Hidden Magic: Harper Shadow Academy (Book One)

  Hidden Magic

  Harper Shadow Academy: Book One

  Luna Pierce

  Copyright © 2020 by Luna Pierce

  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.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Book Cover Design by https://miblart.com

  Editing by https://studioenp.com

  First Edition 2020

  ISBN 978-1-7332322-3-4 (paperback)

  ASIN B0899K9XHY (ebook)

  This one is dedicated to anyone who actually reads the dedication page. I see you and I appreciate you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  *BONUS* Cursed Magic

  Exclusive for ebooks only!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  My mother is a witch.

  Or, well, that’s what she keeps reminding me. I can’t be certain, but there’s absolutely no way she’s being truthful, at least in the sense she’s implying. For years now, she’s acted strange—distant and scatterbrained, like she lost herself somewhere deep in her mind, never to return. She wasn’t always that way, but with each passing day, I grew to realize she might not ever be the mother I distantly knew from my childhood.

  At some point, I don’t really know when, the roles seemed to reverse themselves. I became the nurturing, responsible party who began taking care of her. That’s how it’s been for a while, and despite it’s not what a teenager expects from their adolescence, it’s what I grew to understand and accept. One might even say I liked stepping into that position. The ability to count on myself was something I found comfort in.

  Hungry? Make dinner. Bored? Do a puzzle or read a book. Need some new clothes? Get a job at the corner coffee shop and buy them. I learned quickly you’re more prone to disappointment anytime you rely on someone else. The easiest and most effective way to fix that problem is to simply figure out how to do things without involving others.

  Although, sometimes, it’s possible to disappoint yourself.

  For example, standing in front of the oversized antique mirror in my bedroom, the stench of dissatisfaction is heavy. The sigh nearly forces its way out, my shoulders following suit and hanging low.

  “I, uh, thought you were going with black?” Brooke questions with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I did, I totally did.” I shout, “Look,” and throw the empty box of hair dye at her playfully and turn my hands over twice. “My freaking hands are stained. Do you see this?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nods slowly. “And you dyed your hair?”

  “Yes, you idiot. The color didn’t take at all.” I face the mirror and settle my gaze over my towel-dried not-black-whatsoever hair.

  “Listen, Will, you must have used too hot water or something. That’s the exact stuff I use on my hair.” She stands, stepping from my bed toward me, holding a thick lock of her shiny jet-black hair in her hand for my examination.

  “I nearly froze to death using cold water, like you told me to do.” I narrow my eyes.

  “I can grab another box tonight. I get off work at eight, and we can try again tomorrow,” she offers in an attempt to cheer me up. “I’ll help this time.”

  “Why am I even surprised? How anticlimactic that I had to wait until I graduate to dye my hair, and guess what, it doesn’t take.”

  “You’re being dramatic. I’m still baffled that you wanted to. You realize people kill for that weird silver thing you have going on.”

  She’s not wrong. My hair has always been a focal point people gravitate toward, which is exactly why I wanted to change it. I want to blend in, not stand out, especially in a few days when I start at Harper Academy. A fresh beginning, becoming someone other than Willow Oliver—the girl who grew up too quick—is exactly what I’m after. It’s not that I’m unhappy with who I am, I just want to upgrade to another version. One where I’m living for myself and enjoying life a bit more, kind of like what all the other kids my age do.

  I slump onto the bed next to Brooke, my best friend since pretty much forever. “Fine.”

  She leans into me with her shoulder and gives me a push. “I’m still mad at you, though. Don’t think I haven’t given in yet.”

  “Oh, whatever.” I push her back. “You’re going to forget about me in like twelve seconds flat.” I let out a small laugh, however on the inside I’m equally bummed that we’re going to two different schools.

  “You’re ashamed of me. That’s it, isn’t it? I finally figured it out.” Brooke juts out her bottom lip in her best attempt to lay the guilt on thick.

  “Ashamed? Of you? You’re the one who told me Harper Academy is for the county rejects!” I sit on my bed, making my way around the scattered pile of books, scooting to rest against the headboard.

  Brooke dodges the books and positions herself between the headboard and one of my many pillows. “I said I was sorry, what more do you want from me? How was I supposed to know my best friend was going to go there?”

  “You know if things were different, I would have been right there with you. Even with Danny taking over with Mom, this is the farthest I could manage.” I pause for a second. “I’m lucky I got in anywhere.” I lean my head back, inhaling deeply and closing my eyes.

  The energy in the room shifts ever so slightly.

  “This can’t be it, okay?” Brooke says, almost in a whisper.

  “What do you mean?” I open only one eye to peek at her.

