A Handful of Hexes Read online

  I scooted back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She wasn’t threatening to kill me, was she?

  Vega turned toward the wall where volumes of books lined a shelf above her bed. She selected one and tossed it to me. I dove and caught it.

  “Knock yourself out,” she said.

  The title of the book was Roman Ciphers. It wasn’t the easy answer I’d hoped for, but it was better than nothing. Now I could crack the code.

  Hopefully, my mother’s journal wasn’t like Tom Riddle’s diary from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and wouldn’t cause me to resurrect the ghost of a wicked witch.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Try This One Weird Trick Used by the Romans

  During the precious moments I was free of Vega’s scrutiny, I used my mentor’s book on Caesar ciphers to decode Alouette Loraline’s journal, though the process was slow. Not only was some of the text written in code, but some parts were also written in Latin. It was a good thing I was studying Latin as one of the required subjects Thatch had assigned me. I was certain if Ginny Weasley had been forced to do as much work as I was doing, that basilisk would have remained hidden in the Chamber of Secrets.

  That thought gave me pause. Was reading my biological mother’s journal a wise idea? Thatch probably would have said no. Alouette Loraline was like Voldemort. On the other hand, the last time I’d relied on Harry Potter books for life advice had caused more problems than remedies. My mother’s face had not been lurking under Pro Ro’s turban. I tried not to think about Tom Riddle and went back to work.

  This book contained the answers to all the questions I had ever asked that Thatch wouldn’t answer. I needed to understand what I was, and this would help me. It took hours to decode a couple paragraphs, such as the following passage:

  It is no secret amongst those who possess the Red affinity that we differ from other Witchkin. Our magic draws out the affinities in others, and we are resistant to substances that commonly affect Fae and Witchkin, such as cold iron and electricity. Other Witchkin accuse us of perverting the gift of our affinity, and label us as aberrations, yet those who know what we are use us as weapons for our uncommon magic. Those who read forbidden texts know that the Lost Red Court holds the secret to the Fae Fertility Paradox.

  A Red affinity paired with a fire Elementia or a Fae fury will multiply those powers tenfold and create the burning infernos of Hell. A Red affinity paired with a fertility nymph or green man—even one thought to be infertile—will spawn life.

  —Excerpt from A Treatise of Witchkin Nature, 1901

  I set the book down, shivering at the memory of the green man who had used me. Julian had seduced me for my affinity. According to Thatch, others would as well. My magic was a conduit for others. This was why the Raven Queen hadn’t killed me. She’d wanted to possess me, to draw me to her side.

  All of this was important information, but I was disappointed to learn the passage I had decoded wasn’t actually my mother’s writing. The quote was from another book.

  I wanted to devote more time to translating my mother’s book, but I couldn’t. I had homework for the classes I would be taking and lessons to prepare.

  Soon, I hoped to understand who my mother was and her secrets.

  I started my first magic lesson on Monday, following the schedule Thatch had drawn up for me. After school, Josie attempted to teach me simple spells. In the first week, I mastered a rudimentary cleaning charm. Learning magic was the best day of my life!

  After the high of success wore off, reality settled in. Lemony fragrance and polished windows weren’t the magic I needed to protect myself from Fae like the Raven Queen and green men who would use me. I had to learn to shield what I was and blend in. Unfortunately, I still needed to learn the fundamentals.

  On B days during my preps, I sat in on Jackie Frost’s beginning-level Elementia class. After the teacher took attendance, we walked outside, our feet crunching over icy blades of grass. Jackie Frost herded us to a section of school grounds away from the barren trees. The school was built in a mishmash of architectural styles harking back to different eras, the sprawling building reminding me of Howl’s Moving Castle, only on crack.

  Students huddled together, their breaths coming out in cloudy puffs. It was easy to see the clear divide in the students who could afford tuition from those who couldn’t by their outdoor attire. Some students wore wool coats or cloaks while others wore threadbare jackets. Even in my coat, scarf, gloves, and hat, it was cold. I could hardly imagine how the students without those felt.

