Pinehurst
A novel by
Nicole Grane
Pinehurst
By: Nicole Grane
Copyright 2012 Nicole Grane
Cover art Copyright 2012 Chris Grane
Clip art design Ashley Grane
Redwood House Books
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission by the author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author's imagination, and are not to be construed as real.
Learn more about the author at:
https://www.nicolegrane.com
DEDICATION
d
To my wonderful children: Ashley, Joey, and Phoebe. Thank you for allowing me the time to write this story. I know it has not been easy. A selfless child is the child of an author, sharing your “mom time” so that others may enjoy her imaginings. You are precious and I love you all so very much.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, I would like to thank my talented husband, Chris, for once again creating another spectacular book cover. The skill that goes into such a masterpiece is truly mind-boggling—especially when his first attempt was a go!
My sister: Nicia Rotermund, the brilliant IT Tech that manages my website. She has also taken on the brutal task of proof reading and formatting for me. I love her and I couldn’t do this without her!
My friend and fellow author: Roseanne Evans Wilkins, for proofreading my final draft, helping me to format it for the e-readers, and being the “fountain of information” I need when trouble-shooting. Your friendship and guidance has been a blessing . . . I only hope I’m returning the favor!
My Lucky Eight: Ashley Grane, Gina Rotermund, Rachel Perry, Eleanor Rodriguez, Caren Coonrod, Kim Talty, Becki Schirmacher, and Emilio Jaramillo. Once more you guys have come through for me! You’re the first ones to read my manuscripts, and the first ones to cheer me on. I appreciate the time you take and the feedback you give. I’ll cherish you always!
My Critique group: Laura Bastain, Scott Bryan, Gary Rogers, and Melanie Skelton, for picking apart this story and making it better! Your feedback is invaluable, and your support—priceless!
Maren Petersen: Editing and still smiling! I truly appreciate all that you have done to make me a better writer. I will never be able to express how much you have helped me. Thank you!
Chapter 1
“Please be seated, Miss Hollyander.”
A stuffy woman, probably in her late seventies, sat behind a desk in what was, in my opinion, a highly over-decorated torture chamber. It took all of two seconds to assess the room: The royal blue carpet, the mahogany desk, and the American flag— it looked like the Oval Office! Except for the large vulture in the corner—I eyed it with caution as it bobbed its head up and down, probably sizing me up for its next meal. I wrinkled my nose at the lingering smell of death—the beast reeked of it.
Ms. Leech? I had to double-check the nameplate on the door. She hadn’t bothered to look up until now. I was still standing in her doorway.
“You may sit there, Miss Hollyander.” She pointed to a chair that sat in the middle of the room, strategically positioned directly in front of her desk. I assumed this was her way of intimidating the students—whatever.
I flopped down in the chair, arms crossed, and my trademark pout affixed to my face. I so did not want to be here. This was supposed to be a “fresh start” for me. I’d spent the last eight years of my life moving from school to school, making friends, only to be forced to leave after just getting attached. It was totally unfair. Apparently, it was the price I had to pay for my “unconscionable behavior.” My dad was big on adjectives.
The last eight months had been the happiest I’d spent anywhere. We’d lived in San Diego, California. Sun, shopping, beaches, and best of all, guys—lots and lots of cute guys . . . older guys that looked probably eighteen or nineteen years old. I was only sixteen, not old enough for any of them to take me seriously . . . but still, a girl can hope.
“Miss Hollyander,” Ms. Leech invaded my musings. “It would appear I have the unfortunate responsibility of guiding your . . . well, let’s just say non-existent magical abilities to a satisfactory level in which you may graduate this fine institution.”
Why would she think my magical abilities were “non-existent?” They weren’t “non-existent!” As for this place being an institution . . . she had that right. The walls around the perimeter were at least twenty feet tall and made of iron. A startling detail I noted upon arrival. I slumped further into my chair.
“I can assure you, Miss Hollyander, Pinehurst will not tolerate the sort of behavior you’ve exhibited in the past. I’ve reviewed your records from countless schools . . .” The old bat frowned, looking down her long nose. “Honestly, what was your father thinking letting you attend public schools?” Her lips puckered as she wrinkled her nose like she’d just tasted something vile.
I’d attended public schools my whole life. I didn’t see what the big deal was. My father, George, traveled a lot for business, and while he would have liked to leave me in the charge of a governess, I’d long since worn out my welcome with each agency—not to mention I was a little too old for a governess. My so-called “hot temper” and “ill-mannered practical jokes” preceded me. No one wanted to put up with my crap no matter how much weight and money my father threw around—and believe me, he threw it around.
A loud squawking nearly made me jump from my chair. I clutched my heart as the large black bird flapped its gigantic wings overhead and landed next to Ms. Leech.
