Besphinxed Page 2

  Well, every student but one.

  At the opposite end of the room, Heather Hayden studied his expression.

  Owen was having trouble breathing, but he forced himself to remain stoic. He refused to reveal his fear to anyone, least of all his best friend’s mortal enemy.

  Heather’s ice-blue gaze never wavered.

  They had stared at each other like this once, last year, during the Midwinter Masquerade. He’d been torn away from Kai’s side, as he knew he would be one day, by none other than Bellamy’s peculiar older sister.

  But there had been a moment—a moment the length of a dance—in which a victimized Heather Hayden had sought solace in Owen’s arms. Privileged and arrogant as she may have been, Owen’s heart had gone out to the young witch. She was not the first person in his very long lifetime to make a few bad decisions. Kai had not needed him in that moment, but Heather had. For one dance she was not a Godawful Gothwitch wreaking havoc over all of Harmswood, she was simply a fellow student in need of an ally.

  When the Goblin King’s magic killed the snow globe, Owen’s moment with Heather was over. As soon as Owen had protected Heather from the blast, he’d returned to his place next to Kai. Where he belonged. Neither he nor Heather had ever mentioned the dance again.

  Right now it was Owen who needed refuge. He felt himself wishing for that moment on the dance floor again, that feeling of peace. He wished there was a way to let Heather into their circle without betraying Kai, but it was a pipe dream. Kai would never allow Owen to be friends with Heather.

  Heather, surrounded by her rich friends and hangers-on, would never have allowed it either.

  On a normal day, Owen would have pretended not to care. This was not a normal day. If the Arachne sisters had found him, there would be a reckoning, and soon.

  “Jeez, why don’t you take a picture or something? It will last longer.”

  All heads turned to Heather in response to her snide comment, breaking the spell Miss Sunshine’s presence had placed over them. The left side of the classroom jeered in solidarity.

  “There are enough photos of you in the world already,” Owen shot back. “Surely we don’t need another one.”

  Kai wasn’t the only one on the right side of the room who giggled at his retort.

  “Children!” Professor Blake clapped her hands together. “Enough of this nonsense, thank you very much. I trust you to treat Miss Sunshine with the same respect you give Professor Mayfield.” The Head Witch turned to Miss Sunshine. “I leave them in your very capable hands, my dear. Best of luck.”

  Owen wanted to cry out after Professor Blake and beg her not to leave, denouncing Miss Sunshine for the imposter she was. But it had been a hundred years. What if he was wrong? What if Miss Sunshine was simply a lovely woman from one of those rectangular states out west? On top of that, being a hundred year old cat-shifter didn’t make Owen anything special. At this school full of extraordinary individuals, he was just another teenage voice in the crowd.

  “Good morning, class,” said Miss Sunshine. Her voice was thick and rich, like cold honey. The Arachne he’d met in Egypt had a voice that was higher pitched, with an affected Middle Eastern accent. This woman sounded one hundred percent American. “In light of the fact that Professor Mayfield will be out for some time—”

  “Is he really sick? Like, bad sick?” Bellamy asked with honest concern. She was the sort of fairy who wrote thank you notes to the teachers at the end of every semester and encouraged the rest of her friends to do the same. Owen had blamed his failure to do so on his terrible penmanship. Cats didn’t write thank you notes. Cats never wrote anything down. The art of speaking cryptically was one of Owen’s favorite aspects of being a cat.

  “I don’t know all the details,” Miss Sunshine said with perfect innocence. “I was given to understand that he might not return before the end of the school year.”

  Six weeks? If Miss Sunshine really was one of the Arachne sisters, Owen would be dead before the end of term. Or Kai would.

  Owen wanted to throw up again.

  Miss Sunshine pulled what looked like a small rug from her bag and unrolled it so that it dropped down the front of Professor Mayfield’s desk.

  Bellamy gasped from her chair in the front row. “A unicorn tapestry,” she said reverently.

  “You expect us to make that?” Heather asked with her usual brashness. “From what, fresh unicorns?”

