly exiting the staff room. I pushed my way through those ahead of me, gaining a dirty look as I accidentally elbowed Silas Lupi. From the way his mouth drew back from his pointed teeth and his yellow eyes shot daggers at me, I knew I hadn’t endeared myself to the other teacher.

  I ran out the hall and up the stairs after the principle. “Headmaster Bumblebub, wait!”

  He continued his slow shuffle up the steps. I remembered what Josie had said about his hearing. I kept running, shouting to be heard as I repeated myself.

  He paused, using his staff to lean on as he turned around. “Please, call me Jeb. And if you must, I’d rather you call me Principal Bumblebub, not Headmaster. Headmaster is such a prissy, Yankee title, ain’t it?”

  I panted, out of breath. “I’ve been trying to schedule an appointment with you. Has Mrs. Keahi told you?”

  “Told me what?”

  “That I wanted to see you.” Seeing his blank expression, I went on. “I’ve been hoping you would educate me on some of the mysteries surrounding my mother and why everyone hates her.” Particularly Thatch.

  “Ah.” He continued climbing the stairs. “Mr. Thatch said he gave you a kit and caboodle of reading material. Was it … inadequate?”

  I walked along beside him. “It would have been fine, I guess, but he ripped pages out so I couldn’t read about my mother.”

  “That’s as interestin’ as all get-out.” He tugged on his beard. “Suppose that’s his pride. He don’t want one more person to know he was ever capable of failure.”

  I placed my hand on the sleeve of his gray robe. “Please don’t make him my teacher. He’s so nasty to me.”

  “I’m gonna let you in on a lil’ secret. He’s all hat and no cattle. He gave up one of his preps so you could have an extra period to study magic. It was his suggestion. Did you know that, darlin’?”

  I shook my head, not sure whether I believed this or if it was another instance of being volun-told. I remembered the day Josie and I had examined the schedules. We’d assumed Thatch’s lack of a free homeroom had been why he’d been in a bad mood. More likely he was always in a bad mood.

  Jeb waved a hand airily toward the dungeon. “Thatch has come to me several times, insistin’ I train you myself. When it comes to your education, he’s worse than a cat in a room full of rockers. He ain’t fixin’ to be your teacher, not after his history with your mother, whereas I think he’d do a bang-up job on account of it. He knows the temptations of black magic like nobody’s business. He’ll be more invested you ain’t goin’ down the same path she did.”

  Ah, so Jeb’s incompetent deafness had been a ruse.

  “But he’s not the best teacher for the job. He’s so… .” I didn’t know where to begin. Dare I say the word out loud? Evil. It was unlikely he would agree. “Mean.”

  “There’s a mighty good reason for his prickly nature. He don’t want others to see him as weak and vulnerable after what happened twenty years ago. Twenty-two years ago.” He tucked his thumbs under his belt. The buckle was a giant silver unicorn encased in a square. “He don’t permit himself friends, nor does he trust his peers after the way he was betrayed. Last year I thought with Miss Kimura befriendin’ him, or tryin’ to anyway, he might grow sweet on her.”

  Josie had tried to be friends with him? Their feud was deeper than the houses of Stark and Lannister from A Song of Ice and Fire. It was hard to imagine them ever being on friendly terms.

  “As you’re mighty keen in observin’, he’s got some issues to work through. You bein’ here at the school, well, it’s my hope he’ll learn to forgive your mother for what she did, and your presence will be cathartic for him. Sooner or later he’ll to come to realize you ain’t her.” He cupped my cheek in his hand in a grandfatherly way. “I told you life here would be more difficult than getting a devil to pray in church. It’ll take time before people see you as an individual.”

  “What did Loraline do to him?”

  He patted my head. “It isn’t my place to say. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

  I wondered when that would be.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Unjust Accusations

  The thing I wanted to do most was warn Imani Washington that Thatch might interrogate her, but there was no time. I only had a few minutes to get from the administration wing to my classroom before third period. I raced through the twisting corridors and unlocked the door for the students wait
ing in the stairwell. Apparently, news traveled fast. Students murmured about the break-in as I ushered them inside.

