Page 3 of Cursed by the Love Witch (A Monstrous Holiday #2)

3

DARCEE

S taring at myself in the full-length mirror, I’m the picture of pink perfection.

The top half of my hair is pulled back from my face and secured with a pale pink bow that matches the color of my dress. The skirt hits about mid-thigh and flares out in a perfect complement to my lacy bell sleeves. My silver pentagram hangs from my neck and falls between my breasts, which are just slightly highlighted by the v-shaped neckline of my dress. Lastly, I slip on a pair of towering platform heels.

My magenta eyes glow, surrounded by thick, dark lashes. I’ve painted my lips a rich rose color to highlight the glow of my cheeks. I love these parties—I love dressing up and mingling with other students. It’s typically the best place for me to find a pair of lovers who need my guiding hand to bring them together.

However, tonight is different.

Tonight is not for my enjoyment; I am a woman on a mission. While getting ready, I searched my brain for how to slip the sleeping potion to the High Warlock. A sinking feeling floods my stomach as I consider that he may not even attend the party. If so, what will I do then? I cannot think of such a thing.

This plan is rash—foolish—and yet it must be done. No actual harm will come to the High Warlock, and all of us suffering in his presence will be freed. I should be heralded a hero, but I’ll take a passing grade and walking across the stage at graduation as all the thanks I need.

A sharp ringing cuts through my thoughts as the bell tolls nine times. If the High Warlock is attending the party, he won’t be staying for very long. I’m running behind, and I cannot afford to wait another moment.

Securing a thick leather band around my waist, I slip out of my dorm room and hustle down the hall. Taking the winding staircases and cutting down several hallways, I finally find myself in Mistress Saege’s castle wing. I push into her classroom, the stillness broken up by the intense breeze blowing in from the window. It carries voices from the party below. The wind upends several bowls of dried flowers and scatters pieces of parchment. With a wave of my hand, the window loudly clicks shut.

Walking over to the charging bowl, only one potion remains. While I was getting ready, Prue sent me a raven, telling me she had picked up her love potion. Her thanks and love had poured through the note, and I couldn’t be more excited for my friend.

Oh, how lovely love is!

As much as I wish I could sit in this content feeling, the potion still lingering in the bowl sends a shiver down my spine. I reach for it, and my hand pauses. Again, is this the right thing to do? My intuition, which has seen me through even the darkest moments, is annoyingly silent.

The darkness of my past yawns open. Memories I’ve longed to suppress move my hand of its own accord, snatching up the potion and doing the one thing I didn’t have the power to do before.

Act.

It will be brilliant if my poorly thought-out plan goes off without a hitch. After I slip the potion into the High Warlock’s drink tonight, he’ll feel ill due to the high dose. Everyone knows he lives deep within the Wicked Woods . His cottage is impenetrable to enter unless guided by him. He’ll slumber away in there without anyone coming to look.

I’ll graduate, and no one will be the wiser until he wakes. It is a selfish plan, but as I remember my humiliation and Mistress Saege’s tears, my resolve strengthens further. If putting a cruel male to sleep makes me a bad person, so be it. I will not allow his disdain to rob me of the one thing I’ve wanted since I first discovered my magic.

With steady hands, I lift the potion. The magic hums behind the glass and tickles my palm. I uncork it and sniff—the floral scent is pleasant. The potion has significantly dulled in color. The bright magenta it once was is turning milky and pale. It must be strong to incapacitate a strong warlock such as him.

Looking inward, I find the final tendrils of my magic, which is waning due to how much spellwork I’ve done today. Leaving the vial uncorked, I slice the tip of my finger with my nail and watch a thick ruby droplet of my blood pool there. Blood magic is intense—necessary in only the most dire circumstances.

Most students are forbidden from using it, but Mistress Saege has been teaching me how to enhance my potions with it for years. Swallowing, I hang my finger over the lips of the container and watch the drop of my blood hit the potion. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and allow my warm magic to flow from me along with my intention.

“Dear Goddess, hear my plea. Strengthen this potion for me. Dear Goddess, hear my plea. Strengthen this potion for me.”

I repeat the phrases over and over until the vial in my hand begins to heat. Blinking open, I marvel at the spell's rich red color. It glitters and swirls within the bottle, its power palpable. A sense of relief washes over me. This potion has received the strength of the Goddess, indicating that She approves of what I’m doing.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I secure the potion to the belt around my waist. It dangles off my hip and looks like a standard potion a love witch would have. No one will think twice when they see it, assuming it is another of my love spells I’m delivering during the party.

