Page 94 of The Holy Academy of Witches

Great, Christmas break could not come soon enough.

Fifty

Sage

My breath clouded in front of me, blurring the frosted trees all around. Looking up, I couldn’t find the road despite the lack of foliage, so I waited for Cillian to appear. Growing bored, I found myself rummaging through the fallen foliage. The mushrooms were long gone but I’d just found a very nice rock when Cillian’s voice had me jumping to my feet. Unfortunately, I’d been under a lower hanging branch and gave myself an altogether different shock as my head made contact with a loud thwack.

I sheepishly rubbed the growing bump only to find several dried leaves tangled in my curls, which did nothing to help the blush creeping up my neck. Rather than seeing if Cillian was laughing at the state he’d found me in, I began glaring at my new boots. For some reason they didn’t pass on my mental insults to the man next to me. Some friends they were.

Cillian’s woven staircase descended gradually and he gestured for me to ascend. I did so without meeting his gaze. Once we’d made it to the path he dismissed the step-branches to their previous form and took the lead. I followed quietly as I tried to subtly locate and untangle each of the offensive leaves, throwing them behind me like Gretel and her bread crumbs.

As we approached his cabin, I couldn’t help but feel wary of the warm and inviting feelings that flooded me. Though the man in front of me was nothing like The Forest Witch from Hansel and Gretel, I couldn’t help but feel he’d spun up some sort of enchantment to make such a place. I’d only visited once, but it already seemed like a hideaway I’d like to take up permanent residence in. Although, now I thought about it, perhaps that was because it was far from the drama and traps that currently littered my own residence. Satisfied with that explanation I caught up to him and crafted a harness out of vines before anchoring myself around the path, and repelling down. The movements felt euphoric and I smiled up at the stars, letting myself imagine that this was just another climb.

“Are you coming in or are you going to make moon eyes at the stars all night?” Cillian, sans blazer, shouted from the doorway. Show off must have apparated down. He sounded a bit jealous though, maybe he needed to look at the stars more often. Dismissing the harness, I made my way toward the golden glow that spilled across the threshold.

The fire was lit, the furs were clean, the pile of books he’d found for me were stacked nicely on the coffee table, and the tempting smell of food was coming from the kitchen.

“Did you cook?” I asked, unable to keep the shock from my voice at the thought. Rounding the love-seat, I moved toward the smell. Perhaps he was more like The Forest Witch than I’d thought. Though there wasn’t much pride in being Gretel, completely undone by just the thought of food.

Following my nose despite the metaphoric warning bells sounding, I found the source of the delicious scent: shepherd’s pie. Lovely, shepherd’s pie.

“I love shepherd’s pie!” I said inhaling deeper, as if I could consume the soul of it.

Cillian laughed. His inked forearms crossed over his midsection. It wasn’t the same laughter I’d heard between him and Adeline, closer to the laughter I’d elicited with the map corrections. It was rougher, with a hint of something like exasperation, or surprise. I decided I liked it.

Cillian was shaking his head, his waves taking on a less polished look. His laughter started growing, had he forgotten how to stop? Or perhaps he was hysteric. Could a man be hysteric?

Cillian began wiping tears from his eyes, “Sorry, been holding that in for a while.” He chuckled, glancing not so subtly at my hair.

My eyes narrowed, he wasn’t hysteric, just an asshole who could take his nice laughs somewhere else.

“But also it’s not shepherd’s pie, I didn’t use lamb.”

“So?”

“So that makes it cottage pie.”

“It’s got mashed potatoes.” I said pointing to the cheese crusted delight in front of me.

“Well yes, mashed potatoes are superior.”

“Okay well in America, that means it’s shepherd’s pie. I don’t think I’ve ever had it with lamb but it’s always shepherd’s pie.”

“I think you’ll find that means you’ve never had shepherd’s pie.” He stepped around the counter.

“Then how could it be one of my favourite meals?” I turned to face him, a challenge in my eyes.

“Because you’re delusional.” He spoke through a smile.

“I hate you.” I said, comfortable in that knowledge.

“Exactly.” He said dishing us both up a plate of the pie.

I was too tired to unravel that vague comeback, so I just took the offered food while sticking out my tongue. I couldn’t maintain the sass long however, as the first bite had me letting out a moan of satisfaction.

“Don’t do that.” Cillian said, pointing his spoon at me sternly.

“Do what?” I asked innocently.

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