  It was an A day. That meant I had Balthasar Llewelyn and Hailey Achilles. Hopefully they wouldn’t try to stick me to the ceiling today. They sauntered in two minutes late, taking seats in the back as I took attendance from the stool at the front of the room.

  “I’m the chosen one,” Hailey said to her friend. “The prophecy is about me, not her.”

  “That Imani mutt just wants attention.”

  I looked up at that. The kids’ eyes went wide around them. From their reactions, I could tell “mutt” meant something rude relating to half-breeds.

  “Mutt?” I hopped off my stool and went over. “Did you just say ‘mutt’ in my classroom?”

  Students whispered and nudged each other. “The teacher just said a bad word.”

  Ugh. Now I was going to be the potty-mouth teacher who said racial slurs. I blazed on, pointing a finger at Hailey. “We do not use derogatory language in my class. Is that clear? And I will not allow you to talk that way about other students in my classes. Ten points from Elementia.”

  Later I was going to ask Josie what “mutt” meant.

  I finished taking attendance. Before we started our lesson, I read an article about Joan Miro, asking students to take notes as I read. I asked questions afterward, and we looked at his art. As I went around to check off work, I realized most of the students had written down every single word I’d said. Or tried to. I didn’t know how they could read what they’d written.

  “When I read an article or you read from a book, do you know how to take notes? Have you ever had a teacher show you?” I asked.

  No one raised a hand.

  “Five points to the first person who can tell me,” I said. Still no one answered. “Have you learned summarizing in your history classes?”

  “We used to do it at my old middle school,” a human-looking boy said. “But I haven’t done it for a long time.”

  No wonder these kids did so poorly in school. They needed literacy strategies. I could help them with that, and if I was lucky, connect with them in the process.

  I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Do you want me to teach you how to cheat on your homework?” I could barely contain my excitement. This was going to get them on my side!

  “Cheat?”

  Students looked around at each other confused. This was exactly what my sixth-grade teacher had told me and how she had sparked my interest in learning study skills. “You don’t actually have to read an entire book to get good grades. You only need to find the important sections. Do you want me to show you how?”

  “Yeah, I want to know how to cheat!” Maya Briggs shouted.

  For the next hour, we used art history as a vehicle for learning how to take notes and found the most important information in a text. I walked through the aisles, smiling at how excited the students were that they thought they were getting away with something. It felt like my first breakthrough with this class.

  Hailey had one sentence written on her paper. Sort of. It was illegible, and a lot of letters were backward.

  She crumpled it up when she saw me standing there. “This is stupid. This is an art class, not a writing class.”

  “Art history and criticism are part of art. You don’t have to do the written work.” I shrugged, using my best poker face. “You just won’t get points for what you don’t do.”

  “Well, I’m not doing it.” She threw the paper in the trashcan and walked out the door.

  I ran to the doorway. “If you leave, I’m assigning a detention.”

  “Don’t care.”

  “With Thatch.” I didn’t know if I actually could do that, but it was worth a try.

  She hesitated on the steps, actually considering it. “Still don’t care.”

  One of the students whispered. “This is one of the only classes she doesn’t skip.”

  Until today, apparently. My mother hadn’t given up on her students, and I didn’t want to be the teacher that would either. But so far, Hailey was the biggest pain-in-the-butt student in all my classes.

  Ten minutes later, Josie came in. She must have been on her prep. She adjusted her pointed hat and surveyed the students taking notes. “What is your class doing? This isn’t art.” From the way she lifted an eyebrow, one might have thought she was the art police.

  I beckoned her over to the far side of the room and into the back stairwell that led to the closet. The kids were in sight, but we had some privacy so I could tell her my diabolical plan to help students learn better.

  “Absolutely nefarious,” she agreed. “You’ll have to give me tips for my students later.”

  “Hailey Achilles left class,” I said. “I’d have thought this tactic would appeal to her of all students. I told them it was cheating. Wasn’t she one of the ones who tried to steal answer keys last year?” That’s what she had claimed when I’d overheard her anyway. I didn’t know why the staff hadn’t considered her as a suspect for the break-in. Or for murdering teachers.

