Fang Ten Read online

  “Okay, students,” Lady Winthrop said, brandishing her wand, “it’s time to practice our first of the three basic offensive spells: the hand-binding hex.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief as Garnet straightened up in her chair and turned her attention back to the front of the classroom. I knew who I wanted to bring to the dance, of course, but I’d made it a point to never mention the man in black around my friends. Gargoyles, if the rumors were to be believed, operated in the dark underworld of the island and were considered a mysterious—and dangerous—bunch. I had no doubt that Garnet would have plenty to say if she knew I’d developed a massive schoolgirl crush on Cole Noir, the man I quite literally owed my life to. But the idea of walking into Sparrow Manor on his arm sent a thrill of excitement racing up and down my body…

  “Miss Winters?”

  I jerked out of my R-rated reverie at the sound of Lady Winthrop’s voice, tearing my thoughts away from Cole’s bottomless brown eyes, and looked around, realizing that everyone in the room was staring at me expectantly. “Um… sorry, could you repeat that?” I asked sheepishly as Garnet raised her eyebrows at me.

  “I said,” Lady Winthrop repeated, looking highly affronted that I wasn’t hanging onto her every word, “would you please join me at the front of the classroom for a demonstration?” She tapped her wand against her thigh impatiently, and I rose hastily from my desk to join her.

  “Now then,” she said, still frowning at me as I positioned myself across from her, holding my training wand loosely at my side, “the hand-binding hex is an incredibly useful spell that will stop anyone who is trying to curse you in their tracks. It works by fusing your enemy’s fingers together at the knuckles, making it quite impossible for them to aim their wand at you. You should note, however, that the most powerful witches and wizards in the coven are able to perform magic without a wand, therefore its effect on them will be limited. But for the less powerful—and those in training, like yourselves—it is a handy hex.”

  She raised her wand and aimed it at me, and I cringed as I awaited her spell. “Cuono,” she said, and a flash of orange light from her wand tip preceded a burning sensation that began in my wrists and spread upward into my fingertips, hardening my skin as it passed through. After a few moments, my hands were stuck together like they’d been super glued, rendering them completely useless.

  “Is there a counterspell?” I asked, panicking slightly as the skin on my fingers began cracking under the strain. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, I reminded myself that I was in my classroom, perfectly safe, and not facing down a murderous Percival or Wendall, who frequently starred in the nightmares that had recently begun plaguing me each time my head hit the pillow.

  Lady Winthrop stared hard at me, as if sensing my growing terror, and said “Finito.” My hands immediately sprang apart with a popping sound, and my cracked and bleeding skin knit back together before my eyes. I couldn’t stop the rush of relieved breath that escaped me as I bent my fingers one by one, testing to make sure they were fully functional once more. When I glanced up, I realized that Lady Winthrop was still watching me intently.

  “The theory behind this spell is listed on page thirty of your textbooks,” she said, tearing her eyes from mine and turning to Garnet and Hunter, who obediently pulled out their books and began paging through them. “Miss Winters, could I have a word?”

  She swept toward the door, her robes swishing behind her, and I followed her into the hallway, ignoring my friends’ curious faces as she closed the door softly behind us.

  She pursed her lips as her eyes roamed over my face, and I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, trying to come up with a believable excuse for my behavior. I could tell by the seriousness of her gaze that she wouldn’t be so easily fooled, though. Finally she let out a sigh of her own, removed her glasses, and rubbed her temples.

  “Your introduction to the island has not been easy, Miss Winters, and for that I am sorry. I’m sure it would sound hollow to you if I told you just how wonderful of a community we’ve built out here, how we’ve made the island a home for those who could find one nowhere else. It is a hidden treasure in this vast, unforgiving, and oftentimes cruel world, and the islanders—myself included—are immensely proud of it. It is a great misfortune that you have stumbled onto the dark side of our little slice of paradise before getting to know the beauty that surrounds us, both in its breathtaking landscapes and in the hearts of those who call it home.”

