The Fairer Hex

by Lidiya Foxglove

  “You’re not going to paint the demon attack, are you?”

  “Oh…no. Of course not.” He put the paint down and pondered the canvas.

  He was totally going to paint the demon attack.

  Firian was still looking at me like…well, I don’t know what. Charlotte. I live for you. I’m not sure I could handle this on top of everything else, but I still felt the brush of his thumb on my cheek.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Charlotte

  I was braced for the fall out of the attack. The council spent a couple of days investigating Merlin Academy, a row of dour-looking old men making everyone uncomfortable, entering class rooms and social spaces. I could just tell they hated that I was here, but then they left and Master Blair said he had “smoothed it over”. In the end, the attitude seemed to be ‘these things happen’, which freaked me out even more. Everyone suspected the Locke brothers might have been flirting with the dark side of magic and had brought it on themselves.

  Well, that was pretty believable. Maybe it wasn’t my fault after all.

  However, it was clear that I was not actually going to learn any theurgy or necromancy. The professors were terrified to let me have contact with other worlds. In fact, Professor McGuinness had a whole class about ‘feminine wiles’.

  “Sometimes women have an easier time contacting the ‘other world’,” he said. “The more…mysterious arts. A man’s magic is a straightforward thing, like a man’s heart. A great male necromancer can take a fresh corpse and bring it back with the force of his will connecting with the flesh and bone and crying as if to the heavens, ‘arise!’, but a woman, well, she is more likely to pause to hear his whisper from beyond the grave. What else might she hear? A woman does not control the elements. A woman lets the spirits control her.”

  I raised my hand. Repeatedly. He just kept giving me this little nod like, ‘Yes, I see you.’

  “Man, I thought he had at least a little respect for me on account of being related to Samuel Caruthers,” I groused to Firian as we walked to the next class. “If I can’t learn theurgy, and I can’t learn necromancy, what am I here for?”

  “Start with enchantment and illusion,” Firian said.

  “Yawn. The class about how to look fake?” So far that class was about two things: seeing through other people’s illusions, and creating them.

  “Illusion can be a close cousin to conjuring,” Firian said. “You liked these, right?” He reached a hand behind his back and pulled out another paper container of nachos.

  “Yeah! Only the best nachos I’ve ever tasted…” I reached for them.

  He held them over his head out of my reach. “Like I told you, they’re dangerous to eat.”

  “Because there’s nothing there?”

  “Or is there?” He snapped his fingers and he was holding a plate of cockroaches.

  “Firian! I hate cockroaches.”

  “They’re just an illusion.”

  “You could have proved your point with a plate of something slightly less offensive.”

  “So try to change my illusion into something you prefer. Before they start crawling off the plate and down my arms.”

  “Nachos!” I commanded the plate. It was easy to put some magic into it, because the sight was so disturbing. The crawling pile of cockroaches turned back into a harmless plate of corn chips and melted cheese. He handed the plate to me.

  “Great job. Here you go.”

  I gave him a look and made the plate disappear with a snap of my fingers, which was improvisational on my part but made me feel super cool when it worked.

  “Attitude,” Firian said. “Yes. You should definitely keep with that.”

  “That was a better magic lesson than my classes. Illusions class has been working on stubble and beards for the past two weeks. I’m starting to think Professor Das has a beard fetish.”

  “Well, I’m a good teacher,” he said. “I know what motivates you. I know what stirs your subconscious. When your emotions are provoked, your powers are very strong. It’s true…learning how to hide five o’ clock shadow probably isn’t going to get your magic flowing.” He swung ahead of me on the path, walking backwards as easily as forwards. “If you prove that you have concentration and control in your least harmless class, maybe they’ll give you more respect. You don’t lack the sheer power. So find the things that drive your power. Emotions.”

  “That makes a lot of sense. You are a good teacher.”

  “When you’re too young to go to school, a familiar is your first teacher,” he said. “I have some lost time to make up for.”

