Santa Cruz Witch Academy

By Kristen S. Walker

The daughter of an infamous witch family wants to find her own path, but even when she goes to a distant school, her past can always find her.

Brie doesn't want to be like her mother, but she can't run from her family's past. The Witchgate tragedy transformed the world and how it views witches. In order to use her powers, she must follow the strict rules of the academy.

She will be tempted into breaking the rules by mermaids, vampires, and werewolf shifters, but the true threat to Brie is something more sinister and closer to home. The Fae aren't finished with these witches. Brie must discover the danger before it's too late.

Including:

“Third Generation Witch: Applications,” the prequel novella

The Reluctant Witch: Year One

The Salty Witch: Summer School

The Daring Witch: Year Two

Santa Cruz Witch Academy is an urban fantasy academy series for teens. It features the daughter of Rosa from the Fae of Calaveras trilogy, but it takes place twenty years after the original series and does not require prior reading. If you like teen witches, magical schools, and introverts who find true friends, you’ll enjoy Kristen S. Walker's series of friendship and romance.

Buy the complete series today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kristen S. Walker
• Release date: Feb 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005737344

Kristen S. Walker

Fantasy author Kristen S. Walker dreams of being a pirate mermaid who can talk to sharks, but she settles for writing stories for teens and adults. She's proudly bisexual, Wiccan, a liberal feminist, and lives in northern California with her family and two rescued pets. To find out more about her stories, please visit kristenwalker.net.

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Santa Cruz Witch Academy

Santa Cruz Witch Academy

The Complete Box Set

Kristen S. Walker

Kristen S. Walker

Santa Cruz Witch Academy

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Kristen S. Walker

Cover Illustration: MiblArt https://miblart.com/

Edited by: Sheri Gleasman, Light Hand Proofreading

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

© Kristen S. Walker and kristenwalker.net

Contents

Third Generation Witch

Applications: #0

The Reluctant Witch

Year One: #1

The Salty Witch

Summer School: #2

The Daring Witch

Year Two: #3

Thank You

Free Book

Also by Kristen S. Walker

About the Author

Third Generation Witch

Applications: #0

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

1

Ihate flying.

Since I lived out in the middle of nowhere, I had to leave almost an hour before first bell to reach Sequoia High School. We never knew when the winding mountain roads would wash out or be reduced to one lane for construction. And since I’d rather be early than late, I tried to give myself extra time. So before sunrise, I bundled up in my paint-stained sweatshirt with the swim team logo, grabbed my messenger bag with my organized school supplies, and bounded out the door.

Then I stopped when I saw what was waiting outside.

A broom hovered in the air a few feet above my driveway. The handle was a tree branch, the knobby texture worn smooth from decades of use. One end had a bundle of smaller twigs tied together with hemp twine, but they bristled and stuck out at odd angles. Perched on the front was a bearded dragon, blinking slowly.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Getting upset would only waste precious time.

The door swung open behind me, making me jump forward so it wouldn’t hit me in the back. Oh, good, you’re ready, Mama Rosa said, stepping around me with a smile. A short, chubby woman with dark, messy hair, she looked like any middle-aged human mother except for the smell of magical herbs that clung to her.

She draped a cape over her shoulders with a dramatic flourish and walked down to the waiting broom. I have some time if you want me to drop you off at your school.

I looked around uncomfortably, noticing that my other mom’s car was already gone. I—I thought Mama Ashleigh was driving me today. Since she worked at the same high school as a counselor, it was easy for us to carpool.

Mama Rosa pointed at the empty parking spot like I hadn’t seen it. Sorry, sweetie, she was called in early for a meeting. But I’m ready to take you now.

I swallowed hard. Um, what about your car? So I could get in a little driving practice? I preferred to practice driving with Mama Ashleigh, because she was better at staying calm, but I needed to log more hours behind the wheel.

Mama Rosa glanced at her watch. I’m not sure that I’d have time to drive you to your school and still make it to my first class on time. You know how much faster it is to fly, Bridget.

That was my last excuse to ask nicely. Everything after this point would turn into a fight, especially since she’d called me Bridget. I was tired of reminding her that I was going by Brie now. To defuse the situation, I turned and started walking toward the road. I’ll just catch the bus.

Mama Rosa hopped onto the broom and glided beside me. Her bearded dragon familiar, Kitten, climbed up her cape onto her shoulder. What’s wrong with me flying you there? she asked, her tone growing more annoyed. You need flight practice just as much as you do driving. It’s faster, safer, and we could probably grab coffee on the way if you would just stop arguing and—

I said I’ll take the bus! I snapped, whirling around to glare at her. With my arms folded over my chest, I knew that I looked and sounded like a whiny child, but that was how she made me react. Just let me go, and then you won’t have to worry about being late at all.

Mama Rosa put her hand out to touch my arm, but I yanked away from her. Her eyes clouded with the pain.

Tell me what’s wrong, she said in a flat voice. Now, Bridget Rosemary.

It was bad when she started adding the middle name. I looked at the ground, scuffing the dirt driveway with my raggedy sneakers. I don’t want to fly with you.

What did I do to make you mad at me this time?

I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes. There was too much that I couldn’t tell her. The way the other kids judged me at school for my family’s reputation. The way that magic scared me, especially flying. The fact that I didn’t want to be a witch like her and Granny.

Instead, I spat out, You don’t understand me at all.

Mama Rosa folded her arms and cocked her head back at me in a mockery of my defiant position. I understand more than you realize. Believe me, I know all about being pissed at your mom. But we’ll never get anywhere if you don’t talk to me. We’re supposed to be better than this.

I don’t have time. I turned and walked faster down the road. The bus is coming.

