1. Potions & Poisons

Potions & Poisons

A s I step out of my dorm building, the chilly morning air smacks me in the face like a cold, wet fish. Lovely. At least it wakes me up better than that cursed alarm clock ever could. The campus stretches out in front of me, a blend of gothic architecture, ivy-covered walls, and students who are way too chipper for this early in the morning. But hey, that's what you get at a school for the supernatural and the weird—perky sirens, brooding vampires, and more shifters than you can shake a silver stick at.

I jog across campus, my red stockings flashing like warning signs as I make my way to the Hub, the social beating heart of this madhouse we call school. The place is packed already, buzzing with early risers sipping overpriced lattes from the student-run café. Tables and benches sprawl out in front of the library entrance, with students huddled in their usual cliques. Shifters stick to shifters, sirens gather by the fake fountain—go figure, and the vampires... well, they always seem to lurk in the shady corners, because of course they do.

I scan the crowd, and there they are—Sammy and Derek, the odd couple of the century. Sam's sitting cross-legged on the bench, scribbling furiously in her grimoire, while Derek leans back like the human-wolf hybrid model for ‘lazy confidence.' I make my way over, dodging a centaur with a frappuccino and an elf arguing about rune placement. Ah, another day at Salem High.

"Morning, losers," I say with my usual charm as I approach.

"Morning, witch," Derek shoots back, without even looking up. His tone is that perfect blend of insult and greeting, which we've both turned into an art form. He leans forward slightly, giving me that infuriating smirk he's always got locked and loaded. "Still wearing those hideous stockings, huh?"

I roll my eyes dramatically, placing a hand over my chest. "Oh, Derek, you really know how to make a girl feel special. I'll have you know these are vintage. But I get it—fashion isn't exactly your strong suit. How's that ‘I woke up in a wolf den' look working out for you?"

He gives me a mock gracious bow. "Takes effort to look this naturally disheveled, you know."

I cross my arms and grin. "Oh, I'm sure it does. Hours of planning, right?"

Sam looks up from her grimoire, finally noticing I'm there, and smiles. "Morning, Z. Derek giving you grief again?"

"As usual," I say, nudging Derek with my foot before turning to Sam. "What are you working on? More last-minute grimoire scribbling?"

Sam sighs, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Yeah, it's due tomorrow, and I still have way too many empty pages. I was hoping inspiration would just, like, hit me or something, but so far... nada."

I raise an eyebrow. "Need a hand? We can catch up in the library after school, and I'll help you fill it out."

Sam's face lights up like I just offered her a lifetime supply of glitter pens. "Really? You'd help? Can we make it after dinner?"

I tilt my head and give her a mischievous smile. "Ooo, you two got a fun little date planned?"

Derek shrugs nonchalantly, but Sam shakes her head, laughing. "Family dinner. Nothing fun about that."

I smirk. "Well, that sounds thrilling. But sure, after dinner works for me. We'll make your grimoire sparkle." Sam beams at me, and I give her shoulder a quick squeeze before glancing at the time. "Anyway, I better start heading to class. You know, Cauldron Concoctions waits for no witch."

Sam groans dramatically. "I still can't believe you take that class. Potion making was my kryptonite."

I laugh. "You mean you were terrible at it."

"Same thing," she mutters, but she's smiling.

"See you both later," I say, waving as I start to walk off.

Derek calls after me. "Don't blow up the classroom!"

I glance over my shoulder and wink. "No promises."

As I push open the door to Cauldron Concoctions , the familiar scent of herbs and bubbling brews fills my nostrils. There's something oddly comforting about it—like walking into a bakery, but instead of bread, it's potions that might cure your cold or, you know, turn you into a frog. A few students are already milling about, getting their supplies ready. The classroom itself is dark and cramped, with shelves lining the walls, filled with jars of ingredients that range from totally normal to is that thing moving? I love it.

In the far corner, sitting hunched over his phone, is Hank. He's my unofficial partner-in-crime for this class, even though he's not exactly the potion-brewing type. Hank is what you'd call a tech-witch. Why hex when you can hack? That's his motto. He spends most of his time bypassing firewalls instead of brewing potions, but when push comes to shove, he's pretty good with a cauldron too—at least when I'm there to stop him from blowing something up.

"Morning, Z," he says without looking up, his fingers tapping furiously on his phone screen. "Just getting into the school's server. Need to bump up my grade a little."

