Livingston Girls

By Briana Morgan

 "We have to keep fighting. When witches don't fight, we burn." 

 Livingston Girls  is a fast-paced and witchy coming-of-age mystery full of found family and queer discovery, for fans of   Wednesday   and   These Witches Don't Burn  . 
There's a place for troublesome girls from Salem, Massachusetts: Livingston Academy. When 16-year-old Rose's relationship with her English teacher is exposed, her community mourns his reputation and she's the one banished to the infamous boarding school.
Ashamed and hoping to keep her past under wraps, Rose is surprised to learn she's not the only one with a secret: Livingston Academy was founded by the survivors of the Salem witch trials--and their successors still practice magic in secluded dorm rooms and the woods outside the school grounds. When Rose falls in with the strange and rebellious group of girls that make up the Livingston coven, Rose gets an offer to join that she can't refuse. Soon she's part of a hidden world of whispered spells, charms, summonings, and sisterhood.
But there's a darker side to becoming a witch--there will always be powerful men who resent and envy a witch's abilities. When the headmaster of the nearby boy's school is revealed to be a witch hunter eager to claim the power of the Livingston coven, Rose and her new friends must fight for their very survival.
And Rose might have an even bigger problem. She can't keep her eyes off her prickly coven and roommate Charlie. Will she master her power in time to save the school or will her crush prove a deadly distraction?

• Language: English
• Publisher: 8th Note Press
• Release date: Nov 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781961795099

Briana Morgan

Briana Morgan (she/her) is the author of several novels and plays, including Mouth Full of Ashes, The Tricker-Treater and Other Stories, Unboxed, and more. She’s a proud member of the Horror Writers Association and a book review columnist for the Wicked Library. When not writing, she enjoys gaming, watching movies, and reading. Briana lives in Atlanta with her partner and two cats.

Book preview

Chapter

One

The reek of mothballs and disinfectant almost knocks me over. Wood paneling lines the walls. It’s not a big dorm. Just enough space between the twin beds to prevent awkward touching in the night, twin dressers and desks that have seen better days, and a gray-brown carpet. Beside the door, sitting on a patch of linoleum is a sink with a tiny mirror. Still, the room looks clean, and the big window lets in more light than I expected.

I slide the strap of my guitar case off my shoulder, set the guitar on the bed, and walk over to the window. Livingston Academy is sprawling. I doubt I’ll ever find my way around—even my residence hall is massive. Though there’s still a day before classes start, the lawn outside my dorm, Meyer Hall, ripples with activity. A few girls sit on the stone steps leading to the front doors. Others lean against the wrought-iron fencing or the building’s brick exterior while making small talk by the rose bushes and stretching out on the browning grass.

A pang of yearning pierces my chest. I turn away.

I don’t have friends. All I have are my parents—barely. And once they go home, I won’t have anyone.

Where do you want to start with these? Dad asks.

I turn. He and Mom are standing in the doorway with several boxes at their feet. I didn’t hear them come up.

I shrug.

Mom chooses a box without my input. Dad cuts the tape and unloads my stuff. They chat about my class schedule like I’m not here. Nathan would never ignore me like this, but Nathan’s why I’m at Livingston.

My parents are already starting on the second box. I feel so overwhelmed like I’m trapped inside a trash compactor along with last night’s leftovers. Cold sweat beads on my forehead. If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to lose it.

I’ll be right back. I head out in search of somewhere quiet. Anywhere but here.

A bathroom calls from the end of the hall. When I walk in, it’s another empty room. Humid air clogs my nose and mouth. Standard bathroom stalls line one wall; sinks and mirrors on the other. Shower stalls sit tucked away in the back, marked by pastel-pink curtains. I head for the stall in the middle of the bathroom.

Behind me, someone coughs.

I let go of the stall door and spin around. A pale girl with long, red hair and fierce green eyes stands in a sundress, staring. In one hand, she holds an empty beer bottle with flowers sticking out of the mouth and liquid sloshing inside. I can’t see what’s in her other hand—her curled fist.

She catches me staring and hides the bottle behind her back. Excuse me.

I…

That bathroom stall, she says. It’s mine.

I turn back to the stall. It doesn’t look special. My brow furrows. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—

Holy Hecate. She rolls her eyes as her shoulder smashes into mine. Her fingers curl around the handle of the door. I barely jump out of the way before she slams it shut.

I’m still standing, shocked when a black girl with big, round glasses and even bigger hair enters the bathroom. She peers at me over the top of her glasses as she checks her hair in the mirror.

Thought that was you for a moment, Charlie, she says, voice tinged with an English accent.

What? She looks nothing like me, Stall Bitch—Charlie—answers from atop her porcelain throne.

