Chapter 11
Eleven
Felix
A dull, shimmering glow webbed the door that the little witch knocked on. It was a protective security ward, this specific one, he presumed, surrounded the campus. There was also an almost impenetrable one around the island.
Slipping through the wards was second nature to him now.
It would be a piece of cake. He assessed the one at the door.
Yep. Standard variety witch ward. But before he could react, before he could use his magic to slip through it, she opened the door and shoved him, pushing him through the web of light.
Perhaps because of the bond, perhaps because they’d gotten fucking lucky, the ward had regarded him as a regular familiar.
The fact that even the wards thought he was a familiar vexed him immensely, and not even a single enforcer had batted an eyelid.
Humiliating. He would come back later to destroy this ward on principle.
An older witch beckoned them in. A professor, he guessed, based on his attire. Circular-rimmed glasses fell down his nose, a long salt and pepper mustache, and beard. The man couldn’t be more cliché if he tried.
The professor looked the witch up and down before his eyes landed on Felix.
If the professor noticed anything off about Felix, his face gave nothing away, just a stern line drawn into his mouth.
Behind him, a phoenix picked at its flaming feathers, and one of them floated down gently before turning into ash before it hit the polished wooden floors.
“Well.” The professor’s voice was gruff, likely from the years of smoking, if the stank of his office was anything to go on. He moved behind his desk, but didn’t sit, only bracing his hands against the table.
“What do we have here, Miss Alarch?” he said, looking down his nose.
“I’ve summoned a familiar,” she said nervously, her hands fiddling with each other behind her back. “Sir,” she tacked on.
Felix watched her, almost palpitating now, his chest tightening along with hers.
Perhaps they wouldn’t even last the day before they got caught.
But the real question was: Why the fuck did he find her nervousness so cute?
Felix physically shook his head to rid himself of the unbidden thought that most definitely wasn’t fucking welcome in his head.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be able to do it,” the professor quipped, his tone far too condescending for Felix’s liking.
The witch’s face flushed red as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “Thank you, sir.”
Thank you? Thank you? Felix let out a low growl, and the professor arched an eyebrow. He wanted to rip it off his face. Why would she say thank you to such a brazen insult? Felix would never stand for it.
Shame surged down the bond. Shame that wasn’t his.
Feeling her emotions wasn’t something he would like to get used to. Feelings in general were quite foreign to him; shoving them into a dark hole and beating them into submission was his preferred method.
Instead of letting the little witch’s emotion overwhelm him, he focused on something much simpler, like the witch professor in front of him, head on a platter.
He imagined it in vivid detail, his instincts starting to kick in as his claws extended onto the dark wood.
It had been a while since he had taken such simple pleasure in killing a witch, one that was far overdue. Simpler times.
In the last year, he had taken out a dozen witches who had been under diplomatic immunity. The last one had turned a human woman into a toad because she had said the wrong thing around a particularly angry witch. He wouldn’t mind adding a few more to that tally.
“What a fine familiar you’ve summoned.” The professor’s booming voice shook Felix out of his trance, his ears flattening against his head. “A cat will do you well.”
She only smiled back at him.
“Put a collar on him, and you can attend class, Miss Alarch,” the professor said.
Collar?
These witches wanted to collar him?
Over his dead fucking body. Or theirs. Preferably theirs.
The professor pulled out a black collar from under his desk, which had a nametag in the shape of a heart on it, ready for engraving.
To Felix’s horror, the professor held his hand up to the collar, running his fingers along it to adjust it to be cat-sized.
The hair on his back rose at the sight of it.
“Have you thought of a name for him?” The professor’s eyes didn’t leave what he was doing.
“Lucky,” she replied with no hesitation, the ghost of a smile forming on her face.
“You’re going to pay for that, witch,” he hissed into her mind.
From this angle, it looked like she was chewing her cheek as if not to laugh. This was no laughing matter. This was an atrocity. A collar. Leashed to a witch.
“Lovely choice,” the professor said with a strained smile as he engraved the name into the heart.
