High Peak Wilderness was exactly how it sounded—a giant wilderness of pine, oak, ash, maple, fir, and spruce trees with rolling hills, vast lakes, and glimmering ponds.
After transferring ley lines west, I’d jumped out on the tenth stop (the closest to High Peak Wilderness, New York, that I could find) and found myself deep in a forest.
I stood on a hill, where red and orange leaves carpeted the ground at my feet, getting a view of my surroundings. A gentle, cool breeze lifted the hair from my face and set the leaves in the trees rustling. The remaining leaves on the trees were an explosion of color in deep reds, oranges, and yellows. But they wouldn’t stay. With a strong wind, they’d all fall to the ground.
In the summer, this place was probably tick central, not to mention the swarm of mosquitoes and horseflies just waiting to make a meal out of you. However, the cold weather took care of that—thank the cauldron.
The rich smells of wet earth, leaves, and the balsam firs’ spicy scent was intoxicating. I loved the fall, but I wasn’t here for sightseeing, even if it was beautiful. A weekend here with Marcus would have been great, and my heart squeezed at the thought of me and him in a cozy hot tub in some log cabin, away from everyone. Just the two of us… naked in the steaming hot tub…
I shook my head, not wanting the chief to invade my mind, not while I was in an unknown territory. Hot flashes simply would not do. Though they were keeping me warm.
My gaze fell on a packed dirt road that wound down through the evergreen trees and reached a giant, log-like castle. The four-story mountain house rested on the edges of the lower mountain. I thought Davenport House was huge, but this place was ten times bigger.
The crunch of tires on gravel reached me and I looked over my shoulder to see three Greyhound buses, two dark SUVs, and a black sedan driving along the dirt road toward the log castle.
I checked my phone. “I’ve got five minutes to reach that castle or my ass is toast.” I looked around one last time, expecting to see some other witches stepping out of the ley line, but it was just me standing there with a couple of angry squirrels giving me hell for stepping into their territory.
Seeing as no other witch used the ley lines as a means of transport, I decided to keep it to myself for now. The less they knew about me, the better.
My heart skipping with both dread and excitement, I followed the line of vehicles down the dirt road at a fast pace. When I reached the front courtyard, everyone was already out of the buses and cars and milling about. No one looked my way as I neared the group.
I slowed my pace so I could get a better look at who I was facing, the witches who were here to get their Merlin license like me.
At first, I’d expected to see young adults, just fresh out of their teens, and feared I’d be the oldest one here. I wasn’t. The throng of faces ranged from fresh out of high school to those who looked like they could have been my aunts. Some witches had a confused, dear-in-the-headlights kind of look. Yeah, like looking at a mirror.
Okay, not so nervous anymore, but it was clear these witches probably grew up with magic all around them. Unlike me. I’d gotten glimpses over the years, but still, I had a lot of catching up to do.
The witches—an assortment of about a hundred with mixed ages, sexes, and ethnicities—all marched up to the front doors that swung open on their own to let them in, just like Davenport House. Maybe this place was just as magical.
The witches were all as different as they came, but they shared that same, wide-eyed, nervous, first-day-on-the-job kind of expression. I probably looked just as freaked out as they did. Nah. Probably more.
I hunkered near a parked car, pretending to look for something in my bag, as I peeked over to the witches moving through the massive entryway. I didn’t want to be among the first idiots to walk into the massive mountain house, not knowing where to go or what to do. I’d look like a big ole fool. So, I stayed behind until the last witch, a short, older male with thick glasses and mousy brown hair surrounding a balding spot on the top of his head, climbed up the wide steps and hurried through the giant, wooden double doors.
I rushed forward and sneaked in behind him.
Just as I crossed the threshold, I felt it.
Magic.
And yet, it wasn’t like the soft, warm ripples of energy that washed through me whenever I stepped into Davenport House, the kind of energy that sent tingling jolts over my skin. No. This was way more sinister.
A cold, hard pulse started from the top of my head and jerked all the way to my toes, hammering its way into every cell of my body. It did not feel good at all.
The best way I could describe it was like going through a customs full-body x-ray machine at the airport. I felt as though some invisible force was scanning me to see if I carried anything illegal or dangerous on my person.