She’s right. We’re both white, but my eyes are blue to Charlie’s green, my hair is dull brown unlike her scarlet locks, and my mouth is heart-shaped, while hers is more of a pout. I think Charlie has freckles too, but I didn’t get a good look.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. Being scrutinized by other teenage girls is nothing new, but I feel exposed. It’s all I can do not to pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and hide my face as English Girl looks at me.

Pretty, English Girl says. How about it? Are you new?

Transfer student, I say.

Charlie’s voice floats out of the stall again. Would’ve pegged you as a freshman.

Sorry, I’m a junior. I don’t know why I’m apologizing. I’m sixteen.

Charlie mutters something to herself, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.

English Girl walks to the stall, eyeing me as she passes. She raps twice on the door. What are you doing in there?

Rude question, considering we’re in a bathroom. But Charlie’s reply is quick and breezy. I told you earlier, setting the charm.

Setting the charm? What is she talking about?

Gods alive, English Girl replies. You don’t need it. Eddie’s head over heels.

You don’t know him like I do, and I like certainty.

I still have no clue what they’re talking about. Maybe I should leave.

Ouch, Charlie says.

Don’t do too much. English Girl returns her focus to me. I’m Billie. Didn’t catch your name.

Rose. Nice to meet you.

Brilliant. Billie readjusts her glasses and fiddles with the door Let me in. I can help you.

Another potion? No thanks.

Potion? I must have misheard.

You keep trying the same spell. You’re just going to hurt yourself more, Billie says.

Spell? These girls have lost it. I feel another pang and press a hand to my chest to stifle it but it doesn’t work. I enter a stall and pee in a hurry, wash my hands, and go back to my dorm room. Laughter echoes down the hall and prickles the back of my neck. They’re not laughing at me. Probably.

The door to my room is still open. I stare at the gold placards on the wall beside it: MASTERS, C. & E. I guess they haven’t had time to switch one of those names for mine.

My parents are right where I left them.

I stand there for a moment and watch, feeling more out of place now with my parents than I was in the bathroom with those strange girls. I walk in and wander over to my guitar and slip it out of the case, brushing my fingertips over the strings.

Mom pulls a pillow from a box. Everything all right?

No. It’s fine, I answer.

Thought we heard girls in the hall, Dad says. Did you meet them?

I chew the inside of my cheek. Please, anything but this. Anything but my parents pretending this is normal. Pretending this is a regular school transfer.

A few, I say.

Mom sets the pillow on my bed and props a hand on her hip. Open up a little if you want to make friends, Rose. Not everyone is out to get you.

What happened between Nathan and me is splashed in red paint all over the walls. My dirty little secret won’t be a secret for long. The media never released my name, but it wouldn’t be hard to put it together. It’s spelled out in my permanent record.

I cross my arms. Are the boxes done?

Nearly, no thanks to you. Dad smiles, but the jab still lands. I know he doesn’t mean it like it sounds. Neither of them ever does. It’s normal to be nervous. You’re in a new place, and you’ll be making new friends. You’ll be fine.

It won’t be like last year, Mom assures me.

Dad shoves his hands in his pockets. That man—

Mom glares at him.

I mean, well… yeah. Not many men around here. You’ll be alright.

I want to believe them. But in their eyes, what happened last year was entirely one-sided. They don’t know I loved him. Still, maybe they have a point. In a school full of girls, where even most of the teachers are women, how can I be tempted?

Mom crosses to hug me. We’ll make this quick. You know how your father gets.

Behind her, Dad sniffs. When Mom steps back, he moves in. His tears wet my cheek. Be good now, all right?

I turn away to wipe my face and give Dad some privacy. Maybe they’re worried about sending me somewhere they can’t keep tabs on me as easily. Maybe they should have thought of that before shipping me off to Livingston.

When he turns again, his eyes are bright and hopeful. I haven’t seen that look on his face in a while.

Call us, Mom says.

I will.

You promise?

I grab Mom’s purse from the bed and hand it to her. It’s not like it’s forever. You’ll see me in November. Thanksgiving, okay?

Promise? Mom echoes.

Yes, Mom. I’ll call you.

No one says anything else. My parents look at me and then walk out of the room. The door clicks shut.

I sit on the edge of my bed and push my guitar away. My roommate’s unmade bed sits across from me. The blankets are all over the place. One poster hangs on the wall behind her bed—something by Monet—but I don’t see a single suitcase and the closet rack is empty.

If she has the same room as she did last year, where is all her stuff?

We still have a whole day before classes start. Maybe her parents are coming tomorrow. I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Wood stares back.