It was almost enough to tip Felix over the edge, to make him shift on the spot and rip both their hearts out of their chests for the sheer audacity of it.
The professor shuffled some papers around. “Make sure to tell your mother as well; she will be pleased to see you’ve finally gotten a familiar.”
She took the collar from the professor and moved to put it on him. His back arched, hair standing straight up in an almost mohawk-like fashion.
“Don’t you dare, witch,” he said into her mind.
But he couldn’t do anything in front of this professor. She knew it too and took advantage of the poor cat he was. Traitor.
She slipped the collar over his head to his displeased rumble. He truly was a pet now, and this collar signaled it to the world. How his brothers would laugh. They had no idea the sacrifice he was making for them right now.
The professor dismissed them, and they walked down the steps to the entrance of the lecture hall, that damned collar announcing him with every step—jingle, jingle, jingle.
Each note added to a murderous rage that simmered under the surface.
At the bottom, the witch hesitated outside the threshold, fingers twitching at her side.
Her peers stared as they passed her. First to her, then down to him, snickers and disbelief left in their wake.
“Having second thoughts, witch?” Felix asked.
She spoke under her breath. “About a thousand of them.”
Out of all the witches he had met, none of them was quite as anxious as she was. Most witches he met were cunning, salivating at the thought of killing him. This one seemed like she would tremble killing a fly.
“You’ve made your bed, witch, now you have to lie in it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Inspirational.”
“I try.”
She pushed the arched door open, its handles creaking with the effort. She held the door open for him, as she should, as shifters were far superior to witches, despite the fucking collar that jingled an entirely different song.
The grand hall was layered with rows of wooden benches fitted with desks made of the same bark.
Stained glass windows threw light around the room, drenching it in red.
It was fitting for the witches, as bloodshed seemed to be their answer for everything.
Witch lights hummed and hovered above them.
Small familiars lay about in the classroom, the sound of jingling collars grating on his ears. At least the big ones weren’t here.
There was chatter among the students, but slowly, all the sounds in the room died, and all eyes focused on them.
The witch put her head down, avoiding eye contact with the snickering or bewildered students.
There were at least a hundred of them in the hall, their small familiars hovering around.
The big ones were tethered outside. Thank God, because he didn’t feel like becoming dragon chow today.
A ferret he could take in a fight in his cat form, but dragons could barbecue him in one roar.
A strange urge overtook Felix. He was levelheaded—mostly—but the way they looked at her made a coil tighten in his chest, one that threatened to snap if any one of them made a move against her.
Fucking bond. He shouldn’t care what they said about her; actually, he should relish in their whispers and insults.
But he wanted to be the one to insult her, to make her mad.
None of these cockwombles could ever come up with an insult worthy of the little witch.
They ascended the aisle until they reached the back. She took a seat next to a friendly-looking classmate whose crow gave Felix a wary look that made him want to spit on it. But he wasn’t a llama, and likely couldn’t get away with it, so he held back.
Perhaps I will spit on her. The thought brought hundreds of images flashing through his mind of the little witch on her knees. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Only if she asked. No, Felix, still not then.
His heart jumped as the girl squealed, giving Felix the fright of his nine lives, but it was enough to release him from the shackles of his impure thoughts.
“Oh, my goddess! You summoned a familiar!” she said in an annoyingly high-pitched voice. Felix had the urge to send out a shadow and smother her. “When? How?”
“Yesterday,” the little witch said. “Yep, turns out I was just saying one of the words wrong the whole time.” It almost looked painful for the lie to flow from her tongue.
“Those old language words are such a pain, aren’t they?” the witch said awkwardly. “Can I?” she asked. Felix tensed as the friend reached out slowly toward him.
“No!” The witch’s response came fast. The other witch jerked her hand back, confusion flashing across her face. “Sorry, I mean, he’s still adjusting. He doesn’t like strangers,” she said in a panic.
Felix proved her point by hissing, showing a flash of white fangs. It wasn’t an act. He would bite; he had done it before, and he would do it again. He loved the taste of witch’s blood on his tongue. Probably too much. I want to taste hers again.
NO.
Nope.