“That was interesting,” I said, making the older witch in front of me turn around.
“Groovy, isn’t it,” he said, his voice small and mousy, just like his appearance.
“Not the word I’d use.” More like a violation of my body parts.
“It’s a magic scanner. The MS 295 model. Top of its class. It makes sure you’re not hiding any illegal curses and hex bags with you.” He pushed up his glasses with his index finger. “Wow. You’re tall.”
I stared at the little witch. “Is there anyone stupid enough to bring curses and hex bags with them?”
He grinned. “Yes. Loads of times. Well, only last year a witch went through the witch scanner with a hex bag—older model—and managed to get a foot from the director before the old witch felt the hex bag and immobilized him. She’s had over two hundred attempts on her life in the last twenty years.”
“Really?” Though I was not surprised someone wanted to off Greta. I was just surprised it hadn’t worked yet.
I stepped further away from the threshold and felt that horrid thrumming pulse ease until it disappeared. “You were here last year?” I looked past him to the last cluster of witches who disappeared through another large opening to the left of the entryway.
“Yes,” he said and exhaled. The tension in his voice pulled my eyes back to him. Distress flashed across his features. “This will be my thirteenth time trying out for my Merlin license.” He rubbed the back of his neck as the rim of his ears turned red. “Lucky number thirteen, right?” He laughed. The anxiety in his voice was so thick, I could practically feel it brushing against my face.
A knot formed in my gut. Either this witch was a severe underachiever, or the trials were excruciatingly difficult. I just stared at him again, my eyes moving from his leather worn shoes and plain khaki pants to his washed-out green shirt. He looked more like a struggling, part-time teacher than an accomplished witch.
“What happens if you don’t pass them this year? Will you be able to take them again?” It was strangely comforting to know that if I failed, I could always take them again, kind of like a driver’s license test. But thirteen times seemed a bit extreme. Not to mention that my aunts would be mortified if I failed, seeing as they had already elevated me to Merlin. They expected me to pass. Failing was not an option.
The witch’s face turned beet red. “Unfortunately, this will be my last time,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “If I don’t pass this time around… that’s it. I’m finished. I won’t be eligible for another go. Thirteen is where they draw the line.”
He looked so pathetic and sad I wanted to go over and hug him, but that would be totally inappropriate. I wasn’t much of a hugger, though I felt sorry for the guy. From the angst that twisted his features, I knew this was the most important thing in his life right now. Maybe he had family members waiting on him too.
I forced my face into a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. I mean… you’ve got twelve years of experience,” I told him, wondering if he might be able to give me some tips. “That’s got to be good for something. Right?”
The witched shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m Willis by the way.” He stuck out his hand.
I shook it. “Tessa.”
Willis’s face brightened. “Hey… you think we can sit together? I don’t know anyone here.”
The sound of voices carried over and I pulled my head up toward the opening where I’d seen the last of the witches disappear. I recognized that voice. It was Greta’s.
I stiffened, my pulse jackhammering. “Shit. They’ve started.”
Securing my bag on my shoulder, I shot past Willis.
“Hey! Wait!” he called, but I didn’t look back as I hurried through the doors and into what looked to be a large theater-like room housing rows of gray seats with red and yellow runes and sigils etched into the fabric. A stage sat at the far end.
I ducked into a back row and sat. I didn’t want to be rude to Willis, but I wasn’t here to make friends. Luckily, the older witch walked right past me and down the aisle to one of the front rows and sat. The scent of earth and pine needles sifted through the air. The magic from the hundred or so witches thrummed in the air and through me. Wow. I didn’t think I’d ever been in a place surrounded by so many witches. It was like a radio had been turned on inside my head, flipping through the different channels so I heard hundreds of voices—magic—all at once. I couldn’t be certain, but it felt like all White magic.
My eyes moved to the front stage and settled on Greta. Her pale skin drooped down along her face, her dark eyes barely visible under the layers of wrinkles. Her white hair was cut so short she was nearly bald. She might look like a hundred-year-old witch, but she stood tall and proud and strong. The last time I’d seen her, she’d worn a gown of white silk. Today, a smart, dark skirt suit wrapped her thin frame and was paired with flat shoes. She looked like an experienced lawyer. Not so sure I liked this look better.
