Chapter 2

In the beginning, Saint Morganna’s school had occupied only an old brick building in the human world and was exclusively intended to teach the children of rich and famous witch families. Over time, the shifters entered an agreement, and so they, too, started attending the school. The curriculum was adjusted and the space the school occupied as well. Instead of only existing in the human world, part of the school was relocated into a nearby pocket.

Pocket dimensions could be pictured as little bubbles floating across the surface of our reality, sometimes clustered together or even stacked atop each other. They varied in size, some not bigger than the inside of a broom closet, others containing an entire mountain range and were most often accessed through a certain key point. Only someone with magic or supernatural blood could even find and enter these pockets, though certain creatures were able to lure humans into them, will-o-the-wisps for one, but these occurrences rarely ended well for the human.

The relocated part of the school building absorbed the potent magic off the pocket and started growing with a live of its own, adding parts as if it was collecting as many different styles of architecture as possible and fuzing them together haphazardly.

The front entrance of the school resembled a gothic church, with its geometric design, huge stone archway and turrets but once you walked through you somehow found yourself in the audience chamber of an historic Chinese court, full with the artfully colored sliding screens and silk banners. But that wasn’t enough, depending on where you wandered off to you could find yourself in everything from a medieval castle flair, like my tower, to a modern glass and steel monstrosity.

By now, Saint Morganna’s was one of the biggest and most famous supernatural schools in the world. Not only shifters and witches but every kind of supernatural creature attended it.

I found Jo in the part that represented French Rococo; the classroom she was sitting in was dominated by shades of white and gold, the floor was polished marble and not a spec of wall was allowed to exist without twisting, delicate ornaments. Diamond chandeliers with real candles glittered above my head, diffusing the grey light coming through the grand, arched windows.

As classes had ended for the day, the few students still in the room were lolling around, talking or working on their own projects. Jo was sitting in a corner of the lavish room, ignoring the two boys casting wistful glances her way and instead focused on a small hand mirror.

Jo and I shared some of the typical Rotfuss women traits, making it quite obvious we were related; an unruly mess of dark curls, very light skin color and a small build.

But that’s where the similarities ended. While Jo kept her hair in a tight braid, mine hung in an untamed mane to the small of my back, preferably decorated with twigs of one herb or another. Her eyes were a clear, light blue while mine were simply brown. She was small like me, but also slender and managed to pull off the elfin look while my generous curves made that impossible. Even the stupid school uniform seemed to suit her.

When I got closer I saw that instead of her own reflection looking back, the mirror showed a tastefully decorated room, with an overstuffed closet and a big TV someone had forgotten to turn off. Jo avidly followed the argument the Good Wife was making in front of the jury.

I remembered her doing this when we were children, and bored at some family function. She would sneak off with a mirror and watch the TV in her parents house, which she changed to the right channel before they left. The adults didn’t even take her mirror away, as they would cellphones or anything similar, because she was after all practicing her magic. At that time, I’d always quite envied her gift.

She looked up when I got closer and raised her dark eyebrows. ”

. What brings you here? And where’s your bodyguard?”

I rolled my eyes. “Aiden’s not my bodyguard. And he’s sleeping.”

While I finished my potion he took another nap, which I provided the dream for. When the potion was done I didn’t have the heart to wake him up. I always felt like he rarely got any good sleep without my help.

“I’ll never understand this strange dynamic of yours,” Jo said. Because she was focusing on me, the picture in the mirror wavered. “Just jump his bones or kick him to the curb.”

“Aiden and I are just friends.”

“Sure. That’s why Kang Mo still flinches at shadows.”

I furrowed my brow. I remembered Kang Mo, we were working on a project for Basic Spells together once. He was quiet, but diligent and nice. After the project was finished, we didn’t really have any contact. “What about him?”

“Never mind. So, what brings you here? Shouldn’t you be up in your tower?”

I decided to cut straight to the chase. “What did you put into the cookies you gave Colin Mitchell?”

She blinked. “How do you know about that?”

“He came to me because he thought someone poisoned him. He wants my help.”

She snorted derisively. “He wants help just because of some small pimples? Couldn’t even go a day with blemished skin, but dares to make fun of others, what a looser.”

There was a story there, but I didn’t really care about it at the moment. “Small pimples? Jo, they’re the size of a coin and almost black. No one would simply wait for that to pass.”

“What are you talking about? My potion just causes oily skin and greasy hair.”

She couldn’t be serious. “Jo, what did you put in the damn cookies?”

Her nonchalance faltered for the first time. “Is it really that bad?”

I took a calming breath and kept my voice down. “It didn’t look good. If you just tell me what potion you used, we can make an antidote and the whole incident will be over.”

“Sure, you’re right.” She swallowed. “It’s a potion I invented to threaten Alice with, so she’d do what I tell her to.”

Alice was her little sister, a cute and shy kid, and I immediately felt a flash of sympathy for her.

She continued: “It causes very mild acne and the effect passes after a few days. Its the same base as the one for the scar-treating potion, and then I mix it with two teaspoons of dried mugwort, three drops of fairy honey and some ground up snakeskin.”

I felt myself pale.

“Snakeskin?” My voice sounded shaky, even to my own ears. “What snake?”

“Ringed snake.”

Oh no. No no no.

“Did you put eggs into the cookie dough?” If she followed grandmas standard recipe, she would have.

She furrowed her brow. “Yeah. So?”

“Chicken eggs?”

A bit of her usual snippiness came through. “What other kind of eggs would I use? Crocodile?”

This was bad. Really bad.

