Page 4 of Hex Appeal (Grimm Mawr #5)

M alachai told himself the third pass by Ceries's classroom was purely professional oversight. New teacher observation was part of his job. The fact that he'd memorized her schedule down to the minute—including exactly when she demonstrated defensive techniques with her sleeves rolled up and her hair pulled into that messy knot—was completely irrelevant.

Completely.

His watch chain vibrated in disagreement.

He paused in the doorway, intending just a brief check. But watching Ceries teach was like watching someone perform a dance routine with magic itself as her partner. She moved with fluid confidence, her enthusiasm radiating through the room as she demonstrated a basic shield spell. Every student sat forward, engaged in a way that made his educator's heart approve even as his principal's instincts tied themselves into anxious knots.

"Theory matters," she was saying, and their eyes met briefly across the room. His breath caught at the spark of awareness that zipped between them like rogue electricity. "But when someone's throwing hexes at you, theory won't save you. You need muscle memory. Instinct." She demonstrated with a flick of her wand that somehow managed to be both technically perfect and completely unorthodox.

The words hit too close to home. She was brilliant, yes. Engaging, absolutely. Her hair shimmered with gold passion streaks that reminded him of long-ago teaching days when he'd believed anything was possible. But he'd seen where that confidence led. Where that rush to practical application ended.

"Ms. Frostwind," a student with multicolored pigtails raised her hand. "Is that why you want to teach us the Bewildering Fog Hex? For emergency defense?"

Malachai's jaw clenched so hard he was surprised his teeth didn't crack. They'd discussed this over coffee yesterday—well, she'd had coffee; he'd had whatever remained after she'd transformed his sensible brew into a sugar supernova. They'd debated it like rational adults. But here she was, still pushing boundaries like they were meant to be erased rather than respected.

"The Bewildering Fog Hex isn't just any defensive spell,” Ceries explained. 'Unlike standard shield hexes that simply block, it creates confusion that gives the caster time to escape. But if cast incorrectly or with insufficient control, the fog can spread, affecting unintended targets, or worse, turn inward on the caster's mind. That's why most schools avoid teaching it entirely—which is exactly why students try to learn it on their own with disastrous results. The hex is still pending curriculum approval," Ceries said carefully, but her glance his way held challenge that was simultaneously infuriating and absurdly attractive. "Though yes, properly cast, it provides crucial moments to escape dangerous situations."

"I heard it's dangerous," another student offered. "That it spreads if you mess up."

"Any magic is dangerous if miscast," Ceries agreed. "That's why proper instruction—"

He found himself stepping into the classroom before his better judgment could tackle him at the doorway. "Perhaps we should review proper shield form first."

Twenty-three pairs of teenage eyes swiveled toward him. Several students sat up straighter, as if his tie might leap off his chest to enforce proper posture.

"Of course, Principal Starcatcher." Her smile was professional, but her eyes danced with the same spark they'd had in the teacher's lounge while stealing his coffee. "Though I prefer a more practical approach than standard methods."

She raised her wand, and he moved closer, telling himself it was to better observe her form. Not because being near her felt like standing too close to lightning—dangerous, exhilarating, and guaranteed to melt his carefully constructed professional facade.

"Traditional grip is like this," she demonstrated, then shifted her hold slightly. "But this variation allows quicker response—"

A student's practice spell ricocheted off three walls, a potted plant, and what might have been a confused ghost before heading straight for them. They moved in perfect sync—her deflecting, him shielding. The spell dissipated harmlessly, but they ended up chest to chest, close enough that he could smell coffee and honey and that hint of midnight jasmine that haunted his dreams.

"Quick responses," she said softly, her breath warm against his collar. "Rather proves my point about practical application, doesn't it?"

"Ms. Frostwind." His voice came out rougher than intended. He needed to step back. Needed to not notice how her eyes darkened when he used her formal name, or how her hair shifted to a shade that matched exactly what he was thinking. "A word after class?"

"About defense theory?" Pure innocence in her tone, betrayed only by the mischievous flicker in her eyes.

"About proper curriculum procedures. And certain hexes that are absolutely not approved for instruction."

"The Bewildering Fog Hex is a legitimate defensive tool."

"Why are they standing so close?" A student's whisper carried with the clarity of a magical megaphone. "Is this like when my parents argue but are actually just having eye-kissing contests?"

