Don't Forget

7. A Gift of Feathers

Even though this was my third year at Vietate High, I could not get used to my classes. Sharing lessons with creatures most humans couldn't even imagine was something my brain had trouble grasping. And the one class I had the most trouble fathoming was my magic class, The Basic Witch.

            We learned about magic, how witches drained easily when they used powerful magics and so the magic spells that were used the most were the simple ones (cleaning, baking, moving, etc.), the different types of witches, the different types of magic. It was a hard class to realize was actually happening and wasn't just something out of a fantasy novel.

            I sat down at my seat, knees wobbling a bit. While the liquid fire hadn't seared my veins, thank goodness, it did affect my balance. The nurse guessed some of it had managed to worm its way into my inner ear and I'd have to wait for it to dissipate naturally. That translated into stumbling around for a bit. But the nurse did inform me that the more I moved, the faster the effects would wear off. So I resolved to exercise a lot today.

            The Magic-Labs looked like science classrooms, with the long tables and enough room to conduct experiments. It made sense, since magic was a bit like science. Only a little less plausible and a lot more impossible. The witches didn't use wands, unless they needed them to direct energy. Rather, their magic was housed in their veins and witches were taught how to harness that magic and conduct it out of their hands. It was a long, hard process, and some were better at it than others.

            Take for example, Gerard. He had almost an unlimited amount of energy—he didn't drain easily; they called this "rapid refilling." But he had trouble tapping into his magic and releasing it properly. If he learned how to propel magic the right way, there was potential that he would move to the top of his class in terms of power. He had a lot of magic at his disposal.

            "He has the potential to become a very skilled, very dangerous warlock," an elderly voice agreed.

            I jumped at the sudden sound, and glanced up to find the classroom empty aside from an old, kind witch smiling at me. My cheeks burned red as I assumed, "I was thinking out loud, wasn't I?"

            She nodded. "You were. But that's nothing to be embarrassed about. Sometimes I have trouble keeping my thoughts inside my head."

            My mouth fell open when she snapped her finger, sparks flying, and a chair slid over to her. Even the simplest acts of magic dumbfounded me.

            Professor Black was my favorite magic professor. She had a wrinkled face but gentle eyes and a sweet smile. Her hair fell in long, straight strands of shimmering silver. She smiled constantly. "Perhaps you figured out what kind of witch Gerard Alistair is?"

            My lips drawn into a line as I contemplated.

            She gave me a hint. "Think about it: plenty of magic at his disposal, rapid refilling, and yet he can't seem to access it." She arched a brow at me.

            The lightbulb turned on. "Oh, a guarded witch."

            She nodded. "Yes. Gerard is a guarded witch. And once he cuts the rope that binds his magic to his core . . ."

            "He'll ooze magic," I finished for her, elated I figured out the answer. "But, how did you know?"

            Tapping her temple, she told me, "Years in the field, Ms. Farland. As an advisor as well, I need to be ready to guide a witch on the path they are meant to walk. And for guarded witches such as Gerard, for his Senior Seminar, we will focus on cutting the ties that bind." She winked at me, and then the students began to file into the classroom.