  “You wished you’d been able to get closer, didn’t you?” I asked, feeling weird and shy all of a sudden.

  “Of course. It’s in my nature.”

  Yeah, I was starting to feel so strange around him. The more bizarre and terrifying Merlin College seemed, the more I wanted to cling to him, and it was abundantly clear that I wasn’t supposed to. I was supposed to be learning to survive without him.

  Sometimes I wondered what went on inside his mind. He sounded like any other guy, until he said something that reminded me that he was bound to me. Utterly devoted to me. He couldn’t have lived apart from me if he tried.

  Isn’t that a little creepy?

  So why do I feel so…tingly?

  Why does it make me so happy when he tells me he was always watching over me?

  I wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by someone who was born to protect you.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Charlotte

  The autumn ball was coming up fast now. The guys seemed very excited. Girls were coming from witch universities. It would be my first sight of witches. Many of the guys had girlfriends or fiancees attending different schools that they kept up correspondence with.

  I’ll admit, it wasn’t a terrible thing to work on my illusion skills at a time like this. I didn’t know how to give myself gorgeous hair in real life, but I realized I could make my hair look gorgeous with illusions.

  Illusions weren’t a total lie. You couldn’t suddenly give yourself a different face—at least, not for more than a few minutes. I learned that quickly. But you could take your true appearance and give it a little bit of a glow. I practiced this in the mirror until I was ready to debut my new ‘glow’ at the Christmas ball.

  But there was the dilemma of the dress.

  When I went to high school prom Dad drove me to every thrift store and consignment shop in the Georgia mountains. For the gas he spent, I probably could have gotten something from Target, at least.

  Still, Dad wanted me to have something ‘special’. At the same time, I knew we were more poor than he let on. He was really good at making me feel like we weren’t poor. He handmade a lot of stuff, and did a lot of work on the house, so it had this modernist cabin charm. He liked garage sales and junk shops, and we were both good at sniffing out good stuff for cheap. And we always had plenty of groceries.

  But when you needed a dress for a warlock ball, suddenly none of that was enough.

  “Dad, can you send up my prom dress?” I asked on the phone.

  “Will that still fit?”

  “Of course,” I said, although it was a good point. “If anything else, it’ll be too big. Like I said, the food here is a little weird.”

  “But you don’t want something new?”

  “No one’s seen me in that dress. It’s fine.”

  Mainly I just didn’t want to cause Dad undue stress. I knew everyone else would probably have fancier dresses, but the one I had was a classic little black dress, kinda Audrey Hepburn. It would work well with the plain black dress flats I had brought here with me.

  Five days later the package arrived. I opened it to find my black prom dress—and an explosion of pink lace under it.

  Have kept this all this time. It was your mom’s. Seemed too much for prom, and…well, I wasn’t ready to share it with you then, but I feel differently now. Maybe you’ll like it, mayb
e not, but good to have options. Take pictures either way. Can’t wait to see you for Christmas. Love, Dad.

  This dress was the opposite of the basic dress I had chosen for prom. That dress was cheap and didn’t look too dated and I could wear it again later.

  The pink dress was a “look at me” dress. It was a 1980s punk pink, bright and sassy, sleeveless, fitted bodice, full skirt. All made of this crazy pink lace. There was a Betsey Johnson label on it.

  Whaaat?

  My mom was a pink Betsey Johnson dress type person?

  I didn’t show anyone, but just tried it on when Alec was out and it fit me perfectly. It was a little wild, but it was adorable. I couldn’t believe it. I must be exactly the same size as my mom.

  Mom…this is the first time I feel close to you.

  I shoved it under my bed. I didn’t even show it to Firian. I was super excited. Between my illusion-enhanced hair, and my glow, and a real dress, I knew I was going to turn some heads.

  Whose head did I actually want to turn…? Well. That was a much more confusing question.