  The left side of the room chuckled.

  Miss Sunshine’s lips formed a perfect moue as she stared down at the tapestry, but it was obvious that her distaste was over Heather’s suggestion. “It’s true, the skill level to recreate this piece is incredibly high,” she said with that sultry voice. “My forte is fabric crafts. But I was told that Professor Mayfield covered that topic last semester.”

  There was a sigh from Bellamy, no doubt devastated over the fact that she wasn’t about to be given a unicorn as a homework assignment.

  “To that end,” continued Miss Sunshine, “any student who chooses to attempt a recreation of this tapestry will get extra points that will count toward their final grade. The best replica will receive the most points.”

  Owen tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. The original Arachne had challenged the goddess Athena to a similar contest and won. A bold move, considering that the gods were notorious for being bad losers. As punishment for Arachne’s boasting and then shaming a god, Athena turned her into a spider. Arachne and the rest of her spider-shifting descendants had been doomed to weave until the end of time.

  Every descendant of that first Arachne (that Owen knew about) was female, and every one called herself Arachne. The Arachnes wanted a Fury’s feather because it would supposedly grant them their proper revenge on Athena. Sure, it could be argued that Athena was in the wrong, but one did not mess around with gods.

  Owen should know—the Great Sphinx who had bespelled him was older than the denizens of Olympus themselves.

  “Dear Professor Mayfield, please get better soon.” This prayer came from Poppy Flanders, one of Heather’s closest confidants and the second Gothwitch. Oleander Nerium was the third. Where Poppy was bright and bubbly, Oleander was dark and dry. They complimented Heather perfectly. Her own personal coven, the students called it. Hayden witches liked things in threes, they said.

  Not that Poppy or Oleander had bothered to rescue their friend the night of the masquerade.

  “None of you are obliged to try, but the opportunity is there if you wish to take it.” Miss Sunshine picked up a binder and flipped through a few pages. “Now, it seems that the lesson plan Professor Mayfield filed for this spring concentrated on food preparation.”

  Yes, since returning after winter break Owen and his friends had burned popcorn, killed yeast, and discovered the hard way why soups should never be made in reclaimed cauldrons. Having spent the majority of the last century eating out of garbage cans, the slightly-off taste of the soup hadn’t bothered Owen at all, but every student in Consumer Magics had sprouted rabbit ears that day. It had taken the school nurse a week to break the spell.

  “The assignment for all Professor Mayfield’s classes is to create hors d’oeuvres for the Zombie Prom.”

  This time, both sides of the classroom groaned.

  “Can someone tell me exactly what this ‘Zombie Prom’ is all about?” Miss Sunshine asked. “I’m assuming no true zombies are actually invited, as it would cause a substantial risk to the students.”

  Your presence causes substantial risk to the students, thought Owen.

  “We just dress as zombies,” Bellamy assured her. “It’s terribly fun.”

  “It’s the function that marks the end of our school year,” Kai said helpfully.

  “Only the best prom ever!” Poppy chimed in.

  “Speak for yourself,” droned Oleander. “Though the music is always on point.”

  “All of Nocturne Falls takes part,” added Bellamy. “It’s a huge celebration.”

  �
�Ah,” said Miss Sunshine. “This makes sense then. It seems Professor Mayfield wanted his students to contribute to the festivities. I will be breaking you into pairs. Each team will be assigned one food item to be served at the Zombie Prom. You have until that time to create and perfect your dish to the best of your abilities.”

  “Does this count toward our final grade?” asked Tinker, Bellamy’s nerdy goblin boyfriend.

  Miss Sunshine smiled. “Yes. I do believe this project is meant to be a large part of your final exam.”

  “And the other part?” Oleander asked as if she cared.

  “So far, the other part consists of you not getting on my nerves.”

  “Yes, Miss Sunshine,” Oleander mumbled dutifully. She could dish out the disdain, but she was horrible at taking it from others.

  “Wait. You are going to assign the pairs?” Heather asked skeptically.

