Page 1 of Cursed by the Love Witch (A Monstrous Holiday #2)

1

DARCEE

L yrik and Quizton watch me closely from the other side of my wooden table.

The windows inside my dormitory are open, allowing a flower-scented spring breeze to float around the room. The fragrant air mixes with the herbal smell of an incense stick burning away atop my ceramic holder. Large pink and white candles flicker in the wind.

My large rose quartz is charging in my heart-shaped selenite bowl under the sun. A soft chime rings from my witch’s bells hanging from the door. The two first years across from me are eager—studying me with wide eyes as I let my powers free and intuition wander.

I’ve been keeping a close eye on the two of them. Individually assessing their movements and patterns, I learned what they liked, feared, and desired above all else. Both of them had contacted me, seeking my masterful matchmaking services. As the premier—and only—love witch at Axwyne School of Magic, I take my responsibility seriously.

Hence, thoroughly examining the pair allowed me to discern that they would be a perfect match. Lyrik is a free-spirited kitchen witch with an affinity for potions, while Quizton is a logical spellcaster who can make a mean spell jar. One is a stickler for the rules, and the other is willing and wanting to bend them—a delicious combination.

Both twitch with nervous energy, stealing glances at the other. I take a deep breath, inhaling the floral scents around me and letting my power flow. Warmth slides thickly through my veins as golden light envelopes the world around me. I reach into my depths—the core of my being—and tug on the magic resting there. It is as familiar as my hand.

I watch as it casts its glow over the couple across from me. I glimpse the sparkling realm it shows me as my hands expertly flip through my Eternal Love tarot deck. I pause, shuffling and folding countless times, before doling out the cards in a love-spread arrangement. The two beings across from me hold their breath as I flip over the first card.

Its gold-foil face beams up at us. Lyrik lets out a delighted squeal and throws her arms around Quizton.

“I knew it,” the young witch sighs. “I knew it!”

Sliding my nails underneath the card, I hold it up so it glistens in the candlelight: the Lovers twinkle, the female and male nude bodies embracing while surrounded by various flowers and hearts.

“The deck has spoken,” I say, smiling softly. “I knew from the first moment you both came to me something was drawing you two together. Lyrik is outspoken and headstrong. While Quizton, you are quieter—thoughtful. A perfect compliment. The Lovers could not better indicate the affection and devotion you two share.”

A look of true love passes between the pair. Such affection makes a familiar ache grip my heart, but I push it away. A love witch with no lover to call her own—I’m such a cliché.

Quizton turns to me, their dark eyes sparkling, and drops a bag of coins on my table.

“We want to do it—take the potion.”

My smile deepens as I nod at the young couple.

“I thought the two of you might.” With a wave of my hand, a small container with a glass topper appears. “Made this one during the last new moon. It should be extra potent.”

I hand over the magenta liquid to Quizton, who clasps Lyrik’s hand in their own.

“Thank you, Darcee. You’re the best,” Lyrik says, leading her lover towards my door.

“Oh, I know,” I sigh dreamily, waving goodbye as they exit.

The smell of roses and lilacs dances in the air. I feel content—as I always do after bringing together a pair of lovers. Love is my favorite thing in the world, and while I may lack it in my personal life, bringing others together feels just as good. That’s why I can’t wait for graduation in three weeks.

Three weeks. That’s all that separates me and the future I’ve dreamed of for so long. My apothecary is in the next town over—the old building is small and has seen better days. However, as I snatch up the coins Quizton left for my services and count them, a grin curves my lips. I now have more than enough for the first month’s rent.

It won’t be easy, but as soon as I open the doors, I’ll have a long line of customers ready to find their true love.

After all, I’ve been bringing people together for the last five years since arriving to Axwyne. I reach for the piece of parchment atop my desk, the wax seal broken as I’ve already read over the letter a dozen times. Teal and Dryven were my first match I brought together. Teal came to me when I was still very new to my magic and was the receiver of my very first love reading.

