Page 7 of Hex Appeal (Grimm Mawr #5)

C eries's hair had cycled through seven shades of pink before breakfast, and it wasn't even first period. She arrived at her classroom early, hoping to compose herself before students arrived. Unfortunately, the practice dummies had other ideas. They were still waltzing from the night before, spinning each other in elegant circles and dipping with surprising grace for creatures made of straw and magic.

"Really? Even now?" she muttered, ushering them into the supply closet. One blew her a kiss before she shut the door.

She attempted to focus on lesson preparation, but memories of last night kept intruding—the feel of Malachai's hands, the way his perfectly maintained control had crumbled, how right it had felt to finally stop pretending they weren't drawn to each other.

"Today we're practicing shield charms," she announced to her advanced class with forced professionalism. "Partner up and—"

Movement in the doorway caught her eye. Malachai stood there, looking unfairly composed except for his tie, which seemed to be softly humming a familiar love song. Their eyes met across the room, and for a moment, she was back in his arms, the rest of the world fading away.

"Don't mind me," he said, his voice perfectly neutral though his eyes were anything but. "Simply conducting a routine observation."

Nothing about his presence felt routine. The air between them practically vibrated with unspoken words and shared secrets. She demonstrated the shield position with exaggerated care, hyperaware of his gaze tracking her every movement.

The students paired off, practicing basic hexes against each other's shields. Everything went smoothly until Malta Kenobrie's shield charm failed just as Polly O’Chetter’s hex rebounded off the classroom wall.

Ceries saw the hex heading toward Irideane Kallus in slow motion. Before she could move, strong arms pulled her behind a powerful shield charm. She found herself pressed against Malachai's chest as his magic surrounded them both.

"The student—" she started, her heart racing from more than just the near-miss.

"Is fine. Look."

Irideane had managed a perfect shield, deflecting the hex into a potted plant, which promptly turned into a singing cactus with a surprisingly good tenor voice.

But Ceries was finding it hard to focus on anything except Malachai's heartbeat against her back and the way their magic harmonized perfectly in the shield around them, creating a cocoon of safety and warmth.

"Ooooooh," came the collective response from her students, who were watching this development with far more interest than they'd shown in shield charms all semester.

Ceries jumped away, face burning. "Right. Excellent shield work, Irideane. Everyone please continue—" She caught Malachai's heated gaze and nearly forgot what she was saying. "—practicing. Just... practice."

"I'll leave you to it, Professor Frostwind." But his fingers brushed her wrist as he passed, sending a jolt through her that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the memory of those same fingers exploring her skin the night before. "However, I'm not happy with all these mishaps."

Her face burned hotter. He was right, of course. These incidents were becoming more frequent, and while no one had been hurt, it was only a matter of time.

"I think you should put off the Bewildering Fog Hex until things get under control."

She had no choice but to nod, though the teacher in her wanted to argue that this was exactly why students needed better defensive options.

Behind Malachai, the singing cactus started a mournful rendition of "All By Myself."

Later that afternoon, Ceries marched into Malachai's office, determined to discuss their increasingly complicated situation. She found him sorting through incident reports, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up in a way that made it difficult to remember why she was annoyed with him.

"About this morning—" she began, closing the door firmly behind her.

"I meant what I said." He set down his papers, meeting her gaze directly. "There have been too many botched hexes lately."

"Mistakes are how we learn." She crossed her arms, determined not to get distracted by his forearms. "That's basic educational theory."

"And we've been lucky that these mistakes have been mostly benign. What happens when someone gets hurt?"

"Why are you so afraid of things getting messy?"

"I'm not afraid. I'm responsible." His voice was tight, controlled.

"You're rigid. You're so caught up in proper procedures that you can't see—"

"That control is crucial?"

"Control?" She laughed incredulously. "Like how we're in control of our emotions when we're alone?"

Magic crackled between them like static electricity, making the papers on his desk rustle.

"This isn't about us," he said, but his eyes betrayed him. "This is about proper educational methods."

"No." She stepped closer, the tension between them building with each inch she eliminated. "This is about us. About how perfectly our magic works together, how right it feels when we teach together, how much I want—"

The words died on her lips as he closed the distance between them. The resulting magical surge sent his office into romantic overdrive. Papers flew everywhere like wedding confetti. The room filled with sparks and shooting stars while his inkwells performed a synchronized celebration dance.

"What do you want?" His voice had dropped to that low, intimate tone that made her knees weak.

"You," she admitted. "Proper procedures and all."

The kiss was explosive—literally, as a nearby stack of disciplinary forms spontaneously combusted. Their combined magic filled the room with light and color while office supplies cheered them on. Curtains drew themselves closed. Lights dimmed to the perfect romantic ambiance. His chair scooted closer as if offering them a more comfortable option.

"This is completely inappropriate," he managed between kisses that sent more ripples of magic through the room.

"Absolutely unprofessional," she agreed, working on his tie, which seemed to be loosening itself in eager anticipation.