She sighed loudly, and for a moment, I was afraid she was going to chase after me again. Her broom flew faster than I could walk. If she held me up much longer, I would be forced to ride with her just so I didn’t miss school.

But then I heard a swish as she took off. I glanced up and saw her disappearing over the tops of the giant sequoias, her cape wrapped tightly around her to keep off the wind chill.

I let out a sigh of relief and picked up the pace. The only bus stop was more than a mile down the highway, and if I missed the bus, it was half an hour before the next one came along.

I made it to the bus stop just moments before the public bus came lumbering around the corner. Most of the benches were empty this far up the mountain, but I still chose my seat carefully. Not too close to the front where all the chatty people sat, not too close to the back where the cool kids would go later. In the middle, right behind the back door, up against the window. There was no one within three seats of me, but just to be careful, I pulled out my sketch book and balanced it on my lap to look busy.

To be prepared, I should probably be reviewing my history notes one last time for the big test. But I’d spent hours going over it the day before, and after the fight with my mom, I needed something to distract myself. Time for some art therapy.

Without thinking, my hand closed around my thickest charcoal pencil. I sketched out heavy, dark lines in the shape of trees. Their branches wove together in a solid canopy. Underneath, I added a faint path, with the trees looming above it.

I lost myself in the work, barely noticing as the bus continued to drive. The winding road didn’t make me nauseous because I was used to every curve and switchback. Every so often, the bus stopped and more people got on. But if I kept my head down and didn’t make eye contact, nobody tried to talk to me.

Until one tall boy got on halfway through the ride and flopped into the empty seat beside me. Didn’t expect to see you on the bus today, Brie. He leaned over and looked at my claustrophobic sketch. Whoa, that’s intense. Bad morning?

I lifted my head up and gasped for air like I was surfacing above water. In my concentration, I hadn’t realized that we’d already reached Damian’s stop. That’s an understatement, I said, rubbing my charcoal-smudged hands on my jeans. Mama Ash was supposed to drive me this morning, but I guess she got called in for an early meeting.

Damian pretended to toss his hair back over his shoulder, but his short curls barely moved. I bet I know what that’s about. He glanced around the nearby seats, then leaned closer and stage-whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, Another girl in our grade got pregnant. Guess who.

I sighed. I didn’t care about gossip, but Damian prided himself on knowing all the sordid details of our high school, so he wouldn’t give it up until I played along. Brittany B?

Brittany B is a total slut, but she’s smart enough to use protection even if she is blowing half the football team.

I grimaced at the mental image. Then I don’t know.

He smiled triumphantly. Sami G.

My heart sank, but I tried to keep it from showing on my face. I thought she was gay.

Damian shrugged. She’s been to GSA a few times, but she could be bi or pan. We don’t make everyone label themselves when they join. He elbowed me in the ribs. Which you would know if you ever bothered to show up.

I flipped to another page in my sketchbook, switched to a ball-point pen, and started doodling random shapes. The repetitive patterns helped calm me down. I told you, I don’t want to get labeled by the whole school. Between you and my moms, I have plenty of gay support.

But if you never come out at school, none of the girls will ever notice you. Damian threw his arm over my shoulders. Just think, if Sami G knew you were available, she might not have been so desperate that she had to get knocked up by some guy.

My face turned hot. Sami’s not even my type. I don’t want to date any random queer girl.

No, your type is straight, hot bitches, which is why you’ve never been kissed. He snapped his fingers together. You’re like Drew Barrymore!

I groaned. Damian watched way too many rom-coms and Hallmark movies. Scrambling to change the subject, I said, Sorry, I don’t have the patience for your games today. I had a fight with Mama Rosa.

Damian’s face fell, and his arm tightened around me in sympathy. Again? What’d she do this time?

She tried to give me a ride to school on her broom.

Damian snorted. You mean you could be flying instead of stuck in this smelly bus with me? He pressed his other hand dramatically to his chest. I love you, honey, but I’d ditch you in a heartbeat if I had any other options. And you know I would kill to fly. You’re so lucky that your mom is a witch.

I shrank lower in the seat. But if she flew me into school, everyone would see her drop me off. The bullies would get another reminder about who my family was. There was a taunting chant they used about the witch’s daughter. It wasn’t very imaginative, since they’d come up with it in elementary school, but it still hurt.

Oh, please. Like anyone would talk about your family’s history on a day when there’s a juicy new headline.

I didn’t know that when I left the house.

Damian patted my shoulder. Sorry, I could’ve messaged you sooner, but I wanted to see your face when I told you. Anyway, don’t listen to the losers. Lean into the whole witch thing and make it your own. When we go to witch school next year—

If, I snapped, harsher than I meant to. I was tired of everyone assuming that I would automatically go to Calaveras Witch Academy, where Mama Rosa taught.

He stuck his lower lip out. I know that I don’t have the best chances. But I have to believe that I can make it or I wouldn’t have anything to look forward to.

Oh, no. Damian thought I was dissing him, not the school. Since he came from a non-magical family, he had a much lower chance of getting accepted into the school. Competition for the few spots every year was steep.

I clapped my hand over my mouth. That’s not what I meant! I mumbled between my fingers.

He folded his arms and glared at me. You have this big advantage because your mom is faculty. They say that there isn’t a bias toward students from witch families, but you know that’s not true. What happens when you get in and I don’t? Will you ditch me for the snobs?

I put my hand on his arm. You have to believe me, that’s not what I meant at all. You are the best future witch I know. And if you didn’t make it in with me, I’d turn down my spot, too. You’re the only friend I have.

Damian pouted a moment longer, then threw his arms around me. Yeah, you’d be lost without me.

We hugged for a few minutes. I was so lucky to have Damian here with me.