  I shrugged and toed absentmindedly at the academy’s stone floor, not knowing what to say. It was true that my first few weeks on Magic Island had been interesting, to say the least, and finding myself embroiled in two murder mysteries hadn’t been what I’d expected when I first stepped off the ferry, Glenn at my side, and prepared to enter this strange new world. But the island already felt like home to me, and I wouldn’t trade the friends I’d made or the experiences I’d had for anything. Besides, how many dead bodies could one girl stumble across in a lifetime? I had a feeling I’d reached my limit, and I said as much to Lady Winthrop.

  “Be that as it may,” she said, removing her wand from her pocket, “I would encourage you to pay a visit to Homer Vale, a dear friend of mind who specializes in healing the mind from past traumas. Given all that you’ve witnessed in such a short amount of time, I think you’ll find him most helpful.”

  She pointed her wand at her palm, and a piece of paper covered in tiny print appeared in it. “Here are the directions to his office. It’s fairly tricky to find, and I would suggest scheduling your appointment in the morning to avoid traveling through the forest after dusk.”

  She handed the paper to me and I stared down at it, feeling a bit miffed that she thought I needed professional help. “So is he, like, a shrink?” I asked, struggling to keep my tone neutral.

  Lady Winthrop frowned. “I’m not familiar with that term, so I cannot say, but I do know that he is a highly skilled elf whose healing abilities are known throughout the worldwide magical community.”

  She hesitated, then added, more softly, “There is no shame in asking for help, Wren. It is a strength, not a weakness.” Then she squeezed my hand briefly before sweeping back into the classroom, leaving me alone in the hallway with nothing but my thoughts.

  After a little while, I followed, but not before quietly slipping Homer’s address into my pocket.

  Chapter 2

  “Our circulation numbers are down for the third week in a row,” Sandrine hissed, baring her fangs and clenching her hands in front of her tiny waist. The vampiress and new editor-in-chief of The Islander Gazette stood in front of the assembled reporters, her dark gaze locking on us one by one, her daunting presence filling the space despite her diminutive size. “Now, does anyone know why this might be?”

  The Islander staff glanced uneasily at one another, no one daring to speak, until a lanky vampire named Saul who worked the sports beat cleared his throat and raised his hand in the air tentatively.

  “Yes?” Her eyes drilled into him, and a lesser man would have quelled under the intensity of her stare. Although he looked back at her defiantly, I could see that his pale face was growing even paler by the second.

  “Newspaper revenue numbers are down all over the world,” he began, his voice shaking slightly. When several of the other reporters began nodding vigorously and murmuring in agreement, he seemed to regain some of his confidence, for his next words came out in an eager rush. “We should be looking to explore new technology, perhaps move to an all-digital platform or—”

  Sandrine cut him off with another loud hiss, running her tongue threateningly over her fangs… Had they grown even longer in the past five minutes? I shrank back in my chair, and Sebastian, who was sitting next to me and doodling idly on his notepad, set down his pen to give me a reassuring pat on the hand, for which I was grateful. Despite our somewhat rocky relationship so far, he always made a point of looking out for me, and I was glad for his steady, reassuring presence in the office. I
often wondered whether I’d made a mistake by turning him down when he suggested we might explore a different side of our relationship, and I couldn’t ignore the feeling of warmth that flowed through me now as his hand touched mine. I smiled back at him, and after a moment’s hesitation during which his honey-brown eyes burned into mine, he offered me a small one in return.

  “Our lack of new technology is not our Achilles’ heel,” Sandrine said softly, dangerously, staring down the vampire who’d dared to give what she clearly believed to be the wrong answer. She began walking back and forth at the front of the room, her stiletto heels clicking smartly against the floor, and the eyes of every reporter in the room followed her progress, their heads swinging left and right in time with her pacing.

  When she swung around again, her red-painted lips pulled back to show the full effect of her fangs, the dwarf sitting in the front row let out a small yelp and launched himself backward, toppling out of his chair so that only his little boots were visible sticking straight up in the air.