My magic told me that a man would save Teal’s life, and that would be the one she would call her husband. Well, as fate would have it, two days later, in potions class, a misplaced eye of newt ended up in Teal’s cauldron, turning it explosive. She would’ve been grievously hurt had it not been for the quick thinking of Dryven, a bookish teaching assistant, who pulled her to safety just before the blast.

Teal never left his arms again, and they were married two summer solstices later. A few days ago, the letter they sent me contained a miniature portrait of the latest addition to their family, a little girl named Ever.

I hold the letter to my chest, letting the warmth thrumming through my veins intensify again. I just love love. As a love witch, it’s kind of my thing. I always have, even when my childhood was less than ideal. In those darkest moments, I would cling to the idea of love—that one day, things would be different, and I would find my own happily ever after.

Until that happens, I’m happy to provide it to others.

The birds outside my window are singing a happy melody. My heart feels full. Thanks to my intervention, another happy couple has been brought together, making this day perfect. A shrill bell ringing cuts through my serenity. All at once, my happy mood sours, and a cold sweat breaks out across my brow.

“Oh no! I’m gonna be late!”

Hastily, I blow out the flickering candles on my desk and shuffle to find my dark cloak. I toss it on over my dress and zip myself into a pair of knee-high black boots. I fluff my curly pink hair and try to pinch some color back into my cheeks. My magenta-colored irises look tired. I’m usually drained after a love reading.

There’s no time to dwell on that as I grab my books and head out the door. The dark cover of my necromancy textbook glares up at me. Why on earth did I decide to take this dreadful course?

Actually, I know why. Mistress Saege had informed me of the importance of expanding my horizons before graduation. At the same time, my best friend, Prue Starlow, told me she was enrolling in this class and didn’t want to be the only non-necromancy student.

If only I had known Prue’s motives were not because she was fascinated by the idea of reanimating corpses but so that she could make eyes at the teaching assistant, Zander, I never would’ve signed up. As for Mistress Saege, she believes that every obstacle is an opportunity to better ourselves.

Therefore, I am trapped into spending my final semester with the world’s biggest problem—a very tall, very grumpy problem.

Racing down the flights of stone stairs, I make it to the main hall. I pass by countless students, all hustling off in different directions, clutching their books. A few students gather around, waving wands and making small stones float. A few girls gather over a cauldron and giggle as shapes float out from the steam—the smell of ink and smoke dance around every corner.

A few of my peers wave at me, but I can manage little more than a smile back. Finally, I reach the door to the tower and fling it open. I’m rapidly running out of breath, taking the stairs two at a time. Sweat makes my curls cling to my temples as I reach the heavy metal door and thrust it open.

I fall into the room a moment after the bell rings. Glancing around the room, I see the darkly dressed necromancy students eyeing me with familiar apprehension. I breathe deeply and note with some happiness that the High Warlock’s massive desk is empty.

Fortune has smiled on me, and he surely won’t notice that I was?—

“Late again, Miss Thistle,” a booming voice calls from the far side of the room.

My heart hammers in my chest as cold violet eyes pin me to my spot by the door. Bael Fangborne, the High Warlock of Axwyne School, looms over a bubbling cauldron. His gray skin glitters like the dark strands of his hair that curl just below his pointed ears. He is tall, the massive cauldron barely reaching above his waist. His black shirt is unwrinkled and as stiff as the male wearing it.

A lie forms on my tongue as I feel a saccharine smile shape my lips. The High Warlock merely sketches a dark brow at me.

“There is no excuse you could give for your tardiness that I would find satisfactory. You are to serve detention here tomorrow. Dawn.”

I swallow down my groan. I loathe waking up early, primarily because of what’s happening tonight.

“Yes, Professor Fangborne,” I say, slinking towards the only open desk in the room.

Prue looks at me, an apologetic smile curving her red lips. Her dark hair is pulled back in a loose bun, and her blue eyes shimmer like crystals. I shrug and prop open my heavy textbook. Even the script inside the book is bleak. Necromancy is in such sharp contrast to my affinity. Love and Death—opposites.