Then someone behind us made kissing noises, and I sprang back with a blush. Things weren’t like that between us. Damian wasn’t like most boys in our grade—he didn’t even identify as a boy all the way. He was genderqueer, playing all over the gender spectrum, and I recognized the feminine in him. But I wasn’t attracted to him. We were just good friends.

I kept my head down for the rest of the bus ride. We could argue about witch school another time.

Our town, Madrone, was too small to have its own public high school. Two towns over, a thirty-five minute ride on the bus, was Sequoia High School. The tiny highway was clogged in front of the school with parents dropping off their kids and student drivers pulling into the parking lot.

The school had a few old brick buildings and then a sprawling mass of portables, with more cropping up every year. The district never seemed to have enough money in the budget to build new classrooms. We had almost five hundred students now in a school built for less than half of that. Although they were called portable classrooms, some pre-fab rooms had been there for almost twenty years. They were hot in the summer and didn’t keep out the snow chill in the winter, but it was all we had in an area which had a growing magikin population.

There were some private schools that were magikin-only, including an expensive prep school for faeriekin. Mama Ashleigh had been offered a cushy job, but she’d accepted a lower salary at the mixed public school. Magikin who didn’t have the money or the high grades to get scholarships came to Fenton with all us humans. Their magical abilities were still enough that they dominated the sports teams, the drama club, and most academics. Average humans had to work twice as hard to get anywhere.

Damian and I circled wide around the bus stop to avoid the group of cheerleaders who were advertising a pep rally in front of the school. We reached our lockers, where we stashed our extra books.

There was still more than half an hour before the first bell, so we went to the coffee stand. They sold plain drinks here, nothing like the fancy lattes at the cafe, but it was caffeine. I kept my eyes down on the ground to avoid attention.

Damian was the opposite of me. He greeted everyone by name, from students to teachers. He fist-bumped a pookha in a football uniform, winked flirtatiously at a group of dwarven girls, and waved at the assistant principal.

The assistant principal stopped and gave Damian a sharp look. She was always checking him for dress code violations.

Widening his smile, Damian dropped his hand to the bottom of his skirt. His fingers clearly showed that the hem was two inches above his knees—the shortest length allowed by the school’s strict rules. Then he curtsied gracefully.

The assistant principal stuck her nose in the air and turned away without a word.

I don’t know why you have to make such a big deal out of it, I muttered. You have lots of cute skirts that are longer. Besides, aren’t your legs freezing? Even in the middle of September, the Northern California air was cold in the mornings.

Damian lifted in his nose in imitation of the assistant principal. Dress code rules are archaic and sexist, he said with a sniff. I’m going to keep toeing the line until I can force them to change.

I sighed but didn’t argue with him any longer, because he would just go into a diatribe and who knows what kind of attention that could attract. I’d much rather avoid confrontation. But then, I rarely wanted to wear anything that would come close to breaking the dress code, except when it was really hot.

We bought our coffee and wandered over to stand under our favorite tree while we sipped. Drinks weren’t allowed in class, so we had to finish them soon.

Damian whipped out his phone and scrolled through social media posts while he kept one eye on the students milling around. I pulled out my history notes and skimmed them.

And then the best part of my day happened.

A group of girls walked by in their cheerleader uniforms. Most of them deliberately didn’t look in our direction as they passed the tree. They only had eyes for the buff guys in their football uniforms, twirling their short skirts and fluttering their eyelashes to get the boys’ attention.

But the long-legged blonde girl, Natasha, glanced our way. She smiled and waved. Go, Cougars! she cheered, nodding at my swim team sweatshirt.

I smiled and waved back, but when I tried to cheer back, my voice caught in my throat. I clamped my mouth shut and covered my face with my history notes.

Damian caught my look and coughed. Straight bitches, he hissed at me.

My face turned hot with a blush, and I tried to hide even more behind my notebook. Shut up! I whispered back at him.

He sighed and shook his head. I’m just telling you, you’re asking for trouble if that’s the kind of girl you go after.

I hated to admit it, but he was right. Not that I was going after Natasha. We’d been in the same school since kindergarten, sometimes sharing classes, but I’d never had a real excuse to talk to her. We didn’t travel in the same social circles. All her friends were pretty, magic-less humans, with money and popularity. The cheerleaders didn’t even come to the swimming meets. On the other hand, I was a quiet, artsy type who only talked to Damian. She probably didn’t even remember my name.

The bell rang, saving me from further social embarrassment. Damian and I threw away our coffee cups and headed for history class.

2

When the final bell rang, I said goodbye to Damian as he ran for the bus home. I went to swim practice. After my workout and shower, I checked my phone. But Mama Ashleigh still wasn’t finished. She had long office hours after school when she met with students, attended meetings, and bundled up her paperwork to continue working at home. So I’d have to find something to pass the time.

I ended up in the library working on my assignments. I was almost finished with all my homework for the day when I finally got the text that said Mama Ashleigh was ready to go home.

We met in the faculty parking lot by her car. Her old white sedan was scratched and beat-up, with one mismatched silver panel near the back where she’d gotten a cheap repair.

Next to the junker, my faeriekin mom looked totally out of place. Mama Ashleigh wore a rose pink pantsuit with coordinated makeup and painted nails. Despite a long day of work, her gleaming blonde hair was still in a perfect blowout, just hiding the pointed tips of her ears. But even without seeing her ears, anyone could instantly tell that she had Fae blood because of her tall figure and narrow features. Not to mention that she had an ethereal beauty that lit up even the dirty campus.

Next to her, no one would guess that I was her daughter. But she’d been there my whole life, baking cookies on the weekend and teaching me how to ride a bike. I loved both my moms in their own ways and I wouldn’t trade either of them for the world.

