Page 8 of Hex Appeal (Grimm Mawr #5)

T hey tried to maintain professional distance. They really did. But every careful space between them felt like a lie, every avoided glance an obvious pretense. The weight of Thorncraft's ultimatum hung over them like a storm cloud, making even casual interactions feel dangerous.

The students definitely noticed the change. "Principal Starcatcher's extra grumpy lately," Ceries overheard in the halls between classes. "But did you see how he looks at Professor Frostwind when he thinks no one's watching?"

The staff noticed too. Diana's knowing looks spoke volumes. Juno raised her eyebrows meaningfully whenever she caught Malachai lingering outside Ceries' classroom. Even the suits of armor seemed to be whispering behind their metal hands whenever the two passed by.

"They're not fooling anyone," she heard one custodian mutter to another. "Except maybe themselves."

That evening, unable to sleep and missing him desperately, Ceries found herself in the potions lab brewing a sleeping draught. The rhythmic chopping of valerian root and careful measuring of chamomile couldn't distract her from thoughts of Malachai—his smile, his voice, the way his entire demeanor changed when they were alone.

"Can't sleep?" Juno's quiet voice made her jump, nearly knocking over the cauldron.

"Just preparing for class," Ceries lied, though they both knew defensive magic had absolutely no use for peaceful slumber potions.

"Funny," Juno leaned against a workbench, eyes knowing. "Malachai was in here yesterday, making the same thing."

Ceries' hand stilled, hope and uncertainty warring within her. "Was he?"

"Mmhmm. Couldn't sleep either, apparently." Juno's expression softened. "You know, there are better solutions than potions."

"We're maintaining professional distance." The words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

"And how's that working out?"

Ceries stared at the bubbling cauldron, unable to meet Juno's eyes. "It's fine."

"Right." Juno pushed away from the bench. "That's why you're both brewing sleeping draughts at midnight. Because everything's fine."

After she left, Ceries stared at her half-finished potion. Even the cauldron seemed to be simmering in a melancholy way.

***

C ERIES KNEW SOMETHING was amiss when she found her classroom invaded by heart-shaped confetti and romantically inclined practice dummies on Valentine's morning. The dummies had arranged themselves into couples, practicing shield charms with dramatic dips and flourishes that looked more like dancing than defensive magic.

"Don't you start," she told them firmly. "We're maintaining professional distance, remember?"

The nearest dummy responded by conjuring a rose and offering it to its partner with an elaborate bow. Ceries resisted the urge to hex it into kindling.

"Professor Frostwind?" Diana's innocent tone immediately set off warning bells. "I need a small favor..."

Ten minutes later, Ceries stormed into Malachai's office, not bothering to knock. "Did you know about this?"

He looked up from his perfectly organized desk, startled by her sudden entrance. "About?"

"The Valentine's Dance. Apparently both senior chaperones came down with the pustulating pox and we're the only available replacements." She crossed her arms. "Rather convenient, don't you think?"

"Completely inappropriate," he agreed, though his eyes lingered on her face a moment too long. "We'll have to maintain strict professional boundaries."

"Absolutely. Completely and unavoidably and all those other adverbs."

That afternoon found them attempting to decorate the Great Hall while maintaining appropriate distance—a task made impossible by conspiratorial decorations. Every enchanted streamer seemed determined to wrap them together, while floating candles created intimate pools of light wherever they stood.

"Perhaps," Malachai suggested as they untangled themselves from yet another determined banner, "we should work from opposite sides of the room."

"Good idea." But before they could separate, magical mistletoe materialized above them.

"That's not even a Valentine's decoration," Ceries protested, stepping away quickly.

The enchanted roses they'd been arranging took matters into their own hands, releasing a cloud of romance-enhancing perfume that filled the air between them.

By the time students arrived, the Great Hall had transformed into a romantic wonderland that seemed personally invested in their love life. Floating hearts followed them around. The punch bowl bubbled with what looked suspiciously like liquid chocolate sweetened with honey and figs—not quite a love potion, but close enough to warrant Malachai's concerned sniff.

"Well," Diana said cheerfully as she passed by the tables laden with treats, "this is festive."

"This is sabotage," Ceries muttered, watching another heart arrange itself above Malachai's head like a halo.

They managed to maintain some semblance of professional behavior until Bishop Timberdoodle and Mimmolette Trouducru decided to experiment with mood-enhancement hexes. The spells collided spectacularly, creating magical chaos that required immediate intervention.

Suddenly the hall was filled with students experiencing wildly amplified emotions. Some floated on waves of euphoria, others sobbed dramatically over spilled punch. A group by the refreshments had burst into spontaneous opera, while several couples were caught in uncontrollable giggle fits.

"I blame your influence," Malachai said as they dodged a pair of students who had decided the chandelier would make an excellent swing. "All this experimental magic..."