  When the morning of the ball actually arrived, I woke up with a fluttering in my stomach like a kid on Christmas morning. First, I’d get to be at a real ball, with a string quartet and dancing and such. I didn’t know how to dance, but that was fine. Should the moment arise, my partner could guide me through the steps until I gained confidence and he twirled me into his arms and said, “Hey, you’re getting it!”

  That was just Romance Movie 101.

  And shortly after the ball, it would be time for winter break and I could go home and see my dad. Things were looking up.

  I heard an engine outside. A car? I hadn’t heard many cars since I got here. The professors had like, one car between them, and the staff had a couple, and I knew the sound of all of them by now, plus the mailman, who never came through the gates.

  Alec threw off his covers and looked out the window. “Cars,” he said. “I think that’s Anastacia and Demetria Lemaire. I’m gonna go check in on Monty. He knows who drives what.”

  I peered out behind him and saw a silver Jaguar pulling up to the main building. The door opened and a chauffeur got out of the front and opened the back doors for two red-headed girls who were dressed like they were going to a royal wedding.

  This was my first inkling that maybe I wasn’t hot shit after all. I could already hear them. “Betsey Johnson? Who? Oh…that’s cute.”

  Oh, but it was gonna get worse by like, a factor of two thousand.

  Downstairs, I heard the house phone ring. A moment later, a quiet guy named Ellis who was sort of the unofficial rule-keeper of Lancelot House, mainly known for leaving passive aggressive notes about keeping the kitchen and dining areas clean, knocked on the door. “Master Blair wants to see you in his office.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Now I felt embarrassed just putting on my uniform. I really wished I had a fascinator and a tasteful day dress, and also a small dog, a silver Jaguar, and a chauffeur. And a name like ‘Demetria Lemaire’.

  “Good morning, Charlotte. Are you looking forward to the ball this evening?” Master Blair wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  “Yes…”

  “Well, as you know, the council has been monitoring the ongoing situation with the demon.”

  “I actually didn’t know.”

  “Oh. Well. You know I didn’t want to get them involved, but they just love to monitor. Anyway—they are worried about your safety.”

  “I—I can’t go to the ball?” From his body language, I could just feel the build up to disappointment. Maybe the council didn’t want the witches to see me.

  He looked up sharply and then sighed. “God, I wish. No, it’s—uh—you can’t go home for Christmas.”

  “What!?”

  “To be out there…in your home, without protection…you are left completely open to whatever that thing is. Here we have guards and some of the professors and students will still be staying over winter break.”

  “No way. No. I have to see my dad and my grandma. If I don’t come home, they will know something is horribly wrong. And I need to see them. It’s Christmas! I can’t just be stuck here with a handful of students and professors moping around on a mountain top. This isn’t what I signed up for! I mean—could they come here or something? Anything?”

  He looked pretty sad himself. “Humans are not allowed through the gates. We need to keep you safe. We can put an enchantment on your father. He won’t worry.”

  “I want to give up my magic. I’m done.”

  He just kept looking at his desk sadly.

  “I mean it! I’m done! At least just don’t sit there looking sad. Master Blair, please…it’s my dad. He’s already so worried!”

  “Take a deep breath,” he said. “Don’t lose control.”

  “I’m not losing control! I do yoga! I’m the calm one!” I cried, as angry tears blurred my vision.

  It was possible this was what losing control looked like.

  “This was an order from the council,” he said. “If you were killed, your father would be even more upset, I’m sure. We will get this straightened out, and as soon as we do, I promise you can take a weekend home.”

  “But…when?”

  “I just don’t know yet. I’m sorry. Please try to enjoy the ball tonight.”

  I stepped outside his office. Firian was waiting for me in the hall. I could tell he’d been listening. His hearing was probably good. He took one look at my face, which was contorted in one of those silent crying messes where you look like an infant about to let loose, and he threw his arms around me. His shoulder was just the right height to smother my tears.

  “Firian…!”

  “I know.” He just held me.