  “The problem is with all of you,” she fumed, ignoring the dwarf’s cry of pain as he struggled to his feet. His knees gave way when she let out another loud hiss, and he tumbled back down to the ground. When I made a move to go and help him, Sebastian gripped my arm and shot me a warning look that plainly said don’t draw attention to yourself.

  “The problem,” Sandrine continued, bending over so that the raised scar over her heart was visible, sending a thrill of fear racing across my skin, “is that you lack the passion, the commitment, the energy it takes to make this newspaper great again.” She smacked her pale hand against the table. “Not one person in this room takes pride in their work, and it’s apparent to everyone who reads it.” Her eyes narrowed in on me, but rather than shrink from her accusatory gaze like everyone else, I met it head-on. She didn’t scare me.

  Okay, she did, but I’d rather get between a leprechaun and a stack of gold coins than give her the satisfaction of knowing just how much.

  “That was really something,” Sebastian muttered to me a few minutes later after Sandrine dismissed us and returned to her office, slamming the door behind her. His face was red with anger, and I couldn’t blame him—the vampiress had spent a good five minutes berating him for writing obituaries that she described as “too colorful.”

  “How else are you supposed to memorialize someone who’s spent their life taming dragons?” he fumed as we headed back toward our cubicles. “Or discovering ten new species of sea monsters? Or developing a potion to cure the weasel pox?”

  I made a sympathetic noise in the back of my throat and dropped into my chair. Somehow I’d managed to escape Sandrine’s wrath—this time—but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping over me that she was merely biding her time. I couldn’t spend too much energy worrying about that, though, when I had to figure out the topic for my next column. As I powered on my computer and unpacked my trusty notebook from my bag, I realized that Sebastian was still standing behind me.

  “So,” he said, running a casual hand through his wavy hair, “did you hear about the coven’s dance next weekend? I’m still deciding if I’m going to attend… I didn’t go last year, and I heard Lady Amabelle hired a troupe of dancing dragons that blew the roof off the place… literally.”

  “Sounds… exciting,” I said. “Lady Winthrop just told us about it the other day, but I haven’t decided yet if I’m going.” Which was the truth.

  “Me neither,” he said quickly. He looked like he wanted to continue the conversation, but Merry the gnome chose that moment to swing by my cubicle, his beloved Sweetpea in hand.

  “Sandrine wants to see you in her office,” he said gruffly to me. “And she told me to tell you”—he nodded to Sebastian—“to stop hanging around Wren all the time and get back to work.” When Sebastian’s face flared red with anger again, Merry held up his hands. “Her words, not mine. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  I shot Sebastian a pained look, then headed for Sandrine’s office. When I knocked and stepped inside, she indicated that I should take the seat across from her, then proceeded to glower at me from across her desk, idly stroking the black cat that was always at her heels.

  “Explain to me,” she said after staring me down for a few more moments, visibly gritting her fangs, “why you directly disobeyed my orders about your last column.” She slapped the most recent edition of The Islander down on her desk with enough force that the cat meowed indignantly and hopped down from her lap. It brushed up against my ankle, then stretched out luxuriously at my feet, staring up at me with unblinking yellow eyes.

  I didn’t bother glancing down at the paper—I didn’t need to. Rather than submit the column she’d assigned to me on the feud between Emeril and Preston, I’d penned a short article on the success of the Snow Bunny Fashion Show, leaving out every last juicy detail I’d discovered during my investigation into Emeril’s murder. Once I’d learned from a heartbroken Preston that he and Emeril used to be in a loving relationship that had turned sour, I couldn’t very well turn around and bare his soul to the entire island. I might not leave Sandrine’s office today with my job, but I was certainly going to leave with my integrity.

  Shrugging, I said, “There wasn’t much to report. It was a non-story.” Lies, lies, and more lies. Could vampires smell fear? I didn’t want to find out.

