Goody Magic Academy, Year Three

Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

S ilence stretched out around us. I could hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears, a frantic rhythm that outpaced the ticking of the ornate grandfather clock.

Jaxon finally broke free from the paralysis that held us all. He shook his head sharply in agitation and when he spoke his voice cut through the silence like a knife. “I know of Simon’s Ravenwood Estates. It’s in the bayou. It’s very highly guarded and almost impossible to penetrate unless you have an army.”

The headmaster’s face was impassive, his eyes glinting like polished obsidian in the dim light. “Well, since you don’t have an army,” he said, his voice patient but tinged with steel, “you will need to have someone on the inside. Someone who could let the others in and help you steal the object.”

Jaxon’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward in his chair. “What do you mean, on the inside?”

The headmaster’s next words fell like lead weights. “Simon doesn’t just auction off magical objects. He also has a fondness for selling flesh.”

My stomach lurched violently, a wave of nausea washing over me. I gripped the edge of my chair. “You mean he’s into human trafficking?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

Beside me, Twyla’s face contorted, her usually serene expression twisting into a sneer of disgust. “That’s despicable,” she spat out, her voice trembling with anger. “How could he do such a thing?”

The headmaster raised a hand, signaling to Ethan. The butler glided forward silently, the crystal decanter in his hands catching the light and sending prism-like reflections dancing across the table. The rich, metallic scent of Chosen Blood filled the air as Ethan refilled the headmaster’s glass.

“Simon worships money and nothing else,” the headmaster replied, his voice low and cold. He lifted the glass to his lips, the crimson liquid within looking almost black in the shadows cast by his movements. “I despise him and anyone who procures items from him.”

Rose’s voice was close to a whisper, but in the tense silence, it carried. “Meaning the mafia kings?” Her fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of her dress.

The headmaster’s eyes narrowed, the shadows deepening around him. “Yes,” he hissed, the single syllable filled with centuries of contempt. “Angelo Santi’s family has turned its back on its vampire heritage. One day he will regret that decision.”

The threat in his words hung in the air like a storm cloud, dark and ominous. The opulent dining room suddenly felt claustrophobic, the ornate decorations and plush furnishings a thin veneer over a world of darkness and danger I was only just beginning to comprehend.

The gentle clink of the headmaster setting down his glass echoed in the room. I swallowed hard. “So, you want one of us to be sold at the auction?”

The headmaster’s gaze locked onto mine, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “Not one of you,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “You.”

The word was like a punch in the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. My heart stuttered, then began to race, pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Finn and Jaxon leapt to their feet simultaneously, their chairs toppling backward with a cacophonous clatter that echoed through the room. Their sudden movements sent a rush of air past me, carrying with it the twin scents of Jaxon’s leather jacket and Finn’s woodsy cologne.

“No.” Their voices rang out in perfect unison. The single word reverberated off the walls, making the crystal drops of the chandelier tinkle.

I flinched at their outburst, my nerves already frayed to their breaking point. My fingers curled instinctively around the arms of my chair, the ornately carved wood digging into my palms.

The headmaster’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade of ice. “Calm. Down,” he commanded in a tone brooking no argument. His gaze swept across our faces, lingering on mine. I felt pinned in place, a butterfly on a collector’s board. “Peyton is the only one that would draw a crowd that would want to buy her. Not only is she a witch, she’s a black dragon. Something that the others would greatly covet.”

Each word felt like another heavy weight being heaped onto my shoulders. My stomach churned, panic rising in my throat, and the room began to spin slightly, the opulent decorations blurring at the edges of my vision.

Jaxon’s voice cut through my growing fear, sharp and unyielding as steel. “She’s not doing it,” he growled, his words reverberating with barely contained fury. I could almost feel the heat of his anger radiating across the table. “She could slip through our fingers, especially if Barone bought her. We might never see her again.”

The thought of being a sex slave sent a violent shudder through me. The tension in the room was almost visible, a crackling energy that set my teeth on edge. Twyla’s face had drained of all color, Rose sat unnaturally still, her eyes wide with a shock, and a muscle twitched over Valentin’s clenched jaw. Everyone’s gaze shot through me as if they could see the terror bubbling up inside me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My tongue felt thick and clumsy, stuck to the roof of my mouth. The taste of fear lingered on it, sharp and acrid, and as the silence stretched on, filled only by the pounding of my heart and the relentless ticking of the clock, one thought crystallized in my mind: what if I did this, and then my friends couldn’t find me?

I cleared my throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. My voice came out as a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “There’s no other way?”

The headmaster’s eyes locked onto mine, their intensity making me want to shrink back into my chair. “No. I’m sorry,” he said. “If you tried to enter Simon’s estate as anything more than an item up for auction, you would be captured. Santi has attacked Ravenwood before and Simon has had his witch ward it with strong black magic—magic you don’t want to be cursed by.”

Goosebumps prickled along my arms. The room suddenly felt colder, as if the mere mention of black magic had sucked all the warmth from the air.

Finn threw up his hands in frustration. “Why doesn’t she just go as a dragon?”

The headmaster released an impatient sigh. “Because Simon possesses the Dragon Nexus. If Peyton shifts into a dragon, he, or most likely his witch, will be able to use it to control her.”

The thought of becoming a slave turned my blood ice cold.

“But if there’s truly black magic involved,” Jaxon said his voice full of skepticism, “then how is she going to be able to let us in?”