  “I am,” said Miss Sunshine. “I couldn’t help but notice that this room seems to be divided for some reason. I’m not sure what defines the line between the two sides, but I hereby dissolve it.” She moved in front of the desk and raised a hand. “Pretend that the room is a piece of paper, and that this imaginary line I’m drawing is a fold in that paper. Whoever is your mirror on the opposite side of the room will be your partner for the remainder of the semester.”

  There was no groaning this time, because the students were too busy staring at each other in shock. Did Miss Sunshine honestly think by matching them up like this they’d suddenly get along? If days and months and years of existing in the same rooms and hallways hadn’t encouraged the elite to mingle with the bourgeoisie, how on earth was one Consumer Magics class going to change that?

  If Miss Sunshine’s ultimate goal was chaos, she was about to get it. This plan was destined to go nowhere but pear-shaped. The only question was when.

  Owen quickly did what every other student in the classroom was doing, counting desks to see who had been doomed to spend the rest of the school year with whom. Bellamy and Zev—that might not turn out too badly. Tinker had been paired off with Oleander. A goblin and a pessimist—how utterly depressing. Kai would be with Poppy Flanders. Kai worked at a bakery, so her team had already aced this test….unless Poppy decided to sabotage something along the way. Finn was more than a match for Duko Bardou, assuming the two wolf-shifters didn’t kill each other first. And Owen would have to put up with…

  …Heather.

  Of course.

  “Oh, crap,” Kai whispered when she, too, realized Owen’s fate. “You got screwed.”

  “You said it,” Owen replied. “Consider it my taking one for the team.”

  He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could juggle Heather and Kai. And Miss maybe-Arachne Sunshine. And any other darkness that chose to rain down upon him.

  Unsurprisingly, Heather had no intention of moving. Owen stood and shuffled past the other reluctant students to the opposite side of the room. He slid a vacant desk over to hers until the two clicked and morphed into one solid tabletop. Most of the desks at Harmswood had this property. The first time he’d seen it, he almost hadn’t believed it. Casual magic was used in town only if it could be disguised as technology. The sort of everyday magic at Harmswood would have baffled the sharpest human mind.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Heather asked the question accusingly, as if Owen had slammed the desks together in anger, which he had not.

  He slid into the chair beside her so that he would not have to meet her eyes. Part of him wanted to tell Heather that he suspected their substitute of being a member of a cult of women who’d damned him for a century and intended to kill his best friend. Part of him just wanted to sit quietly in a safe, silent bubble.

  In good faith, he could not do the former. Kai would never forgive him for telling Heather such vital information. Heck, she’d never forgive him for telling Heather anything.

  Owen would find a way to handle this on his own. He had to. For the safety of his friends, if not himself. In the meantime, he needed to continue to play the part of Kai’s Best Friend Who Always Takes Her Side No Matter What. A role that included not being chummy in any way with abusive, power-hungry Heather Hayden.

  “What’s wrong with me? I have to deal with you for the rest of the semester,” he said. “That would set anyone’s teeth on edge.”

  Heather almost looked insulted, and he wished he could take the words back. But the expression disappeared almost as quickly as it had come.

  “I’m allergic to cats,” she said quickly.

  “No witch is allergic to cats,” he said. “Try again.”

  “I’m allergic to idiots,” she said.

  “Not judging by the company you keep,” he said. “Got any more?”

  “I’m allergic to poverty,” she said.

  Owen took in her flat-ironed hair, custom black dress, and boots with more buttons than the ladies’ boots on the Titanic. “Now that I believe.”

  Bellamy, who had cheerfully volunteered to pass out the assignments, handed a card to Owen. “Good luck,” she whispered.

  Her wish wasn’t just about the recipe. If only Bellamy had sprinkled a little fairy dust on that card, Owen might have stood half a chance. With everything.

  Heather snatched the card out of Owen’s grasp and flipped it over. “Chocolate chip cookies,” she read aloud. “Bah. Piece of cake.”

  Owen decided not to point out to the witch that cookies and cake were two entirely different things. Not that it mattered.