  Jackie Frost didn’t wear a coat at all, only jeans and a sweater. Out in the cold, her light brown hair looked transparent, the spiky tips frosted. She cupped her hands together and demonstrated a fire spell, speaking in Latin and blowing into her palms to invoke flames.

  “If you do it right, you’re going to be able to keep yourselves warm,” she said. “If you do it wrong, you’ll end up in the infirmary.”

  Students who were natural water, wind, fire, or air Elementia didn’t need spells to use this kind of magic. All they had to do was blow on their palms. But those who weren’t naturally talented at this affinity had to invoke the elements with magic words in Latin.

  Even using Latin, nothing happened when I tried to coax fire to come to me. I glanced around, embarrassed how many students could do this while I couldn’t.

  Rex Smith, a freshman, whipped out his wand when whispering in Latin, but he still failed.

  “Put that thing away.” Jackie Frost clucked her tongue. “Wands are crutches. Only the weak need to rely on them.”

  “Here comes a speech on male patriarchy and phallic traditions,” a teenager muttered behind me.

  It was just as well I didn’t have a wand because Jackie wouldn’t have allowed me to use it anyway.

  Hailey Achilles was a natural. She threw a ball of fire into the air and caught it. She changed the color, made it bigger and then smaller. It was a wonder she was in a beginning-level class, but then, just because she was Elementia didn’t mean she had passed the class the first time. Reading, writing, and attending classes were important in any subject.

  “Look what I can do, Miss Lawrence,” Hailey said. She threw the fire up into the air and caught it in her mouth. She blew the flames back into her hand. “Did you see?”

  From her smile, I couldn’t tell if she was genuinely pleased with herself—or pleased to show me how little I could do in comparison.

  I nodded, trying to hide my envy. “I saw.”

  Hailey tossed the ball behind her back and whirled to catch it.

  “You should join the circus!” one of the boys shouted, his tone more accusatory than appreciative.

  “Fire Elementia will easily be able to invoke fire,” Jackie Frost explained. “Those who don’t have fire as a first or second affinity will have to put more work into it.” She glanced at me as I incanted the word, still not able to get a spark.

  Hailey threw her fireball into the air, gesturing like she was pushing at it. The fire changed shape, expanding outwards. It was a bird. Or maybe a dragon. It was about as crudely formed as one of her drawings.

  “What is that? A flying turd?” Someone laughed.

  Hailey scowled. “This flying turd can still burn your face off, douchebag.”

  “If you keep practicing drawing in art class, you might be able to use those skills to draw and sculpt with fire,” I said.

  Hailey ignored me. The dragon-bird-turd grew in size.

  Jackie plucked Hailey’s fire from the air and transformed it into a sphere of ice. She tossed it back to Hailey.

  Hailey yelped and dropped it. The ice shattered on the ground in front of her.

  “Why was I able to do that so easily?” Jackie asked.

  Students raised their hands. I knew the answer. I’d done my homework before class.

  “Because you’re the teacher and you can do anything!” one student shouted.

&nb
sp; “Practice,” Luther Jamison said without waiting to be called on.

  “Those are correct statements, but there is a better answer.” Jackie turned her piercing blue eyes on me. Sinister delight tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Let’s see if Miss Lawrence did the required reading, shall we?”

  She was about to be disappointed. I raised my chin. “It’s because your affinity is snow and ice. Those with winter affinities are strongest this time of year because they’re descended from Fae furies of a particular season or element.”

  She acknowledged my answer with a grunt. “This is why it’s important to practice your strengths and weaknesses. Just because it isn’t your season doesn’t mean you can’t transform that into energy your body can process.”

  This was like Thatch’s lesson with pain and pleasure magic. If pain was my weakness, I had to be able to transform it into my strength. It made me wonder what I was descended from. Would my mother’s journal tell me?

