Chapter 4: New Discoveries

I scramble away from the wall, accidentally banging my knee against one of the doors. I hug it to my chest, closing the doors shut with my free hand. What could she be using it for? I abandon my dorm and dart toward my class. As my mind races, my legs pump faster. A blurred figure narrowly dodges me and I shout an apology, my words slurred. I slump against my classroom door, panting. Conveniently, there’s a water fountain right next to me. I drink as much as I can and brush the extra water away from my mouth. I open the door to reveal the lush oval, each of my classmates carrying a broom. The teacher glares at me.

“Miss Mist, how nice of you to join us. My name is Ms. Lao. Now head over to the shed to get your broom. I warn you, all there’s left are the ancient ones. Also, detention at lunch.”

Ms. Loa has greying hair and a stick-straight posture. Her skin is tan, almost orange. She is supported by a cane, the same flower, and crystal design as that key. I clutch it tightly, it's glory hidden deep inside my skirt pocket. Almost everyone around me is carrying brooms of beautifully decorated plastic with the bristles of suoars. Suoars are great big boars with softer bristles that can be dyed easily. They thrive in the sun and are good transport, there are many around the school’s grounds. In the racks lie the older brooms. They’re made from twisted branches and have no seat, unlike the newer versions. You can tell they've been here for a while. The one that draws my eye like an adorable puppy is tucked away in the corner. Its wood is dusted, but nothing a good wash can’t fix. You could tell that it was once beautiful, remnants of pink and red shining through. It’s dotted with preserved magic blossom leaves and there’s padding as a seat. The bristles are also made of suoars, dyed a fiery orange. I take a step forward, but the teacher intercepts me.

“I hope you don’t have one in mind, Miss Mist, because the broom chooses you.”

Of course, it does. All hope of getting that broom flies out of me. Ms. Loa flicks a rusty switch and the brooms quiver to life. They zip around the shed, and one broom hovers near me. It seems to sniff me, its point nodding up and down. It has a rusty sheen to its wood, the bristle molding and crooked. I hold my breath. Then, it flies away. The one that I was ogling before comes close and rests in my open palms with no hesitation.

“Congrats, you got one. Now get out of the racks and move over to the others.”

I follow her obediently, holding my broom. I stand next to twins, who are jumping up and down with glee. Their brown curls bounce with them. Their brooms are basically identical, pale wood contrasting against their dark skin. The bristles for one are dyed purple, the other, yellow. Everyone lines up, shoulder to shoulder as Ms. Loa demonstrates how to fly a broom. She hops on gracefully, cane clipped to her side like a sword. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. Just like that, she’s off the ground. Her toes lightly brush the grass as she slowly moves towards us. The teacher gets down.

“That is all you will be learning today. This may seem easier than your other classes, but that’s because you’ve practiced potions and spells for your whole life. It’s your first time riding a broom, so we'll take it slow. Getting off the ground without being battered is one achievement. Expect broken bones. This is the witch version of those hardcore PE classes humans foolishly take.”

She gestures for everyone to sit on their brooms. The worn padding of mine is actually comfy and the wood feels right beneath my fingers. However, no one has time to attempt to hover, as two brooms speed high into the sky, the riders overjoyed shrieks piercing the air. Ms. Loa rolls her eyes and starts to chase after them before the brooms come back into sight. It’s the twins, and they’re standing on their transportation, not sitting.

“Mrix, Trix, get back down!”

The twins don’t hear -probably because they’re in the clouds. We gasp as they do a loop-de-doop and when it looks like they’re going to crash, they switch brooms, still standing. They perform an array of tricks, each one more spectacular than the last. Eventually, they slow to a stop, hand in hand while they bow. We burst into a round of applause. I can tell Ms. Loa is struggling whether to scold them or indulge them with praise. It was very impressive. In the end, she decides to ignore it altogether and ushers everyone to get onto their brooms once again.

“Listen up! When you’re on the seat, clear your mind of anything. It’s only here and now, nothing else. Envision yourself being as light as air, then your broom floating up. If a thought wanders into your mind, acknowledge it, then let it float on by.”

