Page 5 of A Witch and Her Minotaur
She puffs out a breath. “Well, I certainly used to chase you down and invite you all over the place. But I think you prefer that I not. Am I wrong?”
It’s true—she used to invite me out for dinner and drinks with the other faculty members, and she even strong-armed me into joining her and some of the other professors at a music festival in Wysteria a couple years ago. But there were far too many people, the music was far too loud, and all I could think of the whole time was getting home to my hut and my moonflowers and my quiet.
Since then, I’ve politely turned down all her offers. So, no, she’s not wrong.
“Point taken,” I huff. Then I switch the rake to my other hand and ask again, “So, what is it?”
Lysandra gestures in the direction of my hut, the wide sleeve of her gown rippling with the movement. “Can we talk over a cup of tea?”
“I DON’T NEED AN ASSISTANT,” I say, voice bordering on a low grumble. “I’m perfectly fine working on my own.” If I weren’t sitting down, my thin tail would be lashing in irritation right now.
Lysandra sips the tea I brewed her—lavender with a dash of wildflower honey—then lowers the cup and levels a stare at me. “It’s a disciplinary assignment,” she says.
As if that makes it any better.
“Disciplinary? For what?”
The headmistress continues to tell me about a fire witch who’s on the verge of expulsion, having already set fire to the greenhouse and having very nearly sent the library up in smoke. The more words that leave her mouth, the tighter my shoulders grow.
Thelastthing I need right now—orever—is a volatile fire witch with a penchant for burning up exotic plants. I found Professor Fleur sobbing in the greenhouse yesterday, dark cheeks splotchy and eyes swollen, and I can only assume the fire witch in question is the same one who obliterated the precious midnight lotus flowers that the professor had worked so very hard to cultivate.
Seeing their scorched petals and stems in the compost later that day made my stomach twist. And now theheadmistress is trying to put that very same fire witch onmyplate. I’d rather eat rocks.
“So, this is discipline for her, or for me?” I rumble.
Lysandra twists her lips and cants her head at me. “Come now, Cairn. I know you’re not one for working one-on-one with the students, but I think it could be good for her. And for you.” She casts her gaze to one of my small windows, where more leaves are twirling down from the trees above, landing in a blanket across the ground. “There’s always so much to do at this time of year. She’ll be an extra pair of hands, if nothing else.”
Tiny witch hands—with a problem controlling their fire. I’m quite sure I don’t need such a pair of hands. Mine do perfectly well, thank you.
“And what is she supposed to get out of this... collaboration?”
Lysandra’s pale blue eyes find me again. “She needs to ground herself, to learn how to control her magic. Hard work may be just what she needs. And plants can stabilize us. They’re healing.” She reaches out and places a hand gently on my knee, despite the mud and dirt still staining the fabric from my work this morning. “I’d hate to see her lose her place at Coven Crest because she can’t get a handle on her emotions.” Sympathy flickers in her gaze. “I’m not sure what else to do for her, Cairn. You may be her last hope.”
Something squeezes in my chest. I wish it wouldn’t. I’m much too softhearted for my own good.
Lysandra continues to stare at me with those big pleading eyes. How am I supposed to say no when she’s looking at me like that?
I can’t. And she knows it.
So, with a barely restrained groan, I yield. “Fine. I’ll deal with the fire witch.”
Lysandra’s pout shifts into a big smile, and she squeezes my knee. “Thank you, Cairn. I promise you won’t regret it.”
And I promise I will.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, AFTER LYSANDRA has finished her tea, she departs my hut with a smile and a wave, calling over her shoulder, “We’re having dinner at Boar and Badger tomorrow night. You know you’re always welcome.”
With a frown, I close the door firmly. On the other side, I can hear her light laugh. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of Barron soaring across the blue sky.
Next time he comes looking for me, I’ve got half a mind to hide.
My tail flicks again in irritation. I have a feeling it’s going to be doing that a lot in the days and weeks to come.
I carry the teacups into my kitchen and give them a quick scrub in the basin, then set them out to dry on a clean cotton towel. After wiping up the few droplets of water that spilled onto the countertop, I turn to regard my hut.
While admiring how clean and quiet and impeccably organized it is, I get a terrible feeling in my gut—the feeling that this fire witch is going to ruineverything.
Chapter 3