Slipping from the room, I make my way towards the courtyard. The voices around me rise, and I take in the revelry. Streamers of all colors blow in the breeze. Pyres have been built high and are burning fiercely. Offerings are laid out for our Gods and Goddesses to celebrate spring and the plenty it will bring. Magic flows through the air, its metallic scent cutting through the smell of fresh grass and smoke.

Several students passed me, clearly drunk. Their cheeks are ruddy, and their steps are staggering as they trot around the front lawn—a few clasps glittering sparklers in their hands as they flit between the massive bonfires. Long wooden tables are laden with food and wine for celebrating. I’m stopped briefly by Ulya, who begs me for another love reading.

I sigh softly, touching her shoulder. She is a first-year with curling brown hair and freckled cheeks. Her massive knit sweater swallows up her lush figure, and the way she curls in on herself still after all her sessions with me breaks my heart.

“As I’ve repeatedly said, you must listen to the cards. Weekly readings won’t change anything.” I narrow my eyes at her. “Now, have you been doing your self-love affirmations? Remember, no one will?—”

“Love us if we don’t love ourselves first. I know, and you’re right. I just feel silly,” she admits sheepishly. I tip up her chin and find her cheeks darkening with color.

“Everyone feels silly—especially where love is concerned. But we cannot fully accept or return another’s love until we are content with ourselves.”

Ulya shrugs, looking away. Something sparkles under her collar. I tuck my finger under the neckline of her wool sweater.

“What do you have on under here?” I say, spying glittery satin.

“I—well—I know you said I should start dressing for myself, so I bought this dress. My mother would never let me wear such a thing, but I liked it. I wanted to wear it tonight but thought it was?—”

“Take off the sweater, Ulya. Let yourself be seen.”

The young witch takes a deep breath before pulling her sweater's heavy, dark green fabric over her head. Backing up a step, I take her in. The dress shimmers in the moonlight. Silver and gold weave amongst the amethyst-colored fabric. The dress hugs her figure, showing off the fullness of her breasts and the curve of her ample hips. Dark tights give way to tall black boots, accentuating her legs. She tucks a curly strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well,” she says, her eyes transfixed on the grass below her.

I smile, pulling a pin from my hair and securing the left side of her hair away from her face. She looks up at me, her green eyes glowing atop her tan cheeks.

“You look beautiful, Ulya. Don’t hide anymore.”

Her cheeks go up in a flash of pink.

“Thanks, Darcee. I?—”

“Ulya?” a soft voice calls.

Both of us turn to see Talia, a second-year green witch. Her dark brown skin is covered in a light dusting of gold glitter that matches the golden thread woven between her braids. Her dark eyes sparkle, complimented by her olive green dress. Fresh flowers and a smattering of dried herbs containers are tucked into her belt.

She’s come to me before, looking for any guidance on where her future partner could be. As I watch the two witches stare at each other, my intuition wakes from its slumber with a smile.

“Wow, you look—I’ve never seen you dress like this.”

“I—um—well—I?—”

“Ulya told me she hasn’t seen the new installments in the botanical gardens. Talia, you had a hand in those, didn’t you?”

Ulya gives me a wide-eyed look, but I keep a calm smile on my face. Talia glows with happiness, clearly a lover of plants.

“Oh yes, I’d be happy to show you. It is some of my best work if I say so myself.”

Ulya merely blinks at her. The silence stretches long enough that I nudge her with my shoulder.

“I—yes—I’d love to see you. It ! I’d love to see it with you.”

Talia chuckles, linking her arm through Ulya’s. At that moment, I swear I can see their souls connecting, and the look on Ulya’s face is that of someone in love. The two of them turn away, absorbed enough in each other that I’m instantly forgotten, but I don’t mind. Love is a wonderful thing—the best thing in the world.

Speaking of love, I notice with a smile that Prue and Zander are missing from the party—no doubt fully embracing their passion with the aid of my love potion. I’m hoping it does the trick for them.

