Goody Magic Academy, Year Three

Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

A s I took my first hesitant steps forward, I noticed liquid dripping from the ceiling. Lichen, I realized, as the foul-smelling droplets splattered onto the cobblestone floor, forming putrid puddles that I had to sidestep carefully. A bone-deep chill had me in its grip, making my teeth chatter and my arms break out in goosebumps. It felt as if I’d been locked in a freezer for hours, the cold settling into my very core.

My stomach churned with a nauseating mix of fear and uncertainty. I’d be a fool to stand here like a tree waiting to be cut down. I couldn’t waste time worrying about the high priestess discovering what Jaxon had done. The consequences of that discovery loomed large in my mind—she could not only punish Jaxon and me but also...my father.

Lurid images flashed through my mind, each more vivid and horrifying than the last. I pictured myself stripped of the powers I’d only just begun to understand and be able to control. I imagined the high priestess, her face a mask of cold fury, binding my abilities with ancient, cruel magic. My skin crawled to think of that part of me being locked away, leaving me hollow, incomplete.

Then there was Jaxon. Despite our complicated relationship, the idea of him being made to suffer because he’d tried to help me was unbearable. I could almost hear his screams echoing through the stone corridors, could practically see his body writhing under the pain of mystical torments designed to break both body and spirit. The high priestess was known for her creative cruelty, and Jaxon’s betrayal, if it was discovered, would not be taken lightly.

But it was the thought of what she might do to my father that truly threatened to undo me. After years of questions and longing, I’d finally found him—only to put him in mortal danger. The high priestess could snuff out his life as easily as blowing out a candle. Worse, she could keep him alive, subjecting him to agonies beyond imagination, all to punish me. To break me.

The word father still felt strange, almost surreal. I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to will away the throbbing headache that was threatening to form. How long had he been here, locked away in this damp, miserable place? Questions swirled in my mind, but the answers remained frustratingly out of reach.

I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. If I wanted answers, I had to move down this corridor. More than that, I needed help to save Jaxon and my father.

The faces of Rose and Valentin, concerned and determined, flashed in my mind. I felt like I was running toward them in a dream, my arms outstretched, but they kept moving further and further away, their figures blurring at the edge of my vision. The frustration of not being able to reach them made my chest tighten.

They might be able to help! My heart quickened at the thought, a spark of hope reigniting in the darkness of my fears. Rose, with her vast knowledge of ancient lore and her connections to the magical underworld, and Valentin, with his quiet strength and strategic mind, could be exactly what I needed right now.

Maybe Valentin knew something about this mysterious Solarite ring Jaxon had mentioned, too. The name itself shimmered in my mind, carrying the weight of untold power and secrets. I remembered the way Jaxon’s eyes had widened when he spoke of it, and the blend of awe and fear in his voice. What made this ring so special? So dangerous?

And the other question was, how had Dimitri gotten it? Just his name sent a shiver down my spine. Dimitri, always lurking in the shadows, his motivations as murky as the depths of a stagnant pond. Had the ring belonged to—oh god—the high priestess? The thought made my blood run cold. If he had stolen it from her, the consequences could be catastrophic.

I could almost see it—Dimitri, moving through the high priestess’ chambers like a ghost, his fingers closing around the ring before stealing it away. But why? What could be worth risking the wrath of someone as powerful and merciless as High Priestess Abigail Dixon?

Questions swirled in my mind like leaves caught in a whirlwind, each one leading to another, more complex query. The Solarite ring, Dimitri, the high priestess, my father—I felt they were all connected. But where did I fit in this tangled web of power and secrets?

I closed my eyes, trying to calm the storm of thoughts. When I opened them again, a new resolve had settled over me. I needed answers, and I knew where to start looking for them. Rose and Valentin might be out of reach right now, but the thought of them gave me strength. Whatever secrets lay hidden, whatever dangers lurked in the shadows, I would face them. For my father, for my friends, and for the truth. It was time to unravel this mystery one thread at a time. And I had a feeling that the Solarite ring was the key to it all.

Taking a deep breath that tasted of mold and decay, I began to move, ignoring the protests of my aching muscles. Each step echoing off the walls reminded me how alone I was. Yet with each one, I was moving closer to potential allies, to answers, and to hope.

It felt like I was in a magical dungeon with dark things lurking in the shadows, feeding off my energy. Even though I wanted to rest, I pushed forward. I had to. I broke into a jog, trying to get to the end of the tunnel before the torches died.

But the tunnel stretched on and on with no end in sight. I slowed my pace, my sides aching. As I tried to catch my breath, I cautiously trailed my fingers along the walls. I expected to find rough stone, but instead, they were surprisingly smooth. My breath hitched as I noticed a subtle shimmer under my touch. The walls sparkled as if dusted with countless microscopic diamonds, each one catching and reflecting the flickering torchlight. It was a sight so precise and perfect that it was impossible for human hands to have crafted it. It was clearly the work of magic.

As I continued down the passage, I found myself pondering the nature of the magic that had created this ethereal tunnel. Was it dark magic, its beauty a deceptive lure? Or was it white magic, its sparkle a beacon of hope in this gloomy place? The contrast was striking—the walls were like something out of a Disney movie, all wonder and enchantment. But the cold, chilling air that seeped into my bones, making me shiver uncontrollably, was pure Grimm’s Fairytales—foreboding and sinister.