  Jackie held a hand over the shattered remains of Hailey’s ball of ice. The shards shot back together and rose into Jackie’s hand. “While the beginners work on creating flames, more advanced students need to practice weaknesses.” She tossed the ball to Hailey.

  Hailey yelped and tossed it from one hand to the other as though it were a hot potato.

  Jackie eyed my empty hands. “You can stick to fire.”

  What did I learn my first day participating in Jackie’s class? I was less skilled than most of the students. Since I couldn’t invoke the elements like Elementia students, I could see why I needed Vega to tutor me in Latin skills. On my second B day, I was able to summon fire, although it went out two seconds later. Heat was easier, but still inconsistent.

  Alone in my dorm room I found I could easily create fire, but only if I cheated and used my affinity. If I massaged my hands and arms beforehand while I thought about kissing Derrick, electricity built inside me. Blue energy crackled in my palms before igniting into fire. Thatch probably wouldn’t have approved. For one thing, I wasn’t doing a good job being secretive.

  Also, I caught the blanket of my bed on fire.

  The worst part of my B days was walking past Pro Ro’s classroom on the way to and from Jackie Frost’s room. He stood out in the hallway, monitoring the students during passing time like teachers were supposed to. I admired his commitment to be a good teacher. I wished we could have been friends.

  He glared at me as I passed him, clearly signaling he hadn’t forgiven me for ripping off his turban at the staff meeting. I ducked my chin down, afraid meeting his eyes would turn me into stone.

  On A days, Professor Bluehorse’s class in the greenhouse focused on plant magic. The plant names were also in Latin.

  I divided up my free time between Latin studies, memorizing wards that I didn’t have the skill to actually produce yet, and going to the greenhouses to learn more about medicinal plants. When I was lucky, Professor Bluehorse ignored me and pretended I wasn’t there.

  When I heard her talking to the students about the use of plants in a spell at one of the tables where students repotted plants, I raised my hand and asked a question. “Does it make a difference what kind of basil is used in the recipe—I mean—spell? For example, our greenhouse has Mediterranean basil, Thai basil, and lemon—”

  Bluehorse growled at me. “If you’re going to disrupt my classes by asking impertinent questions, you can leave.”

  My eyes went wide. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  She stormed off. The frills of moss and lichen swayed on her green conical hat as she stomped down an aisle of herbs where students were clustered. Her demeanor relaxed once she was among students.

  The teenagers sitting on a bench near me exchanged puzzled looks. “I thought Grandmother Bluehorse was nice to everyone,” a student whispered.

  Everyone except me.

  Greenie leaned closer to me. “It doesn’t make a difference what kind of basil you use unless the spell specifies.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She smiled at me. “No problem. I’ve got your back, Miss Lawrence.”

  It was nice to know not everyone hated me.

  Over the next week, I divided my time between lesson plans and my own studies. Imani sat in the art room, usually alone after school, but sometimes with Greenie, drawing art. When Imani saw I was using flashcards to memorize Latin vocabulary, she asked, “Can I practice with you? I’m taking Latin from Mr. Reade.”

  As it turned out, Imani and Greenie both were taking Latin. They were in the same Fae history class together, which had been taken over by Jackie Frost after Julian Thistledown’s death. I didn’t savor the idea that I had killed someone, but Julian had been a sexual predator, and I was glad Imani didn’t have him as a teacher any longer. If he had suspected what she was, he would have used her like he’d tried to use me.

  On Thursday after school, Chase Othello and Maya Briggs stood in the doorway, looking uncertain about whether they wanted to come inside. Maya sucked on the end of her blonde braid like a kindergartener, though I was pretty sure she was a freshman.

  “Do you want to work on your art project?” I asked.

  “Um, no.” Chase fidgeted with her lip ring. “We heard you were studying Latin. The thing is, Latin is really hard, and we wondered if we could get help.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  The five of us studied together. It was actually pretty fun. They were a nice group of girls and worked hard.

