Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
The students at Grim Gate have left for summer break and the courtyard isn’t nearly as busy as usual. I look around, taking it all in. The Covenstead is a hidden dimension and only those worked into the protection spell are allowed entrance.
Now that my memories of coming here as a kid are back, this place feels all the more special to me. It offered me a sense of safety and belonging back then, and it still holds the same feeling today. I head into the library, hoping to run into Ruby or Devon, the two people from the coven I’ve befriended most.
“Ahh, Miss Benson,” someone says as the large double doors shut behind me. I look around, unable to see anyone behind the rows of large shelves. The academy library is absolutely wonderful. It’s two stories tall with books on every magical subject I can think of available to read—as well as a large restricted section of books on dark or dangerous magic.
“Uh, hi?” I come to a stop, still unable to see anyone. Inhaling the comforting smell of old books and new paper, I take a few more steps into the library and catch movement out of the corner of my eye. A very small older woman comes out from a row of books, using magic to push a cart in front of her. She’s dressed like a professor, and I’d guess her to be the same age as my grandma.
“I knew it was you as soon as I saw that red hair and green eyes.” The woman smiles. “You look just like Estelle.”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling back at her. “I’ve been told.”
“I’m Margret,” she introduces, holding out her hand to shake.
“Anora, but you already know that. Are you a professor here? I’m sorry if we met and I don’t remember.”
“I used to be. I only teach one summer school class a year now.” She taps her temple. “Just to keep my mind sharp. I retired long ago, a year before your great aunt. We both taught different grade levels of divination.”
“Oh, so you probably knew her well?” It’s odd that even with my memories back, Aunt Estelle still feels like a stranger.
“Very well! We were thick as thieves back in the day. She somehow always convinced me to partake in whatever adventure she was embarking on.” Margret laughs. “She was quite a woman, she was.”
“I wish I had known her better.” I bite my lip, debating on whether it’s better to not come off as awkward just yet or take a chance at getting some more answers. “Actually, I’ve been trying to understand this memory that came back to me. I’m assuming you heard about the memory spell.”
“I have.” She shakes her head. “Estelle…she had her own ways of doing things.”
“It seems so. But, um, I remember being at her house when I was a kid and she had a friend come over. A man with dark hair and his familiar took the form of what I thought was a wolf at the time. I now know it was probably a husky or malamute. Do you happen to know who that could be?”
Margret’s face grows serious. “Your aunt was a friend and I miss her dearly, and I never wish to speak ill of the dead.”
My stomach twists and I inhale, awaiting her to keep going.
“I do know who you speak of, but I will not speak his name. He not only brought out Estelle’s dark side, but encouraged it.”
Chapter
Twenty
Encouraged it.
What the hell does that mean? I could say Rene is a bad influence because she always convinces me to order an extra drink when we go out together. I don’t make the best choices when I drink—who does?—but to say someone encouraged a dark side.
“I don’t even know,” I whisper to Hunter. Two summer school students came into the library and Margret got busy helping them, which allowed me to slip away. As much as I want to talk more about Aunt Estelle, I’m here on a mission and I need to stick to it.
The tags on Hunter’s collar jingle as he trots down the hall next to me. My mind is whirling with what a witch’s dark side could entail. Maybe Aunt Estelle used her powers to cheat her way to winning the lottery.
Or it could be something much more sinister.
“Almost there,” I say out loud, looking at photos of graduating classes on the wall. Marissa and Allison were both twenty-three when they were murdered in 1988. Assuming they graduated when they were eighteen, that would put them around 1983, give or take a year. I stop when I get to the graduating class of 1985, looking through each and every name. This was a big year for Grim Gate Academy, and thankfully the names are all listed in alphabetical order.