The Witches (Book #1)

ℑ 𝔑𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔏𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔞𝔱 ℭ𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔦𝔢𝔰

I stand near the curb outside Manyeo College, scanning the cars pulling into the pick-up area. Across the street, four of the Lineage walk down the sidewalk. I have to admit that together they have something intriguing about them. They're hard not to watch.

As they pass, people step out of their way. Everyone follows them with their eyes, though—even me. Then all together, as if on cue, they turn and stare at me. I bite my lower lip and look away.

I feel a small pinch in the back of my head. I whip around to find Wendy holding a couple strands of my hair. She raises one eyebrow above her dark eye makeup. What the . . . ?

She walks right past me and into the street, not even acknowledging the cars. Creepy as hell. I take a step off the sidewalk, and the guy with the mullet hair from the hallway watches me.

Just as I'm about to yell at Wendy, Yoomi's car stops with a screech. Wendy catches up with the other Lineages, and they continue down the sidewalk.

"Making friends?" Yoomi asks as I get in her car.

I guess she didn't just see Wendy pull some of my hair out. "More like enemies." I really wish I hadn't snapped at Wendy in homeroom.

Yoomi speeds away so fast that there's a scent of burning rubber. "Suzy." Her tone suggests I did something wrong.

"Honestly, it isn't entirely my fault. They have some creepy witch social order at this school. My surname isn't helping." I just want someone to hug me and tell me I'm not awful and it will all blow over, but that's Yoomi's way. I need my dad.

"Manyeo prides itself on its witches. That history is very real to the people who live here."

"Well, that's insane." I can feel the upsets from my day threatening to overtake me.

She sighs. "That attitude won't help you make friends." She turns the corner, and I grip the door. "Maybe try to understand it from their perspective."

"I'm not going to apologize for some dude who wore a super long hair three hundred years ago and made bad decisions just because we have the same surname."

"It's more complicated than that, and being stubborn is only going to make it worse."

That's it. Breaking point achieved. "I don't want your advice."

Yoomi's grip tightens on the wheel as she slams on the brakes. "Then you'll get what you get."

I cross my arms, pulling away from Yoomi's comment and away from her in general as we bounce along our driveway.

I beeline it for the door the second the car stops. When I enter the foyer, the fluffy white couches and big fireplace in the room to the right catch my eye. In all my unpacking yesterday, I didn't really explore. I lean my bag against the small wooden mail table and head for the hallway to the right of the stairs, happy for something to distract me.

It's long and lined with doors. Scrolls of dead relatives hang on the walls. I can imagine them walking down here with only a candle. I peek inside the fireplace room—which is probably the living room. There's a beautiful old rug, and the coffee table is an antique leather trunk.

The next door in the hall is closed, and I push it open. "Whoa."

The room is huge, and on the left is a grand piano. There are a couple of seating areas with white antique couches that I can't imagine sitting on. Crystal decanters containing some sort of drink rest on a silver tray with small crystal glasses. I lift the cover on the piano keys and press an out-of-tune note.

At the far end of the room, between two tall windows, is a scroll of a girl about my age. She swears a blue and white hanbok draped with lace and holds a bouquet of white flowers. Her expression makes her look at ease, like she knew the artist. I'm intrigued.