Page 1 of Hex Appeal (Grimm Mawr #5)

M alachai Starcatcher was celebrating his successful grant proposal the way any self-respecting magical educator should—by drowning his excitement in paperwork at The Crooked Wand. Nothing said "I just secured funding for enhanced protection wards" like sitting alone at a bar, making obsessive notes about safety protocols on cocktail napkins while his whiskey gave him judgy looks. “I’ll have you know,” he told it. “I’ve just secured another victory for proper magical protocols, much to the eye-rolling of some of the more experimental faculty members.”

"Sir," his fourth glass said disapprovingly, "even for a principal, this is sad."

He was about to argue with his drink—which probably proved its point—when a crash from the bar made him look up. A witch with hair defying the laws of physics was pulling magical theory books out of her purse like it was Mary Poppins' carpetbag on steroids.

"It's in here somewhere," she muttered, extracting half a magical library. "I can prove shield charms should be taught alongside basic protection spells—aha!" She triumphantly slapped a massive tome onto the bar, nearly knocking over three drinks and one very startled wizard's toupee, which tried to escape.

"Miss," the bartender said wearily, dodging a flying copy of Advanced Magical Theory for Complete Idiots , "this is a pub, not a study hall."

"Exactly." She brightened. "And after three cherry bomb cocktails, I can explain magical educational theory to anyone. Watch." She turned to the nearest patron—who happened to be Malachai—and pointed accusingly at his napkin notes. "You look like someone who probably alphabetizes his spell books by subtitle and color-codes his lesson plans."

"I do not," Malachai said stiffly. His lesson plans were organized by topic, thank you very much. The color-coding was purely supplemental.

"Let me guess." She squinted at him. "You're one of those traditional magical educators who thinks everything has to be done in proper order and probably irons his socks."

"My socks are none of your business," he said, then immediately wondered why he was defending his sock-related habits to a stranger. "And there's nothing wrong with proper order."

"Of course not." She dropped onto the stool next to him. "I bet you've never cast a spell without filing it in triplicate first."

"That's—" He caught himself reaching to straighten his already straight tie. "That's a gross exaggeration. I only file in duplicate."

She stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound did something strange to his chest, like someone had cast a tickle spell directly on his heart.

"Was that a joke?" She leaned closer, eyes sparkling. "From Mr. Responsible Watch Chain? Quick, someone check if Mercury is in retrograde."

"I'll have you know I can be quite funny," he said, trying to sound dignified and not at all distracted by how she smelled like midnight jasmine and trouble. "I once made a joke in 1999. The semester still hasn't recovered."

She laughed again, and this time the feeling in his chest was definitely magical in nature. That, or he was having a very pleasant heart attack.

"I'm Ceries," she said, holding out a hand. "And you're..."

"Mal," he offered, definitely not admitting he was a principal to someone who'd just accused him of alphabetizing his spell books. Even if she wasn't entirely wrong about that.

"Just Mal?" She raised an eyebrow. "Like Madonna? Or is your last name classified information? Let me guess—you're secretly a magical spell safety inspector."

"Worse," he said solemnly. "I'm a paperwork enthusiast."

"The horror." She clutched her chest dramatically, nearly knocking over his drink. "Quick, let me buy you something completely irresponsible to counteract all that responsibility. Bartender, two cherry bombs, please."

"I don't think—"

"Exactly!" She beamed. "Don't think. Just drink something that changes color and might explode."

The bartender delivered two violently red cocktails that were smoking slightly. Malachai eyed his with the same caution he usually reserved for freshmen practicing levitation spells.

"To breaking protocol," Ceries declared, raising her glass. Several of her bracelets chimed in agreement.

"That's not—" He started to say, but she was already clinking her glass against his.

"Bottoms up, Mr. Responsible."

The drink tasted like someone had liquefied a fireworks display and added cherries. It was completely irresponsible, possibly illegal, and definitely going to give him heartburn.

He ordered another one immediately.

"Now," Ceries said, pulling out another book that shouldn't have fit in her purse, "about those shield hexes. Traditional magical education says we should wait until students master basic wards, but that's like teaching someone to swim by making them memorize water safety regulations before letting them near a pool."

"That's different," he protested, even as his second cherry bomb encouraged him to be less responsible. "Swimming won't accidentally turn someone into a toad."

"No, but neither will a properly taught shield charm. Besides," she grinned wickedly, "what's wrong with a little recreational amphibian transformation between consenting adults?"

He choked on his drink. She patted his back sympathetically, though her rings were laughing at him.

"I once had a student accidentally turn himself into a newt," he admitted, blame it on the cherry bombs.

"Did he get better?"

