My stomach turns, but I force myself to keep going. On the middle shelf there’s a leather-bound book. I carefully lift it out, noticing with a gag that the cover is sticky and gross. I don’t want to think about what might have made it that way.
I open it, and immediately wish I hadn’t. The pages contain detailed illustrations, anatomical drawings of the human body, but with magical annotations. Diagrams showing how to extract magical essence from various organs. Instructions on preparation, consumption, preservation.
It’s a cookbook. A fucking witch cookbook.
The pictures are horrifically clear. One illustration shows a ritual circle, a body splayed in the center, with detailed notes on cutting patterns. Another depicts a witch consuming what looks like a heart, inked lines showing a flow of magic from the organ into the eater’s body.
I shut the book as I try not to vomit.
My hand bumps something on the bottom shelf, and it rolls forward. Several small white objects clatter to the floor. I bend down to look, then stumble backward in horror.
Bones. Human finger bones, small and delicate. And teeth. At least a dozen human teeth.
“Oh my God.” I can’t help the words that escape my lips as I scramble away, my back hitting the desk.
I need to get out of here. I need to tell the others. I force myself to breathe, to think. I have to put everything back exactly as I found it, or Jasmine will know someone was here.
With shaking hands, I return the book to its shelf. I use the edge of my sweater to pick up the bones and teeth, trying not to think about who they belonged to, and place them back on the bottom shelf. I step back, making sure everything looks untouched, then use my magic to seal the compartment again.
Just as the panel clicks shut, I hear footsteps in the hallway.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I look around for a hiding place. The desk is too small to crawl under, and there’s nowhere else. The door handle turns. I dive behind the thick blackout drapes just as the door swings open.
Jasmine enters, singing a song. Not just any song, like Mary Had a Little Lamb. Nope, she’s singing the creepiest song possible given the circumstances.
“Little witches, one by one,
I’ll eat their hearts till I am done.
Power grows with every bite,
Their magic mine by darkest night.”
I don’t dare breathe.
Jasmine rummages through her office, and I hear books thumping down onto her desk. I risk a peek.
Her movements are jerky, uncoordinated. She keeps twitching her head to the side, as if listening to someone I can’t see. Her eyes are wide, the yellow irises almost glowing.
“Not enough, not enough,” she mutters to herself.
I bite my lip to keep from making a sound. She’s completely unhinged.
Jasmine suddenly freezes, her head whipping toward the hidden compartment, and my heart stops. Did I leave something out of place?
She approaches the wall, running her fingers along the seam just as I did. For a moment, I think I’m caught. Then she laughs, a sound that nearly stops my heart, and turns away.
She grabs a book from the shelf, then leaves as abruptly as she arrived, still singing her macabre rhyme.
I count to thirty before sliding out from my hiding place. My legs are shaking so badly I can barely walk, but I make it to the door, listening for any sound in the hallway, then slip out and speed-walk away from Jasmine’s office as fast as I can without actually running.
By the time I reach my dorm, I’m out of breath and covered in cold sweat. I throw open the door, relieved to be in the relative safety of my own room.
