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“I’m feeling a little stir crazy,” I say to Yassi my best friend, nymph, and bearer of a slice of pie that she snuck from the dining hall.
“Like stirring up the cauldron and making a potion?” she asks.
I take a bite of the banana cream pie. “Is that a witch joke?”
She laughs.
“Stir crazy like I’d like to break out of this reform school and have a normal day.”
“Hmm. Describe a normal day. I take it nymphs and non-magicals have a very different idea of what that’s like.”
I think about this. The thing is, I’m no longer a non-magical. I’m a wish witch and can never go back to normal. I sigh. “I’d probably wake up, snuggle with my cat, Filbert, and then scroll on my phone for a while. Then my mom’s sweet voice would filter from downstairs where she and my dad make pancakes. That’s if it was a weekend. Or if it was a school day, she’d probably have to throw open my curtains and yell at me to wake up.”
“Phone? Pancakes?” Yassi asks. “Explain.”
“Pancakes are delicious and best served with maple syrup.”
She nods. “That’s the critical info.”
“A phone is, um, a device.” I try to explain the miniature, handheld computer that’s also a camera, a calendar, and basically does all the things. “Can’t live without it.”
“But you are.”
I snort a laugh. “I suppose so. Anyway, if I had my phone, I’d probably go on social, see what my friends have been up to. We’d chat. I’d tell them that I have bad news and...more bad news.”
Yassi takes a bite of pie, knowing exactly what I’m referring to. Honey Oaks is now a demon-wraith, meaning she’s out to snatch magical essence (basically a magical’s soul). It sounds harsh, but at least if she were dead, she could rest in peace. Instead, she’s cursed to hunt and haunt, seek souls and enslave others to be like her.
What’s (almost) worse is JJ abruptly left campus. Ghosted. Poof. Gone.
At first, I thought he was abducted. I brought his absence to Chancellor West’s attention, the head of Riptivik Magical Academy or Reform School—depending on who you ask. West informed me that JJ is on an errand.
The running out to get a carton of milk, be back in ten minutes kind of errand?
If so, he can come back with cookies and a kiss. Thanks, that would be great.
But that scenario is doubtful. Joking aside, it should be no surprise one of the most powerful magicals ever to live has his secrets. Still, it’s been days with no sign of JJ—I have to admit I got used his moody presence. I might even like it a little bit. Okay, a lot. But over the last few months, he’s fading. It’s like he’s becoming invisible. When I’m alone in the corridors I whisper, “JJ,” just in case his absence is merely a matter of no one being able to see him.
But this whole enemies to not enemies thing is new and kind of a secret. Shh. Don’t tell anyone.
After the melee at the Sweetheart Dance, there was yet another all-school assembly followed by a special moment of silence in Honey’s memory.
Half the girls were crying. The other half wore stricken expressions of terror on their faces. As for Bobby Gold, the leader of the Marauders aka the school secret society behind the attacks, he sat there silent and smug.
I happen to know Chancellor West is biding his time and hoping that by allowing the Marauders to remain at school, he’ll uncover their leader. We do know they answer to the Golden Hive, a fringe group bent on gaining power by possibly raising an undead army aka demon snatchers. But the identity of who is behind it is a great unknown.
That’s the plan, but at what cost? I like and respect the head of our school, but if JJ and I hadn’t been there that night, what would have happened? How far would the secret society go, pursuing their hatred and attempting to elevate what they call true magicals, eliminate mixed-magicals along with non-magicals? Would there have been more attacks?
Yassi waves her hand in front of my face. “You were spaced out there for a second. Are you going to finish that pie?”
“Yeah, lost in thought. I probably should get some fresh air.”
“Do it while you can. I heard,” she clears her throat, “they’re talking about putting us on lockdown.”
By heard, she meant see with her ability to read thoughts and memories.
I contemplate all that’s happened in the last months as I pass under the Whispering Willows. There’s a chill in the air even with spring coming. Snow lingers in the shady spots, but the wide swaths of lawn lay brown and eager for the new season.
I’ve always loved the sunset and the in-between time when the stars come out. But in this strange and unexpected moment, I want the sun to linger in the sky a little longer...so I can try to find answers. It’s almost as if I expect the light of day to offer a bit more clarity about this new turn my life has taken. But it sinks behind the mountains in the distance, leaving me feeling uncertain about how and where I fit into all of this...and what the future brings.
What happened to Honey is tragic. Along with the rest of us on campus, she knew better than to be out after dark unescorted by a member of the Coven. We weren’t friends (more like the opposite), but I’d never wish for something as devastating as becoming a demon snatcher on her.
Wish. I stop midstride.
I am a wish witch. Could I wish her back? Could I wish for peace among all magical beings? Could I wish to know the identities of the Hive so we can stop the Marauders? So all this craziness can end?
There are rules to wish witchery. At least I think so. I sense the truth of these things. There have been so few witch wishes in history, nothing definitive has been recorded. Trust me, I’ve looked.
