Page 2 of Cursed By the Love Witch

“Oh no! I’m gonna be late!”

Hastily, I blow out the flickering candles on my desk and shuffle to find my dark cloak. I toss it on over my dress and zip myself into a pair of knee-high black boots. I fluff my curly pink hair and try to pinch some color back into my cheeks. My magenta-colored irises look tired. I’m usually drained after a love reading.

There’s no time to dwell on that as I grab my books and head out the door. The dark cover of my necromancy textbook glares up at me. Why on earth did I decide to take this dreadful course?

Actually, I know why. Mistress Saege had informed me of the importance of expanding my horizons before graduation. At the same time, my best friend, Prue Starlow, told me she was enrolling in this class and didn’t want to be the only non-necromancy student.

If only I had known Prue’s motives were not because she was fascinated by the idea of reanimating corpses but so that she could make eyes at the teaching assistant, Zander, I never would’ve signed up. As for Mistress Saege, she believes that every obstacle is an opportunity to better ourselves.

Therefore, I am trapped into spending my final semester with the world’s biggest problem—a very tall,verygrumpy problem.

Racing down the flights of stone stairs, I make it to the main hall. I pass by countless students, all hustling off in different directions, clutching their books. A few students gather around, waving wands and making small stones float. A few girls gather over a cauldron and giggle as shapes float out from the steam—the smell of ink and smoke dance around every corner.

A few of my peers wave at me, but I can manage little more than a smile back. Finally, I reach the door to the tower and fling it open. I’m rapidly running out of breath, taking the stairs two at a time. Sweat makes my curls cling to my temples as I reach the heavy metal door and thrust it open.

I fall into the room a moment after the bell rings. Glancing around the room, I see the darkly dressed necromancy students eyeing me with familiar apprehension. I breathe deeply and note with some happiness that the High Warlock’s massive desk is empty.

Fortune has smiled on me, and he surely won’t notice that I was?—

“Late again, Miss Thistle,” a booming voice calls from the far side of the room.

My heart hammers in my chest as cold violet eyes pin me to my spot by the door. Bael Fangborne, the High Warlock of Axwyne School, looms over a bubbling cauldron. His gray skin glitters like the dark strands of his hair that curl just below his pointed ears. He is tall, the massive cauldron barely reaching above his waist. His black shirt is unwrinkled and as stiff as the male wearing it.

A lie forms on my tongue as I feel a saccharine smile shape my lips. The High Warlock merely sketches a dark brow at me.

“There is no excuse you could give for your tardiness that I would find satisfactory. You are to serve detention here tomorrow. Dawn.”

I swallow down my groan. I loathe waking up early, primarily because of what’s happening tonight.

“Yes, Professor Fangborne,” I say, slinking towards the only open desk in the room.

Prue looks at me, an apologetic smile curving her red lips. Her dark hair is pulled back in a loose bun, and her blue eyes shimmer like crystals. I shrug and prop open my heavy textbook. Even the script inside the book is bleak. Necromancy is in such sharp contrast to my affinity. Love and Death—opposites.

Bael begins his lesson. The deep rumble of his voice skitters down my bones. It would be pleasant if I didn’t abhor the male teaching us the various uses for poisons. Necromancy is such repugnant magic, especially as a pale-colored frog with its limbs stitched together appears between Prue and me at our work desk.

Zander comes by our desk to give us the ingredients for the reanimation potion. His tawny cheeks darken as his eyes linger on Prue. Color swims on her pale face as she accepts the items, and he quickly moves to the following table. I can practically see their souls coiling around each other, ready to knit together and become one.

Their show of fledgling love helps dissipate my foul mood over the thought of serving another detention with the High Warlock.

“Your love affirmations have been working,” Prue whispers. “Zander asked me to attend the Head Mistress’s Spring Equinox party tonight.”

“Prue!” I squeal, causing a few class members to look our way. I blush and lower my voice. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy.”

“It’s more than that, Darcee.” She glances at Zander before looking back at me. “We’ve been talking and want to take a love potion.”

“Are you sure, Prue?” I ask. “Is Zander sure? A love potion is no little thing.”

“I’m sure,” Prue says. “As for Zander?—”

“I’m sure, too,” a male voice says above us.

I jump in my seat at his sudden reappearance.

“Sorry.” He smiles softly before turning his brown eyes on my friend. “But we are both serious about this. I want to get out of my head and embrace these feelings for Prue. We both thought a love potion could be just the thing to do it.”

I nod. Love potions are no trivial thing. They can be complicated and must be administered with care. I had noticed Zander’s resistance to accepting Prue, but after some digging, it was clear that some aspects of his past made him wary. A love potion can help the drinker push past those blockers and embrace their true nature. If made correctly, that is.

“Would you help us with this, Darcee? I wouldn’t trust getting one made by anyone else,” Prue says, touching the back of my hand.

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