Read Under a Spell for Free Online

through the deserted corridor and I couldn’t help thinking about the green mile, a prisoner walking toward their death.
    “Brings back a lot of memories, huh?” Will said. “Bet you were rollicking around here with your pigtails and your high-heeled shoes.”
    I felt my upper lip curl. “I was going to high school, not a fantasy porn shoot. And my memories weren’t all good. I’m pretty sure if there’s witchcraft around here, it’s going to be right out in the open.”
    “Why would you think that?”
    I got a flash of my fifteen-year-old self, dwarfed by a backpack and a headgear, being Ping-Ponged between the popular girls as I tried to make my way to my locker.
    “Just a gut thought.”
    I pulled the file Sampson had given me from my shoulder bag as we walked the hall in silence.
    “Here,” I whispered. “This is Cathy Ledwith’s class schedule. These two are Alyssa Rand’s from the last two years. Anything significant?”
    “Yes. Absolutely. American teens are sadly behind in math. Look at this—juniors. Geometry One. A shame.”
    I glared at Will, but kept the fact that Geometry One and I had shared more than a few tearful years together a secret. “No. I meant any crossover classes or teachers.”
    He scanned the sheets. “They both took art with Mr. Fieldheart in 6B. Both third period last year, Alyssa second period this year. Both took Honors English in their junior year, both with the teacher you’re replacing.”
    “Okay, okay, that gives us something to go on.” Will handed me back the pages. “What, exactly, does it give us to go on?”
    “I haven’t figured that out yet. Let’s go upstairs and check out room 6B.”
    We climbed the stairs and peered into classroom 6B, where a ring of girls sitting at easels turned to glare at us and no one adamantly jumped up and tried to turn us into toads.
    “So much for your walk-around-and-stare-at-things plan.”
    “I have other plans.”
    “And they are . . . ?”
    Saved by the bell.
     
     
    Break time at Mercy High was a flurry of plaid skirts and high-pitched chatter, everyone stuffed shoulder to shoulder in the lunchroom as the weather outside rolled from an almost-blue to a definite, angry-looking gray.
    Will branched off on his own and I paced the cafeteria aisle, infinitely glad that I could cross my arms in front of my chest rather than have to balance a tray while working to keep my eyes locked forward, away from the bullies of my youth. I kept my head slightly cocked, hoping to hear incriminating words pop from the multitude of conversations about clothes, nails, and this week’s pop star du jour, but conversations faded the closer I got, only to start up again as I passed. At the back of the cafeteria, I spotted a girl, sitting at a table full of students who had left an empty ring around her, a solid indicator that she was alone.
    “Hey there,” I said with a wave.
    The girl’s eyebrows appeared over the top of a book and then her dark eyes, small, darting. She pressed a fuzzy strand of deep brown hair behind one ear.
    “Can I help you?”
    I cleared my throat and reminded myself that I was the adult there, so my first instinct to fall all over myself and hide my head in my turtleneck sweater was not a good one.
    “My name is Soph—Miss—Ms. Lawson. I’m going to be substituting here for a little while. Are you waiting for someone?”
    The girl’s eyes swept over the ring of empty seats. “No.” She went back to reading.
    “Mind if I sit?”
    “It’s social suicide.”
    I batted the air. “Been there, done that. So . . .”
    “So.”
    “You are?”
    The girl sucked in a deep breath and laid her book down flat. She narrowed her eyes at me and shrunk her hands into the sleeves of her sweater. “Are you really a teacher?”
    My heart started to thud and I surreptitiously looked around for Will, then attempted to send him a telepathic Abort! Abort! message. I had been undercover all of two hours and was already found