They sprang apart like teenagers caught behind the equipment shed. Malachai straightened his tie, ignoring how his fingers remembered her adjusting it yesterday. His watch chain was emitting tiny heart-shaped sparks that he desperately hoped no one noticed.

"We'll discuss this later," he managed. "My office. After school."

"Looking forward to it." Her professional tone somehow made it worse, reminding him of theoretical debates that had ended with considerably less professional activities. Activities his body remembered with inconvenient clarity.

He retreated with what dignity he could muster, which wasn't much, given that a small parade of animated paper airplanes had begun following him out the door, trailing heart-shaped confetti.

Three hours. He had three hours to remember why proper procedures mattered. Why rushing into advanced magic was dangerous. Why mixing personal and professional never ended well.

Three hours to forget how brilliant she was when passionate about teaching. How perfectly their magic had synchronized in that defensive move. How much he wanted to...

No. Professional thoughts only.

He had three hours to get himself under control.

He was going to need every minute.

***

C ERIES HEADED TO THE teacher's lounge during her free period, clutching a stack of ungraded papers and her rebellious quill, which had stopped trying to draw hearts and upgraded to sketching elaborate wedding invitations. She was trying not to think about being alone with Malachai in his office after school today, though her traitorous brain kept supplying extremely unprofessional scenarios involving his desk.

As she rounded the corner, she caught Thorncraft speaking in hushed tones with someone through a communication mirror. '...production schedule must meet the curriculum timeline,' he was saying. 'Once the board approves the full program, we'll have orders from every—' He spotted her and smoothly pivoted the mirror away. 'Hello, Professor Frostwind. Just discussing some boring administrative matters.'"

She gave him a brief smile and continued down the shifting hallways to the lounge. Her hair shifted to curious copper when she heard animated voices through the partially open door.

"—another school making changes," Minerva Everheart, the potions professor, was saying, stirring her tea with such force it was creating a miniature whirlpool. "That's three this term."

"Broomwick Academy was always so traditional," one of the Herbalism department heads, Juno Runeheart replied. "Hard to believe they'd abandon their old curriculum so quickly. Their headmaster once gave me a forty-minute lecture on why changing the font in their spellbooks would lead to moral decay and possibly demon summoning."

"Times change," Minerva said, but her tone suggested she'd rather they didn't. "Though I've never seen so many schools revising their defensive magic programs all at once. It's like a synchronizing charm gone haywire."

Ceries paused in the doorway, her quill pausing mid-grade, suddenly invested in eavesdropping rather than marking Jennifer Thompson's creative interpretation of hex history.

"Trustee Thorncraft seems very invested in modernizing the curriculum," Juno said carefully, her voice dropping to the pitch universally recognized as "I'm-not-saying-anything-suspicious-but-actually-I-totally-am." "He's been spending a lot of time observing the advanced classes lately."

"And bringing in those consultants." Minerva spotted Ceries and waved her in with the too-bright smile of someone who definitely wasn't just talking about her. "Speaking of which—how are you settling in? I hear you've got some innovative ideas about defensive magic yourself."

Ceries's hair flickered between hope and uncertainty while her charm bracelet chimed sadly, the magical equivalent of sighing. "I do, but I'm having trouble getting them approved. Principal Starcatcher seems resistant to change."

"He's just careful," Juno said, exchanging a look with Minerva that contained an entire conversation Ceries couldn't decode. "After what happened at his last school..."

"What happened?" Ceries asked, but both teachers suddenly became very interested in their teacups, as if they might contain the secrets of the universe rather than over-steeped Earl Grey.

"Ancient history," Minerva said quickly, waving her hand dismissively. "But speaking of history, did you notice how quickly the board approved your hiring? Usually takes weeks of interviews, observations, background checks, personality analyses, and at least one divination session with tea leaves."

"The trustees must have been very impressed with your ideas," Juno added, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp enough to slice cheese.

"I suppose with the curriculum changes..."

"Mmm." Minerva gathered her things with suspicious efficiency. "Just be careful. Rapid change isn't always progress. Sometimes it's just chaos wearing a nicer outfit." She headed for the door. "I've got to get back to my classroom. The freshmen are practicing levitation potions, and someone always manages to get stuck on the ceiling. Last week it was me."

After she left, Juno studied Ceries with an expression that suggested she was seeing more than just a new teacher with questionable hair color control.

