Page 4 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

What a horrible day.

When I was a child, using magic had happened more frequently. Once we were old enough to understand—my siblings and I—our parents taught us the importance of avoiding magic and what it cost. Whatever magic we used, we lost. By the time I was old enough to control myself, the usage had stopped almost entirely and my powers were already weak.

I took a deep breath, determined not to shed anymore tears. The asshole werewolf wasn’t worth it. Because if I could find the knife, I could put an end to all this. Then it wouldn’t matter how much of my magic I lost. I’d get it all back.

Basil hopped over and jumped into my lap. The sight of him instantly put me in a good mood. I gave a delighted burst of laughter, stroking his soft ears. Sage wasn’t far behind as she hopped over. Not one to be outdone, she jumped into my lap beside her husbun, fighting for my affection.

My heart melted at the sight of them cuddling into me.

The two had been inseparable for longer than I’d known them.

Basil was a gray Holland Lop, while Sage was a black Lionhead. I’d adopted them as a bonded pair from the shelter three years prior. Someone had abandoned them, simply dumping them. As if bunnies were capable of surviving in the wild. I’d seen pictures of what they looked like when the shelter got them, matted fur, covered in fleas and ticks, half starved, in desperate need of medical attention—these pure souls who had only ever wanted love and a warm place to land, fresh hay, and clean water. Somehow they’d managed to stay alive against all odds, even though they’d had everything taken from them.

I wanted to be like that. A fighter, despite the odds.

The moment I saw them sitting in their enclosure, dejected, waiting for a forever family, I knew my life would never be the same. And here we were, trying our luck on the other side of the country. A new life. For all three of us.

If everything went according to plan, a new future, too.

2

“Professor Miller?” The sound of Tyler’s voice made me sigh. I spun away from the whiteboard to face him.

He winced. “Sorry… It’s just…”

“It’s all right. Is something tripping you up?”

His shoulders dropped. “I still don’t understand those arrow things you’re putting on top of the variables.”

Beside him, Maria tutted, setting her pencil down on top of her meticulous notes.

We were three days into the semester and I was already drowning in work. There hadn’t been time to hunt for the witchbone knife. Not when I was putting together lesson plans and teaching lectures.

But it was hard to be angry because I loved teaching. Loved sharing my knowledge. Loved seeing the moment a student’s face lit with understanding—made all the more fulfilling because of the topics I taught.

“The arrow signifies a vector,” I explained again, going into more detail about how each variable with an arrow contained both a magnitude and direction. Tyler’s expression grew more mystified with every word. Was it me? I gauged the other faces in my lecture hall and found a mix of reactions. Students either nodded along or simply looked bored.

At least Tyler engaged with the material.

Freshman physics was one of my favorite courses. It’s where I discovered my love of the subject. It helped that I had great professors who brought a level of enthusiasm to the topic that could otherwise come across as dry.

And complicated.

My professors were inspiring. I wanted to be like them—help students understand the beauty in the way the universe worked. It was simply a matter of relating the mystifying to the mundane. I already had an entire list of demos planned to get them engaged. Even though this was a small town community college and not a prestigious university, I was taking it seriously. Determined to give my students the same kind of quality education they would receive at any top notch institution.

I returned to the derivation spread across the board—equations that wouldn’t make much sense to an outsider—working through the remaining kinematic equations for velocity, acceleration, and distance. A quick glance at the clock told me I was out of time. Somehow, it always flew by. There was never enough to get through all the material I wanted to cover.

“Okay,” I said, setting the dry erase marker back on the rack. “That’s all we have time for.”

Half my students had been waiting for this cue. The room erupted. Bags were loaded, writing supplies stowed. Seats abandoned.

“Drop by my office hours if you’re having issues with this week’s assignment.” I lifted my voice over the din of noise. “You’ll need to show all your work to get credit.” Most of the students raced out of the hall, while others lingered respectfully to ensure they didn’t miss any tips. “And please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t forget to put units on your answers! If I get one answer for acceleration that doesn’t have meters-per-second-squared attached to it, that’s an automatic deduction!”

“Thanks Professor Miller,” Maria called as she slung her bag over her shoulder. A few others thanked me as well before heading out.

All that was left were a few lingerers.

A small line formed. Dev Kapoor was first. He shuffled nervously as he placed a sheet of paper in front of me. “I know you have office hours, but…” He chewed on his bottom lip. The paper was covered in physics problems. “Could you check this really quick? Just want to make sure I’m on the right track.”