A Witch in Darkness: A Young Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (Runic Magical Academy Series Book 2) Read online

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  Title Page

  Copyright

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  A Witch in Darkness

  Sabrina Hale

  A Witch in Darkness: Runic Academy Book 2 by Sabrina Hale

  Copyright © 2022 Sabrina Hale

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher of this book, except as provided by United States of America copyright law and fair use.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, groups, events, places, and incidents portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarities to real persons, groups, living or dead, are coincidental and not intended by the author.

  1

  A YEAR AGO, I would’ve taken one look at what I was doing and slapped myself silly. I’d been sitting on the floor in Frankie’s room at her parents’ house practicing for the last hour. Yet, no matter how hard I concentrated or willed the small sprig of ivy in my hand to move, it stayed firmly in place. I sighed and leaned back, stretching the muscles in my neck. Then again, a year ago I didn’t have the slightest clue magic ran through my veins. The mother I’d never known sealed it with my birth. She’d left me in the mortal world to grow up in foster care. Except my magic refused to be chained. Now I could feel it, simmering under my skin like a soft electricity, waiting for me to make use of it.

  I focused my gaze again. In my mind’s eye, I pictured pulling a thin thread of power and wrapping it around the ivy. Warmth brushed my center and goosebumps ran across my arms. I still wasn’t used to the way it felt when I called on my abilities. It was a less intense experience than the burning that happened whenever my magic burst from me while sealed, or the flood that rushed through me when my aunt Delilah died, releasing it. In the few weeks I’d had access to my powers, I’d been unable to do a single spell. A small part of me wondered if I even deserved to.

  I pushed the thought away. Just because I only had my magic thanks to Delilah’s death, that didn’t mean anything. She’d been the one trying to kill me, after all, because she believed I was full of darkness.

  Focusing back on the task at hand, inside my mind, I imagined tugging on the ivy. Nothing happened.

  Before I could try again, the sound of footsteps on the stairs had me tucking the sprig away. I reached for the book lying on the floor beside me, my excuse for avoiding Frankie at the moment, and flipped it open just as she burst into the bedroom. Her pale blue eyes zeroed in on me.

  “Okay, that’s it.” Frankie crossed the room in three short strides and snatched the novel from my hands. “You’ve been up here practicing for hours, while I’ve been stuck helping my mom. It’s the last day of winter break! We should be having fun.”

  “I wasn’t practicing,” I said, crossing my arms. “I was reading. You’re the one who’s always talking about how you can have fun with a book.”

  Frankie leveled me with her gaze. With her dirty blonde hair and predisposition to blush on a dime, she gave off the impression of a meek teenage girl. But I knew the truth. She had no problem calling people out when she felt like it, and she could deliver a debilitating kick to the shin if provoked.

  Not taking her eyes off me, she flipped the book around to show me the cover. The implication was clear. She knew I was lying. The fact that the book was upside down didn’t help my case.

  “You don’t get it,” I said. Frankie was a natural at magic. The only time she struggled with spells was in class. I didn’t know if it was embarrassment or a lack of confidence because so many of our classmates looked down on her for coming from a family known for being magically challenged.

  “Believe me, I get it,” Frankie said. She closed the book and joined me on the floor. “I had to wear my siphoning bracelet until I was ten because I couldn’t control it.” Her eyes went to the door, a small frown on her face. “I didn’t really have anyone to teach me, so I had to learn everything myself.”

  I bit my lip. Last year, I’d started an uncontrollable fire and opened possibly not one but two demon portals on accident. I sincerely doubted Frankie’s lack of control amounted to the same level of destruction. And sure, it was probably hard growing up with more magic than your parents and zero resources. But was it really the same as your mother putting a magical seal on you after murdering seven people?

  Those seven murders had been Delilah’s proof of my darkness. My mother committed them while pregnant with me. Her belief was that she’d sealed my magic to save me from it. If she was right, there was no way to confirm it. The only person who could’ve told me was my mother, and considering I used her soul to seal a demon into place, she wasn’t really accessible for a chat.

  So yeah, I didn’t think Frankie got it.

  “When we get back to school, you’ll have all the time in the world to practice,” she said. “But right now, I need out of here. My mom’s almost done, and I am not spending my last night dropping off orders to a bunch of rude old witches. The smell of rosemary is already giving me a headache.”

  Frankie’s mom, Gemma, ran a small apothecary business. She grew different herbs and flowers and other ingredients for spellwork. From what I knew, she didn’t have much magic, but she had one hell of a green thumb.

  “Please,” she said. “We could go to the festival?”

  I sat up straighter. We’d already been to the winter festival a few times, but it was by far my favorite part of visiting their little village.

  “Okay, if it’s that important to you.” I stood with a grin and took the book from her hands, tossing it onto her bed as we headed downstairs. My attempts at figuring out my magic could wait. She was right. There’d be plenty of time at school to figure it all out.

