Every Witch Way: Goodhorn

Principal Goodhorn’s office was positioned on the ground floor of the school past the stairway near the gym. Tucked into the middle of the building, the windowless room was illuminated by a circle of candles that lined the walls, casting a reddish glow and only blocked by the dark figure standing before her. Cloaked in a blacked cloth, he stood tall and menacingly over the desk that housed her scholarly papers and textbooks.

“I thought I told you all you needed to know”, Goodhorn stated gesturing at a manila folder on the desk. On the front of the folder was a stapled photograph of Vanessa Camberwell, a small smile on her lips and her eyes brighter back when the photo had been taken.

“What I asked for was information about her status as a practicioner, not whether she has her W-2’s,” the figure spoke, their voice low and tempered. “Her membership with the Schmetterling coven is not in doubt, but her participation in the protection of the glass globe is.”

Goodhorn cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

“Schmetterling coven? What are you talking about?”

The figure slowly bent down until their face was only a foot from Goodhorn’s and considered her carefully.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”, she inquired.

Without warning, the candles flared violently, engulfing the room in flames. Goodhorn gasped and pushed back with her feet to retreat from the desk, but she barely moved. Again, she pitted her soles against the floor and pushed, but her body went nowhere. Looking up, Goodhorn realized two clawed hands held her in place as two hooded figures stood by her side. One was taller than the other, but both had the same strength. She stared into her captors face and saw their eyes for the first time.

Ice blue with miniscule pupils; the kind you might expect from someone looking directly into the sun. She began to feel drawn to the figure, not in a seductive way, but almost as if by a magnetic force.

“Stop it. Please, I’ve given you what I know!” Her voice grew more strained with each passing second as her pleading grew more desperate. “Let me go! Help! Anyone, please help me!!!”

Then in an instant, she heard the voice. The low, tempered voice of the figure rolled around her mind like mollasses coating a mixing bowl. It felt like she was being painted over while the figure assumed control of her body, her mind, her very being. She had been the unwitting canvas for his greatest plan and now she was fading.

“You….monster”, was the last thing her lips uttered before she faded into darkness. The room was pitch black now. The only ones that remained were the two cloaked figures that had held her fast to her chair and the figure that stood before her. Except, it was no longer the figure. The body of Gwendolyn Goodhorn stood where the figure had, a cruel smirk curling her lips into a twisted snarl. Her eyes glowed ice blue as she inspected her hands, supple with nails painted deep purple. Her shoulders squared as she looked toward the office door.

“Feannagen. Lorg an dealan-dè agus iarr gealladh oirre.” Her voice was the same, but commanded the same respect that the figure had before the two figures. The two figures bowed. Behind them a smoky portal appeared and with careful steps, they backed into it, their cloaks blowing around and ruffling their black feathers.

After they had gone, the girl that was once Goodhorn, looked back at the door of her office and sighed.

“I’m coming for you, Tommelise. You just wait.” She reached for the door knob, turned it, and left the office.

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