Several people endeavor to hover but fall flat on their faces- for some, literally. I clear my mind. Dangerous potions? Possible psycho as a roommate? Mysterious engravings? Nope, tuck away into the box labeled ‘For Later’. A bright, orange box with warning tapes. I make myself throw it away into the darkest corners of my mind. Breathing in, I picture my toes lifting off the ground, my body as light as air. When I exhale, I imagine the sensation of the broom trembling with excitement. Opening my eyes, the world seems a whole lot brighter, the sky, ever so slightly closer. I look down, my breath catching as I hover over the ground. I resist the urge to whoop and peer around to see if anyone else had made it. The twins, of course, are perfectly in control. A few have made it, deep in concentration as they navigate their way around. I copy them, carefully dodging the colorful obstacles Ms. Loa set out for us. By the end of the session, we’re all huffing and puffing.

“That’s right girls,” she shouts “flying brooms are harder than it looks. It takes great willpower and stamina. Imagine doing it for over an hour! You’d be dead, and that’s the truth.”

After the workout, I’m glad to be able to sit down and let my aching body rest. History is next and already some girls are dozing off -class hasn’t started yet. The teacher is a familiar grumpy face, Miss Bostony. She speaks about how witches came to be. Despite her attitude, Miss Bostony sure knows how to engage a crowd. She uses dramatic gestures and conjures up 3D pictures, taken from past witches. In the end, my mind is brimming with knowledge. Witches have only been around for two thousand or so years, quite young compared to humans. The witches had sprouted from one different human, not so long ago. That girl had possessed magic like no other, being born on a blue moon. She learned to tame them and harness them for greatness. Ada -as we know her- had no desire for power. She simply wanted to help others who were like her. She’d met wizards and warlocks, faeries and mermaids. Never did she encounter another witch. And when she did, she found that the other woman was greedy and power-hungry. Elsie came from a poor family who was treated like dirt, a different road from which Ada had traveled. Elsie mastered her magic long before Ada had and was wreaking havoc upon every noble she could find. Eventually, other witches were discovered, but the human race was so scarred from Elsie’s schemes that they burned every single one of them. The ones that managed to escape their wraths grew dark, knowing that the world was out to get them. So they defended themselves and cast curses all over the world. Many of which had inspired children’s fairy tales. Ada managed to convince a few to join the path of good and started a school to train witches only. She named it Mistball Academy, a tribute to her new family.

~ ~ ~

Finally, it’s lunch. My stomach grumbles as I line up to get pizza, accompanied by some fries and onion rings. It’s one of the human foods that we cherish. I gobble it up fast and sense strikes me like lightning. I have detention. I leave my plate at the marble counter for the cooks to clean, making sure to say thank you. Then, away I go, into captivity. My thoughts wander to the weapons in our closet, the reason I can’t talk to Master Quet this lunch. Sigh. The detention room is located between the two schools, almost like a bridge where the boys and girls meet. My destination is a navy-blue door with a symbol of a lightning strike. Behind it, a room is dimly lit with a lit bulb, and out of nowhere, a face pops up. I gasp and try to slow my heart.

“Welcome Miss Mist. You can call me Mrs. Greycloud

I scan the room, just in case there are more jumpscares. When I deem it safe, I step in and an icy wind blows into my face.

“Wonderful, isn’t it? The perfect temperature and a million things to do!”

I tentatively walk forward and Mrs. Greycloud shoves a bottle into my face. The opaque liquid sloshes, strings of blue and red snaking around it. I gulp down the kaleidoscope of colors and the room warms up. Blinking, the cramped room expands and everything brightens up. It takes me a moment to register with what I’m seeing. Cauldrons, ingredients, a cooking station, and an inside garden. I peer at the little drops of potion that I didn’t drink. This thing does wonders. Three boys and two girls sit around a round table, chatting. Siren and Lucus are here, surprisingly, and so is Evernly. As I walk past her to sit down, she glares at me. I plop down next to a girl with jet black hair and purple eyes. They gleam intelligently and she beams me a smile. I smile back.

“Hey, I’m Willow. What did you get in for?”

“Being late…” I mutter, “How about you?”

“Ah, I kinda, sorta cursed someone.” She winced. “It was in Curses and Hexes. I made the spell too powerfully. Now someone’s stuck being a frog for a week.”

I’m about to answer when the lights go out.