6. Mermaids & Selkies

Mermaids & Selkies

T he first class of the day is one of those classes that always seems mundane on the surface, but somehow, our eccentric teacher, Professor Bellamy, makes it more tolerable. The room itself is a bizarre mix of glittering lights and soft, velvety shadows—because why settle for regular lighting when you can enchant it to feel like you're walking into some kind of magical nightclub? The classroom is circular, with desks arranged in a semi-circle facing the front, where Professor Bellamy—a witch with an affinity for dramatic flair—stands by a large crystal orb that pulses with soft, glowing light.

Today's topic? The Subtle Art of Magical Influence . Basically, a course on how not to use your powers to manipulate people unless it's absolutely necessary. You know, basic ethics but with a dash of " please don't start a war by charming someone into giving you the keys to the kingdom ."

I walk in and take my seat, my eyes scanning the room. Skyler and Hazel are already seated near the front, chatting quietly with each other. Skyler's long, shimmering mermaid hair is braided into intricate knots that glitter like the ocean at sunset. She's twirling a pen in her fingers, her eyes occasionally darting toward the front of the room, where Mr. Whitlock—the student teacher and wolf shifter—leans casually against the desk, flipping through some papers. Skyler's obsession with him is borderline ridiculous, but it's also kind of hilarious. She's got it bad for wolf shifters…or anything else with fur, for that matter.

Hazel, on the other hand, is more understated. As a selkie, she's always got that aura of mystery about her, like she could slip away into the sea at any moment. Her boyfriend—some gargoyle a year older who's already off at college—keeps her grounded. She's texting him obsessively, like usual, her fingers flying across the screen as if she's warding off anyone who might think of stealing him away.

I slide into my seat next to them, leaning back with a grin. "Morning, ladies. What's the topic of the day? Persuading men to do your bidding, or holding back for the sake of your pristine reputations?"

Skyler laughs, the sound like musical bubbles rising to the surface. "Please, Zaria. We could easily persuade any man we wanted, but that's child's play. Besides, it'd be bad for business if people started thinking we used our powers for that ."

Hazel glances up from her phone, rolling her eyes playfully. "Not that it's hard. Have you seen men? One compliment and they're practically putty. Why would we need to use our powers?"

I chuckle. "Oh, I believe it."

Skyler leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But speaking of men…" She nods her head toward Mr. Whitlock, the werewolf student teacher, who's now explaining something to Professor Bellamy. "I mean, just look at him. He's all… tall and broody. You know what they say about werewolves, right?"

I raise an eyebrow. "That they're more trouble than they're worth? I've heard."

Skyler waves a hand dismissively. "No, no. That they lose control." Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "And let's be honest, I like the idea of a man who could lose control in me."

I smirk. "Around you, Skyler. Around you."

She shrugs, her grin wicked. "On, in, around—I don't care. As long as I'm the one holding the chains."

I burst out laughing. "Good luck with that. You know how well werewolves handle anything around their necks."

Skyler gives a little wink. "That's why it'll be fun."

Hazel looks up from her phone long enough to add, "You'll get bitten, and not in the way you're hoping for." Skyler sticks her tongue out at Hazel, but the teasing is all in good fun. Despite being a mermaid and a selkie—two species that usually don't get along—these two make it work. It helps that they steer clear of bodies of water when they're together. Keeping Skyler out of the pool and Hazel away from the beach is a small price to pay for their strange but tight-knit friendship.

"Anyway," I say, rolling my eyes at their banter, "how's the gargoyle, Hazel? Still texting him every five seconds, I see."

Hazel gives me a mock glare. "You try dating someone in college who's surrounded by people who can't wait to sink their claws into him. I'm just… keeping tabs."

"Keeping tabs," Skyler echoes, grinning. "More like keeping him on a leash."

Hazel shrugs, not even pretending to be offended. "Better that than letting someone else swoop in."

I laugh. "You two are something else. One of you wants to chain a werewolf, and the other's got a literal stone giant wrapped around her finger."