The headmaster’s lips curled into a cold, cruel smirk. “Simon has only warded the outside of Ravenwood—not the inside. He doesn’t think anyone could thwart his witch Marsha’s magic on the inside.”

My stomach twisted into knots at the idea of going up against such a powerful witch. “And Marsha?”

“Marsha’s arrogance will prevent her from thinking an up-and-coming witch’s magic would be superior to hers,” the headmaster replied with another smirk.

I blinked rapidly. The room swam before my eyes. “Superior to hers? How can you think that? You don’t even know me.”

The headmaster’s gaze softened slightly, but the steel in his voice remained. “Because I know Abigail. Abigail would only have taken such a dislike to you if she felt you threatened her magic, which is considerable. Therefore, I think you will easily rival Marsha’s magic.”

Fear clawed at my insides. That was a big stretch, going straight from A to Z without reading the rest of the alphabet in between. “And what if I can’t?”

Twyla looked at me with determination in her eyes. “But you are so powerful, Peyton. You have all four elements. I bet Marsha doesn’t.”

“Precisely,” the headmaster said crisply. “I believe she only has three, and, in a confrontation, I’m sure she will bet that her greater experience will count for more than your greater expertise.”

I slid down in my chair; their expectations were too high, too unrealistic. “I don’t feel like an expert,” I said miserably, my voice cracking. “I don’t even have control over my powers yet.”

The headmaster reached across the table, his cool fingers clasping my shaking hand. The contact sent a jolt through me, like static electricity. “Your dragon will help you with your magic. That’s what will defeat not only Marsha but the high priestess too.”

Jaxon crossed his arms. His face was still a mask of skepticism. “And who is going to notify Simon that Peyton is available for sale?”

The headmaster flashed him a grin. “You are.”

Jaxon’s face fell, shock and disbelief etched in every line. “What?! Why would I do that? And more importantly, why would Simon believe me?”

The headmaster flicked his hand dismissively, the gesture somehow both elegant and condescending. “Because you persist in this delusion that you’re descended from royalty, yet you’re merely the dishwasher at Goody Magic Academy. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re not rolling in money. Your motivation would be getting money to escape Goody Magic Academy.”

He made it sound as if all Jaxon cared about was money, but I knew better. Jaxon had risked his life to free me—a gesture with no profit attached to it. Why would someone who only cared about money do that? My mind flooded with memories: The intense look in Jaxon’s eyes as he revealed the high priestess’ schemes; his efforts to protect Finn, Kamaron, and me; the way he confided in me about the Easteys’ coma at the Enchanted Eldercare Center; perhaps most importantly, his declaration of loyalty to me. The headmaster’s words were contradicted by these recollections. Was he deliberately trying to paint Jaxon in a bad light? And if so, why?

Jaxon snorted and cocked an eyebrow dubiously. “You actually think they would buy such a lame explanation?”

Finn let out a chuckle, the sound breaking the tense atmosphere like a bolt of lightning. His eyes danced with amusement as he turned to Jaxon. “Come on, Jaxon. You hate working in the kitchen,” he said, his voice tinged with barely suppressed laughter.

Jaxon’s posture stiffened and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, clearly trying to control his emotions.

Finn continued, warming to his theme. “And you hate being forced to live at a witch academy.” He leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he delivered his verdict. “Yeah, I think they one hundred percent will buy it.”

I glanced between Finn and Jaxon, the tension between them almost palpable. Jaxon’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching at the corner of his tightly pursed lips. For a moment, I thought he might lash out at Finn. But instead he exhaled slowly, the sound hissing between his teeth.

“Fine,” Jaxon growled, the single word filled with reluctant acceptance. “I’ll do it. But I don’t like it.”

Shock, betrayal, and fear battled for dominance within me. His decision to go along with this scheme was made almost too quickly, and it was hurtful to think it was so easy for him to throw me into a den of thieves.

The headmaster nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if you like it or not,” he said, his voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. “What matters is that it’s believable.”

As the others continued to discuss the details, their voices faded to a dull buzz. I stared at my reflection in the polished surface of the table, barely recognizing the pale, wide-eyed girl looking back at me. What had I gotten myself into?

The gentle clink of glass on wood startled me out of my reverie. Ethan had materialized beside us, silent as a ghost, refilling our drinks with practiced, polished efficiency. The rich, fruity bouquet of the wine wafted up from my glass, mixing with the metallic tang of the Chosen Blood that filled the vampires’ goblets. The intertwined aromas hung heavy in the air, a bizarre representation of the supernatural world I now found myself in.

My gaze drifted to the charcuterie board Ethan had placed at the center of the table. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a feast for the eyes—and the stomach. Thin slices of cured meat were rolled into delicate rosettes, their deep reds and pinks standing out against the pale, creamy cheeses arranged beside them. Golden crackers fanned out in a precise pattern, and plump olives, both green and black, glistened with a sheen of oil, their briny scent cutting through the heavy aromas of meat and cheese.

But as I stared at the artfully arranged spread, my stomach clenched painfully and the thought of taking even one bite made bile rise in my throat. The colors were too bright, the smells too intense. Everything about the scene felt wrong, like a surreal painting where nothing quite fits.

I tore my gaze away from the food, my eyes darting around the room, taking in the faces of my companions. They all seemed so calm and collected, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than the weather. Didn’t they understand what was at stake? My hand trembled as I reached for my wine glass.

I was going into the lion’s den.

Alone.