"Eventually. Though he still occasionally craves flies during final exams."

She snorted into her drink. "See? That's why we need better defensive magic education. Students get hurt because they only learn theory without practical application. I've seen it happen too many times. Although..." She tilted her head, studying him. "You don't look old enough to have been teaching that long."

"Flattery won't win this argument."

"No?" She leaned closer. "What will?"

Several highly inappropriate suggestions immediately occurred to him, none of which had anything to do with magical education theory. The cherry bombs were definitely to blame.

"Dance with me," she said suddenly.

He blinked. "What?"

"Dance with me. Unless you need to submit a formal request in triplicate first?"

"That's ridiculous," he said primly. "Dance permits only require duplicate copies."

She threw back her head and laughed. "Come on, Mr. Responsible. Live dangerously. Dance with a witch who thinks shield charms should be taught alongside basic protection spells."

"That's very dangerous indeed." But he was already standing, taking her offered hand.

The magical jukebox was playing something slow and jazzy that violated several of his principles about proper musical structure. Rather like the witch in his arms, who was still arguing about educational reform even as they swayed together.

"The problem with traditional magical education," she said, her fingers playing with his collar in a very distracting way, "is that it assumes everyone learns the same way."

"Mmhmm." He was finding it hard to focus on educational theory when she was pressed against him like this, her hair now a soft, romantic rose gold that matched the flush in her cheeks.

"Are you agreeing with me?" She pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing. "Or just trying to get me to stop talking about magical theory?"

"I would never," he said solemnly, pulling her closer again. "Please, tell me more about your revolutionary ideas about teaching shield charms to freshmen. Especially the part where you're completely wrong."

"I am not—" She started to argue, then caught his expression and laughed. "You're teasing me."

"I would never tease about magical education," he said, but he was smiling. "That would be completely irresponsible."

"Absolutely shocking," she agreed, sliding her arms around his neck. "Almost as shocking as how much I want to kiss you right now."

He blamed the cherry bombs for what he said next. "That seems like a reasonable experimental procedure. For educational purposes."

"Oh?" Her smile was wicked. "Should we document our findings?"

"Absolutely. In triplicate, even."

She kissed him then, and all thoughts of proper documentation went right out the window. Along with most of his other thoughts. And possibly several basic laws of physics.

When they came up for air, her hair had turned a color he could only describe as 'thoroughly kissed.'

"Your hair," he managed, "is very expressive."

"You should see what color it turns when—" She whispered something in his ear that made him flush to his roots.

"That's..." He tugged at his collar. "That would be completely inappropriate."

"Completely," she agreed, her smile pure trouble. "Want to find out anyway?"

He really, really did.

Without giving himself a chance to second guess himself, he teleported them back to his apartment. Ceries giggled and clung to him while they both took a moment to let reality catch up with them.

"You really know how to get a girl's head to swim."

"You haven't seen anything yet." He kissed her again, taking his time to really appreciate how she felt in his arms. She was warm, sweet and so sexy he thought he was way out of his league. But then she eased his tweed jacket off his shoulders and started unbuttoning his shirt and he forgot all about that nonsense.

He helped her shimmy out of her clothes, and still kissing her, Malachai wiggled his fingers and a fire roared to life in his fireplace.

"Very romantic," she said breathlessly.

Her breasts fit perfectly in his hands, soft and full. She moaned when he ran his thumb over her hard nipple, arching into him and grinding her hips against his. He could feel the heat between her legs, a delicious friction that made him ache with need. Ceries reached between them and deftly undid his belt, pushing down his pants in one smooth motion. He groaned as she wrapped her hand around his erection, stroking him slowly at first, teasing him with feather-light touches that made him tremble with anticipation.

They fell onto the plush rug by the fire, tangled in a mess of limbs and desire.

He trailed kisses down her neck and over the swell of her breasts. She gasped when he took a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping gently until she was squirming beneath him. She pumped his cock faster and he knew if he didn’t stop her, he would come all over her hand. But it felt too good, too right to stop.

So he didn't.

Instead, he slipped a finger inside her, feeling her wet, hot core clench around him. She moaned loudly, her hips bucking up to meet his hand. Her breath hitched and she cried out when he grazed her sensitive nipple with his teeth again. He felt like he was on fire, every stroke sending more sparks through his body until he thought he might explode from the intensity of it all. She arched off the ground as she came hard against his fingers. He spilled all over her hand, coming so hard his head spun.

“Oh Malachai,” she panted.

“I have to taste you,” he said.

