Page 3 of Cursed By the Love Witch

“Without question,” I sigh. “I’d be honored.”

“We’d like to take it tonight, after the party—is that enough time for you to make it?”

I nod. “Plenty of time. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Zander smiles and thanks me before moving back towards the front of the class. With that matter settled and my mood vastly improved, Prue and I begin working on our potion. The ingredients are just as morose and disgusting as every other thing made in this class. Fingernails from a dead man? Where does one even purchase such a thing?

A shiver races down my spine as a chill drifts through the air. A large shadow looms above us, and violet eyes cause my hands to tremble. The High Warlock watches us closely, saying nothing. His stoic silence adds to his lack of appeal. Goddess, was there ever a male so dreadful? Maybe he unsettles me because he isn’t human like the rest of us. With his pointed ears and gray skin, Mistress Saege says he’s over a century old but doesn’t look a day over thirty.

His eyes connect with mine, and a familiar disapproving scowl twists his face. Detention tomorrow will be awful. This isn’t my first with him, but I hope it is the last. Usually, he just leaves a note and makes me sit silently in a chair while sorting through old teaching manuals before leaving. He doesn’t even bother to show! Part of me believes it’s a test. He watches me from where I can’t see, tempting me to see if I’ll go before my time is up.

I never do.

Tomorrow’s will be exceedingly awful, given the equinox party tonight. Most students will celebrate and let loose, but I must ensure I don’t overindulge and miss my alarm. I wonder what he’ll have me sort this time. Bat corpses? Pieces of rotten flesh? I shudder just thinking about it.

The High Warlock and Zander return and watch as we feed the frog our potion. It’s not as dark green as the others. The poor darling flexes its atrophied muscles, gives a meager croak, and collapses going still once more. The High Warlock saysnothing, merely shakes his head before returning to his desk and announcing he has graded their previous exams.

That’s another piece of this awful class. Our entire grade is made up of four exams. If you fail more than two, your chances of passing this class are nonexistent. My first exam wasn’t terrible, the second was horrendous, and now the third one?—

The parchment hits my desk softly, and my stomach drops as I see its grade.Failis written in an elegant script. I glance up at the purple eyes searing into me.

“Mistress Saege does nothing but sing your praises, Miss Thistle. Therefore, I must assume it is only my class you decide not to apply yourself in.”

He walks away on silent feet. Heat swims up my neck and inflames my cheeks. I snatch the test up and ball it in my fists. The others around me whisper, but none meet my eyes when I look up. It’s as if the male enjoys embarrassing me. If he were a better teacher, he’d see that the coursework did not agree with my natural talent, and even when I apply myself, it is of very little use.

Instead of considering that, it is easier for him to deem me a slacker and that I care little for this course.

This is partially true. I have no desire to learn how to reanimate a corpse or what poisons do what, but I care deeply about this class. Namely, the fact that if I fail, I can kiss my hopes of graduation away, and the dream of opening my apothecary will remain just that.

The bell rings, and I scoop up my belongings. My eyes meet the High Warlock’s one last time, and a fresh wave of annoyance rolls through me. His high cheekbones and sharp jaw remain taut as I glance away. He’d be handsome if he weren’t such an awful male.

“Who? The High Warlock?” Prue asks as we make our way out the door.

I blush, not realizing I had said those thoughts aloud.

“I fear only a dreadful male could teach such dreadful material.”

Prue laughs as we filter in amongst the afternoon wave of students. Most are running back to their dorms to prepare for the festivities tonight. The equinox parties are a lively affair, especially for the first years. It’s typically their first real taste of magical freedom. A witch or warlock usually doesn’t come fully into their power until they are twenty-one. Some are born into magical families, but for those like myself who are born to non-magical parents, coming to this school is the first time you're around others like you.

“Look on the bright side. You’ve had detention with him before, and he didn’t even show,” Prue says, nudging my shoulder.

“He was watching me, I’m sure.”

I shove my hand into my pocket and feel my crumpled-up test. My feet snag on the stone floor. Prue stops next to me as bodies dodge around us. My hand begins to tremble as the weight of this test sinks into me.

“What am I going to do, Prue? If I fail this course, I won’t graduate.”

Prue’s full lips twist.

“Have you ever considered asking the High Warlock for help?”

A humorless laugh rasps out of me.

“Like he’d do that. He loves watching me suffer.”

Prue shakes her head.

“High Warlock Bael isn’t all bad. Zander says he just puts on that hard-ass routine for the first years so they know what they are getting into with him. Necromancy is a serious affinity, and he has to weed out those who wouldn’t treat it as such.”

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