Chapter 5
Anja
The bubble of dozens of potions all brewing at the same time fills the air. Unfortunately, so does the smell. And while I may not be naturally gifted at potions, someone in the room is even worse if the stench of burned hair is anything to go by.
I cut the bulbous purple root in front of me, the knife slipping and grazing my skin. "Ah." I pull my hand back, wincing at the pain of the cut and the sting of the citrus-like juice coming from the root.
Cethin freezes beside me, his ears going on alert, almost seeming as if he's worried. "What happened?"
"I cut myself, no big deal." I wave my hand around as if to try and make it clear that I'm fine.
He catches hold of it, his skin pleasantly warm against mine. It's surprisingly comforting. I would have thought his skin would be cold and stone-like based on the greyness, but that's not the case at all.
"Let me see," he says.
"I'm fine, Cethin," I respond.
"Please?"
I bite my lip and nod.
His gaze drops to my lips and for one moment, I consider what it would be like to kiss him and to do far more than that. I push the thought to the side, knowing that I can't think about anything like that here. Or anywhere.
A small rivulet of blood runs out of the cut and onto his finger, the bright red showing up surprisingly well against the dark grey.
He seems transfixed on the injury and for a horrifying moment, I find myself wondering if he's a vampire and that this is some kind of fixation I don't want.
I know there are some at Rosewood, but I'm not sure how to tell who is what.
There are some characteristics that are easy to recognise, like Nati's snakes, but for the rest of the students, anybody could be anything.
Or that's the way it seems to me. Maybe I should have paid more attention when Mum was trying to teach me all this stuff, and then I'd be better prepared.
I clear my throat, knowing that this isn't the time to be thinking about any of this. "It's just a cut."
"Mind if I fix it?"
I frown. "How?"
He chuckles. "Magic, Anja, how else do you think?"
"Oh, right." I push a strand of hair out of my face with my free hand. "Sure." I glance to the front to make sure Professor Fairburn isn't paying us any attention. Though even if she is, I doubt she'd tell us off for dealing with an injury, even if it's a small one.
He mutters a few words under his breath and a wisp of violet washes over my hand. My skin tingles and the sting of the cut vanishes, though I can't see what happened.
I let out a small gasp at the way the magic makes me feel, though I can't put into words precisely what caused it.
Cethin looks up, his gaze meeting mine, and I can see all kinds of unspoken questions in there. Or maybe they're unspoken answers, and the questions are mine.
"Your eyes are glowing purple," I murmur.
"I'm using my magic," he says by way of explanation. "You should be okay now." While he says it, he doesn't let go of my hand.
Nor do I pull it back.
"I like purple," I say.
"I guessed."
"Oh, right." I touch my hair with my free hand. "Yes, it's my favourite colour."
He cocks his head to the side, an intrigued expression on his face. "Is that so?"
I nod.
He finally lets go of my hand, and I mourn the contact even though I know I shouldn't. I examine my hand, surprised to find that there isn't a single mark on it. "That's amazing." I prod and poke at it a little.
He chuckles. "The perks of being a warlock, even a dark one."
"What's the difference between a dark warlock and a non-dark warlock?" I ask before I can stop myself. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that. It's a personal question." I turn back to the task of cutting up the root so we can add it to the cauldron simmering between us.
"We can trade questions, if you want," he suggests.
"Okay, but I think you're going to be disappointed in some of my answers."
"Don't I get to decide that?"
"Mmm." I move my knife carefully. While I like the attention he gave me when I was hurt, I don't want to do that unnecessarily.
"The difference is a corrupted bloodline," he says.
"Huh?"
"Sorry, should have been clearer. Dark warlocks come from bloodlines that were corrupted by dark magic generations ago," he says. "There are theories that it's because using dark magic corrupts the soul or some nonsense like that."
"You don't believe it?"
"No. I think magic is magic, and bad people are bad regardless of what they use. You don't have to use dark magic in order to hurt someone, you can just as easily do it with something that's meant to be good. That knife isn't bad because it cut you, right?"
I lift it to examine it, even if I know the answer already. "I guess it's just a tool. Whether it's good or bad depends on the way it's being used."
"Exactly."
"So why do you think dark warlocks came about?"
He shrugs. "Maybe a spell gone wrong, maybe a deal with a demon. It's hard to say. I don't worry about it too much because it changes nothing. I am what I am, and I'm not evil because of it."
"A good discussion point for our essay," I muse.
"Indeed. I think you're done with that now." He gestures to the root.
"Right. I just drop it into the cauldron?"
He nods.