"We should stop." But his hands were already in her hair, drawing her closer.

"Definitely." Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, memorizing the contours of his face.

Even the portraits on the wall tactfully turned around, though they couldn't resist peeking occasionally. One elderly headmaster actually conjured opera glasses for a better view.

A frantic knock interrupted them just as Malachai's hands had found their way beneath her blouse. They jumped apart seconds before the door was flung open. "Principal Starcatcher! Emergency!"

Malachai sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Of course there is."

Ceries straightened her clothes and tried to look as if she hadn't just been caught in a compromising position with her boss. Judging by the knowing look the interrupting teacher gave her, she wasn't succeeding.

"Marcus Topperknot tried an appearance-altering charm," the teacher explained breathlessly. "He's purple. Completely purple. And his parents are here."

"Of course they are." Malachai straightened his tie, which was rumpled in a way that had nothing to do with proper dress codes and everything to do with Ceries's eager fingers. "We'll continue this later?"

Ceries nodded, trying not to show her frustration. "Later."

But "later" turned into a series of interruptions: three more magical mishaps, a maintenance crisis involving tap-dancing suits of armor, and a delegation of concerned parents worried about the recent were-poodle incident. By late afternoon, Ceries was beginning to think the universe itself was conspiring to keep them apart.

Finally, as evening approached, Malachai caught her in the hallway, his expression determined. "Have dinner with me."

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Away from school. Away from interruptions." His eyes held hers, and she saw vulnerability there, a rare glimpse behind his carefully maintained facade. "Let me explain everything. About Windermoore. About why I've been so resistant."

"Yes," she said, before her professional judgment could object. The chance to finally understand him, to see beyond the strict principal to the man underneath—how could she refuse?

***

T HE ENCHANTED CORK was the kind of upscale magical restaurant where the wine poured itself and the candles adjusted their flame to match the mood of the conversation. Their table, tucked into a private alcove, was surrounded by twinkling lights that made everything look softer, more romantic.

Away from school, Malachai was different. More relaxed. The wine probably helped, but Ceries suspected it was also the freedom to just be themselves, not Principal and Professor with all the professional boundaries those titles entailed.

"It was my second year teaching," he said finally, staring into his wine glass as if it might contain answers or absolution. "I was teaching Advanced Defensive Magic at Windermoore Academy. Young, ambitious... arrogant, really. I thought I knew everything about magical education."

The candles dimmed slightly, responding to the heaviness in his voice.

"I had a talented student, Emily, who wanted to demonstrate the Bewildering Fog Hex. I knew it was advanced, knew it needed careful handling, but I wanted to prove myself. Prove that my teaching methods worked." He took a long drink. "The hex went wrong. Not just wrong—catastrophic. Twenty-three students were caught in it. The fog didn't just confuse them. It trapped them in their own minds. They were lost for hours before we could reverse it."

Ceries reached across the table, taking his hand. The simple contact seemed to ground him. "But you did reverse it."

"Eventually. But those hours, watching them trapped in their own confusion, unable to help..." The pain in his eyes made her heart ache. "It was terrible. That's why I can't approve the hex. I can't risk going through that again."

She squeezed his hand, understanding blooming within her. All this time, his resistance hadn't been about rigid rules or outdated educational theories. It had been about trauma, about protecting students from a mistake he'd never forgiven himself for making.

"What if we worked together? Combined your experience with my fresh approach? We could have other professors observe the lesson for extra support. Multiple safety measures."

"You know,” he said, twirling his wine glass thoughtfully, “your modifications to the hex are actually quite brilliant. The containment parameters you've added would prevent the fog from spreading beyond the intended target.”

“You did read my proposal.”

“Every word. Several times. Your approach is unorthodox, but I can't deny the logic behind it.'"

"Students will experiment regardless,” she said gently. “Rhubarb Rumplekin already knows the basic incantation for the Bewildering Fog Hex. I caught him practicing the wand movement last week. Wouldn't it be better if he learned properly, with safety measures, instead of trying it based on whatever he found in the restricted section?”

Before he could answer, enchanted violin music filled the restaurant. Other couples were already moving to the dance floor, which shimmered with soft magical light.

"Dance with me?" he asked, standing and offering his hand.

She took it without hesitation, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. Around them, starlight swirled and music wrapped them in its embrace. In this moment, the curriculum disputes and professional boundaries fell away, leaving just the two of them moving in perfect synchrony.

"You challenge everything I thought I knew about teaching," he said, pulling her closer until she could feel his heartbeat matching her own. "About magic. About myself."

"You make me think before I act," she admitted with a smile. "Most of the time."

His laugh rumbled through his chest, and she felt rather than heard it. "The were-poodle incident?"

"Was entirely your fault for looking so principally."

"That's not even a word."

"It is when you're involved." She looked up at him, struck by how right this felt. "We're better together. Admit it."