  The moment we hit the first floor, my nose wrinkled. The smell of rosemary was pretty strong. Like a pungent pinewood with a hint of lavender. I wasn’t much for plants and flowers, but in my month living with Frankie’s family, I’d picked up a passing recognition of the more common products her mother sold.

  “We’re going to the festival!” Frankie yelled, heading for our coats at the door.

  “Wait!” Gemma poked her head out of the kitchen. Frankie froze, but all her mother did was nod toward the stairs. “See if Rose wants to go with you.”

  Frankie frowned, and I heard her mutter something under her breath as she headed for the stairs.

  Gemma smiled at me, her violet eyes tight as she brushed off her hands on her smock. I chewed my cheek. Though I couldn’t ask my mother why she’d done what she had, there was a chance I could get some answers from Gemma. Last semester, in one of my stupider decisions, I’d tried to commune with
the ancestors. Before trying to drown me, they showed me a vision of Gemma and my mother. It was part of the reason I’d agreed to let her be my guardian until my eighteenth birthday this year. Except, as it turned out, asking someone about a secret conversation they had with your murderous mother wasn’t exactly dinner talk.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Good,” I lied. She nodded, her eyes searching mine. We hadn’t spent much time together alone. She was nice enough, but my recent track record with parental figures didn’t really make it easy to open up. I sucked in a breath. It was now or never.

  “Do—”

  “You know, if you wanted to take a semester off, I’m sure Frankie would understand.” Her words stopped me short. “We could even try to get you into the local school.”

  “Oh,” I shifted on my feet. “That’s okay. I’m kind of excited to go back.”

  Her lips twisted, like she was trying to smile, but couldn’t. It reminded me of the expression some of the social workers used to get when looking over my file, like handling the reality of my situation broke something in them. “Well, I was just thinking maybe you’d want a fresh start, somewhere without—.”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. A stampede came clambering down the stairs as Frankie and her little sister, Rose, appeared. Gemma disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a basketful of satchels that she handed to Frankie.

  “Here, you can also drop these off while you’re at it,” she told her. “They go to Mrs. Carson up the street.”

  “Anything else?” Frankie asked. She smiled at her mother, but gave me a side-eye glance.

  Gemma shook her head. “Nope! Just be careful and remember to be back before it gets too cold. You’re both still healing.”

  “We’re fine,” Frankie assured her.

  Gemma glanced at me. “Well, still. Be careful.”

  I didn’t blame her for worrying, but I couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed. Last year, we’d both ended up seriously injured thanks to my aunt’s belief that I was inherently evil. Frankie had almost died, all because she was my roommate. I turned to Rose.

  “You ready?”

  The small girl was struggling to pull her gloves on. She nodded, causing her thick hat to fall into her eyes. Gemma leaned forward and adjusted it, smiling at her daughter. For some reason, my chest suddenly felt tight.

  “Okay, back soon!” Frankie said, yanking us both out the door. The moment it shut, she groaned and shoved the basket into my arms. “Here, you have to carry it. My nostrils need a break.”

  I didn’t respond as we walked down to the garden gate. Gemma’s words rang in my ears. A fresh start. Somehow, I doubted that was possible.

  ***

  The winter festival was held in the middle of the small village Frankie’s family lived in. We headed first to drop off the basket. It was a couple of blocks away on one of the streets where the houses were about three times the size of Frankie’s.

  We hurried up the frosted walkway. My cheeks were already numb from the short walk. Gripping Rose’s hand in hers, Frankie knocked. As the door swung open, she plastered the fakest smile I’d ever seen on her face. A woman of about sixty looked out at us. Her dark hair was cut into a chin-length bob with silver streaks scattered throughout.

  “Francesca, I thought you were off at school?”

  “I’m just helping mom out while I’m home on break. I’ve got your order here,” Frankie replied. She jerked her head toward me. I held out the basket as prompted. The older woman ignored me, her eyes zeroing in on Rose.

  “And who might you be?”

  Rose preened under the attention. “Rose!”

  “My goodness, no!” Mrs. Carson gave her a sly smile as she feigned shock. “The Rose I know is just a baby and you’re a full little lady.”

  “I am Rose,” she insisted. She looked at Frankie as though she might be able to confirm it. Mrs. Carson laughed.

  “Well, you are so grown. The both of you.” She turned to me, arms outstretched for the basket, and froze.

  Having grown up without any knowledge of my family, it was odd now to watch the flash of recognition in someone’s eyes. It hadn’t happened too often during my stay with Frankie’s family. I liked to think the scarf and hat gave me some anonymity.

  “This is Cora,” Frankie said, ignoring Mrs. Carson’s response. She took the basket from me and handed it to her. “She goes to Runic with me.”

  “I see. Well, it was nice to see you again, Francesca.” The change in her tone was sharp. She stepped back into her house.

