Goody Magic Academy, Year Three

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

T he cold night air bit into my skin, chilling my bones as badly as the looming presence of the Bloodborne Brotherhood. Rough hands seized me, one clamping over my mouth, silencing my screams. The relative safety of the faculty apartments taunted me from mere feet away.

My heart hammered against my ribcage as I thrashed wildly, my legs kicking at nothing but air. The iron grip of my captor tightened, lifting me effortlessly. Panic surged through my veins. I slammed my head back, hitting something with a satisfying crunch, but stars exploded behind my eyes from the impact and the world spun dangerously.

Gasping for breath, I clawed frantically at the arm across my chest. My muscles screamed in protest as I twisted, searching desperately for any weakness. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my throat raw from screaming. The edges of my vision darkened, but I forced myself to stay alert and keep fighting.

“You’re worse than a fucking cat,” my captor growled, his breath hot in my ear.

He hauled me across the courtyard, my feet dragging uselessly along the ground. My stomach churned as Goody Magic loomed ahead, silhouetted against the night sky. Panic clawed at my throat. I needed help desperately. Valentin had to know the truth—Jaxon hadn’t run away to New Orleans with Valentin’s brother, Dimitri. He was a prisoner, ensnared by the high priestess and under a sinister spell.

My eyes darted around frantically, searching for any sign of Twyla. Had she managed to evade the Brotherhood? A flicker of hope sparked in me—maybe she’d reached the Dragans. Rose and Valentin would know what to do.

Heart pounding, muscles tensing, I made one last, desperate move. My hand shot out, my fingers curling around his most vulnerable area. I squeezed with all my might, feeling a surge of grim satisfaction.

“You bitch,” he hissed, his body going rigid with pain.

His fist connected with the side of my face. The last thing I saw was a pair of burning red eyes. A supernova of agonizing pain exploded in my temple. The world tilted violently, then faded to black as I felt myself hitting the ground.

I woke on a cold floor with a groan, my head throbbing in time with my heartbeat. Blinking away the bleariness, I took in my surroundings. I was alone. Rough stone walls silently and threateningly pressed in on all sides. Near the ceiling and out of reach, a small window, barely more than a slit, taunted me with a tiny glimpse of the outside world. Bars crisscrossed over the opening, and beyond them, I could make out a pane of glass. My throat tightened as a horrifying realization dawned—this place must be either soundproofed or under some powerful silencing spell. The high priestess would have ensured no one could hear my screams.

The cell was sparse, almost cruelly so, and the air felt thick and stale, carrying a musty odor that spoke of age and neglect. A cot with a thin, lumpy mattress occupied one corner, its creaky metal frame rusted. A lone chair stood sentinel in the center of the room, its wooden seat worn smooth by countless prisoners before me.

My eyes darted around, searching desperately for basic amenities. There was no toilet, no sink—nothing. Just a bucket tucked away in the corner. I grimaced. Was that really where I was expected to relieve myself?

A steel door dominated one wall, its surface marred by scratches and dents from previous occupants’ futile attempts to escape. A small window broke up the expanse of metal, offering a tantalizing glimpse outside my prison.

I grabbed the chair, its legs scraping harshly against the stone floor as I dragged it over to the door. My muscles strained as I lifted myself up. Pressing my body against the cool metal and my face to the small window, I peered out, my heart pounding as I desperately searched for any sign of hope or possible escape in the corridor beyond. It stretched off into darkness, lit only by flickering torches that cast eerie, dancing shadows.

As my eyes adjusted, I was able to make out other cell doors lining the hallway. Were they all occupied? I strained my ears, hoping to catch any sign of life, but the silence was oppressive. The only sound was my own breathing.

A bead of sweat trickled down my back, making me shiver in the chill air.

My mind raced, replaying the events that led me here. Fragments of memories came to me: the struggle in the courtyard…the pain of the punch to the head…the desperate hope that someone, anyone, would come to my aid. And those red eyes! I had never seen eyes like that anywhere except in my nightmares. Now, trapped in this stone cage, hope felt like a fading dream.