Most people don’t understand what a love potion is primarily used for. Its true purpose, which I use with my clients, is to encourage strong emotions to manifest into an overwhelming desire. Love potions are not typically used to make an unsuspecting drinker fall in love with the one who made it. Indeed, a love potion can give the illusion of affection if administered incorrectly or infused with a piece of someone’s person. If the maker’s blood, hair, or saliva were to find its way into the potion, it would become tainted and make the drinker fall in love with whoever's body part was inside.

That is why it is paramount that people seek out a trained love witch like myself to ensure that no contamination has occurred. Unrequited love potions are strictly forbidden; anyone caught making one will face intense punishment.

Glancing around, my eyes meet a few pairs of third-years who appraise me with lavish grins from head to toe. I can’t help but laugh. My future love doesn’t exist at Axwyne. I’m pretty confident of it and have given up finding him here. Who would know better than me, after all?

Still, I return their waves and smiles as I cross the grass. I shouldn’t be surprised; I’ve always been drawn to an older man. Someone established, powerful. Someone who can?—

The breath stills in my lungs as my eyes connect with a familiar violet pair. My heart pounds as I take in the High Warlock, somehow looking miserable amongst so much excitement. His dark hair is glossy in the moonlight, and his gray skin is luminous against the black cape he wears.

I try not to let his gaze unsettle me, but the rate with which I find his eyes on me is growing alarmingly frequent.

He’s located on the outskirts of the crowd, with Mistress Romina Braybooke talking quite animatedly at him. The High Warlock hardly seems to notice, but at least he’s dropped his gaze from me. I take in the older witch. Her hair is slicked back in a severe bun, and her lips are painted a dark red. They’d make a good couple with their shared morose nature. I once had the displeasure of finding myself in her hexes course for a semester, and I passed by the skin of my teeth.

Mistress Romina shared the High Warlock’s affinity for singling me out and calling me everything but a dimwitted girl.

The older witch leans closer to his side, and I barely suppress my laugh as the High Warlock steps back. Romina barely looks ruffled as she presses on with whatever tale she’s recounting. My eyes fall to the barely touched glass of sparkling red wine in the warlock’s grasp. His sizable gray hand practically engulfs the whole thing.

The deep color of his wine will nicely camouflage the sleeping potion, and its pungent taste should also be well hidden by it. Now, all that’s left is to figure out how to slip it into his glass without him or Romina noticing.

Glancing around the students near me, my eyes land on a familiar blonde head.

I unhook the potion from my waist, uncork it, and hold it snuggly in my palm. I only get one shot at this. Using my other hand, I wave toward Marius, who walks over to me with his familiar swagger. His golden eyes are simmering with desire, clearly aided by the full goblet of sparkling wine in his palm.

His pretty face was the first thing I noticed about him when I arrived at Axwyne. We had a fling for a few months as first-years that eventually fizzled off when I realized Marius would never be able to give me the love I truly desired. We’ve had a few trysts here and there over the years, but not for a long time, despite how many ravens he sends me in the early morning hours.

The scent of lavender and chamomile hit me as he saunters over.

“Darcee,” he purrs.

“Marius,” I return with a devious smile. “I need your help with something.”

“Really?” he asks.

“But you can’t tell anyone.” I flutter my lashes and bite my lip.

His smile deepens, and I’m pleased my rudimentary flirting is paying off so well.

“If you wanted to start hooking up again, all you had to do was ask. I’ve been waiting for you to reconsider.”

“Really?” I sigh, hooking my arm through his. “I’m sorry to say that isn’t what I had in mind.”

Marius’s golden brows lower as I lead him from the crowd towards where the High Warlock looms. Luckily, it seems he and Romina have drifted a bit closer, which will make what I’m about to do more plausible.

“What have you been up to, Pink?”

“Ugh, I hate that nickname.” I wrinkle my nose. “But the usual, if you must know. This and that. Decadence and depravity.”

“You were always a wild one. No man has yet to tame you.”

It isn’t a question, but I treat it like one. We’re almost there, and I need to keep him distracted.

“Why would I want a keeper?”

“As I recall, you always preferred a more dominating partner.”

“Only in certain situations.”

Marius laughs as we continue to walk. We are almost to them, and I feel the High Warlock’s gaze upon me like a physical touch. Nerves threaten, but I cannot lose my edge now. This is my only chance, and I have to make it count. Sweat pools along my neck, but I stay focused.

When we are an arm’s length away, Marius leans to whisper in my ear.