Instead of answering, he kissed her. It was sweet and passionate and perfect, a promise of something neither of them had expected to find. When the dance ended, they quickly called for the check and left, too caught up in each other to notice an enchanted quill writing furiously in a nearby table.

***

T HE NEXT MORNING, THEY were going over the details of the Bewildering Fog Hex lesson in Malachai's office, though "going over" might have been a generous description for what was actually happening.

"Your teaching form was completely unorthodox," he said, backing her against the wall with none of the professional distance he usually maintained.

"Mmm." She pulled his tie loose, enjoying the way his eyes darkened in response. "But effective."

"Reckless." His voice was husky as his hands settled on her waist.

"Creative." She countered, tilting her face up to his.

"Do you ever follow proper procedures?" But his lips were already tracing a path down her neck that had nothing to do with educational protocols.

"Do you ever loosen up?" She grinned against his mouth. "Besides now?"

Their kiss sent actual sparks dancing through the air. Books opened themselves, scattering rose petals across the office like eager flower girls. The very air seemed charged with their connection, responding to the emotions they'd kept contained for too long.

"This is completely unprofessional," Malachai murmured between kisses that grew increasingly heated.

"Absolutely." Ceries worked on his perfectly straight collar, revealing more of the man beneath the principal's facade. "Totally inappropriate."

"We should stop."

"Definitely." But her hands were already under his jacket, exploring the warmth beneath.

A sudden cough from the doorway froze them mid-kiss. They turned to find Trustee Thorncraft watching with calculated interest, his expression one of a man who'd found exactly what he was looking for.

"Well," he said as they hastily separated. "What an enlightening curriculum discussion."

"Sir—" Malachai started, straightening his rumpled clothing with as much dignity as possible.

Ceries felt the blood drain from her face as the full implications hit her. They'd been caught—by the one person with both the power and the apparent desire to make their lives difficult.

"No need to explain." Thorncraft's smile didn't reach his eyes as he swooped into the office, radiating satisfaction. He settled uninvited into a chair, the picture of a man holding all the cards. "I trust you both enjoyed The Enchanted Cork? Lovely place for a romantic evening. Certainly more appropriate than a principal's office."

"We made an error of judgment," Malachai said, attempting to gain control of a situation that had clearly slipped beyond his grasp.

"Yes, you have. This puts the school in an awkward position. A principal dating a teacher? That's not only unprofessional, but we're murking the legal waters here too."

"It's not like that," Ceries interjected, indignation coloring her voice. "There isn't any quid pro quo going on here."

"I know that. You know that. But would anyone else believe that? Especially since there has been some controversy over the curriculum."

"We're working through that," Ceries said, feeling a growing sense of dread.

"I bet." Thorncraft's smirk made her skin crawl.

"What do you want?" Malachai snarled, his anger barely contained. The room temperature dropped several degrees in response to his emotions.

"Simple. Either end this inappropriate relationship and maintain professional distance..." Thorncraft smiled like a cat with cream. "Or I'll be forced to report this to the Board. Take the day to decide. Your careers or your hearts? Such a difficult choice."

After he left, Ceries and Malachai shared a long look. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and impossible choices. The office, just moments ago alive with magic and passion, now felt cold and empty.

"Ceries—" Malachai started, his voice strained.

"Don't say what I think you're going to say." She could read it in his eyes, the decision already half-formed.

"He's right. Our relationship is unprofessional."

"Unprofessional?" She stood, pacing the office as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. "Is that all it is to you?"

Against his will, his eyes tracked her movement, remembering how she'd felt in his arms, how perfectly their magic had synchronized.

"Of course not, but our careers—"

"Are important," she finished. "But so is this." She gestured between them, encompassing everything they'd discovered together. "What we have, what we could build."

"It's not that simple."

"It never is." She stopped pacing, turning to face him. "But making the safe choice isn't always making the right one. You taught me that."

"I did?"

"Last night. When you finally trusted me enough to tell me about Windermoore." Her expression softened, remembering his vulnerability in sharing his darkest professional moment. "Sometimes the biggest risk is not taking one at all."

The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his response.

"I need time to think," he said finally.

Her smile was sad but understanding. "Of course you do. You're practical that way." She headed for the door, then paused, one hand on the knob. "And the students need us. The students need you. I guess there really isn't a difficult choice after all."

As she left, closing the door quietly behind her, Malachai slumped into his chair. He stared at the rose petals scattered across his usually immaculate office—physical reminders of something that had bloomed unexpectedly and might now wither before it had truly had a chance to grow.

Outside his window, rain began to fall, matching his mood perfectly.

A shadow fell across Malachai's desk. Looking over, he was startled to find Headmistress Raven's raven familiar, Edgar, perched on his bookshelf.

“Headmistress Raven sends her regards,” the familiar croaked, its voice surprisingly melodious for a raven. “She suggests you remember that proper procedures sometimes require creative interpretation.”

“That sounds more like Professor Frostwind's philosophy than the Headmistress's,” Malachai observed.

The raven's head tilted. “Perhaps there's wisdom in both approaches."