Grave Digger Academy Read online

  Grave Digger Academy

  By

  C. A. King

  Cover Design:

  Jennifer Munswami

  –

  J.M. Rising Horse Creations

  Editor:

  Karen Hrdlicka

  If you believe this book is dedicated to you,

  perhaps it is!

  Look for other books by C.A. King, including:

  The Portal Prophecies:

  Book I – VI

  Volume I & II

  Tomoiya's Story:

  Book I: Escape to Darkness

  Book II: Collecting Tears

  Surviving the Sins:

  Books I-VIII

  Flower Shields: A Four Horsemen Novel

  Drawing Strength From Words: A Four Horsemen Novel

  Hitting The High Note: A Four Horsemen Novel

  When the Paint Dries: A Four Horsemen Novel

  When Leaves Fall: A Different Point of View Story

  Peach Coloured Daisies: A Cursed by the Gods Story

  Miracles Not Included

  Do Not Open Until Halloween

  Truly Unfortunate

  Serendipity's Debt

  Hope After Death

  From Alice To Malice

  Tails Always Wins

  Hang On To Your Shirt Tails

  Cupid's Connection

  In A Heart Beat

  Evil Sushi

  Sashimi

  And more...

  This book is a work of fiction. Any historical references, real places, real events, or real persons names and/or persona are used fictitiously. All other events, places, names and happenings are from the author's imagination and any similarities, whatsoever, with events both past and present, or persons living or dead, are purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by C.A. King

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  Cover Design: Jennifer Munswami—J.M. Rising Horse Creations

  First Printing: December 2019

  ISBN: 978-1989580-18-9

  Kings Toe Publishing

  [email protected]

  Brantford, Ontario. Canada

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Bonus Chapter

  Author's Message

  About The Author

  Other Titles from C.A. King

  Chapter One

  Calling it a living room was the same as telling one big, fat lie. Being the most pristine area in the house, it was anything but a space used to live in. In fact, it was rarely entered and hardly ever occupied. There were any number of reasons why, too. The plastic on the seats made them uncomfortable and the polish on the wooden tables was too perfect to consider placing anything on. That wasn’t the worst of it—the white shag carpeting took that honour. No one in the history of the household had ever left a mark on it—let alone a stain. The chastising that would befall the one responsible for such a disgrace would be severe.

  Makayla’s hands folded in her lap, knees together, sitting as far forward as possible. The last time the room had been used was in the previous summer. Her brother, Tye, made the mistake of wearing shorts in a blistering heat wave, leaving him in a real pickle. A boy sticking to the furniture covers wasn’t a pleasant sight—watching him being pried off was even worse. The reddened backs of his thighs taught them all a lesson that day in proper dress code and etiquette.

  Nervous wasn’t a strong enough word for what Makayla was enduring. Being the youngest, she was the last of her six siblings to go through the ritual. All of her brothers were already in the academy system and each of them had made it into the school of their choice.

  A side-glance at the family portrait reminded her how important her next decisions were. All she ever wanted was to fit in. That wasn’t easy when her entire family had blond curly hair and blue eyes. She stuck out like a sore thumb next to them, with her limp red mop and bright green eyes. That wasn’t even taking into account their bone structures being much larger than her own. This was her opportunity to move past all that. This was her chance to prove she belonged.

  A book landed on the table with a thud, dust from its pages scattering. It didn’t matter how carefully the album was placed, its sheer size and weight made it impossible not to sound as if something had been dropped from an airplane without a parachute.

  “Here it is,” Hildabrew, said, hands on her hips, admiring the volume. “I can’t believe this is the last time we’ll see it in this house.” A white apron acted as a tissue for fake tears. “My baby is going to school.” She let out an audible sigh. “Well, go on then... open it.”

  Her mother made it seem so easy when it was anything but. This was the moment that would define her life from there on out. Somewhere in that one book lay her future. Makayla inhaled deeply then emptied her lungs again before making a move. Reaching out with one hand, the book opened with authority. A smile of sheer accomplishment graced her lips.

  “Oi,” Caz complained. “At this rate it’ll take all day to choose where to send her letters. Just get on with it already. I picked my three schools in less than five minutes. That’s the way to do it”

  “I need to pick the right ones,” Makayla barked.

  “Yeah,” Tye snickered. “If she doesn’t, she’ll end up at Grave Digger Academy. Wouldn’t that be a laugh?”

  “No child of mine is ending up there,” Jed blurted out. “I’m sure she’ll do fine in one of the easier arts programs.”

  Makayla’s bottom lip trembled. She’d already picked her choices without even exploring the volume. Now, she was second-guessing herself. There was no room for error.