Mama Ashleigh glanced up from her phone and waved at me. I was just messaging Mama Rosa, she said. How do you feel about something easy for dinner? Like spaghetti squash?

Fine, I said with a shrug. Spaghetti squash wasn’t very filling, but I could load it up with cauliflower meatballs and vegan cheese.

Okay. We’ll stop by the store on the way home. Are you driving, or am I?

Good question. I needed the practice, but it had already been a rough day, and I didn’t think I could handle the extra stress. You are, I said. The car doors were unlocked, so I yanked open the passenger side and flopped into the seat.

Mama Ashleigh tapped on her keyboard for a moment longer, then joined me in the car. Seatbelt, she said automatically.

I rolled my eyes. She hadn’t even put her keys in the ignition yet, so it wasn’t likely that we would get into a car accident. But she wouldn’t drive until I was buckled in, so I reached for the restraint. How was your day?

Long, Mama Ashleigh said with a sigh. She made a show of buckling herself in, checking all her mirrors, and looking over her shoulder before pulling out of the parking spot. Always a careful driver, she started exaggerating her movements ever since I began learning how to drive, like she was determined to set the best example. The car rumbled along, never going a single mile over the speed limit as we began the trip home.

Yeah, I saw that you left early this morning. You could have told me and I would have gotten ready earlier.

Sorry, there wasn’t enough time. I had an emergency meeting. Mama Ashleigh pursed her lips together. Mama Rosa said she was ready to give you a ride to school, but you turned her down.

I turned away from her, gazing out the side window. It’s easier to take the bus.

Mama Ashleigh tapped the steering wheel, counting to ten before she responded. One of her counseling techniques to stay calm. When she spoke again, her voice shifted into the measured tone she used with ‘troubled students’ in her office. Now, Brie, you know that she was trying to do you a favor. She wants you to get practice with flying on a broom, which would give you a head start on your lessons for next year.

At a witch school, I said flatly.

Mama Ashleigh paused again. It’s safer than driving, you know, she said finally.

I doubted that falling out of the sky with no protection was safer than sitting in a vehicle surrounded by metal with a seatbelt on. Brooms don’t have air bags, I quipped.

She grumbled as another driver cut her off in traffic. But you don’t have to share the sky with all these jerks. She glanced over at me. Isn’t there anything about witch school that sounds like fun to you?

I twisted my fingers together, looking down at my hands in my lap. Was she really asking how I felt? This conversation was coming sooner or later, so I couldn’t avoid it forever. But I knew my parents weren’t going to react well if I told them the truth.

Because you know deadlines are coming up soon, she added gently. For applications. And before then, the MATs. I’m sure you’d pass those tests with no problem, but you still want to study to prepare. Mama and I can help you get everything together, but you have to start.

That meant I couldn’t put this off any longer. I took a deep breath and braced myself for her disappointment.

I’m afraid of magic.

Mama Ashleigh stared at me. What do you mean, you’re afraid of magic? You see it every day.

I nodded slowly. Yeah, and that’s part of why it’s so hard. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. Magic is so powerful, it can do almost anything. It’s unpredictable. Look at how much it’s changed our town. And now there are all these laws about witchcraft that make it even harder. I don’t want to be treated like I’m a potential criminal.

She stayed silent for a few minutes as she listened to my words. You’ve thought about this a lot, she said softly.

Yeah, I said again.

Then why didn’t you tell us?

I chewed on my bottom lip. Because I know how much it means to you guys. Everyone knows that our family is full of magic, and you expect me to carry on the tradition. No one ever stopped to ask if it was what I really wanted.

She pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store and switched off the car. Then she turned to me with a sad expression. Actually, I understand how you feel.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Really?

She nodded. I was born with magic, so I never had a choice. She looked away through the windshield. But I rarely use it now. It came with too many heavy expectations—especially from my mother.

I’d barely met her mother, a haughty Fae named Duchess Auriana. Since she’d disowned Ashleigh, she rarely came to visit the local Faerie Court and didn’t consider me to be her granddaughter. Mama Ashleigh didn’t even talk about her. But now I had a rare opportunity to learn more.

I leaned closer and put my hand on her arm. What did she do?

Mama Ashleigh shook her head. Auriana didn’t have to do much as a mother. She belongs in the Otherworld, and I was raised here in the mortal world with your Grandpa Quinn, she said, referencing her human father. I could only see her on holidays when the Veil was thin. And each time, she would just ask my tutors how I was coming along with my studies. Magic, music, etiquette, diplomacy. Everything a future countess needed.

That must have been hard, I admitted. I hadn’t considered until now how many expectations she’d been raised under.

She smiled thinly. Sometimes, she would test me herself. It was the only time she really paid attention to me. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never measure up to what she wanted. My Fae blood is strong, but my human half holds me back.

Being human isn’t a weakness.

She nodded. Yes, but that’s not how my mother sees things. It was such a fight to get any freedom. Finally, when Glen got into a mixed school—one that taught magikin and humans—I convinced her that if I went with him, it would make us closer. And we’d start making our reputation with our future subjects, of course. Well, you know what happened when I got to Crowther Private School.

That was a story I’d heard many times. That’s where you met Mama Rosa.

Mama Ashleigh’s smile widened at the happy memories. She stood out even back then, just starting to learn what it meant to be a witch. She had a million questions.

I tilted my head to one side. But was she learning witchcraft at the school?

She shook her head. No school taught witchcraft back then, officially, and there weren’t any witches on the faculty. We studied sorcery. That school was a precursor to the witch academies, though, because it proved that magic could be taught to young students. Before then, it was always taught one-on-one, usually in families. University programs were rare back then. Rosa learned from her mother. Her face darkened at the mention of Granny Rose.

