Page 61 of Gift from the Tree

“Ugh, I’m glad you’re in this class with me. It’s been so long since I’ve been in school, I feel so fucking weird.” I lean over, whispering to Oakly as she strains, looking at one of the enchanted candle holders we were assigned.

“Didn’t you just get done with mid-level?” she asks, giving me a confused look, and I immediately cringe, realizing my mistake.

“No, actually. I’m technically not from here,” I explain vaguely.

“What do you mean?” She follows up, the candle holder long forgotten as she stares at me.

“It’s probably best we talk about that somewhere else,” I whisper, begging with my eyes for her to drop it for now until I can ask Gaster or the guys what I’m supposed to tell people. I guess the assholes figured I wouldn’t make friends outside of them, so this wasn’t discussed with me.

After a moment of her looking at me intently, she gives me a reassuring nod and goes back to staring at the candle holder like it’s a pile of shit and I hold back laughing at her scrutiny.

“I fucking hate enchantments,” she blurts out, causing the laugh to bust free anyway.

“Why?” I ask.

“It’s the only concept I’ve ever struggled with. It pisses me off. I want to be an archivist, like Master Cato, but that’s never going to happen if I can’t detect, dismantle, or cast a proper enchantment,” she complains, huffing, and pushes the candle to me.

I smirk even though I’m in an even worse boat than her. Gaster practiced this with me the week I stayed with him, I guess in preparation for this class, but it never stuck. The only success I’ve had is with my own stone. That only obeys me anyway.

As if my thought alone calls to it, my Memoria stone begins heating against my chest. I try to ignore it because Corentin warned me not to pull it out today in front of anyone for any reason, other than them or Gaster, but it isn’t allowing me to ignore it. I always grip it while I say my lullaby, but right now, all it takes is my mental command.

“Concentrate, Willow. Coat the item in your magic and imagine yourself untangling the enchantment as if you’re untangling a knot in your hair.”

“That’s a stupid analogy. If that were the case, I’d just rip my brush right through it.” Teenage me huffs and crosses my arms while staring daggers at the book the stranger holds in front of me.

“Well, brute force isn’t going to work on enchantments. You have to be gentle, delicate. If not a knot in your hair, picture yourself untangling the cord for your blow-dryer.” The stranger picks. I mentally laugh at the coincidence that they bring up my obsession with blow-drying my hair since it’s now become a running joke here as well.

Once I push my magic through like I was told, the jumbled enchantment begins to glow in my mind’s eyes and I can physically feel the steps teenage me takes to unravel the knots slowly, piece by piece unweaving the tangled web.

“Good job, filia mae,” the stranger compliments as the enchantment dissipates in front of my eyes, opening to reveal an empty book.

“Very funny.”

The sound of our laughter fades from my mind as I drift back into the present. Oakly’s still scowling at the candle holder now sitting in front of me, and looking around the room, it doesn’t seem like anyone noticed me momentarily zoning out.

Picking up my candle holder instead of hers, I repeat exactly what teenage me did in my memory. As soon as my magic embeds itself around the object, I can see the magical web clearly. This one is much simpler than the one my stranger made me practice on and in a few quick, gentle pulls, a candle appears, its wick lighting to life as the last of the enchantment disappears.

“How the fuck did you do that so quickly?” Oakly asks, flabbergasted.

“Would you like for me to teach you?” I ask instead of answering.

“Fuck yes, please. I’m gonna die if I can’t figure this out.”

I laugh at her dramatics before giving her the same instructions the stranger gave me, and within a few tries, she gets it.

“See. You were just being too rough with it,” I tell her as if I know what I’m doing.

“Thank you so much. I know it seems silly, but I was really on the verge of freaking out. It’s so important to me to do good. If I don’t, my parents are going to force me into the E.F.s and I seriously don’t want that,” she tells me sincerely.

The genuine thanks I see in her eyes lets me know how truly thankful she is for my help, and I vow to myself in that moment, I’ll help her any way I can, even if it’s finding a way to kick Tillman’s ass if he badgers her to join the E.F.s.

Fifteen

Corentin

Clink, clink, clink.

His fucking fingernail tapping on his glass is about to make me explode. Even through the communicator, I can hear it loud and fucking clear. If he’d been sitting in front of me doing that shit, I would’ve thrown the glass across the room with the force of a fucking tornado.

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