  “This whole ‘go to college and grow apart from each other.’ The same thing that happens to everyone else at this point in their life.”

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think Brooke was about to cry, but I do know better, and Brooke is incapable of crying. Quite literally, too. She’s admitted to thinking she has some type of eye duct disability, especially once we tried to force her into crying by cutting up a bunch of onions and straight-up making her bite into them like apples. We were easily entertainable kids, what can I say.

  “It won’t.” The words exit my mouth, but the uncertainty lingers on my tongue. Do I want to grow apart from Brooke? Heck no. We’ve been through pretty much everything together. Training wheels, pimples, periods, and hardships galore, like the time her dad decided to leave her mom for some bimbo from his work. Not to mention the whole ‘my mom has been gradually losing her mind for the last six years.’

  She mumbles often, specifically about being a witch. That she’s a witch and I’m a witch and Grandma was a witch and our families have been cursed. At first, I was freaked out. I was twelve years old, and my mom was suddenly rambling about comin
g into magic, reigniting some long-lived curse on our family. That I would be next, and I had to resist the urges. Little did she know, I was a kid, but I wasn’t too stupid to find her whiskey stash she’d been nursing for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  A quick house visit from the local doctor was just the thing to secure the medication she needed to calm her nerves and put a limit on the outbursts of I’m an Oliver witch.

  Time passed, and I found that it was easier to shush her and admit, “Yes, Mom, you’re a witch,” instead of arguing with her and telling her the truth that she was, in fact, not a witch, and somehow going through an extended, yet unexplainable, rough patch in life.

  Uncle Danny does his best to help, but because I didn’t want to leave Harper County, the town I was born and raised in, and move to the city with him, I had to step into the role of caretaker. I knew the risks I would be taking at a young age to stay put in a town I was familiar with, but it was something I was willing to do to keep the few certain things I had.

  Sympathetic that I would be graduating this year and wanting to help me come into my own, Danny relocated his accounting business to mostly online so he could move back to Harper and care for my mom while I went to college. And when I say go to college, I mean go to the local academy that’s only a ten-minute drive from home.

  Brooke joked and said that Harper Academy was full of rejects but, what she really meant was it’s for those who can’t seem to escape Harper County. There’s nothing wrong with anyone who goes there, they’re just notorious for never leaving this sad excuse of a town.

  And maybe going to Harper Academy is a mistake, that I’ll be doomed to the same fate of being stuck in this town, but how will I know if I don’t try? If Harper Academy is the best I can do given the circumstances, I’m sure as hell willing to find out. And in three annoyingly long days, I’ll be doing exactly that.

  Next step in life, here I come.

  Chapter Two

  The thudding between my ears has managed to stay consistent throughout the day while I pack the few belongings I am taking to Harper Academy. Call me a minimalist, but less to pack means less to unpack, and less I’ll have to bring back upon finishing my schooling.

  Clothing is a given and pretty much the brunt of what I’m taking with me. Various shades of black, gray, and dark blues litter my suitcase. Not much variation, especially considering the goal is to blend in. I check the contents of my small makeup bag—concealer, powder, blush, and mascara—and throw it on top.

  I strategically place my black boots on opposite ends and shove a couple notebooks where I can manage them. I was told Harper had a decent library so I’m taking the risk of not packing any books in hopes I can read what they have there.

  I really hope that’s not a mistake.

  I slink onto the ground next to my bed and lean against my nightstand, staring blankly at the bag in front of me while I rack my brain to think of anything I’m forgetting. I’m not sure why I’m so concerned, given that I’m planning on coming back on the weekends to give Danny a break, plus the whole incredibly short commute making it super easy to briefly run home if I’ve left something behind.

  My cell phone buzzes loudly on the hardwood floor, nearly scaring the shit out of me. A text from Uncle Danny.

  Danny: Almost to town, need anything?

  Me: Just don’t forget to stop by the apothecary and grab Mom’s meds.

  Danny: 10-4, good buddy.

  I let out a small chuckle. Who knew accountants could be funny?

  Placing my phone on the bed, and off the floor so I don’t smash it, I catch a faint sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. They’re light enough for me to recognize immediately that they’re hers.

  The bedroom door creaks open, and I say, “Hey, Mom.”

  She smiles bleakly. “Can I come in?” Her gaze trails the contents of the room.

  I pat the spot next to me on the bed. “Of course. Are you feeling okay?”

  She adjusts herself exactly where I motioned, and her feeble hands tremble slightly in her lap.

  Worry lines my brow, and I reach out to gently place my hand on her shoulder. “Mom?”