I pick up the board and push the chopped root into the potion. It hisses and bubbles hard as it hits the surface.
"So I guess it's my turn for a question," he says.
"Fire away."
"Which has a very different meaning to someone who can create fireballs," he jokes.
I let out an amused laugh. "But you're not going to do that, right?"
"I think I'd probably end up thrown out of Rosewood if I did."
"That's not a no."
"I can't promise something that I don't know will be true. What if a situation arises where I need to use a fireball?"
"Has that happened many times in your life?" I check the instructions for the potion while I wait for his answer.
"Sadly, no. Though there are a few situations that I think could be resolved faster if fireballs had been allowed," he muses. "Here, you need to put this in." He hands me a pot of what looks like chilli flakes, but almost certainly aren't.
"How much?"
"Just a pinch."
"That's hardly an exact measurement," I mutter.
"This is Potions, not chemistry," he points out. "It's not about exactness."
I sigh. And that's exactly why I wanted to study chemistry instead of something as vague as this. But as much as I want to be a food scientist, I also want to learn more about who I am, and this place feels as if it might have the answers.
I take a pinch of the flakes and sprinkle them over the top of the cauldron.
"Now we have to stir five times anti-clockwise," I say as I check the instructions. "See, that's specific."
He chuckles as he stirs the potion. "Are you going to complain about the instructions the entire time?"
"Yes."
"All right, then how about I ask you that question to distract you?"
"It is your turn." I try to think through what he might ask. Will he want to know what I am? Or is it going to be something about my hair? That one seems unlikely, he'll just assume it's natural.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
I stare at him. "That's your question?"
"So?"
"No, I don't have a boyfriend."
His whole face lights up, including his ears, which are beyond adorable.
"Still a weird question. I was going to ask you if you could pass as human as my next one."
He chuckles. "The point is to get to know each other, isn't it?"
"Well, yes."
"So learning about your life is part of that," he responds. "And yes, I can pass as human." For a moment, I think that's going to be the end of the conversation, but a shimmer of purple moves over his body and he transforms.
I blink a few times. "Wow."
"It's just a glamour," he responds. "Everything is the same underneath."
Without meaning to, I reach out to touch him.
A smile curls at the corners of his lips. "The ears are where you'll notice it most."
A slight heat rises to my cheeks in response to his words, making me think that he might have noticed me looking at his ears.
I hope he knows that I like them, and doesn't think that I find them weird or anything like that.
I ignore those thoughts and step closer, taking it for the invitation it is, and reach out to where his bat-like ears should be.
To the naked eye, there's nothing but air, but my fingers brush against the shell of his ear.
He lets out a strange noise, and I pull my hand back immediately, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.
"They're sensitive." He drops the glamour.
"Sorry."
"Don't be. I invited you to touch me." He grins at me in a way that makes me think it was all part of his elaborate plan to do that.
"What do we do next?" I ask, gesturing to the cauldron.
"Huh, and here I was thinking you were going to ask me why I didn't keep up the human glamour all the time."
"I can ask that if you want, but I figured the answer was either that it was too much effort to maintain it, or that you like the way you look and want to feel like you."
He raises an eyebrow. "Interesting observation. We just let the cauldron simmer for another five minutes."
"Great." I pull over my stool. "So which is it?"
He shrugs. "A little of both, I guess. It does take constant magic, but it's not too much hassle so long as I can have a few chances to let the glamour drop. For the most part, I don't see it as necessary to have one."
"I'm glad you don't. I like this form," I blurt out before realising what it might reveal about what I think about him. Then again, maybe I shouldn't feel too strange about that, there has to be a reason he asked me if I had a boyfriend. Maybe our reasoning is the same.
"Good." His eyes flash purple despite the fact he's not doing any magic.
Someone clears their throat, and I look up to find Professor Fairburn looking down at our cauldron.
I take a deep breath, hoping she isn't about to say that we've done a good job.
"Adequate," she says with a nod of her head. "Don't forget to clean up your bench." She walks away before either of us can say anything.
"That's us told," I mutter, picking up the chopping board and knife.
"Let me, I don't want you to cut yourself again," Cethin says.
"Even if it'll give you another excuse to touch me?" I half-joke.
He chuckles. "If that's an invitation, I'll gladly accept."
"Maybe." I turn towards the sinks at the edge of the room, my heart racing at the implication of my response. I've never had a reaction as strong as this to anyone before, and I'm not entirely sure where it's coming from. But I do kind of like the way that he's looking at me.
And the way he touched me. It definitely makes me want to experience that again.