I knew better than to ask too many questions about my grandmother. But I wanted to know more about the mixed school where they’d gone. Is Crowther Private School still around?

No, Mr. Crowther shut it down and retired years ago, I’m afraid. She sighed. It’s a shame because I thought that there was a real benefit to mixing the different types of magic. Glen and I learned sorcery to go with our Fae magic, but some of our classmates knew other types of magic. Pookha, kitsune, naga…. She grew wistful.

There was no point in longing for something that didn’t exist anymore. Sorcery was forbidden now, and only humans could be witches, so there would only be humans in a witch school. And the laws about witchcraft meant that witch schools had strict rules and security. They were built miles away from any homes, usually in the middle of nowhere, so magical accidents couldn’t hurt anyone else. Mama Rosa had a longer way to go to school each morning than we did to the high school.

So you got to pick your school, where you met the girl of your dreams and changed your whole life, I summed up what she had told me. I guess I can see why you’d be afraid of me doing the same thing.

Mama Ashleigh frowned. Now, Brie, you know that isn’t what I meant.

I folded my arms. You also said that you didn’t like your magic because it came from your mother, so you never use it. That doesn’t really convince me to give magic a chance.

She put her arm around my shoulders and leaned closer to look at me. It will be different for you, I promise. You can become a witch on your own terms and choose what you do with it. She twirled her hand, removing the paint stains on my sweatshirt and charcoal smudges on my jeans. And if I never used magic, then your clothes would never get clean again. It still comes in handy from time to time.

I looked down at my clothes. They looked brand new, and since it was expensive to buy new outfits, I guess I should be grateful that she could help me keep my stuff nice. Thanks. I looked at the grocery store. We should probably go in before someone buys the last spaghetti squash.

Mama Ashleigh laughed and unlocked the doors. We went inside to shop for dinner.

My parents didn’t bring up witch school for a few days, so I thought I was safe. But on Friday afternoon, Mama Rosa brought home a whole stack of papers.

She spread them out on the dining room table and called me over to see. Your mom had an idea, she said, smiling at Mama Ashleigh over her shoulder. I thought I’d show you all the options that are waiting for you. My school isn’t the only one out there. If you look around, there could be something that appeals to you.

I looked down at the table and frowned. The table was covered in brochures and pamphlets advertising different witch schools around the state. Glossy pictures showed teens in uniforms standing over bubbling cauldrons and flying on brooms. Bold text promised the latest programs in astrology, herbalism, and brewing potions. Then there were the certification stamps, reassuring parents that the schools were overseen and protected by various magical safety organizations. Overall, these brochures were a mess, trying to cram in too much information with clashing color schemes and weird fonts. Who designed these things?

Mama Rosa was staring at me with an eager smile, waiting to judge my reaction.

I swallowed and picked up a random school ad. Do you know if any of these offer an art program?

Art program? she echoed, the disappointment obvious in her voice. You mean like your little scribbles? That’s not usually a choice for witches.

Mama Ashleigh came over to join us and cleared her throat gently. Each school is different. You’ll have to go through them all to see what they have.

I flipped over the ad in my hand and saw boasts about magitek mechanics. Trying to hide my disappointment, I picked up another. This one had a specialty in magical creatures.

Mama Rosa pushed forward the brochure from Calaveras Witch Academy. The front had photos of giant redwoods and high mountains to show off the picturesque scenery, which didn’t look that impressive because I already lived there. She opened it up. Mine is one of the few programs that teaches herbalism in your garden and foraging from the forest, she said proudly. But you can see we also have a state-ranked flying team. You’re such a good athlete, I’m sure you would fit right in with our best broom jockeys.

I turned away so she wouldn’t see my frown. Swimming was nothing like flying, but she didn’t want to hear my excuses not to ride on a broom.

A swim team would be cool, I said wistfully. Somewhere that I could keep up with my workouts. I don’t think I’m good enough to win a college scholarship, but it’s one of my favorite things at school.

Mama Ashleigh flipped through brochures until she found one with an image of a pool. Oh, look, here’s the one outside of Sacramento. They’ve got a special emphasis on Water magic.

I picked it up and read it closely, feeling a twinge of interest for the first time. What’s Water magic like? Could I learn how to breathe underwater?

Mama Rosa settled back in her teacher's stance. In our current model of witchcraft, our magic is grouped into four elemental disciplines: Air, Fire, Water, and Earth. She counted them off on her fingers. They don’t always relate directly to the element, it’s just an easy way to categorize all the abilities we can learn as witches. Flying on a broom falls under Air, for example, while herbalism is obviously part of Earth.

I raised my eyebrows. I’d never listened that closely when she talked about her witchcraft before, so I was learning about this for the first time. So does that make you an Earth witch?

It’s my primary focus, Mama Rosa said with a nod. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use other types of magic, like flying. Now, Water deals with many of the emotional types of magic. Empathy, like sensing how other people are feeling. Also, potion brewing, divination, and the healing arts.

None of that sounded very useful in daily life as an artist. I dropped all the brochures and stepped back from the table. This isn’t really for me.

Mama Rosa’s nostrils flared as she sucked in a breath and she gripped the back of a chair. Now listen, she said. It doesn’t hurt to try something new. If you go for two years and decide you don’t like it, you’ll still graduate with a high school diploma and you can do whatever you want for college. Are you really getting something that special at your public school?

Something about the way she said it, like public school was the place for losers with nowhere better to go, made my anger flare up. It’s good enough for me, I snapped. Maybe you guys had a fancy private school education, but I don’t think you ended up any better for it. We’re all still stuck in this small town out in the woods, where everyone thinks we’re dangerous, and magic hasn’t fixed anything!

