Page 66 of The Holy Academy of Witches

Thirty-Six

Sage

All the witches that had crossed the trials finish line, except Adeline of course, were crowded around Professor Biggle’s door. Any minute the ranking for the top 12 finalists would appear, Adeline being the clear winner, had no need to show for the reveal.

Twenty two had qualified this year which meant that ten would be cut, the natural risk of working together to qualify. Those of us that finished first in our trials waited to see if we’d qualify for the additional advantage given to the top 3 finalists.

Golden script appeared on the door, the flowing font reading: “Congratulations Finalists.” I thanked my height, a rare occurrence, as it meant I avoided the turbulent pressing of bodies that increased as the list appeared below. With a whoop I left the hall at a run, sliding down the barrister and running through the front door.

Entering the dining hall, I did a scan for a head of black hair, when I didn’t find her I dialled Theo, piling breakfast food into my bag as I spoke.

“I placed third!” I squealed when he answered.

“Nice!!” He garbled around a mouthful of food.

“You get your results yet?” I asked, heading to the kitchen to snag food, rather than hiking to the dorm.

“Yeah… I got second.” He mumbled the placing, as if embarrassed.

“Oh come on, you just transferred, you can’t have expected to beat everyone!”

“I just wanted to beat my smug room mate.”

“Cillian?”

“Yeah… Hang on, how’d you remember his name?”

“Oh, I just… girls here talk about him a lot,” It wasn’t a lie. They did. And every time it soured my mood. I’d bless the day I could make it from sunrise to sunset without being reminded of my jailer.

“Yeah well, he’s an entitled asshole. Him and Marcus. I don’t know how I got stuck in the only mixed dorm.”

“Mixed?”

“Yeah, those two are a year above us. Me, Nick, and Lucas are the same year.”

“And we like those two, yeah?”

“Yeah they’re cool. Lucas is the redhead and Nick is the one holding the football in the pic I sent.”

“Right… so we like them, hate Marcus and Cillian…?”

“Definitely hate Marcus, as for Cillian… I’d just like to take him down a notch or two. Either way though, I guess we’ll be seeing each other at The Run, little Sister.” ? ?

“That I will. Are we calling a truce, or going full force for first place?”

“You know I’m all or nothing. May the best Williams win.”

I laughed, “You’re on.”

Despite running the whole way, Professor Hershaw’s classroom was full by the time I got there. The only empty seat was coincidentally next to the person I’d been looking for.

Setting down my bag next to the overstuffed bean bag chair, I looked over at the mad genius herself. I froze instinctually, my body’s natural reaction to change. Unsure what it was that I’d noticed, I scanned the area.

Her books were neatly stacked, her uniform perfectly pressed, her hair gently curled, the lace collar was embroidered with skulls today… my own was still plain. She turned to face me. Her eyes were softened by the touch of a smile. Not a smirk or a wince, a gentle smile, soft and delicate as a snowflake. Perhaps my body had known it was the skittish sort, because as soon as she noticed my staring, it fled from her face. Locking her phone she glanced me up and down.

“What’s wrong with you, did you push yourself too hard again?” She asked incredulously.

I looked between her and the now locked phone, an idea striking me.

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