Hogwhats

Chapter One

"Well?"

As soon as I stepped out of the car, I was met with the stifling heat and humidity that August brings to Georgia.

I muttered, "Awesome," as I slid my sunglasses up on top of my head and murmured.

Because of the humidity, it seemed as though my hair had more than doubled in size. It felt like some kind of carnivorous jungle plant was trying to eat my sunglasses, and I could feel it trying to do so. "I have always been curious about what it would be like to live in the mouth of another person."

The brochure that I was clenching in my sweaty hand described Grimme Hall as "the preeminent reformatory institution for Prodigium adolescents." As I looked in its direction, Grimme Hall appeared before me.

Prodigium. Simple translation of the Latin word for monsters. And that was the case with everyone who worked at Grimme.

That is precisely what I was.

Already, I had read the brochure five times while flying from Vermont to Georgia, twice while riding the ferry to Graymalkin Island, which is located just off the coast of Georgia (it was there that I discovered that Grimme had been constructed in 1854), and once while our rental car was bouncing over the shell and gravel driveway that led from the shore to the school's parking lot. Therefore, I ought to have had it committed to memory, but I couldn't let go of it and kept reading it over and over again, as if it were my wubby or something:

Children of shapeshifters, witches, and fae who have put themselves and the rest of Prodigium society in danger by revealing their abilities will be taken in and educated at Grimme Hall. This will allow the council to fulfill its primary mission.

I squinted at my mother as we reached into the trunk to retrieve my belongings and said, "I still don't understand how assisting one girl in finding a date could put other witches in danger." Since the first time I'd read the brochure, the idea had been nagging at the back of my mind, but I hadn't had the opportunity to bring it up until now. The majority of the time that we were in the air, Mom had pretended to be sleeping, most likely to avoid seeing the miserable expression that I was wearing.

"You are aware of the fact that it was not just that one girl, Sarah. It was that boy in Delaware with the broken arm, and it was that teacher in Arizona who you tried to get to forget about the test..."

I told him, "He will get his memory back eventually," and he agreed. "Well, the vast majority of it."

The only response I got from my mother was a sigh, and then she dragged out the beat-up trunk that we'd gotten from the Salvation Army. "Both your father and I cautioned you about the repercussions that would result from making use of your powers. I despise this situation just as much as you do, but at least here you'll be with... with other children who are the same age as you."

"You are referring to complete gaffes." I slung my tote bag over my shoulder and started walking.

Mom raised her own sunglasses, so she could look at me, and then she smiled. She appeared exhausted, and I noticed a new set of deep lines forming around her mouth that I hadn't noticed before. My mother was almost forty years old, but to most people she appeared to be ten years younger.

Sarah, you are not a moron in any way. We shared the burden of lifting the trunk between us.

"You've just made some mistakes."

Had I ever. My life as a witch did not turn out to be nearly as exciting as I had anticipated it would be. One of the things I missed out on was the opportunity to travel around on a broomstick.

(When I first started to develop my abilities, I asked my mother about that, but she told me that I couldn't change anything and that I had to continue taking the bus like everyone else.) I don't have any spell books, and I'm allergic to cats, so I don't have a talking cat either. I also wouldn't know where to get my hands on something like the eye of a newt.

But I can perform magic. My abilities have been fully developed ever since I was twelve years old, which, according to the sweaty brochure, is the age at which all Prodigium reach their full potential. I would guess that it has something to do with entering puberty.

As we were walking up to the building, my mother remarked, "Besides, this is a good school."

But it didn't look like a school. It looked like a combination of a scene from an old horror movie and the Haunted Mansion at Disney World.

To begin, it was evident that it had been around for almost two hundred years. It had a total height of three stories, with the topmost level appearing to be perched atop the structure like the icing on a wedding cake.

It's possible that the house used to be white, but now it's just a sort of faded gray, almost the same color as the shell and gravel drive, which gives it the appearance of being something other than a house and more like a natural outcrop of the island.

"Huh," Mom said. We then dropped the trunk before following her as she walked along the building's side. Would you mind taking a look at that?