I drop my bag on the table next to him and smirk. "Hank, if you spent half as much time studying as you do hacking, you wouldn't need to change your grade."

He shrugs, finally glancing up at me. "Where's the fun in that?"

Before I can respond, the sound of tiny footsteps shuffles in, and the whole class goes quiet. Enter Professor Grimble. Standing no more than three feet tall, with a pointy hat that's twice the size of his head, Grimble looks like he's walked right out of a storybook. His long, white beard trails down to his waist, and his bulbous nose twitches with every breath. But don't let his size fool you—he's got the temper of a dragon on a bad day.

"Settle down, settle down!" Grimble barks, hopping up onto his tiny stool behind the desk. He points a finger at Hank, who's still half-distracted by his phone. "Mr. Grimsby! If you're so intent on using that infernal device, perhaps you'd like to enchant it into a cauldron and see how well it brews potions."

Hank slides his phone into his pocket, smirking at me. "I bet I could, though."

Grimble scowls, but turns to address the rest of us. "Today, we're working on antidotes. You'll be brewing a basic neutralizing potion—if done correctly, it will counteract most common hexes. If done incorrectly…" His eyes narrow as he sweeps the room. "Well, let's just say we've had a few students leave with rather interesting side effects."

I shoot Hank a glance. "No pressure, right?"

He grins. "None at all."

Grimble waves his wand, and a list of ingredients appears on the blackboard. "Wolfsbane, moonstone powder, two drops of phoenix tear, and for the love of magic, no more than three pixie wings! We don't want a repeat of last semester's… incident."

There's a collective murmur as students shuffle around to gather their ingredients. I grab my cauldron and start setting up, making sure everything's in order. Hank reluctantly does the same, though I catch him sneaking a look at his phone now and then.

"Focus, Hank," I say, nudging him. "We've got a potion to brew, not a firewall to crack."

He rolls his eyes but grins. "Fine, fine. Let's brew some magic."

Across the room, I spot a few other classmates I've come to know over the past few semesters. There's Lilith, a witch who's obsessed with curses—rumor has it she once hexed an entire cheer squad into croaking like frogs for a week. And then there's Rowan, a quiet necromancer who mostly keeps to himself, but has a soft spot for brewing love potions. He's surprisingly good at it, too, not that I'd ever tell him that to his face.

Grimble watches us like a hawk, his beady eyes narrowing at any sign of mischief. "Pair up and get started," he commands.

I motion to Hank. "You and me, as always?"

"Like you'd survive without me," he says, rolling up his sleeves. We get to work, following the instructions as best we can. I measure out the moonstone powder, carefully sprinkling it into the cauldron while Hank starts chopping the wolfsbane. For a guy who's more comfortable with keyboards than herbs, he's surprisingly good at this.

"So," I say, stirring the potion clockwise, as per the instructions. "What's your plan for when Grimble finally catches you hacking into the school's server?"

Hank smirks. "I'll just hex his computer. Simple."

I laugh. "Of course you will."

The potion starts to bubble, turning a deep, iridescent blue. So far, so good. Grimble hobbles by, eyeing our progress with suspicion but saying nothing. That's usually a good sign. Hank adds the phoenix tear, and the mixture lets out a small puff of smoke, releasing a faint smell of lavender.

"Looking good," Hank says, tapping the side of the cauldron like it's some kind of high-tech machine.

I grin. "You know, if this doesn't work out, we'll probably both end up sprouting wings or something."

Hank shrugs. "Could be worse."

"Yeah," I say, giving the potion one last stir. "I could do with a free flight to New York." The final step is adding the pixie wings, and I do it carefully, remembering Grimble's warning. Three wings, no more. As the wings dissolve into the mixture, the potion glows a brilliant shade of green—perfectly neutralized. Hank and I exchange a look of victory.

"Not bad for a couple of troublemakers," I say, corking the potion into a vial.

Grimble shuffles over, peering at our work. "Acceptable," he mutters, but there's a glint of approval in his eyes.

I glance at Hank. "That's basically an A+ coming from him."

Hank grins, pulling out his phone as soon as Grimble moves on. "Back to more important things," he says, typing away.

I roll my eyes. "You're so fucking hopeless."

As class winds down, I pack up my things, feeling pretty good about the day's work. No explosions, no weird side effects. I'll call that a win.