  The way he said ‘I know’ was so understanding, yet laced with strength and assurance that I would never be alone. Never. Everyone is afraid of being alone. In high school I was always worrying over the fact that I didn’t have a super close best friend, or a boyfriend, or a mom, or siblings or cousins. The only person in my life I could always depend on was Dad. And he could depend on me. Now I was letting him down in the worst way.

  I let myself sink into Firian’s embrace. He supported me as I slumped, a pillar of strength.

  But now I have you, Firian.

  I calmed down. Enough to compose my face anyway.

  No sooner had I stepped out of the main hall than I heard a bubbly female voice call behind me, “Are you the girl?”

  “What girl?” I took a deep breath and saw the first fellow female I had witnessed in months. Months? It was true. I had never even seen Master Blair’s mythical decorator. I was almost relieved, except that she was the most gorgeous person I had ever seen in my life. She had a brilliant smile and huge eyes and a truly impressive set of boobs peeking out from a slightly—but not too—flirtatious neckline. Her black hair was perfect, lightly curled under a little red hat, and she wore a cherry red coat over a cream colored dress and leather boots. While her skin and hair indicated some sort of diversity, she didn’t actually look like any particular ethnic background except globally acknowledged perfection. Like, imagine Vanessa Hudgens, and then imagine that next to this girl, Vanessa Hudgens might as well mutilate her face while sobbing.

  “The girl at Merlin College!” she said. “Harris told me!”

  “Harris?”

  “Mmhm! Harris is my fiancee! Well—“ She touched my arm and gave me a mischievous look. “Nearly so.”

  I felt something in the pit of my stomach let out a cry of unbidden rage. For some reason. “Oh…I didn’t know he was engaged.”

  “I’ll bet he doesn’t talk about me. Hmm hmm! Well, he can’t avoid me now, no sir!”

  I think that was her laugh. Mr. Ha Ha Ha, will you take Miss Hmm Hmm! to be your lawfully wedded wife?

  “Anyway,” she said. “I’m so excited to meet you! You’re the only witch who has ever been allowed here and no one knows wh
y! You must have some crazy powers, girl! We’ll have to talk. You have to tell me all the secrets. Is that your familiar?”

  “Yes. I’ll bet Harris told you about him too.”

  “A little bit! What! You are tasty! You’re a fox, right? Heyyy, Disney Robin Hood, am I right?” She elbowed me.

  The something inside my stomach—maybe I was possessed by some sort of gut demon?—let out a cry of unholy fury.

  Firian accepted the handshake she offered. Noooo!

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Daisy.”

  “Ah. The girl Gatsby couldn’t have,” Firian said.

  “Oh, you!” She laughed.

  “Charlotte needs a nap before the ball,” said Firian, to his credit. “She was up very early studying.”

  “Of course. I bet you’re a really wonderful student. I’ll see you tonight, Charlotte!”

  As we walked away, Firian gave me an amused look.

  “What are you smirking at, Robin Hood? You didn’t have to be so nice to her! When did you read the Great Gatsby?”

  “I don’t have a TV.” His expression changed to incredulous. “You’re not feeling…jealous, are you?”

  “I feel deeply inadequate and self-conscious and plain. If you must know. I didn’t know it was possible to be that gorgeous. I feel like I’m going blind. I can’t even be jealous. It’s like asking a normal girl schlepping around a community college campus with acne and a ponytail if she’s jealous of like, Megan Markle for marrying a prince. They don’t even connect.”

  “Come on. She wasn’t that amazing. She’s not a princess.”

  “You come on.”

  “She had weird hands.”

  “You didn’t even look at her hands.”

  “Of course I did,” he said. “Her fingers were too feeble looking.”

  “You’re saying her hands are delicate.”

  “No. They were like baby hands. Like how babies have weird tiny fingers. Now look at your hands.” He lifted one of my hands and traced one of his fingers between two of my fingers. “Your fingers are tapered and graceful. She has a little glamour on. Makes her hair look good, her eyes look bigger, all of that stuff—but no one ever glamours their hands.”