I can’t wish things that don’t exist into being. Like flying cars. Well, that might be a bad example. For all I know, they could exist—secret government conspiracies and stuff. Dewey Dunkle probably knows. I can’t violate the laws of nature or magic like Imogen did, essentially what landed me in this predicament, what with the prophecy and all.
If someone wants a wish, they have to ask, and I have to choose whether to grant it.
The wish has to be made pure of heart. Like someone can’t wish that I hurt someone else. That’s JJ’s territory—as a curse maker—, which it would seem to me would make him a more desirable target by the Marauders. Unless... Unless they don’t know about his talent.
Storch did.
She wanted me to assassinate JJ, which would leave my wish vulnerable. This wasn’t only because West ordered him to protect me, but our magic is linked. The best way I can describe it is we are two sides of the same coin.
I also know my wish witchery only arranges things to happen. People still have free will. So even if I wished something, it wouldn’t be absolute. Someone could come along and interfere. I’m more of an aligner and an influencer than a straight-up genie. I tap my finger against my chin, deep in thought.
But even if I could wish some of those things, I don’t know-how, which leaves me exactly where I started, feeling helpless.
I lean against the trunk of a Whispering Willow and sigh. A breeze rustles the leaves. Funny, they didn’t shed their leaves for winter. Some things change, and yet others remain strangely the same. Storch hasn’t returned to campus yet. However, we don’t know who in the OMM is corrupt or what she’s involved in. For now, we’re focusing on the Hive, which seems like the more imminent threat.
I haven’t quite figured out this secret magical world hidden within the one I knew all my life. The one where the stars spelled out my name. And where things that are meant to stay put, well, stay put—unlike the backpack that just flew up into the sky and vanished like a balloon across the lawn in front of Hawthorne Hall.
A droplet of water plonks me on the nose. I look up again and something shimmers. I tilt my head, narrow my eyes, and try to see between the branches.
“Bree?” I call as softly as the rustling leaves.
A twig shifts and my roommate flutters down. “Don’t you dare tell a soul,” she hisses.
“What are you talking about? What are you doing up there?”
“Skipping.”
“Skipping what?”
“A very important pixie meeting at the other end of the lane.”
I glance back the way I came and all the way to the end of the expansive line of trees. It’s longer than the rumpus pitch, at least. I doubt anyone can hear us. Then again, pixies aren’t just anyone.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Thinking. Wait a second. Is this where you spend your time when you’re not in class?”
“And most nights. I’m sorry. I know you tried to make the dorm room nice for me, but I can’t sleep indoors. It’s unnatural.”
“Fair enough. Do a lot of pixies spend their time here?”
“They’re not called the Whispering Willows for nothing. Long before Hawthorne Hall, Nightingale, and they built all these buildings on campus, before there was even a school here, this is where we dwelled.” She gazes into the distance as though visualizing it before.
“So there have always been pixies at Riptivik?”
“As residents, yes. As students, this is the first year and, I hope, the last.”
“Yassi told me the trees talk.”
“Gossip is more like it. They’re really nosy, but—” She settles on the branch closest to me. “I’d tell you not to share your secrets, but I guess it’s too late.”
“My wish witchery isn’t a secret.”
“Not anymore. These trees blab but they’re home. I’d rather not be enrolled at Riptivik, but I’m not going to lie, the pie here is really good.”
I crack a giggle.
“Did you have some of that chocolate caramel pie at the dance?” she asks.
I nod. “Before the chaos broke out.”
“You were really brave, Maija.” Her tone is slightly timid as though she underestimated me.
“You saw?”
“I see almost everything. Like I’ve said, being small when I want to has its advantages.” She winks.
“I wish I could have done more.”
“Be careful what you wish for.” She winks.
“Ha. Well, I am a wish witch, but I don’t know how to use my talent to help people. To stop all this violence. I just want us all to be free and happy. You know?”
She gazes at me for a long time. Then as soft as baby’s breath, she says, “My roommate is a brixta?”
I repeat the word brixta, including the question mark because I have no idea what she means or if I heard her right.
“Wish witches are super rare, but brixta is one of the rarest forms of witchery and magic. Do you know about the prophecy?”
“Of course I do, but I’m helpless, Bree. A wish witch who doesn’t know how to wish. A witch who doesn’t know how to help her fellow magicals. A girl still very confused about a boy named JJ Thorne.” I rest my head on my knees.
A low hum comes from down the lane. I expect a car, but a swarm of pixies disperses from the farthest tree.
“Gregor’s Axe, I better go. You’ll figure it out. Good luck, Maija.” She pauses and then adds, “But magic isn’t about luck is it.”
I remain under the trees a moment longer, my mind filled with that life-changing moment when I learned I was a witch. I’ve been told that in order to access my powers, I have to believe.
“How do I learn to believe?” I say aloud.
The leaves overhead rustle and a whisper on the wind says, “Belief is a choice.”
At least that’s what I think I hear.