I decided to follow her, and almost immediately I understood what she was getting at. In the brochure, it was stated that over the course of time, Grimme had "extensive additions" made to the original structure. It turned out that this meant that they had removed the back of the house and attached a new one to it in its place. After approximately sixty feet, the grayish wood ran out and was replaced by pink stucco that continued all the way to the woods.

For something that was obviously accomplished through the use of magic — there were no seams where the two houses met, and there was no line of mortar — you would have thought that the end result would have been a little more elegant. Instead, it appeared as though two separate homes had been joined together by some deranged individual.

A deranged individual who has exceptionally poor taste.

The house was shielded from the sun by towering oak trees covered in Spanish moss that stood in the front yard. In point of fact, it looked like there were plants in every available space. The front door was flanked by two ferns that were grown in dusty pots and resembled large green spiders. Additionally, a vine of some kind that bore purple flowers had taken over an entire wall. It looked almost as if the house was being consumed by the forest that was located just beyond it.

I fiddled with the hem of the brand-new blue plaid skirt (kilt?) that had been issued to me by Grimme Hall. Some sort of bizarre skirt/ kilt hybrid? A skilt?) and was perplexed as to why students at a school located smack dab in the middle of the American South would be required to wear wool.

In spite of this, I had to fight back a chill as I stared at the school. I couldn't help but wonder how anyone could walk by this establishment and not get the impression that the people who attended there were a strange bunch.

Mom used her best "Let's be perky and look on the bright side" voice when she complimented the beauty of the scene, saying, "It's pretty."

On the other hand, I did not have such an upbeat disposition.

"Yeah, it's beautiful. For use as a jail."

My mother scowled and shook her head. "Put an end to acting like a brazen teenager, Sarah. It's not even close to being a jail."

But that's how it appeared to me at the time.

As we were picking up the trunk, she remarked, "This is really going to be the best place for you."

I mumbled, "I guess," as a response.

When it came to me and Grimme, the refrain that seemed to be repeated most often was "It's for your own good." Two days after the prom, we had received an e-mail from my dad in which he essentially said that I had blown all of my chances, and that the Council had sentenced me to remain in Grimme until the day that I turn eighteen years old.

The Council was comprised of a collection of wise individuals who were responsible for establishing all of Prodigium's policies.

I am familiar with a council that simply refers to themselves as "the Council." So original.

Anyway, because Dad worked for them, they agreed to let him deliver the devastating news.

In the email he sent, he said, "Hopefully, this will teach you to use your powers with a great deal more discretion."

The majority of my communication with my dad consisted of e-mails and the odd phone call, but we always stayed in touch. Before I was born, he and my mother ended their relationship. It turned out that he hadn't told my mother about him being a warlock (the preferred term for boy witches) until they had been together for nearly a year. A warlock is the preferred term for boy witches. The news had been difficult for Mom to process. She dismissed him as a deranged individual and fled to be with her family. But after she found out she was pregnant with me, she went out and bought a copy of The Encyclopedia of Witchcraft in addition to all the other books she had on babies just in case. When I was born, she was already practically an expert on things that go bump in the night thanks to her research before my birth. It wasn't until the day I turned twelve that she reluctantly opened the lines of communication with my father. At that point, I had just begun to come into my powers. Despite this, she maintained a cold demeanor toward him.

I had spent the past month trying to come to terms with the fact that I would be moving to Grimme after being informed of the move by my father. Seriously. I promised myself that I would finally be surrounded by people who were just like me, individuals from whom I would not have to hide the real me. And it's possible that I'll pick up some pretty cool spells. All of those were significant advantages.

However, as soon as my mother and I had boarded the ferry that would take us out to this remote island, I had begun to experience queasy feelings in my stomach. Believe me when I say that motion sickness wasn't the cause.

According to the brochure, the choice of Graymalkin Island as the location to house Grimme was made due to the island's remote location, which made it easier to conceal the fact.

The locals were under the impression that it was an extremely prestigious boarding school.

It wasn't until the ferry was getting close to the heavily wooded spit of land that was going to be my home for the next two years that I started having serious second thoughts about making the move.

