Page 4 of Cursed By the Love Witch

“Well, consider me weeded. I’d happily drop out, but the deadline has passed.”

“I know he seems awful, but maybe you can ask him to help you at detention tomorrow. He is still a professor, after all.”

I shrug. “Assuming he shows.”

“Yes, assuming that. Now, enough worrying for today. There is fun to be had tonight!” Prue wiggles her dark eyebrows. “Are you planning to attend the equinox with someone?”

I shake my head, and my heart squeezes.

“No one’s asked me.”

How dreadful. It was my last equinox party, and I had no date.

A few younger warlocks pass by, cocky grins plastered on their face as they openly appraise us. A bolder one waves and winks, but none of them interest me. No one at this school has in a long time.

The air around me shifts—a dangerous chill blowing through. The hallway parts and a foreboding figure looms at the end of it. My breath catches, and for some odd reason, my heart speeds up. The High Warlock looks out of place in the sea of students. His purple eyes connect with mine, and his gaze is too intense, leaving me breathless.

“Going to Mistress Saege’s,” I murmur to Prue. “I’ll send a raven when your potion is ready.”

She tells me I’m the best, but I barely hear it. I hardly register anything around me as my gaze remains transfixed on the High Warlock. Something uncoils in my stomach, hot and demanding. It unsettles and thrills me all at the same time.

I’m the one to break eye contact first and allow the busy hall to swallow me up. I lose him in the sea of bodies and turn to walk towards Mistress Saege’s room.

My heel clicks along the stone floor as I put as much distance between us as possible. Yet still, I feel his gaze searing into me every step of the way.

2

DARCEE

Iget lost on the way to Mistress Saege’s.

Seeing the High Warlock must’ve really unsettled me.

The bell rang about five minutes before I turn down the familiar hallway in the potions and charms wing of the school. Notes of fresh herbs, blooming flowers, and the distinct metallic scent of magic flow between each crack in the stone wall. Power hums—pulsing in a rhythm invisible to non-magic wielders.

A sense of righteousness flows through me. When I first arrived at Axwyne as a freshly twenty-one-year-old baby witch, this wing of the sprawling castle grounds felt the most like home. Or what I imagined a happy home would feel like. Goddess knows my home life was less than ideal.

I shove aside those unpleasant memories and allow the serenity to soothe my frazzled nerves. I need to focus. Crafting a love potion for Prue and Zander will take time, and I need to make it strong if they want it to work tonight. The potion will need time to charge to have the intended effect.

Mistress Saege’s large green-painted door looms at the end of the hall. If I know Saege, she’ll be busy helping the Head Mistress with her party this evening. I’ve been working as herteaching assistant since my second year and have used the time in her magnificent classroom to hone my potion affinity. I pick up my pace, knowing I’ll have first-year exams to grade for her on top of Prue’s potion.

The hall's quiet stretches, and annoyingly, my thoughts return to Professor Fangborne. The embarrassment has faded, and now fresh annoyance spreads through my muscles and clenches my jaw. Someone ought to do something about him—I ought to do something about him, but what?

Why is he so hard on me? Shouldn’t he just want to pass me along? I’m a graduating student in a first-year course. Necromancy isn’t something I’m ever going to engage with again. Yet, for some reason, he has deemed it necessary for me to be proficient.

I think about what Prue suggested about reaching out to him for extra help, but his disdain for me makes me quickly dismiss that option. No matter what I’m doing, I always feel his eyes on me. The intensity of his gaze tracks my every movement. It would be alluring—flattering even—if his mouth wasn’t set in a permanent scowl.

Is it because of how I dress? How I look? I’m a bit more colorful than his usual student—my pink hair notwithstanding. Does he think I’m some frivolous love witch with her head in the clouds, incapable of taking anything seriously? He claims to speak to Mistress Saege about me, and I know she would be the first to sing my praises and relay that I am one of the most dedicated students in this school.

Why do I even care what he thinks? And worst of all, why does this small, devious part of me want to impress him and earn his praise?

I let out a growl of frustration and push into Mistress Saege’s room. I barely take two sets into the room when I collide with something hard. No, not something—someone. Large hands goto my upper arms to steady me, and my head snaps up. The air freezes in my lungs.

As if my thoughts had summoned him, the High Warlock stands before me, his grip firm but gentle. He’s so big; pressed this close to him, my head barely reaches the center of his chest. Those purple eyes burn with the same intensity they did in the hallway.

His hands tighten on me, and it feels pleasant. Goddess, I’ve been single for too long.

In an instant, he drops me as if I’ve burned him and steps back. I do the same, and I find myself annoyingly breathless.

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