"Oh please," Ceries grinned despite herself, deflecting a stray burst of euphoria. "Like you never tried anything creative at their age?"

Their magic merged automatically as they worked to contain the chaos, creating shields and containment spells that worked in perfect harmony. His precision complemented her creativity, producing effects that drew admiring gasps from the students who weren't currently fighting over the punch bowl.

Even Trustee Thorncraft, watching from his strategic position near the refreshments, looked impressed. "Excellent work," he said once they'd restored order. But his eyes narrowed at how effortlessly they worked together. "Though perhaps we should discuss proper procedures for emotional magic control? Tomorrow, perhaps?"

The following week brought daily "observations" of Ceries's advanced hexes classes. Thorncraft's presence made each lesson tense, but not as uncomfortable as watching Malachai's barely concealed anxiety every time a student attempted a complex spell.

She caught him flinching when Irideane's shield charm wavered during a particularly difficult hex demonstration. His hands clenched so tight his knuckles went white, though he tried to hide his reaction.

The real confrontation came after an especially challenging lesson. Thorncraft had finally left, but Malachai lingered, his tension visible in every line of his perfect posture.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, he said quietly, "I need to speak to you before the next lesson."

She waited until they were alone, closed the door and pulled the shade over the window. The practice dummies, sensing drama, stopped their usual romantic performances to watch.

"Don't start with me," she said, her voice low but intense.

"Ceries." Just her name, but it held everything they weren't saying.

"I said, don't." She turned away, gathering papers on her desk—supply requests for new equipment, curriculum updates, endless forms that seemed to require Thorncraft's personal approval. "We agreed. Professional distance. So let me do my job."

"Your job isn't worth your life." The words exploded out of him. When she turned back, shocked, he was closer than professional distance allowed, the carefully maintained space between them finally broken. "If something goes wrong... if you got hurt..."

"My job isn't worth my life?" she repeated, anger flaring inside her. "That's rich coming from someone who spends every night in his office worrying about everyone else's safety but his own. When's the last time you slept, Malachai?"

He was close enough now that she could see the shadows under his eyes, the strain he tried so hard to hide. "That's different."

"Why? Because you're the principal? Because you need to be in control of everything?"

"Because I'm not the one pushing the boundaries of dangerous magic."

"No, you're just the one who's so scared of his past mistakes that you won't let anyone else try to make things better."

They were almost nose to nose now, both breathing hard. The air crackled with tension. Books rattled on the shelves as their emotions boiled over.

"I'm not scared," he said, voice low and intense. "I'm terrified. Of what could happen to the students. Of what could happen to you. Of how much I still want you even though I know I shouldn't."

She reached up without thinking, touched his face. He caught her wrist, but didn't pull her hand away. Instead, he tugged her closer, and suddenly they were kissing desperately, days of tension exploding between them. They were going to get caught, but she didn't care, too lost in the feel of him, in finally acknowledging what they'd been trying so hard to deny.

"Well," Thorncraft's voice cut through the haze like ice water. "I believe this calls for an emergency board meeting."

They sprang apart, but it was too late. Thorncraft stood in the doorway, satisfaction emanating from him like heat from a furnace.

"Sir—" Malachai started, straightening his tie with hands that weren't quite steady.

"No need for explanations." Thorncraft settled into a chair without being invited, radiating triumph poorly disguised as disappointment. "Though I must say, this situation requires immediate attention. The board will want to discuss this first thing tomorrow morning. And whether you’ll still have a job here Starcatcher."

The silence after he left was deafening. The practice dummies huddled together in concerned pairs, while the protective wards around the classroom seemed to dim in response to the sudden tension.

What bothered Ceries most wasn't Thorncraft's intrusion, but his smile as he left—too pleased for someone supposedly disappointed in their behavior. Everything suddenly felt like pieces of a puzzle she couldn't quite see, a trap that had been carefully laid and now was springing shut.

"Mal..." she started..

"Don't." He straightened his tie, retreating behind formality like armor. "This is my fault. I should have maintained better control."

"It's our fault," she corrected. "But something about this feels wrong. The timing... This doesn't add up. Why is he so fixated on the curriculum? Why does he want to get rid of you so badly?”

"I don’t know, but I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. The board meeting is at nine," he said formally, already pulling away emotionally as well as physically. "Try to get some sleep."

As he left, Ceries stared at the scattered papers on her desk—all the forms and requests and curriculum changes that had seemed so important moments ago. Why did everything suddenly feel like pieces of a larger scheme? Why had Thorncraft looked so satisfied? And why did she have the sinking feeling that tomorrow's meeting was about much more than just their inappropriate relationship?

She gathered her things slowly, a sense of foreboding settling over her like a shroud. Tomorrow would change everything—she was certain of it. What she couldn't know was whether anything would remain of what they'd built together, or if Thorncraft's trap would destroy it all.

Outside, rain began to fall, droplets streaking down the windows like tears, matching the heaviness in her heart.