Bael begins his lesson. The deep rumble of his voice skitters down my bones. It would be pleasant if I didn’t abhor the male teaching us the various uses for poisons. Necromancy is such repugnant magic, especially as a pale-colored frog with its limbs stitched together appears between Prue and me at our work desk.

Zander comes by our desk to give us the ingredients for the reanimation potion. His tawny cheeks darken as his eyes linger on Prue. Color swims on her pale face as she accepts the items, and he quickly moves to the following table. I can practically see their souls coiling around each other, ready to knit together and become one.

Their show of fledgling love helps dissipate my foul mood over the thought of serving another detention with the High Warlock.

“Your love affirmations have been working,” Prue whispers. “Zander asked me to attend the Head Mistress’s Spring Equinox party tonight.”

“Prue!” I squeal, causing a few class members to look our way. I blush and lower my voice. “That’s wonderful. I’m so happy.”

“It’s more than that, Darcee.” She glances at Zander before looking back at me. “We’ve been talking and want to take a love potion.”

“Are you sure, Prue?” I ask. “Is Zander sure? A love potion is no little thing.”

“I’m sure,” Prue says. “As for Zander?—”

“I’m sure, too,” a male voice says above us.

I jump in my seat at his sudden reappearance.

“Sorry.” He smiles softly before turning his brown eyes on my friend. “But we are both serious about this. I want to get out of my head and embrace these feelings for Prue. We both thought a love potion could be just the thing to do it.”

I nod. Love potions are no trivial thing. They can be complicated and must be administered with care. I had noticed Zander’s resistance to accepting Prue, but after some digging, it was clear that some aspects of his past made him wary. A love potion can help the drinker push past those blockers and embrace their true nature. If made correctly, that is.

“Would you help us with this, Darcee? I wouldn’t trust getting one made by anyone else,” Prue says, touching the back of my hand.

“Without question,” I sigh. “I’d be honored.”

“We’d like to take it tonight, after the party—is that enough time for you to make it?”

I nod. “Plenty of time. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Zander smiles and thanks me before moving back towards the front of the class. With that matter settled and my mood vastly improved, Prue and I begin working on our potion. The ingredients are just as morose and disgusting as every other thing made in this class. Fingernails from a dead man? Where does one even purchase such a thing?

A shiver races down my spine as a chill drifts through the air. A large shadow looms above us, and violet eyes cause my hands to tremble. The High Warlock watches us closely, saying nothing. His stoic silence adds to his lack of appeal. Goddess, was there ever a male so dreadful? Maybe he unsettles me because he isn’t human like the rest of us. With his pointed ears and gray skin, Mistress Saege says he’s over a century old but doesn’t look a day over thirty.

His eyes connect with mine, and a familiar disapproving scowl twists his face. Detention tomorrow will be awful. This isn’t my first with him, but I hope it is the last. Usually, he just leaves a note and makes me sit silently in a chair while sorting through old teaching manuals before leaving. He doesn’t even bother to show! Part of me believes it’s a test. He watches me from where I can’t see, tempting me to see if I’ll go before my time is up.

I never do.

Tomorrow’s will be exceedingly awful, given the equinox party tonight. Most students will celebrate and let loose, but I must ensure I don’t overindulge and miss my alarm. I wonder what he’ll have me sort this time. Bat corpses? Pieces of rotten flesh? I shudder just thinking about it.

The High Warlock and Zander return and watch as we feed the frog our potion. It’s not as dark green as the others. The poor darling flexes its atrophied muscles, gives a meager croak, and collapses going still once more. The High Warlock says nothing, merely shakes his head before returning to his desk and announcing he has graded their previous exams.

That’s another piece of this awful class. Our entire grade is made up of four exams. If you fail more than two, your chances of passing this class are nonexistent. My first exam wasn’t terrible, the second was horrendous, and now the third one?—

The parchment hits my desk softly, and my stomach drops as I see its grade. Fail is written in an elegant script. I glance up at the purple eyes searing into me.