  “You too,” Frankie said as the door shut in our faces.

  I’d thought releasing my magic would solve all my problems, and hanging out at Frankie’s house it had been easy to pretend. But I was still the daughter of a murderer. People here would always look at me and see the face of Tallulah Delatorre, the woman who’d killed her parents and five others.

  “You okay?” Frankie asked.

  “Of course,” I said with a shrug. I’d met plenty of people who disliked me on sight, even before I was a witch. Sure, it didn’t feel great. But it only strengthened my resolve. If I wanted the bright future I’d always planned for, I was going to have to make sure I showed everyone I was one thousand percent harmless.

  We turned away from Mrs. Carson’s home toward the festival, neither of us saying anything. Instead, I let my eyes wander, looking at the different houses we passed. It was only when we were directly in front of it that I recognized the Delatorre house. It looked the same as the others, large and well-kept. You might not have even known it was abandoned. The entire family that lived there was gone now.

  “You ready to have some magic hot chocolate?” I asked Rose, turning my attention to her.

  Rose’s eyes lit up. “Hot chocolate!” she screamed. Frankie blushed and grabbed her hand, pulling her down the street. I followed, keeping my gaze straight ahead.

  My heart pinched as we entered the festival grounds. Sure, in the first five months since I’d learned I was a witch, I’d basically come to believe that magic was the universe’s new favorite way to kick my ass. And yeah, maybe I still couldn’t seem to use my powers, but watching the enchanted flurries fall over the winter carnival in Frankie’s tiny village was no doubt worth it.

  “Don’t you wish every day could be like this?” Frankie asked, peeking at me from under her velvety hood. I tried to wipe the look of complete and utter awe off my face, but I doubted I was doing a very good job. Despite having been here multiple times in the last month, the picturesque scene before me never got old. In all my seventeen years, winter had never seemed so, well, magical.

  “If every day was like this, I’d lose my nose to frostbite,” I said. As thrilling as the beautiful snow was, it wasn’t any less cold than a real winter flurry. I cupped my woolen-gloved hands around my face, blowing to warm my numb cheeks and hoping to keep my nose from turning bright red. Not that it mattered if I went around looking like Rudolph. I had no one to impress. The only guy who I’d been somewhat interested in had turned out to have daydreams of stabbing me through the heart.

  Literally.

  I grimaced behind my hands and focused my attention back on the spectacle before me. The whole square was wrapped in ribbons, holly, and other herbs. Vendors selling small trinkets for decorating trees, yule logs for burning, and other witchy things had set up stalls around the area. Witchlights and candles lit up the night, casting an ethereal glow over the cobblestones. Even the air smelled wonderful, full of winter spices, sugary confections, and woodsmoke.

  As I watched, a male witch held one hand over his dwindling fire, and it burst back to life. Satisfied, he swept his palm over it, and a handful of chestnuts rolled out of the bag he had on his table to float just above the flames. He either didn’t have enough power to let them hover without his constant oversight, or he didn’t want to use it.

  Thanks to my semester at a magic school sans magic, I had a pretty good knowl
edge of the theoretical way witchcraft worked. It was all straightforward energy manipulation. But in actual practice, there were multiple factors from a witch’s own concentration and will to the forces working with or against them. It was one of the reasons Gemma had such good knowledge of plants. What energy she didn’t have on her own, she amplified with them, utilizing their different qualities.

  A small hand reached up and tugged on the scarf wrapped around Frankie’s neck as an equally tiny body forced its way between us.

  “Where’s the hot chocolate?” Rose asked, looking up at her big sister. They were nearly identical except, like her mother, Rose had bright violet-colored eyes. Not that you could tell with Rose’s white knit cap falling over her forehead. I pulled it back. Her hair was going to be a rat’s nest by the time she got home.

  “Why don’t we walk around a little first,” Frankie said. Rose pouted, and then, just as quickly, perked back up.

  “Can we play some games?” she asked. Frankie made a big show of thinking.

  “I guess we could play a game.” Frankie said. “But then we need to get Mom and Dad something for the solstice.”

  Rose didn’t respond, too busy eyeing the different booths before her. While Yule was technically still two weeks away, our new semester started tomorrow. All witches who were in the years surrounding their coming of age spent solstices and equinoxes behind the wards of their school. It was meant to reduce demon attacks, as our magic was more potent, and at those times of year, the barrier between worlds was thinner. Personally, considering last year, I wasn’t sure how effective these wards actually were. But I’d gladly let our combat professor beat me to a pulp rather than see a demon ever again, so if they said the wards would protect us, that was where I’d be.

  We trailed after Rose. She was small, so every once in a while, she slipped ahead of us, but her white hat with its pink pouf never strayed too far. After a family carrying a cart load of evergreen boughs cut us off, we hurried forward to see she’d stopped in front of a booth.