The fire in my cheeks mutates into an inferno.
Not my girl, technically. At least, not yet. Or maybe ever.
Why does this all have to be so confusing?
Izzy slides into her seat next to the unfamiliar girl, while I claim mine beside Dyson.
He leans towards me as soon as I sit down. “Everything okay in lover’s land?”
I don’t answer, keeping my attention fixed straight ahead. It’s been way too long since I adopted my mask that keeps everyone away. I’m surprised by how easily I’m able to don it now, as if no time has passed. I straighten my spine, throw my shoulders back, and keep my chin notched arrogantly in the air.
After a moment, Dyson settles back in his chair, muttering something I can’t hear. He immediately grabs his phone out of his pocket and begins to scroll through it. Unlike me and Izzy, he doesn’t actually have to pay attention to the teacher. I imagine this is all stuff he learned about years ago. However, as my mentor—cough, babysitter, cough—he’s required to attend every class with me for an entire month.
“Now that all the interruptions are done for the day, we can get started.” The teacher commands the classroom like he’s on a stage in New York City.
Every eye fixes on him.
He’s an older gentleman, with graying hair and a rather large nose. He wears a tweed suit and a bright-red tie.
“Most of you know who I am, but for those who don’t…” Am I mistaken, or does he look directly at me and Izzy? “My name is Doctor Mort. I got my PhD in the mythology of witches and warlocks, as well as a master’s degree in wards.”
Mythology of witches? Master’s degree in wards? Are they actually a thing? Do they have…witch colleges here?
And what the fuck does all of that entail?
“Since this is a beginner’s level class…” His eyes sweep over the students, the majority of whom are fourteen or fifteen. “You won’t have a lot of homework. We want to ease you into the curriculum here. However, I can’t make any promises for your other teachers.”
Chuckles ripple through the class, and I wonder if I missed an inside joke.
Izzy gives me a “what the fuck” look over her shoulder, her golden eyebrows arched.
I simply shrug in response.
I have no idea what’s going on either.
“We could spend the day discussing my lesson plan for the month, but I think it’ll be better for us all if we dive right in.” He snaps his fingers together, and immediately, a glimmering silver orb hovers in the front of the room, directly in front of the teacher.
As I watch, fascinated, the orb expands in size, until it’s nearly as big as Doctor Mort’s desk. Images begin to flicker inside of the orb, reminding me of a staticky television screen. I blink, and the images solidify, revealing doll-like figures of a woman and a man.
“What the fuck?” Izzy mutters from in front of me, craning her head to the side to see better.
My gaze automatically dips to the elegant swoop her neck makes and the bare skin of her shoulder. A strange, prickling heat spreads through me as I envision leaning forward and running my lips across the length of exposed skin?—
“Shhh.” Her companion elbows her inthe side. “Don’t talk during class.”
I swallow heavily and force myself to look away.
“Let’s start with the basics, shall we?” Professor Mort gestures towards the images. “How do witches and warlocks differ?”
A freckle-faced boy in the front row raises his hand. “Because one has a penis and the other doesn’t?”
The class chuckles, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
I’ve forgotten how infuriatingly childish underclassmen can be.
Doctor Mort’s lips don’t even twitch. “Astute observation, Charles. But you’re also incorrect. Despite popular belief, gender doesn’t play a role in determining whether or not you’re a warlock or a witch—though, statistically speaking, the majority of warlocks are men, and the majority of witches are women.”
“Warlocks pull the magic from themselves; witches steal the magic from their environment,” Dyson calls out from beside me, sounding bored.