I stomped out of the room and slammed my bedroom door before I could get dragged back into the argument. Maybe I sounded like a petty teen, but I was tired of trying to explain myself when she didn’t even listen.

The house wasn’t very big, so I could still hear my moms talking in the kitchen, barely muffled by the walls. Mama Rosa was raising her voice, letting out all the frustration that she hadn’t been able to vent at me, while Mama Ashleigh tried to calm her down.

So much for your stupid compromise! She won’t even look at the options.

Shh, it’s not going to help if you scream about it. Give her some time to calm down and we’ll try another approach.

What is time going to do? You said she told you that she’s scared of magic even after everything we’ve tried to do for her. She sounds like Akasha at that age, but my sister had a real reason to be afraid. Bridget has never experienced the kinds of things that we went through as kids…

I groaned and pulled a pillow over my head to block out the rest. That was Mama Rosa’s favorite excuse: my childhood was so much easier than hers, so I should be happy with what I had. If I complained about anything, she would launch into some wild story about the abuse she went through from her mom. Privately, I thought she must be exaggerating some of it. Granny Rose was a convicted criminal, but not for child abuse. My mom’s memories were probably colored by the way Granny Rose was demonized in the media. She seemed nice when I talked to her.

But I wasn’t going to get anywhere by telling Mama Rosa that she was being melodramatic, so I decided to wait it out in my room. She’d calm down soon and then I could get back to my normal life.

3

Mama Rosa calmed down too much. She completely stopped talking to me.

When I came into a room where she was, she didn’t look at me. She didn’t offer me rides to school—on her broom or in her car. If she needed to tell me something, she would tell Mama Ashleigh, who relayed the message to me. And not in that passive-aggressive way that kids do it, like saying aloud near me, Tell Brie that she needs to wash the dishes. She would wait until I wasn’t there. The house grew silent and tense without her usual chatter.

At first, it was a little nice not to have her constantly nagging at me about magic, but I quickly got tired of that. It was hard to be in a family of only three people when one of them refused to talk.

Part of me wondered how long she would keep it up, and I stubbornly wanted to outlast her. But most of me just hurt to be ignored. I used to be so close to my parents and I would tell them everything. Now, I couldn’t share my latest artwork with her or hear her cheering at my swim meets. I knew that lots of teens didn’t get along with their parents, but I didn’t want this to be the thing that would break our relationship.

So it was only a few days until I caved in to the pressure and apologized. I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a chance to tell me about the witch schools, I said to her in the garden one afternoon. Can we start over, please?

Mama Rosa sat back on her heels and brushed the dirt from her gardening gloves. Are you ready to have a rational discussion about this?

I bit back my frustration that I wasn’t the only one being irrational. I can try.

She nodded. I know that becoming a witch isn’t your plan for the future, she said gently. But I want you to try it before you dismiss it completely. While you’re young and you have time, you can try many things. If you really decide that you don’t like something, then I won’t force you.

That was the most I’d ever heard her give up ground before. And you’ll let me choose which school I want to go to?

Yes, within reason. I don’t think we could handle it if you picked a school in Paris or something—financially or emotionally, she added with a shake of her head. You’re still our little girl, and we don’t want you to go too far just yet.

I smiled at her. Don’t worry, I’ve got no plans for an international school.

All right, one more condition.

My spine straightened. I knew I couldn’t trust her to let me do what I wanted. What?

Will you fill out an application for my school? Just in case you change your mind?

Whew. It couldn’t be that much extra work to copy my information onto another application, right? I nodded and bent down, throwing my arms around her shoulders. Deal. Thanks, Mom.

She patted my arm with her dirty hand. You let me know if you need any help.

Sure! I turned and walked back into the house, bouncing a little on the porch steps. It was time to do some research, and that called for a new notebook. There were so many unused notebooks I had hoarded in my room, so it would take a while for me to choose one. But the prospect of starting a new project—and getting my mom to stop being mad at me—was exciting.

My notebook hoard was no joke. Whenever I was in a store, I would find notebooks with pretty covers that called out to me. Dragons, mermaids, fairies, beaches, forests, even plain purple or blue—many designs caught my eye. Some had blank pages for sketching on, others were lined, and the paper was a variety of textures and thicknesses, depending on my mood. I didn’t have a large allowance, but what I didn’t spend on art supplies, I could save five or ten dollars to buy the next notebook that came along.

The result was that I always had more notebooks than I could use. There was one for every subject in school, plus my bujo planner where I could organize my schedule while doodling in the margins, numerous sketchbooks, and extra books for any topic that I could think of. But there were still more books waiting for the day when I could crack them open. I’d long since run out of shelf space so I kept them in boxes under my bed.

I sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled out the box labeled Unused Lined Notebooks, Small. The big letter-sized notebooks were saved for school. For research, I’d want a smaller format that could fit into any bag.

As I took each notebook out and admired the beautiful art, I considered what would work well. One cover with an ocean scene jumped out at me. When I flipped it open, my fingers skimmed over the smooth white paper. This would be perfect for a gel pen.

There was a purple gel pen in the front pocket of my school messenger bag that sat next to the door. If I stretched, I could just reach it—there. Now I didn’t even have to move.

The ink glided evenly from the tip of the pen as I wrote, School Wish List.

Before I researched schools, I had to think about what I was looking for. Making a list would help me focus my ideas and figure out what I wanted. Then it would be easier to narrow my school search to the ones that fit my requirements.

Inspired by the waves on the cover of my notebook, I knew what the first item should be. I write, Location: by the beach (with good surfing).

I loved the ocean, but it was hundreds of miles away from Calaveras County. We were on the east side of California, close to the border with Nevada. Besides swim team at school and the public pool in a neighboring town, I could swim in a variety of lakes and rivers, but none of those had waves.