  Every young witch was allowed to choose the top three schools they wished to request admission to. That didn’t mean the institutions were required to accept all of their applicants. The top schools were very competitive. The real kicker was: all her brothers were in the best—talk about pressure. If she was rejected by her choices, there was only one place for her: the one school that no one applied to, but happily accepted all rejects: Grave Digger Academy.

  “Give her some space,” Hildabrew demanded. “Off with the lot of you.” She offered a smile of encouragement. “You pick whatever schools you feel best about. There’s no pressure. We’ll be proud of you, no matter where you are placed.” The towel on her shoulder snapped at Tye’s ass, chasing him from the room.

  Picking Marsh Academy for the Gifted first and foremost was a family tradition. Of course, it was the first listing in the book. It only made sense. Everyone who was anyone went there. Wasting one of the three precious picks, knowing there wasn’t a frog’s chance in snow she�
�d be approved, seemed folly. Her eyes glossed over the information. The requirement for students to have full use of their abilities meant an instant rejection. She wasn’t even sure she had any abilities yet. Still, she could already feel the disappointment in her father’s glare if it was left off her options.

  The pages turned endlessly—the book becoming considerably smaller. A simple tap on NO removed any preview she’d opted against applying for. The process would continue until either she had chosen YES to three, or that was how many academies were remaining.

  Weeding out the not possible choices came first. They were the ones that required certain skill levels or special abilities she simply didn’t possess.

  Reality Warping—NO!

  Abjuration—NO!

  Conjuration—NO!

  Transmutation—NO!

  Elemental—NO!

  Illusions—NO! She couldn’t make a pebble look like a stone. With an entrance test required, there wasn’t any hope for being accepted to that one.

  Music Magic—NO! She didn’t play any instruments, and there wasn’t enough time to learn one from scratch. Someone probably should have prepared her for that possibility a long time ago.

  Makayla sighed, turning the page again. There had to be something she could do. Divination. Her hand hovered over the rejection, but with no prerequisites for entry it was worth consideration.

  One hand slapped over her mouth, stopping laughter from bursting out. Clown Magic. Who knew that was a thing? Certainly not her, and she wasn’t interested in learning it either. Reading the requirements knocked the chuckle from her lips. They only accepted advanced magical students.

  She stopped at The Academy of Portals—her number one choice. The thought of opening gateways to strange new worlds put the giddiness back into her heart. Without even looking at the requirements, her first application was sent. After two and a half hours, she was one third of the way there.

  In the end, Potions and Alchemy was the only other area of interest she could find. With all other choices gone, she was down to four. That left the hard part. Did she disappoint her father or worry she might not be accepted to any?

  Chapter Two

  A pillow flopped over Makayla’s head. She pushed it down over her ears. Hearing her six brothers simultaneously thumping down the stairs was the worst way to start the day. The alarm hadn’t even gone off yet. Something was seriously wrong with people who were perky in the morning—namely her entire family. She, however, wasn’t budging until the snooze button had annoyed her at least twice. That was the whole point to setting the darn thing.

  Eyelids fluttered, adjusting to the light. A yawn and stretch made the experience of waking that much easier. There was a process to doing it correctly, one that ensured she never got up on the wrong side of the bed. Warm feet slid out from under the covers, touching down on plush softness. It might have been a home decor fashion faux pas, but her toes were happy, staying warm and comfy in any season. Besides the shag rug in the living room, her bedroom was the only other place carpeting could be found in the entire house. It was the same as everything else in her life: the rest of her family didn’t share the same opinions. They all preferred hardwood flooring.

  Silence made itself known. Makayla glanced over her shoulder, becoming entangled in her school sweater. How it looked wasn’t a concern as long as it covered the birthmark that marred her otherwise perfect skin. She twisted around, freezing on the spot for a moment in a stare down of the ages—witch versus technology. The tablet sitting on her nightstand was ominously still. It hadn’t gone off. That was a bad sign. There were no noises coming from her brothers, either—an even worse omen. Her eyes closed, teeth clamping down on her bottom lip.

  Darn! It was late. That was the last thing she needed on the first day of academy classes. Her heart pounded almost as hard and loud as her feet thumping on the stairs. She raced into the kitchen; backpack in hand.

  Empty! Every last seat was vacant. One might not have known a family breakfast had taken place only minutes prior if not for the dirty dishes and bits of leftover food covering the table.

  She inched closer, picking up the wrapping from a present. She knew what they were: wands for her brothers. Sliding into her place, she glanced at her own reflection in the clean porcelain plate. There was no gift, or breakfast for that matter.

  “Makayla!” Hildabrew exclaimed, walking into the room. “You need to hurry. You don’t want to miss the bus.”

  “Where is everyone else?” Makayla asked, fighting the stinging sensation growing in her eyes. “I thought I’d get a ride today.”