The Rotfuss family prided itself as one of the best when it came to potions. There were a lot of exclusive family recipes, protected by the family like a dragon would its hoard. Some even dated back to the very first Rotfuss, the ancestor who earned the name for wading through so much blood it permanently colored his footwear. Grandma was quite proud of the grisly story and liked to tell it to anyone who would listen - preferable at dinner or in the presence of small children.

Some witches didn’t concern themselves with the art of potion brewing, content with their own magic or more direct common spells. But in our family it was tradition, just like baking Plätzchen, that the children were taught the art and secrets of potion brewing from their parent. In my family my father was the Rotfuss descendant and so the job had fallen on him to teach me and my brothers. He had been a good teacher, patient and willing to praise us, but not to overlook mistakes. I was sure that my passion for potion brewing was largely thanks to him and the way he approached the subject when we were young.

Apparently Jo’s mother had either forgotten to tell her about one of the most basic rules - which I doubted - or Jo hadn’t been paying attention at the time (far more likely).

One should never mix reptile and bird parts in a brew, and especially not chicken and snake. The combination could create the most noxious poisons, just as the tale of a snake hatching from a chicken’s egg told of the birth of the most poisonous creature, even its breath deadly.

I didn’t even know what to say. The deed was done and there was nothing I could do about it now. I just stared at Jo’s clueless face, feeling helpless.

I didn’t know the antidote for such a thing. I didn’t even know if there was one.

But if anyone did, it was my grandma.

I was in quite a daze while returning to the tower. If the truth came to light, that my cousin had not only made the grave mistake of brewing poison, but on top of that, fed it to a fellow student, she wouldn’t just get expelled - she could be forced in front of the high council to be judged.

And they weren’t known for their lenience.

Until now I’d had the safety net of teachers and experts. If it was a potion I hadn’t known about they would have been able to help, but now I couldn’t turn towards them for fear of the fallout for my cousin.

The net had unraveled and now I was barely hanging by a threat.

My last hope was my grandmother. If she didn’t know what to do, I was truly lost. I hadn’t told Jo yet, about how bad the situation really was. Even though she liked to act tough, I didn’t want to frighten her until there was a solution I could present as well as the problem.

Someone bodily bumped into me, jerking me around and ripping me from my thoughts.

“Look where you’re going,” the boy grumbled, glaring at me with amber eyes. He was tall and broad and by the way he moved I would guess a simian shifter of some kind.

Before I could respond he shouldered by me, causing me to stumble against the wall. I turned around on instinct, rubbing my aching arm, not really sure what I could achieve by staring at the back of his head dumbfounded, when I spotted Aiden.

He stood at the other end of the hallway, coming from the direction of the tower room.

His face showed nothing, even seemed relaxed, but his eyes were blazing bright green. Instead of looking at me he was observing the shifter, who walked towards him, ignorant of the situation.

Aiden didn’t move an inch but his eyes followed the other boy’s progress, watching him come closer.

Just as the shifter was about to pass Aiden he looked up - and then simply crumbled as if he was a puppet and someone had cut the strings holding him upright.

The fine hair on my neck rose. I remembered this.

It had happened once before. A girl accused me of stealing her pen because I had the same one as her. She wouldn’t let up, calling me a liar and a thief, and grabbing my hair - and the next second she just fainted into a heap on the floor. Then Aiden was there, silently comforting me while everyone else was rushing to her, trying to get her to wake up.

Aiden’s gaze flickered to me, the green deepening to a calmer emerald shade. Without another word he turned around and walked back the way he’d come from, disappearing around the corner.

For a second I thought about following him, but my feet wouldn’t move.

Two girls entered the hallway, chatting and giggling until they spotted the unconscious shifter lying on the floor.

They froze and stared for a second, before rushing to his side. One started to shake his shoulder while the other was checking his pulse and looking around wildly.

Having had enough excitement for the day, and feeling strangely numb, I opened a door to my right and was glad to find an empty classroom, decorated like a Japanese tea room. Disappearing inside I closed the door behind me and leaned my head against the thick wood.

Grandma.

Fishing my cell phone out of my jacket pocket I searched her contact and pressed call.

She picked up after three rings. “Margaretha? Aren’t you supposed to be at school right now?”

“Oma.” My voice was barely recognizable. “I need your help.”

A short silence filled the line, before she answered, her tone soothing. It reminded me of the times when she comforted me when I was younger. “Don’t you worry, child, we will figure out whatever’s troubling you. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Promise you won’t tell Dad. Or Aunt Marlene.”

She snickered. “They’re my children, not the other way around. I don’t have to tell them anything.”

I took a deep breath and then the whole story just spilled out of me. By the end I felt strangely better and lighter, even though I was no closer to a solution than a few minutes ago.

My grandma seemed to be a bit flabbergasted. “Did she really mix those two?”

“Yes, ringed snake and normal chicken eggs.” I swallowed.

“My, my, but you children do like to get in trouble. And the boy seemed normal to you? Not deranged?”

“No, I think the blisters are painful, but no more so than a normal rash.”

“Josephine was lucky her base potion was brewed to affect the skin, because the poison adopted the same properties. As long as the poison latches onto his skin, his organs are safe.”

“Is there any solution?”

“I won’t be able to help, as it is not an injury or an illness.”

I felt myself deflate a little. My grandma’s magic was very rare and just as coveted. Healers were a special kind of witch, able to cure sickness and wounds with a touch and, though pricey, usually the standard solution for any kind of trouble.

“I’ll give you a recipe for a potion which should help with the symptoms and slow the poison, though it cannot stop it.”

I swallowed my sigh. “Thank you, Oma.”

A short silence filled the line, before she continued. “And I might have a more permanent solution. Though it won’t be cheap or easy to acquire.”

“Really?”

She told me.

“And now excuse me, there’s a misbehaving girl who needs to get a call.”

For once I was glad to not be in Jo’s shoes.