“Mistress Saege does nothing but sing your praises, Miss Thistle. Therefore, I must assume it is only my class you decide not to apply yourself in.”

He walks away on silent feet. Heat swims up my neck and inflames my cheeks. I snatch the test up and ball it in my fists. The others around me whisper, but none meet my eyes when I look up. It’s as if the male enjoys embarrassing me. If he were a better teacher, he’d see that the coursework did not agree with my natural talent, and even when I apply myself, it is of very little use.

Instead of considering that, it is easier for him to deem me a slacker and that I care little for this course.

This is partially true. I have no desire to learn how to reanimate a corpse or what poisons do what, but I care deeply about this class. Namely, the fact that if I fail, I can kiss my hopes of graduation away, and the dream of opening my apothecary will remain just that.

The bell rings, and I scoop up my belongings. My eyes meet the High Warlock’s one last time, and a fresh wave of annoyance rolls through me. His high cheekbones and sharp jaw remain taut as I glance away. He’d be handsome if he weren’t such an awful male.

“Who? The High Warlock?” Prue asks as we make our way out the door.

I blush, not realizing I had said those thoughts aloud.

“I fear only a dreadful male could teach such dreadful material.”

Prue laughs as we filter in amongst the afternoon wave of students. Most are running back to their dorms to prepare for the festivities tonight. The equinox parties are a lively affair, especially for the first years. It’s typically their first real taste of magical freedom. A witch or warlock usually doesn’t come fully into their power until they are twenty-one. Some are born into magical families, but for those like myself who are born to non-magical parents, coming to this school is the first time you're around others like you.

“Look on the bright side. You’ve had detention with him before, and he didn’t even show,” Prue says, nudging my shoulder.

“He was watching me, I’m sure.”

I shove my hand into my pocket and feel my crumpled-up test. My feet snag on the stone floor. Prue stops next to me as bodies dodge around us. My hand begins to tremble as the weight of this test sinks into me.

“What am I going to do, Prue? If I fail this course, I won’t graduate.”

Prue’s full lips twist.

“Have you ever considered asking the High Warlock for help?”

A humorless laugh rasps out of me.

“Like he’d do that. He loves watching me suffer.”

Prue shakes her head.

“High Warlock Bael isn’t all bad. Zander says he just puts on that hard-ass routine for the first years so they know what they are getting into with him. Necromancy is a serious affinity, and he has to weed out those who wouldn’t treat it as such.”

“Well, consider me weeded. I’d happily drop out, but the deadline has passed.”

“I know he seems awful, but maybe you can ask him to help you at detention tomorrow. He is still a professor, after all.”

I shrug. “Assuming he shows.”

“Yes, assuming that. Now, enough worrying for today. There is fun to be had tonight!” Prue wiggles her dark eyebrows. “Are you planning to attend the equinox with someone?”

I shake my head, and my heart squeezes.

“No one’s asked me.”

How dreadful. It was my last equinox party, and I had no date.

A few younger warlocks pass by, cocky grins plastered on their face as they openly appraise us. A bolder one waves and winks, but none of them interest me. No one at this school has in a long time.

The air around me shifts—a dangerous chill blowing through. The hallway parts and a foreboding figure looms at the end of it. My breath catches, and for some odd reason, my heart speeds up. The High Warlock looks out of place in the sea of students. His purple eyes connect with mine, and his gaze is too intense, leaving me breathless.

“Going to Mistress Saege’s,” I murmur to Prue. “I’ll send a raven when your potion is ready.”

She tells me I’m the best, but I barely hear it. I hardly register anything around me as my gaze remains transfixed on the High Warlock. Something uncoils in my stomach, hot and demanding. It unsettles and thrills me all at the same time.

I’m the one to break eye contact first and allow the busy hall to swallow me up. I lose him in the sea of bodies and turn to walk towards Mistress Saege’s room.

My heel clicks along the stone floor as I put as much distance between us as possible. Yet still, I feel his gaze searing into me every step of the way.