“…new and some familiar faces among you,” Greta was saying, her voice magically magnified without a microphone. Her dark eyes moved along the rows of witches and settled on me. I stilled as the older witch frowned. She clearly wasn’t happy to see me, like she hadn’t expected me to show up.
Greta chewed on her lip for a minute, looking back and forth between some other witches. “For those of you who are unaware of what the witch trials entail, though I would imagine the most intelligent of this group would have done your research.”
Research? “Are you freaking kidding me?” I whispered, and Greta’s dark eyes snapped to me like she’d heard me.
Oh, crap.
“Merlins are our world’s most respected and celebrated professionals in the witch community,” continued the old witch. “Being a Merlin commands respect. Merlins are admired. Held in the highest esteem. Your peers will look up to you, want to be you. It’s not something to be taken lightly.” She hesitated, as though waiting to get everyone’s full attention before continuing. “Only ten percent of you will pass,” she added with a slight smirk, and a cacophony of disapproval and panicked voices rose around the theater like an angry gust of wind. “Because… the witch trials select only the best. And only the best witches can be Merlins.”
I looked over to Willis and saw his head drop. My stomach fell somewhere around my toes.
Greta paced the stage, surprisingly fast and steady for someone her age. “The trials consist of three major concentrations.” She lifted her hand and gestured with her fingers. “Defensive Magic, Operational Skills, and Case Exercises. Three separate trials will test each concentration. This program provides Merlins with specialized training in intelligence analysis, the study of magical intelligence.” Greta’s gaze flew over the rows of witches. “My program is the best. And only the best… will make it.”
“You’ve already said that,” I mumbled, a bad feeling knotting in my stomach.
“As such,” continued Greta, “your first trial will begin on December first, at 8 a.m. sharp.” I noticed Willis jotting down this information on a pad of paper. A strange, wicked smile spread over the folds of wrinkles on her face. “Fail two of the trials… and you fail all the trials,” she said, her voice filled with twisted delight, as though she took pleasure in the failure of others.
“Lovely,” I grumbled and swallowed. My aunts had forgotten to mention that part. My nerves anxiously started a Ping-Pong match inside my chest. This was worse than I had expected. Much worse. The only good thing was apparently I had a month to prepare for the first trial. That worked for me. I had thirty days to get my act together. I just hoped it was enough.
“You’ll have a six-day break between each trial,” Greta went on. “Each trial will be conducted by its selected arbitrator.” She looked down to the left of the stage. “Marina. Silas. Please join me.”
Two people got up from the front row and joined her on the stage, a woman and a man. The woman I immediately recognized. That strange, eerie smile that seemed to pull up more on the left of her face and blonde hair could only belong to one of the witches from the New York Merlin group I’d met along with Greta at the Night Festival. Though I’d never known her name until now.
She wore tight jeans and a short leather jacket with studs. The right side of her head was shaved to the scalp, and she let her other side flow loosely with a strand of golden braids in sort of an eighties punk vibe. I was digging it, though she was creepy.
The man called Silas had me holding my breath, and not in a good way.
He was tall, maybe six-three, thin and wolfish, with a dark goatee and long black ponytail. Half of his face was hidden in tattoos of magical runes and sigils. He was dressed in all black, and I could see some more tattoos peeking from under his shirt and around his neck. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. He wasn’t handsome, more brutish like an ogre.
When he crossed his arms over his chest, I caught a glimpse of his hands. Dark markings that were too far away to decipher covered them until I couldn’t even see evidence of his natural skin. He smiled nastily at the reaction he was getting from everyone, and a little chill went through me. Definitely not the type of guy you brought home to meet your family—or maybe you did. If you were into tats.
“These are your arbitrators.” Greta’s voice bellowed around me. “Marina will be mediating the first trial, Silas the second. And I will be evaluating the last. Do not think because you’ve made it to the final trial that it will be easy. Make no mistake. The last trial will be the hardest.” Greta’s face took on a harder cast. “Let me be clear. Even if you succeed in the first two trials… if you fail the last trial—you fail the witch trials. Fail the last trial, and you’re finished.”