Professor Bellamy claps her hands, pulling our attention to the front of the room. "Alright, class, settle down. Today, we're going to discuss the ethical use of magical persuasion, particularly in high-stress situations where it's tempting to—shall we say—bend someone's will to your advantage."

She waves her wand dramatically, and the crystal orb on her desk flares to life, casting a faint, mesmerizing glow around the room. "Let's begin with an example. Say you're in a negotiation with a stubborn warlock who refuses to see reason. Do you subtly nudge him toward your point of view, or do you respect his autonomy and find another way?"

Skyler leans over to me, whispering, "Depends on how cute the warlock is."

I stifle a laugh, shooting her a look. "Skyler, focus. This could be important someday."

She grins, but her eyes drift back to Mr. Whitlock. "I'm focused. Just... on something else."

I roll my eyes and try to pay attention to the lecture, but honestly, these two always make class far more entertaining than it has any right to be. Professor Bellamy continues, her voice flowing through the classroom like the soft hum of magic itself. "Magical persuasion is a delicate art. It requires precision, intent, and most importantly—control. If you lose control, even for a moment, the consequences could be disastrous. You could alter someone's mind, their memories, their will, without even meaning to. It's like playing with fire—fascinating, but dangerous if you're not careful."

Something in those words hits me like a punch to the gut. Control.

Suddenly, the room feels smaller, the air thicker, like the walls are closing in. Control. I've always prided myself on having control over my magic, especially with my grimoire, and yet...

I can't stop the thought from creeping into my mind, dark and twisted: What if I erased my own work?

The idea snakes through my brain, winding tighter with every second. My grimoire was protected, sealed so no one else could tamper with it. Only I could affect it. Only I could have done something to it.

I swallow hard, trying to push the thought away, but it clings to me, pulling me down into a pit of doubt. What if I was careless? What if, in one moment of stupidity or distraction, I accidentally wiped it clean?

My hands clench into fists under the desk. The image of my grimoire—blank, empty, lifeless—flashes in my mind. The panic, the frustration, the shame.

How could I have been so stupid? I think, the words bouncing around my head like a cruel echo. Who else could've done it? No one but me.

I can barely hear Professor Bellamy's lecture anymore. Her voice is distant, muffled, like I'm underwater. My own thoughts are too loud, too overwhelming.

I erased it.

The realization gnaws at me, sinking deeper into my bones. If it was me—if I'm the reason all my hard work is gone—what does that say about me? That I'm careless? Useless? That I can't even manage something as simple as keeping track of my own magic?

I stare at the blank page in my notebook, and for a moment, it feels like the universe is mocking me. Another empty page. Another sign that maybe I'm not as competent as I've always thought.

You screwed up. The thought slams into me, hard and unforgiving. You erased your own spells, and now you're paying for it.

My breath quickens, but I try to keep it steady, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I can't let Skyler or Hazel see me unraveling like this. But inside, I feel like I'm spinning, falling down this endless spiral of uselessness. If I was stupid enough to do this—if I really erased my own grimoire—then how can I trust myself to fix it? How can I trust myself with anything?

What if I fail? What if I never get it back?

My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel a cold sweat prickling at the back of my neck. The doubts coil tighter, suffocating me. The confident, sarcastic Zaria that I usually am is nowhere to be found. She's buried under layers of self-doubt and frustration.

Professor Bellamy's voice cuts through the fog just as I feel like I'm drowning in it. "Control is everything. Without it, even the most skilled witch can unravel their own magic."

Her words pierce through me like a dagger, driving the point home.

I did this to myself. I ruined everything.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to force the thoughts away, but they linger, heavy and suffocating. I've never felt so... small. So completely incapable. And worst of all, it's my own fault.

I step out of class, the weight of my thoughts still pressing down on me like a boulder. The hallway is crowded, as usual, but I feel distant, like I'm not really there. My mind keeps replaying the same words over and over: You did this. You erased your own grimoire. The buzzing conversations around me only make it worse, and all I want is to be alone for five seconds to catch my breath.