The chair beneath me creaked ominously. I shifted my weight carefully, trying to maintain my precarious perch. My muscles ached from the strain, but I couldn’t bring myself to step down yet. This window, this tiny glimpse of the world beyond my cell, was my only lifeline.

A sudden noise from somewhere further down the corridor made me jerk back, nearly losing my balance and toppling off the chair. My heart leapt into my throat. Was it a guard? Another prisoner? Something…worse? I held my breath, listening intently, but the sound didn’t come again.

As the adrenaline spike faded, exhaustion hit me like a wave. My limbs felt leaden, my eyelids heavy. But the thought of lying down on that sorry excuse for a cot with who-knew-what bugs in it made my skin crawl. How long had I been here? And how much longer was I doomed to remain?

I got down from the chair and slumped against the door, my forehead resting on the cool metal. My mind drifted to Rose, Valentin, Twyla…all those who might be searching for me. Were they close? Or had the Brotherhood’s magic erased all traces of my existence from my friends’ memories? If it had, could I fix that? What would happen to my mom? There had to be a spell to counter this magic.

Endless questions swirled in my mind, each one darker than the last. I closed my eyes, fighting back tears of frustration and fear. I had to stay strong and alert so I could find a way out of this nightmare. I closed my eyes, drawing in a deep breath that tasted of damp and decay. Focus. I had to focus.

I reached deep within myself, searching for that familiar spark of power, the essence of my dragon form. In my mind’s eye, I pictured scales appearing across my skin, my bones and muscles elongating, giant wings unfurling. Come on, I urged silently, willing my body to change, to grow, to become the creature that could shatter these walls and soar to freedom.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, I felt it—the flicker of heat deep inside, promising the shift. My muscles tensed in anticipation, a low growl building in my throat. This was it. I was going to?—

White-hot agony spread over my skin as if I had been bound in fiery chains. The scream tore from my throat before I could stop it, raw and primal. Tears streamed down my face as I crumpled to the ground and grabbed my knees to my chest. My skin felt like it was shriveling to burned parchment, dry and brittle to the touch.

“No, no, no,” I gasped between ragged breaths, despair washing over me. These walls weren’t just a prison, they possessed an evil force that thwarted any attempt to shift into my dragon form. The effort to change had unleashed an unbearable agony that felt like molten lava knifing through my veins.

I pressed my palm against the cold, obsidian-like surface of the wall, feeling malevolent energy pulsing beneath my fingertips. A dim, sickly green light seeped from the cracks between the stones and cast eerie shadows across the cramped cell. This place was clearly designed to suppress my kind’s very essence.

Closing my eyes, I tried to summon the warmth of my inner fire, the spark I felt when I shifted. But I couldn’t even get a flicker now—there was only a hollow ache, as if part of my soul had been ripped away.

I buried my face between my knees, unable to move or cry out, utterly defeated.

Breathe. Just breathe.

After what seemed like hours, the pain slowly diminished, leaving behind a bone-deep ache, and I forced my eyes open. The cell swam in and out of focus, shadows dancing at the edges of my vision. Nausea roiled in my stomach, and I swallowed down the bitter taste of bile.

Slowly, painfully, I uncurled, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through my body. I stared at the walls. The eerie green shadows were now twisting and turning like a snake, and the cracks gleamed dully in the dim light.

I slumped against the wall, feeling utterly powerless, my chest heaving as I fought to regain control of my breathing. The cold stone at my back was an anchor grounding me in this grim reality. My mind raced, searching desperately for a solution, an escape, but as the echoes of my scream faded into silence, so too did my hope.

The high priestess had me just where she wanted me.

Nobody knew where I was—she could keep me here as long as she wanted. I shuddered, remembering what she'd done to Professor Eastey and his wife, both now lying comatose in a nursing home. Would I end up the same way? Worse? My heart thundered in my chest just thinking of it.