Diving between her legs, he cupped her ass in his hands and began to feast on her pussy. She was drenched, sweet and shaking, and he couldn’t get enough. The way her body shivered with each flick of his tongue made him hard again. He teased her clit with his teeth, licking and sucking until she cried out his name again. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to her core. He loved the taste of her, the sounds she made. He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his touch, and she called out his name again as another orgasm washed over her.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he said, enjoying her anticipatory shiver.

“Do it,” she urged, reaching down to help guide him inside her.

With a growl, he thrust into her, burying himself deep. He held her close as he began to move, slowly at first, savoring the feeling of her hot, wetness surrounding him. He kissed her deeply, tasting her passion on his tongue as he drove into her again and again.

The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows on the walls as they moved together, their bodies slick with sweat and desire. He listened to her gasps and moans, feeling her body clench around him in rhythm with his own. Her hair was wild and unruly, a mess of pinks and reds that seemed to shimmer in the light of the fire.

She gripped him tight, each stroke he did sent waves of pleasure through him. Their bodies slapped together, the sound loud in the quiet of his apartment. Her legs shook and she wrapped them around his waist, pulling him even closer.

"Yes," she cried out, her voice hoarse with passion.

He responded by increasing his pace, thrusting deeper and harder with each shot of pleasure that coursed through him. He felt her muscles contract around him again and again, milking him with a fierce intensity that sent him over the edge. He roared her name as he came inside her, his body shuddering violently in the aftermath.

Later—much later—after making it to the bedroom, they were wrapped up in sheets that had definitely violated several laws of physics. He dozed off to the sound of her arguing sleepily about advanced defense techniques, thinking hazily that he'd never met anyone who made being wrong sound so right.

When he woke properly, she was gone. Only the lingering scent of midnight jasmine and a forgotten charm bracelet she had left behind proved she'd been real at all. Somehow the delicate silver chain had gotten tangled with his watch chain—appropriate, he thought ruefully, given how thoroughly she'd tangled up his carefully ordered world.

He had just enough time to get ready for the start-of-term assembly at Grimm Mawr Academy. New teachers to welcome, safety protocols to review... and absolutely no time to think about brilliant, trouble-making witches with color-changing hair and revolutionary ideas about magical education.

He tucked the charm bracelet onto his watch chain for safekeeping, promising himself he'd find some way to return it to her. After all, how hard could it be to find one passionate, opinionated witch who thought shield charms should be taught to freshmen?

As he straightened his tie for the fourth time, his office door swung open without a knock – only one person at Grimm Mawr Academy would dare enter without announcement.

"Principal Starcatcher," Headmistress Raven swept in, her midnight-black robes billowing behind her like great shadowy wings. Her raven familiar, Edgar, regarded Malachai with unsettlingly intelligent eyes from his perch on her shoulder. "I trust your presentation at the International Conference was successful?"

"Yes, Headmistress. We secured full funding for the enhanced protection wards." Malachai handed her the formal documentation, which she merely glanced at before nodding in approval.

"Excellent. And I assume you've reviewed Trustee Thorncraft's new hire?" There was something in her tone that made Malachai look up sharply.

"New hire? I wasn't aware—" The woman seemed to know everything that happened at Grimm Mawr before it even occurred, her raven familiar gathering intel from every corner of the school.

"Of course you weren't." The Headmistress's mouth thinned into a disapproving line. "Thorncraft took it upon himself to hire a new Hexes and Curses instructor while you were away. Highly irregular, but the Board backed him."

Malachai carefully maintained his neutral expression, though his tie tightened slightly in disapproval. "May I ask who—"

"A Professor Frostwind. Supposedly a progressive thinker with 'innovative ideas about defensive magic education.'" Edgar the raven let out a soft caw that sounded suspiciously like skepticism. "Thorncraft claims she'll 'modernize our outdated curriculum.' His words, not mine."

Something cold settled in Malachai's stomach that had nothing to do with last night's cherry bombs. "I see."

"I thought you might." Headmistress Raven's piercing gaze seemed to see right through him. "The start-of-term assembly begins in twenty minutes. I expect you'll want to meet our newest faculty member before you welcome her officially."

As she turned to leave, Edgar fluttered briefly from her shoulder, landing on Malachai's desk. The raven cocked its head, eyeing the charm bracelet still tangled with Malachai's watch chain. With an almost human-like chuckle, the bird returned to Headmistress Raven.

"Oh, and Malachai?" The Headmistress paused at the door, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "You might want to straighten your tie. It appears to be... crooked."

The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow managed to sound amused.

Malachai stared at the charm bracelet, a sinking feeling in his chest. Brilliant, trouble-making witch with revolutionary ideas about magical education... it couldn't possibly be...

But when had his life ever been that simple?

His tie, seemingly of its own accord, tightened to a point just short of strangulation.