Blood Witch Woods

Copyright This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, locales, or incidents, is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 by Rose Montero All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Cover design © www.fantastical-ink.com rosemontero.com Contents 1. CHAPTER ONE 2. CHAPTER TWO 3. CHAPTER THREE 4. CHAPTER FOUR 5. CHAPTER FIVE 6. CHAPTER SIX 7. CHAPTER SEVEN 8. CHAPTER EIGHT 9. CHAPTER NINE 10. CHAPTER TEN 11. CHAPTER ELEVEN 12. CHAPTER TWELVE 13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN 14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN 15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN 16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN 17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 19. CHAPTER NINETEEN 20. CHAPTER TWENTY 21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Author's Note Acknowledgments About Author CHAPTER ONE Dad leaned against the car with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, typing into his phone. He looked up, finished his text, and climbed into the driver’s seat without a word. “Come on, Josephine.” Mom brushed past me, pulling the backseat door open. I remained rooted in the hotel parking lot, staring at the open door, at the gold rings glinting on her fingers, at her too-heavy makeup and my pale, desperate expression reflected in her overly large sunglasses. “Or I could just…. not?” I’d gone home for the first time in a week, only to be ambushed by the parents with bags already packed. They gave me all of five minutes before hustling me into the family car and passing down the sentence: one year at St. Damian’s Academy for the Rich and Pretentious. Apparently, I’d failed most of my classes and they thought spending a small fortune to ship me off to my sister’s beloved school would do me some good. Mom didn’t move. We stood there like two statues, poised in silent battle. Me, unwilling to get in the car. Mom, unwilling to see reason. At least until Precious Penny—my twin, though we looked nothing alike—strutted past. She climbed into the back seat and gave me a look that could have burned down a medieval village. It contained the fury of the Great Khan, wrapped up and bow-tied in a porcelain doll. “Do not make me late,” Penny said, enunciating every syllable. “Jo?” Mom gave me a small, weak smile. I could have stayed in that parking lot all day. Or I could have walked back into the hotel and asked for a cab, or walked to the nearest bus station and found my way back home. I could have won our little battle, but Penny was glaring at me and Dad was ignoring me and Mom…well, I was sure she could stand there, waiting, all day. I rolled my eyes and climbed into the car. Penny slid over to the far side, putting as much space between us as possible. Mom pulled out a bottle of cheap wine the moment she closed her door. Dad grunted, pulled away from the hotel, and drove in stony silence, ignoring the rest of us. This was going to be a fun ride. Mostly, though, it was silent. Penny shoved her earbuds in and stared out the window as if the rest of us didn’t exist. Mom drank her wine, quickly drowning out the world. Dad, well, dad was driving. I’ll give him props for paying attention to the road, at least, even if he said nothing. St. Damian’s was situated on a sprawling campus in the middle of nowhere, at least according to the glossy brochures. I knew that, yet I never realized just how remote nowhere was. Each town we passed was smaller than the last, until it was barely more than a dozen houses clustered around an empty highway. If they were lucky, there was a cross street, maybe a stop sign. And then the towns stopped. Which is when I realized I probably should have looked the damned place up while I had access to quality, hotel wi-fi. But sometimes my sulking anger overrode my senses, which was all of yesterday. By the time I tried to search St. Damian’s, there was no service. “There’s no service.” Penny snorted. “Of course not. We’re in the middle of nowhere.” “So how am I supposed to—“ “The school has landlines,” Mom said. “Really Jo, you should know this by now.” “Wait, landlines?” “Yes dear.” “What about internet? Wi-fi? Cell coverage?” “Nope,” Penny supplied. “But… why?” Were they living in the dark ages? What sort of school didn’t have internet? And why the hell would a bunch of stuck-up rich people want to send their kids there? “It distracts from studying,” Penny said with a smirk. “Not that you’d know anything about that.” “The library has computers,” Mom offered, as if that made everything better. Then Dad pulled off the highway onto a two-lane road, speed limit 45. The blacktop was dark and the lines bright, as if someone had freshly painted them in anticipation of the new school year. The road continued on, a curving black river cutting through dense forests on either side. I realized I had a problem. The last town was an hour ago, and it didn’t even have a stop sign. I doubted it had a bus stop. “What about emergencies?” I leaned between the front seats. There had to be some way to communicate with the outside world. “What if someone gets hurt? Or there’s a fire, or—“ “They have a doctor on staff.” Mom twisted to look at me. “You really know nothing about the place your sister spent the last three years at?” What could I say? St. Damian’s had been a blessing until yesterday. Long months where I only had to hear about Perfect, Precious Penny, rather than see her. Mom turned back to her wine, and that