Perhaps, I mused, hugging myself for warmth, it didn’t matter whether the magic itself was inherently good or bad. Maybe what truly was important was the intent of the user. After all, even the most beautiful magic could be twisted for nefarious purposes, and the darkest spells were sometimes wielded for good in the right hands.

The idea gave me pause. I thought of the high priestess, of Jaxon, of the father I’d never known. How many shades of gray existed in their use of magic? How many, for that matter, in my own?

The sparkles winked at me, privy to secrets I couldn’t fathom. I pressed on, each step filling me with contradictory feelings—surrounded by beauty yet filled with dread, moving toward an uncertain future guided by the remnants of ancient magic I didn’t even understand.

A dark thought crept into my mind, and my steps slowed. What if Jaxon was actually leading me into a trap, and at the other end of this tunnel the high priestess and the Bloodborne Brotherhood were waiting for me? I scanned the walls for another opening and ran my fingers over them, but there wasn’t so much as a bump.

Maybe I would stand a better chance against them if I shifted into my dragon. But as I reached deep within myself, searching for that familiar spark of magic so I could transform, I still felt...nothing.

Panic rising in my throat, I tried again. I envisioned scales emerging across my skin and wings unfurling from my back, but my body remained stubbornly human. My muscles tensed and trembled with the effort, but refused to change. It was as if an invisible force was smothering my innate power, same as when I had been back in the cell.

“What is this?” I hissed, frustration and fear mingling in my voice. This tunnel wasn’t just dark—it was wrong. The very air seemed to pulse with malevolent energy, pressing in on me from all sides.

I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to think. If I couldn’t rely on my dragon form, I’d have to fall back on my other skills. Perhaps my witch’s magic might still work, even if my shapeshifting abilities were suppressed? Focusing my will, I summoned a small orb of light to my palm.

The orb sputtered weakly, barely illuminating my immediate surroundings. But it showed me enough to confirm my suspicions. Dark, oily symbols were etched into the walls at regular intervals, pulsing with a sickly purple glow. The place was warded against transformation magic.

“Clever,” I muttered, a grudging respect for the high priestess mixing with my growing unease.

I’d have to be twice as clever as she if I wanted to make it out of here alive. I’d need to rely on my wits, my limited witch’s magic, and whatever I could scrounge from this hostile environment. I was ill-prepared to face the dangers ahead in my vulnerable human form, but I had no choice but to press on, hoping to find the source of this dark magic and a way to break its hold over me.

I took a deep breath and continued forward. My pace was slow and deliberate. I might not be able to shift into my dragon, but I could draw on my dragon’s senses. My senses of smell and eyesight were vastly superior to a human’s.

As I made my way down the tunnel, I noticed the air became less musty, carrying a faint scent I couldn’t quite place. My fingers trailed along the rough-hewn walls, cool and slightly damp. The sound of my footsteps echoed softly, but another noise suddenly caught my attention— a rhythmic tapping, barely audible yet even and persistent. I paused, holding my breath. Was it coming from up ahead?

Squinting, I thought I could make out a door at the end, its outline faintly illuminated by an unseen source. My heart raced as I approached. Was this the door with the cat engraving? And who—or what—would be waiting for me on the other side?

The tapping grew louder, more insistent. I stopped, drawing on every ounce of courage I possessed. Was it real? Or was it some kind of magic?

My heart pounded as I glanced around the tunnel. Can’t stay here. The air crackled with residual magical energy, raising goosebumps on my arms.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The sound echoed throughout the tunnel, each tap sending a jolt through my body. Knock, knock. Who’s there?

Stay focused. Don’t panic. You have to escape and come back to save your father.

The thought pierced through my fear, spurring me into action. Was he in pain, or being tortured? The idea gnawed at my gut.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound grew more and more insistent. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I eyed the door nervously. Only one person could tell me for sure about Father—Mom. But she lay comatose, her mind as unreachable as if she were at the bottom of the sea.

I remembered how Professor Eastey and his wife Louise had looked so pale and still in their beds at the Enchanted Eldercare Center. They had supposedly been in a car crash, but I knew better. Panic gripped my lungs tighter and tighter as I connected the dots. I could easily end up like them, not to mention Mom and Dad. The high priestess’ enemies had a habit of vanishing into thin air or falling into comas.

TAP. TAP. TAP.

I flinched at the increased volume, my muscles coiling, ready to fight or fly. How many? I wondered, a knot forming in my stomach. How many of the supernatural elite support her?

Dread rose in my throat. I swallowed hard, my jaw set with determination. She had to be stopped. Whatever it took, I would find the truth and put an end to the high priestess’ reign of terror.

BANG!

The door shuddered and shook under a heavy impact. Just like Jaxon said, there was an emblem of a cat carved into it. With one last desperate look around the tunnel, I steeled myself for what lay ahead.

I tapped on the cat three times like he had said to do. The lock clicked open softly.

I reached for the handle, but the door swung wide by itself.