  “That was her. She skipped my class all last year. I’m not surprised she walked out today. She’s constantly in detention. Next year she’ll be one of our ‘super’ seniors.” She wiped her black-rimmed glasses on the front of her green-and-purple tunic-style dress. “Listen, do you think it’s really a good idea to tell them it’s ‘cheating?’ I mean, think about it, do you want them to tell the other teachers you taught them to cheat on tests? Especially after Jeb’s office was broken into, supposedly for tests.” She eyed me the same way a high school teacher might eye a suspicious teenager.

  “What? I thought they’d broken in for the alcohol.” Or a book. Could Thatch have been the culprit? He was supposed to be extremely skilled at spells.

  She pulled me deeper into the closet, closing the door. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Josie pointed accusingly at me. “You broke into Jeb’s office, didn’t you?”

  “Me? No way! Why would you think I broke into his office?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Because I told you he had that book you wanted, and there was a book stolen from his office.”

  “I don’t have the kind of magic that would do that.”

  She crossed her arms, unconvinced.

  I peeked out the door. The students worked in pairs, too busy chatting to care what the adults were saying. I whispered, “I haven’t done magic on purpose before.”

  “Whatev. Just be careful.” She pushed past me and left.

  Great. Now my only friend thought I was a thief and a liar.

  Because I had a lunch duty and didn’t see Imani during that time, I wasn’t able to warn her about Thatch’s interrogation. I peeked into Thatch’s classroom during my fifth-period prep, thinking I could talk to him instead. His students were the image of complacency. Every student had his or her head down as they wrote an essay. I wondered if they ever used any of the cauldrons, vials, and chemistry-looking equipment stored on the back counter and in the glass cupboards.

  Thatch sat at his desk, writing in a leather-bound journal. Perhaps it was the same one I’d seen in his desk earlier with his satanic art.

  The black raven sat perched in a domed cage in the corner. It squawked and a student looked up.

  A freshman from one of my classes nudged his friend. “Look, it’s Miss Lawrence!”

  “No talking,” Thatch said. He continued writing in his book.

  I put my finger to my lips so the students wouldn’t get in trouble for speaking. A couple waved, and I waved back.

  I tiptoed to the front of the room. “I was wondering if you had a moment to talk about a student.”

  Thatch snapped his book closed. “I’m in the middle of teaching right now.”

  I glanced at the students silently writing. Right. Teaching.

  I mouthed the words. “It’s about Imani Washington.”

  “You may return during my prep, seventh
period.”

  “I have class.” He probably knew it too. “How about after school?”

  “I’m busy torturing small animals and possibly children at that time.” His smile was amused. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “You may return at four thirty.”

  My prep period oozed by with the speed of molasses on a cold day. I couldn’t remember what period Imani had Thatch. When I saw her seventh period, I took her aside, into the closet. I kept the door ajar so I could see into my classroom and keep an eye on the students working on their line assignment.

  “Imani, I need to talk to you about something serious.” I took a deep breath. “But I don’t even know where to begin.”

  Her face crumpled. “It’s about that break-in, isn’t it? Everyone thinks I did it, don’t they?”

  “Not everyone.” I hesitated. Now my suspicion rose too. “How’d you know that’s what I was going to ask you about?”

  “Mr. Khaba called me into his office. Everyone’s talking about it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “But you know I didn’t do it, right?”

  “I believe you, honey.” I patted her shoulder.

  “You have no idea how much it means to me.” She threw her arms around me and buried her face against my shoulder. “I hate how everyone looks at me. Everyone’s so mean here.”

  “Tell me about it.” I handed her a clean tissue from my pocket.

  Beyond the closet door one of the students drew on his classmate’s art with a quill. The other student shoved him away. Any minute now I was going to have to intervene.

  Imani sniffled. “I was different at home and I’m different here. At home my family was afraid of me because I could make things happen. I was magic, a witch. At school, black kids said I wasn’t black enough. White kids said I wasn’t white enough.” Her voice came out high and muffled against my shoulder. “Here, some of them think I’m not magic enough. They say I’m a freak because of the affinity-fire test. I don’t know the most basic rules of Witchkin etiquette and keep asking dumb questions. I still don’t understand how magic works. And I made enemies on my first day because I asked someone what he was.” She blew her nose on the tissue, holding it up like she didn’t know what to do with it.