"Changes can look good on parchment," Juno said carefully, gathering her things. "But just because something's new doesn't mean it's better. Especially when someone's in an awful hurry to make those changes happen."

Alone in the lounge, Ceries stared at her lesson plans. If other schools were changing so quickly, maybe there was more going on than simple modernization. Her charm bracelet gave a concerned little tinkle, like the magical equivalent of raised eyebrows.

Back in the classroom, Ceries watched Irideane demonstrate a basic shield charm, noting how long it took her to cast. Three seconds. In a real attack, that would be two seconds too late, and possibly one life lost.

"Good form, Irideane," she said, making notes with her reluctant quill, which kept trying to draw hearts instead of timing data. "But in an emergency..."

"We need something faster," Irideane finished. "Like that fog hex you mentioned?"

This was exactly why she needed Principal Starcatcher to approve her proposal. Students understood the practical applications better than any theoretical argument by professors who hadn't faced a real magical threat since bell-bottoms were in fashion.

After school, Ceries gathered her research materials. The bracelet had been insufferably smug since being reunited with its owner, as if the magical accessories' obvious attraction somehow validated her own completely inappropriate feelings for her boss. Every time she caught it sending sparkles toward his office, she gave it a stern look that it completely ignored.

Her expanded proposal was meticulously prepared: modified casting methods, safety protocols, practical applications. She'd even charted response times comparing standard protection spells to the Bewildering Fog Hex. In emergency situations, the hex gave students vital extra seconds to escape—seconds that could mean the difference between safety and disaster.

Last week's incident with the angry goblin had proven her point. If Irideane had known the fog hex, she could have escaped instead of getting backed into a corner. Instead, Ceries had to intervene when the goblin's wild magic nearly hit the girl.

Now if only she could present it without her hair betraying exactly how much Principal Starcatcher's perfectly pressed suit affected her concentration. The last time he'd worn that particular navy pinstripe, she'd walked into a door while thinking about how it matched his eyes.

"Professional," she told her reflection in the classroom window. Her hair flickered between confidence-gold and memory-pink. "We are being completely professional about this curriculum proposal."

Her hair didn't believe that any more than she did, shifting to a shade that can only be described as "who-are-you-kidding crimson."

Her quill was no better, adding little hearts to her careful diagrams of hex trajectories. She'd had to redo three pages of safety protocols because it kept writing "Mrs. Starcatcher" in the margins with increasingly elaborate calligraphy.

"Focus," she told her magical accessories firmly. "This is about student safety, not your collective crush on the principal."

She walked down the corridors to the principal's office, rehearsing her arguments and ignoring the knowing looks from several portraits who had definitely been gossiping about that incident in the classroom. Peering down a darkened hallway, she glimpsed Headmistress Raven's suite. She hadn't met the Headmistress yet, but rumors suggested she was formidable enough to make hardened dark wizards reconsider their life choices. Hopefully, she'd be an ally on the curriculum debate.

She knocked on Malachai's door. The sound of his voice saying, "Enter" did absolutely nothing to her pulse rate. Neither did the sight of him bent over his perfectly arranged desk, tie straight enough to measure angles by. And if her hair briefly flashed the exact color of that night at The Crooked Wand, well, none of her accessories mentioned it.

Malachai glanced up, and for a moment she caught a flash of something in his eyes before his professional mask slipped into place. "I'm assuming you can explain about the Bewildering Fog Hex?"

"Yes." She spread her research across his desk, noting how he subtly adjusted each page to align perfectly with his desk edges. "As you know, it provides an ideal defensive option for students. When properly cast, it creates temporary confusion, giving them time to escape dangerous situations."

"No." His voice was flat. Final. The voice of someone who'd already made his decision before hearing a word.

Her hair flashed indignation-red. "I have barely begun my presentation. I've spent weeks researching modifications to make it safer."

"It's an unstable hex requiring advanced control." He didn't even look at her research, which was particularly irritating since she'd stayed up until three a.m. perfecting the color-coding system. "Absolutely not."

"You can't just dismiss this without even reviewing my proposal." Her charm bracelet sparked with frustration, shooting tiny silver protests toward his watch chain. "I've modified the casting method to make it more predictable. I've developed specific safety measures—"

"Like the safety measures at Windermoore Academy?"

She blinked at his tone—raw, almost wounded, like someone had ripped a bandage off a wound that had never properly healed. "What?"

"Nothing." He stood abruptly, pacing behind his desk like a caged creature. "The hex is too unpredictable for student use. That's final."