I’m almost asleep when keys jangle in the lock. I sit bolt-upright as the door swings open.

Shit, Charlie says.

I think back to the placard. MASTERS, C. Her last name must be Masters.

You’re my roommate? I reply.

Why else would I have the keys to this room? She pushes the door shut and puts her hands on her hips. The light streaming through the window is kinder to her face than the lights in the bathroom. She has freckles like me, much more prominent on her paler skin. But there’s a fresh cut on her cheek. It must have happened in the bathroom.

Your face, I say. It’s bleeding.

I know, she says. Guess I missed your parents. They coming back?

No.

Bummer. She doesn’t sound bummed. She doesn’t even sound the least bit interested in me. Instead, she leans over the sink and reapplies her crimson lipstick in the mirror.

What happened to your sister? I ask. Did she graduate last year?

Charlie’s application falters, the point of the lipstick freezing at the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t turn, but her eyes in the mirror meet mine. Then, they narrow.

Masters, C., and E., I say, lifting a hand lamely to point at the door. Same last name. I thought—

Forget it. Charlie goes back to putting on the lipstick. She frowns at her reflection, mutters something under her breath, and washes her hands. Don’t drink this water. Old pipes.

Thank you. My face must be crimson. Um, your cut...

It’ll stop. Charlie shrugs, grabs her designer purse from the floor, and heads out of the room. I glimpse something by the sink and walk over to investigate. It’s a small vial of blue liquid glittering in the light. I pick it up and run my fingers over its smooth surface. Something shifts and shimmers inside the liquid, like a fog trapped in a mirror. The swirling mist reflects my image back at me.

I shriek and drop the vial. It shatters on the linoleum. Shit, now I’m screwed. What should I do? The liquid burns through the linoleum and I wonder who—or what—these girls really are.

Chapter

Two

My sleep suffers that night. Charlie doesn’t come back to the room. When I wake up around nine-thirty the next morning, she’s still gone. At first, I’m not sure why I’m awake—until my phone chirps from my nightstand. It’s no surprise that even centuries-old boarding schools have text-alert systems now.

Good morning, ladies! Please join me to usher in a successful new school year. Meet in the auditorium at the top of the hour—don’t be tardy.

Sincerely,

Headmistress King

I silence my phone, throw on some clothes, check my hair in the mirror, and head out of the dorm. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’d rather die than pore over the giant paper map my parents left for me. Nothing says outsider like a junior with a map.

Thankfully, I fall in line with a group on their way out of Meyer. From snatches of their conversation, I gather that they’re headed to the auditorium too. They’re far too absorbed in their chitchat to even notice the new girl with them. As we head down, we pick up a couple more girls, including Billie from the bathroom. She’s talking to a tall blonde girl I haven’t met yet.

Um, hi, I say.

Hello, she responds. I’m sorry, what’s your name? Some kind of flower?

Rose. Nice to see you again.

Likewise. Her voice is flat. She turns to the blonde to continue their conversation, but the blonde is now staring at me.

Hi, I’m June. You must be new.

She’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen, and I’m not sure she knows it. Her flawless skin glows in the sun, gold flecks dance in her brown eyes, and her eyelashes cast shadows on her high cheekbones. However, she’s not wearing any makeup and her clothes are athletic wear that might be a size too big. Her only accessory is a sunflower ring. I look down at her sneakers. They’ve seen better days.

Shit, she’s still staring, and I haven’t answered.

Rose, I say. My name is Rose.

Rose! June exclaims. Beautiful flowers. Hard to take care of. Who are you rooming with?

I’m Charlie’s roommate.

June’s eyebrows shoot up. Really? That must be… exciting.

To say the least. Billie frowns. Was she with you last night? We had a hard time finding her.

It’s my turn to frown. I just… I thought she was out with her friends.

June and Billie exchange a look. June changes the subject. Welcome to Livingston! We’re thrilled to have you.

Beyond chuffed, Billie deadpans.

Jesus. Well, at least June’s trying. I’ve been nothing but cordial to Billie, so I’m not sure what kind of stick is up her ass. Whatever.

Since June seems open to conversation, I press my luck a little.

Hey, uh, June, I start. I know we just met, but can I ask you something?

She holds the door for me as we step outside. Yeah, of course you can.

Billie’s expression darkens but she doesn’t butt in.

I think back to Charlie’s reaction in our room, the way she froze as she processed what I was saying. How fast she changed the subject.

Charlie’s last roommate, I say, was she—uh, what happened?

June’s face goes white. Her sister? Eleanor?

We don’t talk about her sister, Billie says.

I bite my lip. Of course they don’t. That would have been too easy. I guess I’ll have to bide my time.