“Quit fidgeting, Miss Hollyander; you’re upsetting Herman.” She stroked the monstrous bird’s chest gently with the back of her finger.
“I’m upsetting Herman?” She had to be kidding me! The bone picker was probably trying to give me an untimely heart attack so he could have me for dinner. Honestly, who the heck kept a vulture as a pet?
“It would seem that your manners are in serious need of attention as well.” She scowled. “Your old school may have allowed . . .”
My old school; I already missed my old school. I’d been yanked out yet again for reasons unknown. And with what I knew to have been considerable teeth pulling, George had managed to stick me here, where I’d undoubtedly stay until I graduated: A stuffy private school for the world’s elite.
“Your future at Pinehurst, Miss Hollyander,” the old hag ragged on, “will depend not only on your academic achievements, but also on good behavior, which I’m inclined to think will be your downfall.“
I rolled my eyes, making a mental note to chew out George later. What was he thinking sending me here? Did he honestly believe I was going to fit in?
Pinehurst was home to nearly eleven hundred students, ranging from K-12th grades. This was not a human school; this was a school for the Mageia, the children of magic. Only the best of the best were allowed here, kids that have attended Mageian schools their whole life—so how the hell did I get in?
“The only reason I so graciously agreed to accept your application, Miss Hollyander, is due to the impeccable reputation your family has held in our community.”
Code for my dad’s a shady politician with more money than the Queen of England. He bought the old bat off, probably promising a large financial donation.
Pinehurst was the only Mageian school in the U.S; well, except for Hoffmyer, located somewhere in Georgia. It wasn’t really noteworthy. It housed the “trouble makers” or “less fortunate” Mageia who couldn’t afford the prestigious cost of Pinehurst—lucky me.
Pinehurst turned out only the finest magic wielders. We weren’t technically witches and warlocks; humans gave that stereotype to us centuries ago. We didn’t
ride brooms or make potions over a boiling cauldron. But we could cast spells and manipulate the elements . . . something I was rather good at.
There was no way I was going to sit here and let this old witch criticize me any longer. Who the heck did she think she was anyway? “My magical abilities are not non-existent,” I growled. Yeah, I knew I was slightly behind in the conversation, but her intentional slam still smarted.
“Yes, I see . . .” She perused a rather large file. Undoubtedly, it was a collection of all my school files combined. Great!
“Exploding toilets, broken sprinklers, faulty . . . fire alarms?” She raised her eyebrows. “One might think you were aspiring to be a plumber, Miss Hollyander.”
I’d gotten into plenty of trouble at my last school using magic, though they couldn’t technically confirm I was to blame. That was the beauty of it. The modern world wouldn’t allow magic to be the explanation for any catastrophe. “Hey, they can’t prove any of that!”
“Miss Hollyander!” Ms. Leech interrupted me, clearing her throat. “It is of this office’s opinion that you are a trouble maker. You will be under the strictest of supervision. Put a toe out of line, and I will find out about it. The consequences will be severe.”
I sunk even further into my chair. My dad was so going to get an ear full.
“It is painfully obvious that you are in need of firm discipline.” She nearly spat the words. Herman squawked as if in agreement. “Your father has put you in my charge, and I will not shirk my duty. I’ve cracked harder nuts than you, Miss Hollyander, and I always win!”
There was something unsettling about the way she said that. I rolled my eyes. I'd be out of here before sundown. “So, can I go now?” I could only endure so much nagging.
“Not quite,” she snapped. She picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Roberta, would you bring in Miss Hollyander’s information.” She put the phone down and resumed her scowl. Her fingers loudly drummed on her desk while she waited. Herman’s beady little eyes narrowed as well. I could see why she chose him as a pet . . . there was an uncanny resemblance between them.
I shifted uneasily in my chair. It wasn’t as comfortable as it had been when I’d initially sat down. What the heck was taking Roberta so long anyway?
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in Roberta,” Ms. Leech said, not taking an eye off me.
Roberta was short and thin; not much younger looking than Ms. Leech. Her bony hand trembled as she handed the folder to the old hag.
“Thank you, Roberta,” Ms. Leech’s icy tone matched her stare, which incidentally was still on me.
Roberta hurried from the office. I couldn’t tell who made her more nervous . . . The old witch or the bone picker? It was a toss-up!
“Here is your class schedule, a map of the campus, and your dorm room information. You will need to check in at the front desk. They’ll show you to your room from there. As for your classes, Roberta has been thorough enough to highlight the buildings for you.”
I got up and took the papers, eyeing Herman carefully.
“Now you may go Miss Hollyander, and please, try to keep out of trouble. I will be watching.”
I picked up my bags and huffed out of the office, closing the door a little harder than I should have. I wasn’t about to let her think she’d intimidated me!