"That's not fair. You're not even considering—"

"What's not fair is experimenting with student safety.” His perfect control cracked, letting her glimpse the pain beneath. “What's not fair is teaching spells that can spiral out of control in seconds, that can cause mass panic, that can trap students in their own minds for hours, possibly causing permanent psychological damage if not reversed in time—" He cut himself off, but not before she caught the anguish in his voice.

"You've seen it go wrong," she said softly, understanding dawning. This wasn't about bureaucracy or rules—this was about trauma.

"This isn't about me. This is about maintaining proper safety standards." But his tie had gone completely limp, as if surrendering the lie.

"This is about giving students real tools to protect themselves." She leaned across his desk, research forgotten. "Yes, the hex can be dangerous if miscast. That's exactly why they need proper instruction."

"What they need is to master basic protection spells first."

"Which won't help them in actual danger. Theory and basic wards won't save them if—"

"Like they didn't save those twenty-three students?"

The words exploded between them, filling the office with the weight of unspoken history. His face went rigid with regret. Her hair turned shock-white.

"What students?"

"It doesn't matter." He turned away, shoulders tense enough to crack walnuts. "The hex isn't approved for curriculum use. End of discussion."

"Mal." His nickname slipped out before she could stop it, soft and concerned rather than professional. "What happened?"

"Not relevant to this discussion." His voice was pure principal again, but she heard the strain beneath it, like a bridge creaking under too much weight. "The hex is too dangerous for student use."

"Students need real defensive options." She stepped around his desk, drawn by that hint of vulnerability. "Yes, there are risks. But isn't it better they learn properly? With careful instruction and proper safeguards?"

"Not this spell." But he didn't step back as she moved closer, which she counted as a small victory.

"Why not? What makes this one different?" She was close enough now to see the conflict in his eyes, to feel the tension radiating from him. "Help me understand."

"I can't—" His tie loosened slightly, the magical equivalent of a sigh. "This isn't about understanding. It's about safety."

"It's about something more than that." Her hand touched his arm, feeling the warmth beneath his jacket sleeve. "Something you're not telling me."

For a moment, the professional masks slipped away completely. He looked at her the way he had at The Crooked Wand, when they'd debated magical theory until dawn—like she was both the most exasperating and fascinating person he'd ever met. Her hair shifted to the exact shade of their first kiss, and neither of them pretended not to notice.

"The hex is not approved for curriculum," he said finally, stepping back with obvious reluctance. "That's final."

Her hair flashed frustration-red, but she gathered her research with rigid control. "Then I'll find another way."

***

C ERIES LEFT HIS OFFICE , her charm bracelet sending one last hopeful spark toward his watch chain, which leaned pathetically in her direction like a lovesick teenager. Malachai straightened his desk mechanically, trying to ignore how her scent lingered, how her passionate arguments still rang in his ears.

They were both in serious trouble. Because despite their fundamental disagreement about the hex, despite the professional boundaries they needed to maintain...

He still wanted to debate magical theory with her until her hair turned that perfect shade of passionate conviction. Still wanted to kiss that stubborn determination right off her face. Still found himself wondering if her hair would shift colors when they—

No. Absolutely not. Professional thoughts only.

A paper fluttered off his desk—her research notes, covered in enthusiasm and innovative ideas and that damned compelling logic that had gotten under his skin at the pub. And possibly a few tiny hearts that her quill had added when she wasn't looking.

Against his better judgment, he started reading. Her modifications to the hex were brilliant. She'd accounted for common mistakes, added fail-safes he'd never considered. The response time charts showed exactly how those crucial extra seconds could save lives in real emergencies.

But she hadn't seen what he had. Hadn't watched a student's showing off turn into mass panic. Hadn't spent weeks visiting hospital beds, knowing it was his fault for thinking he could control the uncontrollable.

A knock interrupted his brooding. Juno came in, took one look at his face, and closed the door with the air of someone preparing for emotional triage.

"Your new hexes teacher just stormed past my classroom," she said, settling into a chair. "Her hair was cycling through about twelve different shades of fury, and I'm pretty sure her bracelet was spelling out obscenities in Morse code."

"We had a professional disagreement about curriculum." He straightened an already straight ink bottle, the desk equivalent of whistling innocently.

