Witch Born - LJ Swallow Page 0,9
for?”
He looks over his spectacles at me. “Each case is reviewed yearly.”
My heart almost stops. “Yearly?” I blurt.
“Eloise. The young offenders are kept here because they are a danger to society. They will not rehabilitate within a few weeks." He grits his teeth. "Especially not if they spend their time bloody gardening and painting pictures.”
I study the paper he handed me.
Physical education
Magic studies
Art
Horticulture
History
Meditation
Oriana was right about the odd mix of classes.
“Francesca oversees the benevolent side of the school.” He says 'benevolent' as if it’s a swear word. “Her ideas on student rehabilitation don’t match mine. But the Confederacy believe her methods help.” Angus shakes his head and scowls. “Even she can’t keep the worst ones calm.”
“I intend to do everything I’m told,” I offer.
He barks a laugh and I startle again. “You would be the first resident who does. None of you have enough respect for the system.”
I straighten and my neck prickles in annoyance at his condescension. “I will try my best.”
“Now, what is your background?” He peers at the sheet again. “I understand you’re the trinity witch. The Confederacy have searched for you for some time." I nod. "Your family's Dominion links won't help your case. You are a powerful member of an insurgent group.”
“I don't support insurgency. I don't want any part in my family's plans.”
He sets the sheet down and his eyes pierce me. “What did you do, Eloise? Why are you here?”
I rub my cheek. “Excuse me if this sounds impertinent, but don't you know what I did?”
“Yes. But I’d like to hear your explanation. Tell me what you did, Eloise.”
I could tell him the story about my aunt, but that would mean confessing that I hated her and add more questions why I did what I did. My aunt arranged my betrothal to Ivan, because our unity could create a new, strong bloodline. Mable didn't give a shit if I suffered at his hands, all that mattered was strengthening my powers with his by uniting two powerful witch families—Thornbrook and Summerhill.
They want more little 'Eloises' with a sprinkle of Summerhill evil to help our family's planned insurgence against the Confederacy.
Angus must know the story of my crime. That my great-aunt died, and the insurgent witch families joined together in grief, to celebrate the life of a powerful witch who had influence over the whole of our society. He's probably aware what happened at the funeral in front of influential witches from across the world.
He definitely knows what I did. As Mable lay in her open coffin, her face still mocked me. The anger at the way she treated me grew and ran like acid through my veins.
I touched her arm and my magic exploded before I could comprehend what was happening.
I raised Mable.
My accidental necromancy wreaked havoc, but despite the shock I had a rush of satisfaction. That satisfaction is now my deepest secret, not the necromancy. I had no intention to manipulate Mable’s mindless body into an undead slave, although the idea amuses me now. I didn’t have the chance.
My father killed the reborn relative.
In the holding cell before my trip here, my mother raged at me, spitting that I exposed myself to escape the arranged marriage. I shrugged and told her I did, and that a lifetime at Ravenhold beats hell on earth with Ivan and the rest of them.
Now I'm not so sure.
Angus's stare drills into me as this runs through my head, and I shift uncomfortably, feeling like a toddler about to be scolded by her father.
He knows the reason I'm here, and that's all I'll share. “I raised the dead.”
His face shows no sign this bothers him. The most feared and vilified witches perform necromancy—but none exist anymore. Apart from me and rumours the Blackwoods are working on revitalising the magic.
I’m a commodity to more than my own family.
“Why did you perform necromancy?” he says coldly.
“I was at an aunt’s funeral. We had a complicated relationship—”
“And you decided to turn your aunt into a revenant and end her peace?”
“No! I didn’t think. I didn’t deliberately use the power. I don't know what happened."
He looks at me in disbelief. "Yes, well, your 'not thinking' has landed you here."
"I wanted to say goodbye while she was in the casket. I don’t know what happened, but when I touched her.” I swallow. “She moved.”
I want to cover my eyes with my hands. The chaos that followed will haunt me longer than any resurrected relative could. The scene descended into hysteria as my