My parents went on vacation to visit friends in Santa Cruz once a year, in the summer when they had a break from work—since school staff never got the whole summer for vacation. I’d learned to surf when I was eleven and I was always itching to go again. If I actually lived near the beach, I could practice more.

It would also be nice if the school had a swim team or an art class, so I wrote those down, too. And maybe I could look at what types of Water magic they taught. There had to be something at the school that sounded interesting, or there was no point in actually going.

To keep it reasonable, I would limit myself to schools in California. I wanted to get away from the small town where everyone knew my family, but I didn’t want to go too far from my parents or have to pay out-of-state registration fees.

Once I had a basic list, I climbed off the floor and sat down at the laptop on my desk. The glossy brochures weren’t going to give me enough information to make a real decision.

What I quickly learned was that most witch academies were about as good at web design as they were at making brochures. The better ones looked like they were using free website templates to put together the bones of what they needed. Others looked like they’d been created by a monkey who didn’t understand the limits of human eyeballs to take in a certain range of colors and fonts.

Ugh. This was going to take longer than I thought.

While I was trying to decipher a third-party website that promised to compare features of different schools, a message popped up on my phone. Damian had sent me just three words: What you doing?

I bit my tongue at his use of poor grammar and typed out a quick reply. Looking at witch schools. Would you wanna go somewhere away from home?

His answer came in all caps: YES! Gimme out of this backwoods town!

I grinned. Count on Damian to be up for something new. As long as I had him with me, I knew that I could face anything.

All right, maybe you can help me find good ideas. All their websites look terrible. How would you find which schools we should apply to? I sent to him.

Preparing a social media deep dive, Damian said.

I giggled to myself, picturing him putting on goggles and jumping into a pool full of Tiktok videos and Instagram stories. It might not be the most conventional way of picking a school, but I didn’t underestimate Damian’s ability to finding out the dirt from the students’ perspectives. He was used to digging online, and he never came up empty-handed.

While he worked on the social angle, I went back to the websites and copied down notes in my new notebook. We’d come up with a plan together.

When I saw Damian on the bus the next morning, he already had a list of potential schools for me, scrawled in his atrocious handwriting.

I’ve rated them in several categories, he explained his haphazard notes to me. First, the party scene at the school itself. Two, proximity to urban nightlife. Three, how attractive the school uniforms are—none of which are great, to be honest. He grimaced. Why do all of these schools have uniforms? Do witches really like the preppy look?

I shook my head. Most witches seemed to dress like Mama Rosa with natural fabrics in flowing styles. It’s part of the laws, I said with a sigh. Students must be clearly identified as members of a witch academy. You also have to wear a tracking bracelet so they know where you are at all times—and there’s a curfew. No urban nightlife. I pointed to his second category.

Damian gasped and pressed his hand against his chance. A curfew? What is this, a prison camp?

I winced at his insensitive comparison. He liked hyperbole, but there were limits. It’s the price of learning magic. I think once you graduate the high school program and can prove that you’re trustworthy, there are fewer restrictions for college students, but I don’t think I’ll get that far.

He raised an eyebrow at me. So what? You’re just going to play witch for a few years before you abandon me for art school?

I shrugged. My mom wants me to try it out, so I gave in to make her happy. But I doubt I’ll want to stick with it after high school. I bumped my shoulder against his. At least if you’re there with me, then we can have some fun.

Damian grinned. Sounds like a plan.

I showed him the schools I’d been considering based on my criteria. He laughed when he saw what I was looking at.

Distance to the beach is your top priority? He winked at me. Trying to see more girls in bikinis, huh?

It’s so I can get more time surfing, I said with a huff. And look—this school has a special program dedicated to Ocean Magic. That sounds so cool. I held out the brochure since it was one my mom had brought home.

Damian admired the plain cover. Santa Cruz Witch Academy. That sounds chill. He looked back at his list. Actually, that’s close to the top of mine, too. It’s a little farther from the real party cities like San Francisco, but it’s got an indie scene, if you’re into that. The area is really popular with artists, too.

I nodded. My family goes there every summer and I always love it. So, you would wanna go there? So much of my plan depended on him coming with me.

He grinned. Definitely. Let’s put it as our first choice.

I cleared my throat and flipped to another sheet in my notebook where I’d written down a second list. Speaking of plans, we need to get started on something else. These are all the requirements for applying, and they’re pretty much universal among schools.

He let out a low whistle when he saw everything. This looks like a college application. A personal essay, financial information, an in-person interview with the school and the local Faerie Court… what, do they also need to know my bra measurements? His voice rose on the last two words.

I glanced around nervously at the other passengers on the bus. Not everyone understood his brand of humor. When you buy those ugly uniforms, yeah, they probably want to know what size you wear, I said in a low voice. But this is the part we have to prepare for now: the MATs. Most of the applications aren’t due until January or February, but you need to have your test scores back, so the last chance to take the test is in November.

Magical Aptitude Tests? He folded his arms. How are we supposed to take a magic test if we don’t have any magic yet?

I handed him an information packet that I’d printed out. This is a test to see if you’re a good candidate for magic. My mom said the Fae have always given tests to potential witches, and this is just the standardized version that makes it fair for everyone. Theoretically. It didn’t take a teacher’s degree to know that standardized tests didn’t fit every student’s abilities.

He rolled his eyes. Yeah, you know how I did on the PSATs. Tell me that the witch version is easier than all those math problems.

I turned the page so he could see the expanded information. It’s in three parts. The written test is multiple choice, mostly about magical laws and all that bullshit so you can show that you know to follow their rules. Then there’s a physical component which varies depending on our location. We get to hike up Quiggs Mountain.