“You know I always regretted?—”

I don’t hear the rest of whatever flirtatious come-on he was about to deliver as I dig my heel into the lawn and take what I hope is a believable tumble directly into the High Warlock. His hard body jostles against mine as he lets out a surprised grunt. My hand goes to the top of his goblet, dumping the vial's contents into it as he helps me.

I slip my hand away, concealing the glass vial again, as a true blush breaks out along my cheeks.

“High Warlock,” I say breathlessly, staring up at him.

His eyes swim with intensity, but neither he nor Romina, who I can see from the corner of my eye is glaring at me, seem to have noticed what I slipped in his drink. They were much too distracted by my fall, which was my hope. The High Warlock’s hands are on my upper arms, squeezing like he had earlier in Mistress Saege’s class. Through the thin sleeves of my dress, it feels as though he’s touching my naked skin.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I began to babble. “Here, let me—did I spill on you? I?—”

“It is alright, Miss Thistle,” he says in a low voice. “Are you injured?”

My mouth goes dry, and I notice his eyes take on a softer edge. Very peculiar.

“N—no.”

“Take care, girl. Those shoes are ridiculous for a school function,” Mistress Romina snarls, disgust dripping from each word.

Before I can respond, I watch the High Warlock’s eyes harden as he turns that steely stare on the other witch.

“It is hardly Miss Thistle's fault the grass is overgrown.”

Both Romina and I stare at him in shock. Of all the things I expected him to do, taking my side against the older witch was not one of them. I notice with a start that his hands are still resting against me. It feels nice—that is, it would feel nice being touched this way by someone—anyone—not just the High Warlock.

“Darcee,” Marius calls, walking over to me. His arm slinks around my waist. “Are you alright?”

The High Warlock instantly drops his hands from my body and stalks back. He regards Marius with the same thin-veiled disdain I’m used to being at the receiving end of. I will admit his violet eyes have a more volatile edge as they stare at my companion, but I think little of it.

“Fine,” I chirp, leaning into his side. “I apologize again, High Warlock. See you at dawn.”

The High Warlock barely nods as I slip away, my plan in motion. All that’s left is for him to drink it, and all my problems will be solved. Relief floods me as I allow Marius to lead me closer to the wooded area at the edge of the school grounds.

“What was all that about? The way the High Warlock looks at you?—”

“He’s never been my biggest fan,” I say.

Marius seems to want to say more, but his eyes snag on the dark trees. He glances around, seeing just how secluded we are. A fresh grin curves his full lips. His arms wind their way around my back, tangling in the ends of my hair.

“Now that we are alone, what do you say to a quick romp in the woods? Our secret?”

I let out a hearty laugh and push up on my toes. My lips connect with his soft cheek.

“Oh, Marius, your cock isn’t big enough to tempt me into accepting that offer.”

Disentangling myself from him, I enter the woods and leave him blinking after me. Knowing Marius, he’ll take my rejection on the chin and find a more willing partner for the evening. His true love isn’t at Axwyne either, and he’ll need to change a lot about himself before he finds her. I do not doubt that he will, for the right girl.

My heels click along the familiar stone path. The scent of incense and smoke leads me deeper into the woods until I reach the first clearing. Atop a large fire sits a boiling cauldron with an array of dried flowers and herbs next to it. Behind it, with her long pale arms stretched towards the moon, is Mistress Saege.

Her graying hair is braided behind her back, and her white shawl floats around her body. She is a beacon I find myself moving towards. Her mouth moves in a silent incantation. I shouldn’t be intruding, but I can’t help myself. The older witch’s power flows from her and skims over my skin. The serenity here tickles something in my mind, and I feel the intense urge to run back and smack the High Warlock’s goblet from his hand.

I shake myself from the thought and watch Mistress Saege’s eyes blink open. I’m happy to see them free of tears. A soft smile pulls at her lips as she waves me forward.

“My dear, come. Let us give our offerings to the moon.”

I smile and do as she bids me. We work together in quiet contemplation. I light tall taper candles and slice fresh apples to be added to the boiling cauldron. We pour bottles of fresh wine into the steaming pot, reflecting on our intentions. I open myself up for guidance and toss in a few bay leaves for good luck.