The lock on the door clicked open, the sound slicing through the silence. A jolt of fear shot down my spine as I scrambled back, my feet slipping on the grimy floor. I collided against the far wall, its cold damp surface leeching what little warmth remained from my skin.

High Priestess Dixon glided into the cell, her malevolent presence sucking the very air from the room. She wore a dark robe that absorbed the dim light rather than reflected it, her raven hair almost disappearing into the fabric. Her brown eyes flashed with a cruel delight that made my skin crawl.

“Hello, Peyton,” she purred, her voice saccharine, oozing false concern. The sound of my name on her lips made my stomach clench. “I hope my friend didn’t hurt you too badly.”

I thought of “her friend” with his glowing red eyes and shivered. I would never forget those eyes. They would forever haunt me, burning in my nightmares like twin embers in a dying fire. There had been something evil in their depths, a malevolence that had reached out and caressed my soul with icy fingers, and when they had locked onto mine, the world around us had faded away, leaving only an overwhelming sense of dread and an unnatural silence.

I found myself unconsciously rubbing my arms, trying to ward off the phantom chill that accompanied the unwelcome recollection. My heart raced, and I glanced nervously around the dimly lit room, half-expecting to see those baleful red orbs glowing in the depths of the shadows.

The high priestess spread her arms wide, the sleeves of her robe billowing like dark wings. As she whirled around, she stirred up the air, carrying a faint scent of exotic perfume that was jarringly out of place in the dank cell.

“How do you like your new accommodations?” Her lips curled into a smirk, and the chuckle in her voice sent ice through my veins.

I decided to ignore her question, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the fear building in my gut. “What do you want?”

Her eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam intensifying in their depths. “Don’t play dumb, Peyton. You know exactly what I want—the Dragon Nexus. And you are going to help me get it.”

I gritted my teeth, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “Never,” I spat.

The high priestess tutted. “Oh, you say that now, but I have ways to make you do what I want.” Her smile widened, revealing teeth that suddenly seemed unnaturally sharp.

I forced myself to meet her gaze, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “There’s nothing you can do that would ever make me help you.” Even as I said it, cold dread seeped into my bones.

She cocked an eyebrow and tossed her black hair over her shoulder, the casual gesture incongruous with the menace in her voice. “Really? Nothing? I doubt it. Would you like to know who is in one of these cells?”

She peered at me closely, waiting for me to crack. I summoned every ounce of composure I had, steeling myself against the rising tide of anxiety in my chest. I put on my stoniest face and gave her a stare that usually made people look away.

She only laughed, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. “Oh, Peyton. What a child you are. You’re not fooling me.” Her eyes glinted with cruel amusement. She leaned in close, her breath hot in my ear as she whispered. “The special mystery guest is none other than your father.”

Her words stirred up all the pain I had kept buried for years—the pain of knowing my father had abandoned me without a thought. I didn’t know what he looked like, had never even seen a photo. Mom never spoke of him, either, as if his memory was too painful to bear.

She examined at her fingernails absently. “Yes, he’s been with me for years. My favorite little prisoner. A black dragon. Fancy that!”

I choked on my next breath, making my eyes tear up. My heart hammered against my ribs as memories flashed through my mind—years and years of unanswered questions, of empty chairs at school events, of longing glances as I looked enviously at other kids with their dads.

“You’re a liar.” My voice cracked, betraying the tumultuous storm of emotions raging inside me. I wanted to scream, to cry out, to deny her words with every fiber of my being. But a small part of me that I’d silenced for years whispered that it might be true.

My father hadn’t abandoned me at all. He was a prisoner of war.

She took a step closer, and I had to fight the urge to shrink back from her. “Your weakness is that you care about people, Peyton. If you won’t help me, I’ll make them suffer, especially your father. The choice is yours. Simple, really.”

Her threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I struggled to breathe, my chest tightening with panic as all sorts of horrifying possibilities flashed through my mind.