  On Friday, they all returned after school. Half an hour after we started, the door to the stairwell at the back of the room creaked open. I jumped, expecting the bogeyman.

  Thatch emerged from the shadows. “What’s this we have here?”

  “A study group,” I said.

  He nodded with approval. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he leaned toward Imani, his whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “How is Miss Lawrence coming along in her studies? What grade would you give her? Perhaps a C minus?”

  “No. I would give her an A!” Imani said with a smile.

  His eyes locked on mine. “Are you ready for a true challenge?”

  Did he mean spell work? I nodded. “I’m ready to use Latin for something meaningful.”

  He inclined his head. “I’ll return shortly.”

  Fifteen minutes later he returned with Hailey Achilles in tow. He deposited her into a chair. She crossed her arms, sulking. The other girls grimaced. Imani looked to me, a question in her eyes. I didn’t relish Hailey’s presence any more than she did.

  “Your challenge,” Thatch said with a grim smile.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “I thought you wanted me to use Latin for magic.”

  Thatch raised an eyebrow. “It will be magic if you can get Hailey Achilles to pass Latin 101.”

  So much for enjoying study group.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Let That Be a Lesson to You

  Twice a week after school and once a week during homeroom I studied in Vega’s classroom.

  On Monday morning of week two with Vega as my slave driver, I was five minutes into studying in the back of her classroom when Vega strode past rows of students quietly working and stopped before me. “Here’s your first lesson in being my assistant.” She dropped a heap of papers onto the table. “Use the rubric to correct these essays. I give points for complete sentences, correct punctuation and grammar, and relevant rhetoric.”

  “I’m not your assistant,” I said. “I’m supposed to be learning from you.”

  “You are learning. As you correct these papers, you’ll absorb knowledge about protective wards. At least, you will if you put effort into it.”

  Maybe this was like “the wax on, wax off” lesson from the Karate Kid. This was the preliminary exercise I needed in order to master wards and protective spells.

  On Wednesday during homeroom Vega sent me to get her mail, make photocopies in the st
aff room, and chop worksheets in half with her guillotine. I liked using her paper cutter.

  On Friday during homeroom, she made me clean the chalkboard, erase graffiti from the wall, scrape gum from underneath desks, and paint signs for the student turn-in baskets. None of the tasks she gave me were related to my education or bettering myself as a witch.

  “What about my studies?” I asked her. “I thought you were going to tutor me so I could become more skilled.”

  “Yeah, yeah. First drop off these detention forms at Mr. Khaba’s office for me.”

  I did so. When I returned, she was helping one of her students and didn’t have time to assist me. I glared at her. This wasn’t helping me learn anything useful except how to be Vega Bloodmire’s minion.

  I would not yell at my new mentor in front of her students, I told myself. “Can I talk to you out in the hallway?”

  “No. I can’t leave this class of juvenile delinquents unattended.”

  “Hey! We’re not juvenile delinquents!” Ben O’Sullivan shouted.

  Someone in the back threw a wad of paper at my head, which didn’t help my case.

  When I saw Thatch in the hallway at lunch, he smiled at me like a semi-normal person would do. I watched him warily, wondering what trick he had up his sleeve.

  His deep voice rumbled, a little too sweetly. “How are you coming along in your studies? Is Miss Bloodmire keeping up her end of the bargain?”

  I was already annoyed after my lack of tutoring with Vega. Thatch rubbing it in was the poop-flavored icing on the rancid cupcake that was my day.

  “You have got to be kidding. You knew she wasn’t going to teach me, didn’t you? That’s why you pawned me off on her—because you don’t want me to learn magic!” I found myself shouting at him and swallowed the fury wanting to explode out of me.

  Students passing by stared in wide-eyed shock.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to speak quieter. “You wanted to torture me, didn’t you? Is this fun for you, to watch me fail?”