But instead of solitude, I find Derek leaning casually against the wall, waiting just outside the door. His usual confident smirk is in place, like he doesn't have a care in the world, but there's something different in his eyes—something softer.

I frown, stopping in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside me as I start walking down the hall. "Got out of class early. Thought I'd bless you with my presence. You're welcome."

I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitches into a small smile despite everything. "Oh, yeah, because you're just such a joy to be around."

He chuckles, giving me a sideways glance. "Well, someone has to keep you entertained. You seemed pretty upset about the whole grimoire thing, and while I don't exactly get why it's such a big deal, I figured you might want someone to talk to. Or someone to mock. I'm versatile."

I stop walking for a second, blinking up at him. Derek's not the type to go out of his way for emotional support, at least not openly, and yet here he is, waiting for me outside class, offering... something . It throws me off for a moment, but I nod, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Yeah. Yeah, actually. That'd be nice."

We head out of the building, the noise of the hallways fading behind us as we walk across the school grounds. The air is crisp, with a light breeze that rustles the leaves of the nearby trees. It's a nice day, but I barely notice. My mind is too tangled in the mess of thoughts about my grimoire.

We find a bench under one of the large oak trees, the shade offering a bit of comfort from the bright sun. I sit down, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, as I try to figure out how to explain everything without sounding like a complete idiot.

Derek plops down next to me, his body language relaxed, but I can feel him watching me, waiting. I take a deep breath and glance over at him.

"I think I did it," I blurt out, my voice sounding smaller than I'd like. "I think I erased my own grimoire." He raises an eyebrow, clearly confused, but doesn't interrupt. I keep talking, the words tumbling out faster than I can control. "It's protected —my grimoire. No one else could've messed with it. And I keep thinking... What if it was me? What if I was stupid enough to screw it up without even realizing? I mean, who else could've done it? It had to be me, right? I had one job, and I blew it." My throat tightens as the thoughts start spinning faster. The more I say it out loud, the worse it feels, like I'm admitting something I don't want to believe. "I've never... I've never felt so useless. Like everything I've worked for, all those spells—it's all gone because of me . How do you come back from that?"

The emotions hit me hard, and before I can stop it, I feel my eyes burning, my chest tightening. I bite my lip, trying to keep it together, but the pressure is too much. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.

And then, before I can even react, Derek pulls me in.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, and for a moment, I'm too stunned to move. His embrace is strong, solid—like a wall between me and the world. I hesitate, my face pressed against his chest, but then something in me breaks, and I let myself relax into the hug.

He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't need to. He just holds me, his chin resting lightly on the top of my head, and I feel the tension in my body start to melt away. It's the kind of hug that makes you feel like maybe things will be okay. Like you're not completely alone in the chaos.

I close my eyes for a second, letting myself take comfort in it. This is my best friend's boyfriend. I shouldn't be this comfortable with him. But at the same time, I know Sam would understand. She'd get it. Derek isn't just her boyfriend—he's also my friend. And right now, I need that.

"Thanks," I mumble into his chest, my voice muffled.

"No problem," he replies softly, his arms still tight around me. "You're not as tough as you think, you know. You're allowed to feel things."

I snort, pulling back a little but still leaning into him. "Says the guy who pretends not to feel anything ."

He grins down at me, but there's a softness in his expression that catches me off guard. "Yeah, well. Maybe I'm just better at hiding it."

I roll my eyes and push him away gently, wiping at my eyes quickly before he can make a comment about it. "Okay, enough with the emotional therapy session. I've got better things to do than cry on your shoulder."

He laughs, standing up and offering me a hand. "Whatever you say, Z. But for the record, it's okay to need help. Even for a badass witch like you."

I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet, and as we start walking back toward the school, I can't help but feel a little lighter. The weight of the grimoire disaster is still there, but it's not crushing me anymore.