"Mm-hmm. That's why your tie looks like it's trying to strangle you and your watch chain is pointing at her classroom like a love-struck compass? I haven't seen magical accessories this besotted since Professor Vector's calculator started writing sonnets."

"She wants to teach the Bewildering Fog Hex."

Juno's easy manner vanished faster than free food in the teacher's lounge. "Ah."

"She has protocols. Safety measures. Brilliant modifications that almost make it seem possible." He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up in a way that would have horrified him if he'd had a mirror. "But it's still too dangerous. Too unpredictable."

"Too much like Windermoore?"

"We don't discuss that." He needed to shut that conversation down faster than a vampire slathering on SFF 100 at sunrise.

"Maybe you should. With her." Juno gestured at Ceries's scattered research, which was attempting to reorganize itself in a more compelling order. "She clearly understands the theory. And from what I've seen of her teaching, she can pull it off."

"What you've seen," he said sharply, "is exactly the problem. She's brilliant. Engaging. Makes everything seem possible. Makes you believe you can control—" He cut himself off, but not before Juno caught his meaning.

"Makes you believe you can control unstable magic?" Juno's voice gentled. "That wasn't your fault, Mal."

"Twenty-three students in the hospital wing said otherwise." The memory still burned after all this time, a constant reminder of his hubris.

"And how many students might get hurt without proper instruction? You've seen her teach. She's careful, despite her enthusiasm."

Through his window, he could see Ceries in the courtyard, demonstrating shield forms to a group of students who had apparently decided to stay after school for extra practice. Her hair shimmered with passion as she corrected stances, explained theory, broke everything down into manageable steps.

Just like he used to teach. Before.

"She makes them practice basic forms first," Juno continued, following his gaze. "Tests their control. Never pushes faster than they can handle. Almost like someone else I used to know."

"I was reckless."

"You were innovative. Like her." Juno stood, studying him with the same expression she used when diagnosing particularly complicated plant diseases. "The question is, are you letting old fears stop you from seeing what's right in front of you?"

"What's right in front of me is a teacher who thinks rules are optional and safety protocols are suggestions."

"What's right in front of you is someone who challenges you. Professionally and personally." She paused at the door. "The students seem to like her too. And if I'm not mistaken, she's not the only one."

His tie attempted to straighten itself innocently, failing miserably.

Alone again, he found himself drawn back to her research like a moth to a particularly logical and compelling flame. Her modifications were the kind of spellwork that came from deep understanding and careful testing. She'd even noted potential misuse scenarios, with specific countermeasures for each.

Through the window, Ceries was still teaching. A student's shield charm wobbled, but she caught it before it could collapse, her correction gentle but effective. She was everything he used to be. Everything he'd lost after Windermoore.

And that terrified him.

Because he understood her arguments. Agreed with most of them, if he was honest. Students would experiment with dangerous magic whether they were taught properly or not. He'd certainly done enough of that himself, before the incident.

His tie tightened protectively, but even it seemed to be wavering.

A burst of laughter drew his attention back to the courtyard. Ceries had conjured practice targets, turning shield practice into a game. Her students were completely engaged, calling out suggestions, building on each other's ideas.

Just like his advanced class had been, before that dance. Before one student decided to show off. Before everything went wrong.

"Enough." He gathered her research into a neat pile. "This isn't about the past. This is about protecting the future."

But even as he said it, he knew the truth. This was about everything—his fears, her passion, their undeniable attraction, and the growing realization that she might be right.

Which made it so much worse.

Because every argument about magical theory reminded him of that night at The Crooked Wand. Every time she challenged him professionally, he remembered how thoroughly she'd challenged his personal control. Every time her hair shifted to that particular shade of passionate determination...

His tie gave up completely, loosening in surrender.

Through the window, her hair caught the sunlight, shifting to that exact shade of passionate conviction that made him want to kiss her senseless while debating magical theory. Her charm bracelet sparkled as she demonstrated a particularly complex shield variation that wasn't in any standard curriculum but was undeniably effective.

Professional distance was becoming increasingly impossible.

Because despite every rational argument, despite the weight of the past, despite all his careful rules about proper procedures and professional boundaries...

He still wanted to debate magical theory with her until dawn. Still wanted to watch her challenge everything he thought he knew about teaching, about magic... about himself.

His tie attempted one last grab at professional dignity, then slumped in resignation.

They were completely, thoroughly, professionally, and personally doomed.

And his magical accessories were clearly taking her side.