Once we are done, Mistress Saege pours me a glass of wine, and we settle atop a silk sheet on the ground. The night breeze tugs at my hair, and the moon casts us in a blue glow. Saege smiles at me over the lip of her glass goblet. Peace radiates from her and smooths over my frayed nerves.

“Are you feeling better, Mistress?”

The older witch smiles, setting her goblet down.

“Oh yes. The equinox always makes me emotional.”

“I’m here if you wish to talk. Always.”

“I appreciate that, my dear.” Saege takes a deep, cleansing sigh. “It was nothing truly.”

I nod, understanding exactly what she means.

“The High Warlock can be a cruel male,” I say.

Mistress Saege’s brows lower and inclines her head.

“Darcee, I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression. That somehow Bael was responsible for my tears because he upset me.”

Ice encases my veins, and dull ringing echoes in my ears. I don’t want to ask, but I must.

“What do you mean?”

Saege shakes her head, a few pieces of gray hair coming loose.

“The High Warlock is an intense male, to be sure. It is the nature of his kind. The things he sees and senses—it is a grave weight for anyone to bear. This is why he is so harsh with his students. Necromancy is no easy affinity. Every time you reach into the beyond, there is a chance you could be lost. Death is never something to trifle with unless you are absolutely prepared.”

I sip my wine before setting it down and wiping my sweaty palms along my dress.

“If he didn’t upset you, why were you crying?”

A soft smile transforms Saege’s face.

“Have I ever told you about Symon? My twin brother. He and I were inseparable, the way all twins are. Our powers manifested around the same time, and his dream was to attend Axwyne and become a potions master.” Tears pool at the edges of her green eyes. “He fell ill the summer before we were set to enroll here. Nothing could improve his condition, and he passed the day before classes began.”

“Oh, Mistress,” I say, taking her small hand in mine. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she says, wiping her eyes. “He would’ve made a fine warlock—an even finer professor. As you know, it is the equinox, the veil between the living and the dead thins. Bael came to tell me that my brother had reached out to him. He wanted me to know how proud he was of me and the witch I had become. That he is waiting for me on the other side where we will be reunited again.”

The world around me tilts, and I feel bile race up my throat. I drop Saege’s hand and jump to my feet. My mind races, and I feel unsteady. Oh Goddess, what have I done?

Saege rises before me.

“I apologize if I gave you concern. My tears were very much of the happy variety. I would’ve shared it with you, but I was sending a raven to my mother to tell her what Bael shared with me.”

I nod, no longer feeling attached to my body.

“I—I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Turning on shaking legs, I walk quickly back up the path. Saege calls after me, but I keep moving. Bael’s treatment of me is one thing, but for the kindness he’s shown my favorite teacher, he doesn’t deserve a ten-year slumber. I should’ve waited to collect more information, but I was ready to believe he was evil. My prejudice made it easier to think that he was irredeemable, and it was easier for me to go forth with my plan.

His treatment of me is wrong, but what I have done is just as bad. How could I have been so foolish? I’ve risked everything by giving him that potion. More than that, I’m stealing years of someone’s life. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t stop this.

I break through the woods and see that the party has begun to dissipate. A few students and professors still linger, but it’s clear most have returned to the dorms for the evening. My eyes scan the courtyard. My hands shake as minutes tick by, and I can’t see the formidable form of the High Warlock.

My eyes snag on Romina's dark head, and I approach her. She turns towards me like a viper ready to strike. Her pretty face is twisted in anger.

“Where is the High Warlock?”

Romina’s dark eyes narrow.

“What concern is that of yours?”

I don’t let her sharp tongue deter me.

“I meant to ask him about the spellwork he assigned if he hasn’t retired for the evening.” The lie easily rolls off my tongue.

Romina huffs a humorless laugh.

“Unfortunately for you, your run-in with him early left him in a particularly foul mood. He went back to his cottage half an hour ago.”

Dread curdles my stomach, and my knees threaten to buckle.

“Was he feeling well?” I whisper.

“What?” she snaps.

“How was he feeling when he left? Ill at all?”

“The High Warlock didn’t discuss his mood with me. Despite my best efforts.”

The older witch turns from me on her dark heel. The fires around me flicker, and the flames lick along my skin. I wait for the goddess to strike me down—to lose my powers for misusing them.

“What have I done?” I whisper up towards the moon.

It doesn’t answer. For the first time since I arrived at Axwyne, I feel entirely alone.