You’re kidding me. That’s, like, ten miles!

I pulled out a trail map. It’s eight miles, and there’s no time limit. We’ll pace ourselves. If we start training now, I think you can manage.

Damian sighed and looked at the test date. It’s less than two months away. I can barely run a mile around the school track when they make us do the government fitness test.

But this isn’t running, I pointed out. If you can dance all night in high heels, I’m sure you can walk up a mountain.

He pursed his lips together. I guess it’s an excuse to find some cute hiking boots. He was always looking for an excuse to buy new shoes or outfits. Like me, he didn’t have a big allowance, but he was an expert at finding deals in thrift stores.

That’s the spirit. I grinned at him. The last part of the test is memorization. They’ll tell you all the steps to perform a spell, then you run through them. Nothing actually happens because you won’t have magic, but they’ll judge how accurate you were on using the right ingredients and stuff.

He nodded. Okay, not too bad. But you’re right, we’d better get started on all of this soon if we want to be ready. He sighed. I suppose you’ve already put together a study schedule?

You know me too well, I said, winking at him. It was a tradition before a big test that I would help him prepare with a detailed plan. He wasn’t an organized student, but I more than made up for it, so I was probably the reason why he’d gotten this far in school with decent grades.

I handed him the sheet with a timetable that showed all the subjects we had to cover and the estimated amount of time needed to cover each one. If we stick to this, we should be ready for a practice test at the end of October. Then we’ll know what we still need to focus on for the real thing.

So, we’re not prepping for the SATs anymore?

I chewed on my lower lip. We should probably still study for the SATs if we wanted to get ready for regular colleges, but that wouldn’t be an issue if we got into a witch school—and art schools didn’t ask for any test scores. Let’s save it for the spring when all this is over, I said. Can you meet me after swim practice this afternoon?

Yep! I’ll bring snacks and a DVD.

This isn’t a time to hang out and watch a movie. We need to study.

He pouted. Fine, but can we watch the movie after?

I’d have to check with my parents to see if he could stay late enough, but they were usually fine with him staying for dinner. Sure, if my moms say it’s okay.

He threw his arm around me. I have a feeling that if you tell them it’s for witch school, they’ll let you get away with a lot.

That wasn’t really my plan—to get away with more. If they eased up on me, though, it would make my life easier.

Now I just had to pass this weird test.

As we got off the bus, Damian lifted his hand and waved to the cheerleaders as we passed them. Looking good, Tasha! he said, with a crude wolf whistle.

Natasha covered her mouth with a giggle, but she twirled so her short skirt flared out at him. Thankfully, all the cheerleaders wore shorts under the uniforms, or else we would have gotten a look at her underwear.

My heart skipped a beat—but then it dropped into my stomach when I saw the way that Damian was leering at her. I punched him in the arm. What the hell? I whispered, dragging him away from the other girls.

He turned and raised his eyebrows at me. What? I thought you were too shy to talk to her yourself.

Flames shot up my cheeks. So you decided that catcalling was the right way to get her attention? And since when do you call her Tasha?

He shrugged. Everyone does.

I’d never heard that nickname before and I’d known her since kindergarten. Everyone where?

On the squad. He gestured at the cheerleaders. Sometimes I stick around after school to watch them practice. They like having an audience, says it helps them get their energy up. Y’know, if I were more athletic, I wouldn’t mind being a cheerleader.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. You hate preppy kids.

The guys on the squad get to do all these throws and catches with the girls. Their hands go right up their skirts—

I hit him again, even harder, enough to make him wince. Shut the fuck up! My voice rose loud enough that other people near us started to look our way, but I didn’t care. "I know you’re mostly joking, but Damian, don’t be all gross like that. Not about her."

He rubbed his arm and stared at me in shock. Then he opened his mouth, his expression shifting to apologetic. But I didn’t want to hear it.

I cut him off with a shake of my head. Just meet me after school, I snapped, then turned and marched off to my first class.

4

That afternoon, Damian came over to my house with bags full of potato chips, pretzels, and iced coffee. Brain food for studying, he said with such a serious face, I didn’t think he was joking.

Since my parents didn’t keep a lot of junk food or snacks in the house, I secretly welcomed those greasy potato chips. I grabbed a couple napkins to make sure that we didn’t smear any of my careful notes and tore into the snacks.

Neither of us talked about what had happened at school that morning. Damian flirted with everyone and constantly made dirty jokes, but it didn’t usually bother me because I knew he wasn’t really that bad. Yes, he would go for a casual hookup when he got the opportunity, but no one got hurt.

But with Natasha, it was different. He knew how much I liked her. Maybe I hadn’t gotten the courage to talk to her yet, but he should still know that she was off-limits.

Although I made Damian promise that we wouldn’t put on his movie until we finished studying, we still sprawled out in front of the TV in the living room. Damian flopped on the floor with a cushion while I sat on the couch with the books and snacks between us on the coffee table.

Mama Rosa frowned when she saw the junk food, but all she said was, Watch out for crumbs.

I’ll vacuum later if we make a mess, I promised her.

Damian waved politely. Don’t worry, Mrs. McAddams, he said.

Even though he’d known my parents since we were young, he still called them by their last names out of respect. Instead of using the full hyphenated mess, Mama Rosa was Mrs. McAddams and Mama Ashleigh was Mrs. Quinn. They never corrected him. Damian’s parents, on the other hand, insisted that I call them by their first names, which made me a little uncomfortable. I usually got by with sir and ma’am when I was at his house.

Swallowing a mouthful of chip crumbs, I turned to the study schedule I’d laid out for us. First thing: we need to memorize the witchcraft laws. Lots of the questions will be about the details.