You shouldn’t mention Nell, Billie says.

Who? I ask.

Charlie’s sister, she says. Don’t bring her up in front of Charlie.

Especially if you’re roommates, June says.

Shit, okay. Message received. I’ll have to be more careful what I say to Charlie and these girls. I keep getting shot down. Still, at least now I know that Charlie lived with her sister, Eleanor, or Nell for short, before… whatever happened.

The auditorium sits in the space between the dorms and the Arts and Sciences building. As we walk past the imposing brick facade on concrete paths shaded by trees, I can’t help but feel intimidated. Damp leaves stick to my boots—still green, but not for long. Connecticut gets cold, as my goosebumps remind me.

We pass more groups of students, but June and Billie don’t greet them. The other students’ eyes linger on me, struggling to recognize me, before moving on. At least I’m not the only new student on campus, thanks to the freshmen. I won’t stick out as badly.

I want to shrink down and hide among the blades of grass or wrap myself up in June’s golden hair until no one else here can see me. Thankfully, there’s no sign of Charlie. I don’t know whether I’m ready to face her again, not when I’m so self-conscious and uncertain of myself.

At the top of the marble steps leading to the open doors, two girls hang around smoking. I catch a flash of red hair and try to keep moving, but to my horror, June grabs my arm and pulls me over to Charlie’s friend, a dark-haired Latina I haven’t met. Her winged eyeliner is as crisp as her black bob and the stare she fixes on me cools my blood.

We’ve been waiting for you, Charlie says to June. She doesn’t look at me. A tiny green bandage covers the cut on her face.

June lets go of my hand and kisses the dark-haired girl on the mouth. The other girl’s lipstick transfers to June, tinting her lips red. She doesn’t seem to care. When she pulls away, she gestures to me.

Ronnie, this is Rose. Isn’t she pretty?

Ronnie quirks an eyebrow at me. Must be Charlie’s roommate.

Was Charlie talking shit about me already?

Before I can fire off any retort, Charlie throws her cigarette down and stomps it out. She flips her hair over one shoulder. Come on, let’s find seats.

She’s not talking to me.

Billie cocks her head and studies me as the group of girls passes, leaving me to catch up. They might not want me to follow, but they’re the only ones I know. While June seems eager to include me, no one else does.

The girls file into a row of seats toward the back. I go to sit beside June, but then everyone is settled, and there are no seats left. June shoots me an apologetic glance. I swear Charlie smirks.

Might have luck closer up, Billie offers, only somewhat helpful.

Reluctantly, I trudge up the aisle until I find an empty seat at the end, about halfway up. My face is on fire, and I swear I feel everyone talking about me and trying to figure out what group I belong to. I’m the only one not caught up in conversation with friends.

Luckily, I don’t have to sit in awkward silence for long. A willowy woman with flowing blonde hair and perfect posture strides onto the stage with a book in her arms. She’s wearing a long black dress with a shawl that I mistake for a cape at first, the way it billows out behind her and makes it look like she’s gliding. Her heels click as she settles into place behind the podium. She adjusts the microphone and looks out over the crowd. I can’t see her eyes well, but I feel like she could look right through me if she wanted. I think she’s in her early twenties.

Who’s that? I whisper to the Asian girl beside me.

Headmistress King, she says.

I never expected the headmistress to be so close to my age.

Good morning, King booms into the microphone. It screeches with feedback, but she ignores it. A few people titter. Good morning, ladies.

Her voice is nothing like I expected. It’s authoritative, but not intimidating. She speaks in a singsong, but her face is all business.

A halfhearted chorus of Good morning, headmistress echoes around the room. I stay silent, mostly because I have no clue what’s going on.

A new academic year is upon us, King intones. That means a fresh start. Make the most of it, I urge you. Choose wisely what’s best for your future and remember that all actions—no matter how small—can have unintended consequences. And sometimes, those consequences can turn tragic.

She pauses for a minute, for effect I think, until I hear murmurings and whispers all around me. Some girls bow their heads. The black girl on the other side of me closes her eyes.

Eleanor Masters, King continues, was a light in the lives of the people who knew her throughout her eighteen years on this earth. Though that light may have dimmed, it will never go out.

Charlie’s sister died. Shit. That’s why my room was open.

Another silence falls over the auditorium. I’ve never felt more excluded. I turn to look toward the back of the room, where Charlie and her friends are sitting, but I’m too short to see them.

Up at the podium, King clears her throat. "The administration would like to remind you all that if you’re struggling mentally or emotionally, please seek out campus resources. In addition to our regular counseling staff, we will also have some grief counselors with us for this quarter. And... you may come to me, personally, if you’re uncomfortable speaking