  “You should have gotten up then,” her mother snapped. “They left a while ago. The first day is quite exciting.”

  “Yes,” Makayla agreed. “It is, especially with the gifts. Did everyone get a new wand this year?”

  “Well, yes, of course...” Her mother’s words faded. “We didn’t know what to get you... wand-wise that is. The only thing sent to us was a note saying everything you needed would be made available to you. Next year...”

  “It’s fine,” Makayla said, waving her mother’s promises off. The words merely served to confirm what she’d known for years, she wasn’t like the rest of her family—not in looks—and certainly not in personality. She’d heard all the stories about resembling some ancestor from long ago on her mother’s side. Conveniently, and inexplicably, there weren’t any pictures of this so-called relative.

  “I do have something I’d like to give you,” Hildabrew said. “Wait right here.” She disappeared for a minute, returning with a small black pouch. “This has been in my family for generations. According to tradition, it gets passed down to the oldest female.” She held it out.

  “What is it?” Makayla questioned, eyeing the tiny satchel.

  “Accept it and find out,” her mother suggested, taking a couple of steps back. “We don’t have all day. It won’t bite, if that’s what you are worried about.”

  Makayla took the offering, pulling open the drawstring pouch. “A necklace?” One lip arched. It didn’t even look real, let alone ancient and powerful.

  “Yes,” her mother said, glancing at it from a distance. “It’s quite unique, don’t you think?”

  “Is this supposed to be a crystal ball?” Makayla questioned.

  “It is a crystal ball, albeit a very teeny one,” Hildabrew admitted. “It never worked for me. In fact, I believe it’s been three... or perhaps even five generations...” she waggled her hand from side to side, “...or something in that time frame, since it showed anyone a vision. I have a feeling you’ll have better luck with it than I did.”

  “You act as if it is the necklace that is magical instead of the one wearing it,” Makayla snorted. “Maybe it’s broken.”

  “You will find that there are many items in this world that are enchanted and magical without the need for a witch’s gifts to be used,” her mother suggested. “I expect it simply hasn’t had anything to say. Perhaps that will change now that it belongs to you.” She took the two sides to the clasp. “Hold your hair.”

  The chain felt cool against her skin, warming only after her mother finished locking the fastener. The charm swung back and forth against her sweater. “Maybe I should leave it here,” Makayla suggested. “I wouldn’t want to lose such an important heirloom.” Or be seen wearing it. If anything, it was an eyesore.

  “Too late,” her mother replied. “It seems to be happy with you as its new owner. The clasp disappeared. I’m afraid you won’t be able to take it off until it chooses to leave you.” She paused. “Or you die.”

  “Did it do that to you?” Makayla shrieked.

  “No, I am most certainly not dead,” Hildabrew snapped. “Mind you, I had quite the opposite reaction to yours. It wouldn’t latch at all. The bloody thing kept falling off. That’s why I never wore it.”

  “Great,” Makayla mumbled, tucking it inside her sweater where it couldn’t be seen. Out of sight, out of mind.

 
“You best hurry,” her mother suggested. “The bus will be by in five minutes. You don’t want to miss it.”

  “Can’t you drive me?” Makayla pleaded.

  “Not today,” her mother answered, placing one hand on each of her daughter’s shoulders before leaning in to plant a kiss on her forehead. “You’ll be fine. We all went though this on the first day. It’s part of growing up. Trust the system. It knows where you are supposed to be and won’t steer you wrong.” The corners of her lips curled up slightly. “Don’t worry about what anyone else is doing or what they think. You do your very best in whatever comes your way.”

  “I’ll try,” Makayla agreed, swinging her backpack over one shoulder. She glanced back from the door, taking in one last memory. It would be a while before she’d be back. Knowing her mother, the house wouldn’t look remotely the same when she returned.

  Chapter Three

  The bus. There was nothing worse than being thrown together with other social rejects on the first day of classes. Anyone who was anyone was driven by family or had their own modes of transportation. The ones leftover filled the worn seats of the academy transportation system.

  Makayla slid into one of the empty bench-style seats about halfway down the narrow aisle. She didn’t have to look to know the underside was lined with generations of chewing gum. After every bump one scent or another would waft up, reminding all riders of the age-old tradition—one she had no intentions of carrying on.

  There were two types of witches: the bubblegum chewers and those who planned to keep their teeth until a ripe old age—there was no spell that could ensure such a feat. That was exactly why Makayla placed herself in the later category. Even the scents made her cringe. Not everyone enjoyed sweets. She turned her head the moment a girl with long black ponytails stepped on the bus with an extra large bubble forming from the wad in her mouth. Disgusting!

  “Seat open,” a boy said, waggling his eyebrows as the chewer approached. “Huh? Huh?” He patted the spot beside him.