Page 125 of The Holy Academy of Witches

Sage: Isn’t it, necessity?

Theo: Potato po-tah-to.

Sage: Okay, whatever weirdo. You gonna send your notes or shall I ask Adeline?

Theo: I’ll send mine. Don’t tell her.

Sage: Why? She’s my best friend Theo.

Theo: I don’t trust her. This is supposed to be OUR advantage.

Sage: Fine, but I trust her.

I think you should take my word on it, I know her a lot better than you do.

Theo: And I think you should take MY word on it… I’m a lot better at spotting bullshit.

Sage: What are you even talking about?

Theo: I’m saying I don’t think you should trust her.

Sage: Is this why you were such a dick to her at Christmas and the other night? Because you could “spot her bullshit??”

Theo: Exactly.

Sage: You gonna tell me what it is?

Theo: No.

Sage: OK then. I’m gonna trust my gut on this one.

Theo: You gonna tell me why you do trust her?

Sage: Wasn’t the riddle enough?

Theo: No, she needed you. She’s probably using you to get what she wants.

Sage: You’re wrong.

Theo: Whatever. I’m sending the notes now. Don’t share them with her.

Annoyed and a bit rebellious, I sent a text to Adeline to let her know I’d be out training late and not to worry. I decided not to mention Theo’s odd behaviour, or his notes for now… though I’d probably tell her eventually. I wanted her to win if Theo and I couldn’t, anyone but Cillian really. Which wasn’t petty at all. Or if it was, it was justified. Besides, these riddles contained the hope of answers to managing my visions. Her help with that alone, setting our friendship aside, was worth sharing some notes on a school competition. Slipping my phone into my pocket, I picked up my pace. I pushed myself to a brutal beat, guiltily enjoying the way each impact shook the uncertainty from my bones.

The budding trees blurred past me, wildflowers adding a hint of colour to the unending green. I was forced into taking a different route than usual to avoid any traps that may have been left on my last route, though I did enjoy the smell of rain that lingered under the canopy. I slowed my run when I felt the soft spring of the meadow’s new grass. Dropping my ingredients at the stump I felt the texts begin to come in now I was free of the canopy, just another amenity of this space. The notes showed I was missing a couple ingredients to make what he suggested so I set up my ingredients to charge before turning off my mind.

I filled the abrupt internal silence with the pounding of my feet along the meadow’s boundary, and when my chest began to ache I blamed the push ups and my gasping lungs. I didn’t let up until night had well and truly fallen. Crawling into the tent I’d left here, I thanked the stars when it only took a few seconds before sleep came. Its darkness graciously offered me an escape from the looming sense of dread I couldn’t seem to shake.

Sixty-Six

Sage

Iwoke to the diffused sunlight turning the backs of my eyelids the same orange as some Chrysanthemum’s I’d admired the previous day… with Cillian. I groaned at the tangle of emotions that were as rocky as the ground beneath my sleeping bag. Maybe spending the night in the meadow wasn’t my best idea.

Moving out of the tent, I left the boundary to take care of business before stoking a small fire to brew my morning tea. Sitting in front of the flames, I let my mind drift into the smoke, opening myself to the awaiting thoughts and visions. They came slowly for once, drowsily unfurling like a timid flower. There was a scene of Professor Lydia restocking her classroom’s supplies. A few more featuring faceless people walking in the closest town, and then a pause.

The vision’s colour bleached, speeding up slowly like an old fashioned film where each frame and blemish was visible, before it launched forward at impossible speeds. I followed the faceless people around a countless amount of twists and turns until they arrived outside a small clinic. As the doors swung open at a normal speed, colour and sound returned. Chattering filled the sterile space, blue and green cushions softening the bright lights and walls. Behind a tall counter there stood a man in a white lab coat flashing a familiar smile to the waiting patients. I watched in awe as Cillian greeted them with a wave, no hint of guile on his face before he escorted a patient behind the swinging door.

Seconds later that same door was blasted off its hinges.

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