Page 18 of The Holy Academy of Witches

He resumed walking before tossing two words back at me, “Prove it.”

* * *

The further I got from him the more furious I became.

Why did I apologise? I didn’t ask him to come poking into my business and scaring the shit out of me. I didn’t ask to almost drown and lose my favourite shoes. I didn’t ask him to jump in to save me, although… he did… save me. Shit, I probably owed him something now. Oh God, was he a pervert? The memory of his arm banding across my chest, his hand wrapped around my throat, his ice blue eyes boring into mine. Heat painted my cheeks, with anger and embarrassment. I was not weak, or stupid. And if he expected me to just lay down and let him walk all over me with his fancy leather shoes then he was mistaken. He wanted me to prove myself? I’d prove myself.

Walking into the apartment, Amelia was the only one home, sat reading on the couch. She looked up, saw me in all my drowned cat glory, and closed her book with a sigh, “I’ll make some soup I guess,” she said, making her way to the kitchen. I waited for her questions, her judgement. “Well go on, I have some tonic for your lungs when you get out of the shower.” She said, her tattooed arms flexing as she began cutting potatoes.

She was my favourite. Stripping away the lake-soaked clothes and running a shower, I began to shake. The shock was setting in. Sitting against the tiles, I felt every pain make itself known until my body was lit up like a Christmas tree. My brain became a glowing star of terror at my own fragility. I knew I could die. Of course I did. I knew how easy and often other people died well enough thanks to constant visions and bad luck. But this… this was different.

My teeth resumed chattering, this time accompanied by quiet sobs. Tears mixed with the hot water streaming down my face. It was too much, all of it too raw after Theo had brought up our parents. My mom, in her explanations, had called my visions “a rare gift,” but they were useless, an absolute catastrophe when I needed them most.

Couldn’t I have a normal affinity? Like plant growth, shielding or something harmless? Why did my only gift have to paint a target on my back, on our entire family’s backs? And now I knew I couldn’t even count on them to save me from imminent death. I was alive though. I was alive.

The psychological pain morphed to physical as some unseen force began carving into my wrist. The outline of a four-pointed star took shape. The tail of it wrapped to form a thin circlet. Was there some sort of magic on campus that showed I’d put another student in danger? Or was this a physical manifestation of the debt I felt sinking into my gut, knowing I owed this stranger my life. I stared at the shower wall until the smell of food called me out of my trance.

Amelia was ladling a creamy potato soup into bowls when I finally emerged. I pulled my hands into the long sleeves of my hoodie to cover my marked wrist.

“I thought you were going to cook this meal on Friday?” Silva said, looking annoyed at her pocket calendar as if it had offended her by being wrong.

“I was… Just felt like a soup day.” Amelia shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, but it was perfect. Exactly what I wanted to feel better.

Closing the calendar, Silva huffed but made no further complaint.

Amelia crossed her arms, looking between me and the bowl closest to me till I picked it up and slid onto an empty stool. Each spoonful burned away the cobwebs of fear trying to take form in my mind. A basket of rolls appeared in my periphery and, forgetting my social anxiety, I tore off chunks of roll and began dipping them in the soup. Licking my fingers clean, I looked around to see the rest of the crew immersed in their own conversation. Amelia subtly slipped me a tin of salve, which I gratefully pocketed, before returning to a conversation I had no part in. Again, they knew each other and they didn’t know what had happened. No one did, besides Cillian. Unless he’d told someone? Would he do that? Would I be expelled if he did? Would I need to go further in his debt to prevent him from telling the school, or Theo?

It would be bad for him to know after our conversation. He had more than enough on his plate without increasing his worry over me. But it would be worse for him to find out from someone else… He’d think I didn’t trust him, and that would not go well after what happened last fall. We needed each other. We always needed each other.

* * *

After doing some research at the library on the mark, I had no choice but to send Cillian a message. My trash can was overflowing before I decided on an acceptable draft on one of my less flowery pieces of stationary. My penmanship was neat - if not ornate - and my words crafted to be forceful without violence. It was a masterpiece, now I just had to remember how to fold a paper aeroplane.

My failed drafts were allowed a second chance at life only to become paper fail-planes. It was not a good look. I’d tried every type of plane the internet could provide before finding the best one. It looked like a fighter jet, for extra subliminal force. I began to sweat as I folded the masterpiece, tracing the folds with a charged crystal. Flight, safety, deliverance, tracking, waterproofing… All as the textbook instructed.

Sending it into the night to find Cillian, I swept the fail-planes off my bed before collapsing onto it.

I woke up to a silver paper-crane. Show off. On it were the words:

Favours and business transactions are only discussed in person.

The lake Friday night, send a text.

Below was his phone number.

Probably for the best. I’d never be able to top the pristine folds or buy the exquisite metallic-treated paper. After entering his number under an alias, I began re-folding it carefully. It was too pretty to throw away.

Eleven

Sage

Walking into Professor Hershaw’s classroom was like walking into a raw amethyst. Purple cushions and tapestries softened the crystal lined walls. Black cupboards of differently charged water and powders made up the back wall, the rind of the Amethyst. It was a dream.

Professor Hershaw jumped into the lecture as we all settled in. Different from her usual discussion-led approach.

“Rituals are the highest form of magic. It requires discipline, precision, and whole-hearted dedication.” She looked around the room, her tone solidifying the seriousness of today’s topic. “Performed correctly it can entwine your magic with another’s, enhance your own, and of course, be used for a summoning. As you will not have many colleagues whose magic plays well with your own, you can use music to weave your own. As such, all students are encouraged to take music lessons till they are competent in at least two instruments. If you haven’t signed up before now please reach out to Counsellor Clarkson, for assistance.”

A lovely dark woman stood from the shadows, her purple dress suit blending into the velvet armchair in the corner. She flashed a bright smile and tapped a clipboard before slowly sitting back down, her curves enhanced by the movement.

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