  It’s always a gamble at what she’ll say next or how she’ll react. Sometimes it’s like nothing is wrong at all and she seems totally normal, and other times, her eyes go wild and she mutters under her breath, incoherent nonsense.

  Her thin lips part, taking in a breath, and she says, “You’ll be safe, right?”

  I’m startled by the glaze that coats her eyes and the genuine concern snaking its way across her face.

  “Yes, Mom.” I manage what I can of a comforting smile. “Although I’m more worried about you than I am me. I won’t be too far away, okay? If you need me, I can be right here in a flash.”

  Her regard falls onto her hands, and I follow suit, watching her take her index finger and pick at her thumbnail, one of her many nervous ticks.

  Mom speaks, so low it’s almost inaudible. “You’re special, you need to acknowledge that, Willow.”

  Feeling the energy in the room shift like a tidal wave, I brace myself for what’s to come.

  “You don’t know the dangers of this world.” She looks up to meet my eyes, a fire burning into hers. “They will come for you, and you have to be ready.”

  The tension rises throughout my body, but I force myself to relax, to focus on being calm, on comforting her. I close my eyes for a tiny second and take a deep breath, and on the exhale, visualize the stress being erased. I can’t get worked up because then she gets worked up. This was one of those lessons I learned early on, the hard way.

  Pick your battles.

  I take her cool hand into mine and cup it between my palms. “Okay, Mom. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Perhaps she accepts my response. Her expression loosens, and the bewilderment once consuming her dies down.

  Once I’m, what I think to be, fully packed, Uncle Danny carries my bags downstairs.

  “You sure this is it, kid?”

  “You’re making me second-guess myself, Danny.”

  “You’re going so far away to college that I’m not sure I’ll be able to spare the few minutes to bring you anything you forgot.” He chuckles and nudges me with his elbow.

  I roll my eyes and grab my backpack from the floor. “Come on, I don’t want to be late.”

  The drive to the school with Mom and Danny is short and quiet, but the view is great. Long windy roads surrounded by overgrown greenery. Just when I think the ride has finally settled my nerves, the car slows to a creep and turns onto a gravel lane. The change in terrain further unravels my anxiety, and I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

  Knowing someone at Harper would have put me at ease, but considering I homeschooled myself during my high school years so I could tend to my mom and work part-time at the coffee shop, the chances of seeing a familiar face would be slim to none.

  The journey comes to a crawl and then to an abrupt stop the moment we reach the pathetic parking area in front of the school. My heart decides to pump at a million times its normal rate, and I force myself to remember I’m doing this for me, that I deserve this.

  I step out of the car, and a few warm raindrops greet me. I tug the hood from my sweatshirt up in response. The three of us making our way to the front gate, I keep my eyes to the ground, avoiding any notice from onlookers. I quickly pull my phone from my pocket and read the instructions again.

  Make your way to the headmaster’s office upon arrival.

  Please arrive between 3:00-6:00 p.m.

  Rooms will be assigned during admission.

  I glance to the top of the page to confirm we have the correct date, and to the clock at the top of my phone saying 2:57 p.m. I have a thing for being on time. Punctuality is sort of a strong suit of mine.

  Prior to leaving the house, I was able to get Mom to take her medication, making our goodbye that much easier, being that she’s much calmer while medicated. Making a scene and drawing at
tention wasn’t something that I wanted, but I desperately wanted her around every second I could manage. Although I’m looking forward to this new change, I’m equal parts terrified to be leaving home, to be leaving Mom.

  Danny has reassured me continuously that he has everything under control, and even with him basically forcing me to go through with this, he made me promise that I would try to be a normal college student.

  Whatever that means.

  Danny and Mom finish hugging me and I stand for just a moment and watch them walk back to the car. Raindrops pick up their pace, pelting me with a bit more force, like a nudge from Mother Nature to get my ass in gear and get into the school.

  I look to the sky and mutter, “Fine, I’m going!”

  The universe responds by assaulting me with more of a downpour.

  Grabbing the handle to my suitcase, I make a beeline for the entrance to the school. Once my eyes adjust to my surroundings, I have to do a double take on the school insignia to verify I’m in the right place.

  Tucked beyond the gate where I said my goodbyes is a beautiful triangular-shaped courtyard with the two massive front ends of the stone building protruding on both far sides. If I wasn’t in such a hurry, I’d stop to soak in the amazing architecture. The rain gains momentum, and I bolt for the door.

  I step through the threshold in a rush and accidentally bump right into another person. My shoulder slams into theirs, and I nearly knock them down.

  “I’m so sorry,” I spit out in a panic, my suitcase flinging itself away from me. I reach out to seize the arm of the person I ran into and pull them back onto solid ground.