Although it appeared as though the majority of the student body was milling around on the lawn, only a few of them appeared to be new, just like I was. They were all carrying suitcases and unloading trunks at the same time. I noticed that some of them had worn-out luggage similar to mine, but I also noticed that some of them carried Louis Vuitton bags. While the rest of the new kids appeared to be younger, there was one girl who appeared to be around my age. She had dark hair and a slightly crooked nose.

It was difficult for me to determine whether the majority of them were witches and warlocks, shapeshifters, or something else entirely. Because we all have the appearance of being everyday people, there was no way to tell.

On the other hand, it was not difficult at all to identify the faeries. They were all taller than the average person and looked very dignified. Each one of them had long, straight, and shiny hair in a variety of colors, ranging from a very light gold to a very bright violet.

And they were equipped with wings.

Mom claims that in order to pass themselves off as humans, faeries typically wear glamour. It was a pretty complicated spell because it involved changing the mind of everyone they came into contact with, but the result was that humans could only view the faeries as ordinary people rather than vibrant, winged creatures with colorful wings. I couldn't help but wonder if the faeries who were condemned to Grimme were secretly happy about it. Performing such a complex spell on a consistent basis has to be challenging.

I paused for a moment while I readjusted the position of my tote bag on my shoulder.

"At least this location is secure," the mother remarked. "That has to count for something, right? For once, I won't have to waste my energy worrying about you all the time."

I was aware that my mother was concerned about me being so far away from home, but I also knew that she was relieved to have me in a setting where I wasn't in danger of being discovered. If you spend all of your time reading books about the many ways that people have put an end to witches throughout history, it is inevitable that you will become a little paranoid.

As we made our way toward the school, I became aware that I was beginning to sweat in odd places on my body, even though I was fairly certain that I had never sweated there before. How is it that your ears can get wet? It seemed as though the humidity had no effect on Mom in any way. The fact that my mother can never appear in any way other than stunningly gorgeous is practically an unbreakable rule of nature. The fact that she was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt did not prevent people from looking in her direction.

It's also possible that they were staring at me while I was trying to wipe the sweat from between my breasts in private without giving the impression that I was bragging about myself. It's tough to say.

Things that I had only ever learned about in books were all around me. My left side was occupied by a weeping faerie with blue hair and indigo wings who was clinging to her winged parents, whose feet were hovering an inch or two above the ground. Crystaline's tears began to fall not from the girl's eyes but rather from her wings as I watched, leaving the girl's toes dangling over a pool of royal blue liquid.

We walked into the shade provided by the enormous old trees, which meant that the temperature dropped by approximately 0.5 degrees. An unearthly howl reverberated through the dense air just as we were getting closer to the front steps.

Mom and I whirled around to see this thing growling at two adults who appeared to be rather frustrated. They did not appear to be afraid; rather, they appeared somewhat aggravated.

A werewolf.

The first time you actually lay eyes on a werewolf, regardless of how many times you've read about them, is like nothing you've ever experienced before.

To begin, it did not resemble a wolf very closely at all in appearance. Or an individual. It looked more like a really large wolf standing on its hind legs than anything else. It had short fur that was a light brown color, and even at a distance I could make out the color of its eyes, which were yellow.

In addition to that, it was a lot smaller than I had anticipated it to be. In point of fact, it was not even close to being as tall as the man at whom it was growling.

The man spat at Jules, saying, "Stop it." I noticed that the woman's hair was the same shade of light brown as the werewolf's, and I saw that she put her hand on his arm.

She spoke to me in a gentle tone with a trace of a Southern accent, and she called me "Sweetie."

"Pay attention to your parents. This is completely absurd."

There was a brief pause during which the werewolf, er, Jules, c****d his head to the side, giving the impression that he was more similar to a cocker spaniel than a beastie that was about to rip someone's throat out.

The very thought made me laugh out loud.

And all of a sudden, those mustard-colored eyes were on me.

It let out another howl, and before I had even the chance to process what I had just heard, it charged.