  Sandrine’s lip curled upward in a snarl, and I swallowed hard. “I don’t know why it has proven so difficult for you to perform the job you were hired for, Wren, but consider this your final warning. If you ignore my orders one more time, you can clear out your desk.” She paused, her eyes lingering on mine. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal,” I gritted out, anger flaring in my chest. I so dearly longed to reach across the space separating us and smack that smug look off her face, but I was perfectly aware that she could drain all the blood from my veins in ten seconds flat, before anyone could even hear me scream.

  “Excellent.” She snapped her long fingers, and the cat jumped back into her lap. “As punishment, I am suspending you without pay for a period of two weeks. During that time, I strongly suggest that you consider whether you want to be a part of this newspaper in the future.”

  “Sorry?” I stared at her, certain I had misheard. My ears were clearly playing tricks on me—I’d been positive she’d said she was suspending me without pay for two weeks, which was absurd. How on earth was I supposed to pay for that color-changing purse?

  “I believe I made myself perfectly clear the first time,” Sandrine said coolly, scratching behind the cat’s ears as it kept its eyes glued to me, a smug look on its furry face.

  I could feel the color rising to my cheeks, and before I knew what was happening, I had leapt to my feet and was towering over Sandrine. “You can’t do that!” I shouted, punctuating each word with a jab of my finger in her direction.

  She blinked slowly at me, and the cat followed suit. “I can, and I did,” she said. Then she reached across her desk and pulled a stack of draft articles for The Islander’s next issue toward herself before uncapping a red pen and scanning her eyes down the first page. “Now get out of my office before I call the security troll,” she added without bothering to glance up at me.

  I hesitated, still looming over her, my mind raging with indecision. But when she let out a small, impatient sigh and let her hand drift over to the button that would summon security, allowing it to hover there threateningly for a few beats, I turned to leave, for really, what other choice did I have? It was either stay and make a scene, then find myself on the wrong end of the security troll’s club anyway, or leave with my dignity. Sort of.

  I walked quietly out of her office, through the newsroom—where a few reporters watched me go with mild interest—and past Glinna at the front desk, who was chewing worriedly on her lip and gripping her pouch of fairy dust. I vaguely registered Sebastian calling my name as I shouldered open the door and stepped outside without looking back. Only then did I l
et out a howl of outrage that caused the dragons flying overhead to halt mid-swoop and join me in an indignant roar of their own.

  “There, there,” Garnet said, sitting beside me on my bed and patting my back while I clutched a pillow to my chest furiously, my mind racing with all the ways I could make Sandrine pay for what she had done. “You’ll get back on your feet soon; it’s just a temporary setback.”

  “Fired? How positively humiliating for you, my dearest Wren. Allow me to extend my most sincere apologies for your plight.” Monty swung around gleefully to face me, trying without success to hide his grin. The shrunken head thrived on chaos, and who could blame him? He spent the vast majority of his days pining for his missing limbs, threatening to roast Pierre on a spit, and generally making my life miserable. This was the most excitement he’d had in centuries.

  “I wasn’t fired,” I spat back, shooting him a death stare. “I’m only being suspended for two weeks.”

  “Tomatoes, tomahtoes. It’s perfectly fine to be in denial—that is, in fact, the first stage of grief. Before long, you’ll come to accept that life as you know it is ruined.” He pursed his lips together thoughtfully. “You may not believe this, but once upon a time, I, Beaumont Gaylord, found myself in a spot of trouble with my employer. I was only trying to steal a crumb of bread from the kitchens because the raving lunatic allotted me a mere quarter of a loaf a day for my family of seven, but he found me out and gave me the most unreasonable punishment.”

  “What did he do to you?” Garnet asked, her eyes wide with sympathy. “Is that how you lost your limbs?”

  Monty gave a loud sniff. “Worse. He sent his manservant to all the bakeries in town to collect every last loaf of bread, and then force-fed them to me until my stomach exploded from the inside, quite literally. I spent a fortnight being treated by the most esteemed doctors in the land, suffering unimaginable pain while my poor wife wept at my bedside, until finally”—he lowered his gaze to the floor—“I died.” He turned doe-eyes to Garnet, who gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth in horror.