  However he sliced it, he was doomed.

  2

  “Something is wrong with that substitute in Professor Mayfield’s class,” Heather said as she pushed past the freaking oak tree that was the door of Professor Blake’s office. “I recommend you get rid of her at once and replace her with someone more suitable.”

  “Is that so?”

  The Head Witch did not look up from the open folder. Her enormous desk was piled middling high with its usual refuse: papers, pens, quills, and a stuffed raven named George. In actuality he was probably a Percival or an Alastair or something equally as pompous, but “George” was the name Heather had chosen so that piercing blank stare didn’t seem quite so nevermore-ish.

  “Yes!” Heather tossed her hand-stitched bat-winged backpack to the floor and plopped down in the oversized leather chair on the opposite side of the desk. Professor Blake remained fascinated by her papers. Granted, she was not required to look at Heather during their mandatory weekly chats; Heather usually preferred it when she wasn’t the focus of the professor’s attention.

  But if the professor did not pay the proper amount of attention to Heather’s current complaint, Heather would invoke the names of her parents. No one dared incur the wrath of the Great and Powerful Haydens. The mere threat of their presence was enough to stop most people in their tracks before action was required. Which was good, because realistically, Heather would have had to move heaven and earth to get her parents to so much as blink on her behalf.

  For now, Heather waited. If anyone was brazen enough to call her bluff, it was Professor Blake.

  “That woman obviously has no idea what she’s doing,” Heather went on. She refused to say the substitute’s ridiculous name out loud. “Debbie Sunshine” sounded like something pulled out of a first grade reading primer. Were high school students honestly expected to take her seriously with a name like that? “She gave us some ridiculous cooking assignment as our final exam. Professor Mayfield never would have approved.”

  “Is this the Zombie Prom project?” asked Professor Blake.

  “How do you know?” Heather frowned. Theodosia Blake was the granddaughter of a necromancer. She could animate—or silence—a human body with a wave of her hand. But as far as Heather knew, necromancers weren’t psychic.

  “I’m the Head Witch. I know everything.”

  Heather scoffed.

  Professor Blake struck through three lines on the paper in front of her with a red pen. Then she flippe
d the page over and went on to the next. “Every instructor at Harmswood has to file their lesson plans with me before the school year even starts. Professor Mayfield always meant for your final exam to be the Zombie Prom project, just on a more advanced magical scale.”

  Heather wished they’d left the magic element in, no matter how advanced. Baking cookies from a spell—an approved, school-sanctioned spell—would have been a breeze. Baking cookies from scratch would be a nightmare.

  “In light of his absence, I decided that Miss Sunshine should bump up the project’s start date so that she and everyone else would have ample time to settle in and get to work. I never would have accepted such a lenient final exam under normal circumstances. You students should consider yourselves lucky.”

  Lucky? Professor Blake might have been aware of the facts, but she had no idea what had happened in the classroom after she left. Heather decided to enlighten her. “She paired everyone up with someone they hate. I can’t see how that’s lucky at all. Or productive.”

  “Did she now? Hmm. Interesting. And rather clever, actually.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Professor Blake ignored Heather’s outburst. “Though I must admit, I didn’t realize so many of the students at Harmswood hated other students.”

  “Then you haven’t been paying attention,” said Heather.

  “Hate is just such a strong word. That so many enemies happen to share the same class…what are the odds?” Professor Blake drew another red line. Circled something. Squiggled through something else. Sketched some sort of rune. “Out of curiosity, who did you get paired with?”

  “Owen whatshisface,” Heather said with as much contempt as she could muster. “The Mummy’s Diner busboy. Kai Xanthopoulos’s lap cat.”

  “I know the one. And you hate him?”

  “Next to Bellamy, Owen is Kai’s best friend,” Heather explained. “And Kai still hasn’t forgiven me for that thing that happened last year. She hates me, so Owen has to hate me too. Those are the rules. Maybe that’s not how it worked back in the Stone Age when you were in school, but that’s how it works now.”