“Figures, the old hag would get the last trial,” I whispered, though it came out louder than I’d anticipated. Whoops.
Greta’s eyes searched the rows of witches and settled on me. “Tessa Davenport. Stand up.”
Oh… crapola.
My heart slammed in my chest as heads turned in my direction, trying to determine who Greta was talking to. I thought about flattening myself to the ground, but the old witch had already seen me.
I stood up slowly, aware of everyone’s attention on me, and I tried to keep my trembling body still as I kept my focus on Greta. If they saw me shaking, I was finished.
Greta’s expression was hard, though the amusement was evident on her face. “Did you have something to add? Please speak up so we can all hear what a Davenport witch has to say. Yes, that’s right. We have among us a celebrity.” Gasps and low, vicious murmurs ran through the theater.
Thanks a lot, you old cow. “I have nothing to add. Please continue,” I said, my voice surprisingly strong amid the shaking in my legs.
“Of course, you don’t,” continued Greta, “because you know all about the trials. Don’t you, Tessa? Because you Davenport witches think you’re above everyone else. You think you can do whatever you please and change the rules as you see fit.”
Marina snickered, her eyes widening in delight at my humiliation. Hated her.
“We don’t,” I countered, imagining her head exploding. “I don’t.”
Greta’s low, mocking laugh grew in depth but then faded with a bitter sound. “You see, dear witches. Tessa Davenport believed she was above the rules, believed that she was better than all of you.”
I gritted my teeth. “I never said that.”
“And do you know what she did?” continued Greta, as though I never spoke. “She elevated herself to a Merlin.”
Gasps rushed around me, and I swore I saw a few witches curse me.
Well, this was going way better than I had hoped. I was all fuzzy inside.
“All without doing the trials,” finished Greta. “She thought she could get away with it, but she didn’t. I made sure of that.” She pinned me with her eyes. “In other words, you cheated. And by cheating, you cheated everyone here.”
Way to go, Grandma. Now everyone thought I’d cheated. Just by catching a few glares, it was obvious they hated me. Hell, I would hate me too if it were true, but it wasn’t.
I caught Willis’s eyes, and I could see the hurt and anger flashing there. He thought I’d cheated too. This was just getting better and better.
My face burned with hot anger. “I didn’t cheat,” I said, my voice rising. “I didn’t even know about these stupid trials until two months ago.” Oops. Shouldn’t have said that.
Greta’s features turned hard. “These… stupid trials, you say?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. You were attacking me. The words just flew out—”
“You think these trials are a joke? You think everyone here is a joke?”
Oh, boy. “I don’t think that. Of course not.” My pulse hammered. This old witch wanted me to burn. That part was clear.
Greta watched me for a moment. “Why are you here, Tessa Davenport, if you think these trials are a joke?”
“I don’t think that.” I frowned, my hatred for her dripping through my voice. “I’m here to get my Merlin license. Just like everyone else.”
Greta laughed softly. “But you don’t think you’re like everyone else here. Do you, Tessa Davenport? You think you’re something special. Like your aunts.”
“I get it,” I told her, willing her to shut her face, or I was about to go up there and do it myself.
“Do you?” she mocked. “Well, we shall see. Won’t we?”
A shiver rose through me, and I stifled it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Greta looked to the crowd and said, “The first trial will take place here at Montevalley Castle in one month from now, on December 1. Fail to be here, and you fail the trial. Fail two trials, or fail the last trial, and you’ll have to wait another year to apply again,” she concluded, her eyes settling on me. “Since you already think yourself qualified as a Merlin, these trials should be a piece of cake. I look forward to seeing these gifts with my own eyes.”
At that, a consensus of laughter sounded through the crowd of witches.
I had no idea what to expect, but on account of Greta’s evil satisfaction, I knew it would be bad. Really bad.
Not only did Greta despise me, so did the entire Merlins in training. I hadn’t come here to make friends, but now it looked like I had my pick of enemies.
It was obvious Greta had it out for me. My aunts had elevated me to the Merlin status without advising her. And this… Well, this was her payback.
Oh, goodie. This was going to be fun.