A War of Whisks and Witchcraft

Chapter 1 - Shadow

PREVIOUSLY, ON THORNMERE CHRONICLES:

Professor Aldric Graves reached for a bundle of dried, purple-veined leaves, rolling them between his fingers until they crumbled into a faintly glowing powder. As the dust drifted into the cauldron, he watched the liquid shift, darkening, thickening. “Here, then. Shadowroot. It enhances craving responses to sugar,” he explained to his secret private student. “Combined with this aether-spun caramel, it will compel Draeven to keep eating whatever he can get his hands on. But it will only work once activated by your magic.”

If you’d told him years ago that one day, a powerful Gustatrix Arcana would ask him to train her, he’d predict he would say no. Emma’s magic was one of which he knew the danger, personally. And yet, here he stood, in a ramshackle lab at the edge of the woods outside Thornmere University, consisting of a single table, a small cauldron, and only what vials and pots of ingredients they would need as he guided her through the motions of preparing an appetite stimulant as powerful as it was insidious. Perhaps it was because he trusted her with such a weapon, seeing as she had already saved his life once.

Perhaps it was because he believed her when she swore she would only use it to bring down the Dark Lord to whom she’d been betrothed.

And perhaps, too, it had something to do with her confessed affection toward him under the influence of her own truth potion, that night of the Winter Snowball.

The thing was, he’d become rather fond of her, too.

Emma didn’t hesitate. “Well, I just found out I was magic, and I already know exactly what I wanna do with it.” A small chuckle rose in her throat as she threw in the remaining ingredients, the mixture bubbling hungrily in response.

As she worked, she rattled off a string of questions—something about Draeven’s authority, about currency conversions, about the baffling price of theater tickets versus boots. Aldric listened with the bemused patience of a man who not only knew not to expect linear conversation from her, but found her more scattered thought-trains charming.

“And I suppose there are forces in this ‘Amer Rica’ that reign politics and economics into a peaceful simplicity, easily accessible to the masses?” he asked. Teased?

“Well, no… well, no. Good point.”

He almost smirked, but then he noticed the slight tremor in her shoulders. She had come out here with her cloak unfastened, but now she was drawing it close, fingers fumbling at the buttons.

“You’re shivering,” he murmured, stepping toward her. He reached for the ends of her sash, tying them together beneath her bust, a bit hesitant at first–then again, she was a tough girl; she’d have shoved him away if she wanted to, but she didn’t do it. “There we go. Move closer to the fire; you haven’t got as much insulation as I’ve.”

She huffed, shifting toward the cauldron. “Shucks, I mean, I got some.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he let the moment pass.

“So,” she asked, gaze flickering toward the tree line, “do we get weird monsters around these woods? Chimeras and such?”

Aldric chuckled. “My dear Emma, do you really think we’d build a school on the outskirts of a dangerous forest? I daresay the scariest thing out here tonight might be you.”

“Are you scared of me, Aldric?” she asked, and this time, there was something softer in her voice. “A witch who, by your own words, could save countries, but also wage wars…?”

He looked her over, then exhaled. “Not scared of you, per se. Scared for you, perhaps.” He leaned against the table, watching as she stirred the mixture with precise, deliberate motions. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I know.” She didn’t look up.

“Your gifts will only be half the battle. If Draeven discovers your true intentions…” He hesitated, voice quieter now. “I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”

The words left him before he could stop them, raw and unguarded. Emma stilled, and for a long moment, she didn’t turn to face him. When she finally did, there was something unreadable in her inquisitive, amber eyes.

“I won’t let anything happen to me,” she promised.

Aldric’s chest tightened. “Good, because I—”

“Because you what, Aldric?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t think. Before he could weigh the consequences, he closed the distance between them. His fingers ghosted over her wrist, hesitant, seeking—then, before reason could restrain him, his lips found hers.

It was soft. A plea rather than a demand. A moment stolen against the cold.

But if he was a thief, she signed right on as his accomplice. She leaned in, her lips begging for more intimacy. Her palms flattened against his soft chest through his vest and coat, and he didn’t even know if she realized she was doing it, but she soon rose up on tiptoe to press herself up into the bottom of his fat stomach, her lower half bucking into him as if begging to take him into herself.

When they parted, Emma was breathless, her cheeks flushed. He felt the gravity of what had just happened, of what it meant, his heart hammering against his ribs like a drum.

“I’m supposed to be focusing on Draeven,” she murmured.

And then it was over…but he wouldn’t forget this.

***

PRESENT DAY

The morning light poured through the high-arched windows of Starhaven Keep’s grand dining hall, bathing the long oak table in a golden glow. The scent of buttery biscuits and rich, peppery gravy mingled with the crisp air, punctuated by the warm spice of huevos rancheros. Emma lifted her glass of sweet iced tea. After her takedown of the Dark Lord Draeven, the people were looking to her as a trendsetter, but also a peer. She could say nothing about her true origins as a Mortal-born from a no-name town in Texas, now that she was ‘Lady Starhaven’, a false title the Mortal-born witch had picked up after Seraphina Luxford, her best friend at Thornmere Academy and the true daughter of the Duke and Duchess, had passed her off as her ‘sister’ in order to save her from days enduring bullying, name-calling, and magical wedgies on campus–a lie that had gotten her close enough to Draeven to prevent him from rising to power afresh. She could say nothing of her rare gift of kitchen witchery, the very talent that had enabled her to orchestrate Draeven’s downfall, lest she implicate her new ‘family’ as co-conspirators in the premeditated murder she’d carried out.

As she magicked the home bar counters clean with a few well-placed spells, the Duke and Duchess indulged in the breakfast she’d prepared for the house with the delight of conquerors feasting on spoils.

“Exquisite,” the Duchess declared, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “My dear, you didn’t have to put yourself through all this trouble, but I’ll be the last to complain that you did. You make me wish I had any sons to parade before you…not that that would be proper, of course…’Daughter’,” she added with a wink. “What I’m trying to say is that this ‘Tex-ass’ cuisine would make any warlock a happy husband indeed! But of course, I’m sure you’re happy with Master Blackwood…”

Seated at the table, along with Seraphina and her parents, Dorian Blackwood, the ‘mere son of a Military man’ she’d taken as her husband in a dramatic move before the whole magical world, swallowed the last of his eggs in one huge bite, followed by a deep drink from his own tea. “She’d better be. She practically kidnapped me after the Dark Lord failed his Trial of Objection.”

Emma scoffed. “If my own memory serves, you burst into the venue declaring your love for me.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to be each others’ happy hostages,” said Dorian, before turning back to the Duke and Duchess. “Anyway, I’m plenty happy with her.” Under the table, he palmed at his stomach, teasing Emma with its heft. And to think, he’d been so thin when he’d first asked her to the previous year’s Winter Snowball, but once he’d learned she liked her men on the heavier side, he was all too happy to give in to long-contemplated indulgences…with a little of her help. And to think, his stepfather, the Colonel, now insisted he spend the summer with Emma in the hopes that in overbearing wifely fashion, she’d whip him back into shape.

“I’m happy as a clam,” said Emma, joining the others at last at the table. “I just wanted to make sure…you and the Duke are both truly comfortable with how Seraphina introduced me to society. As another Luxford daughter.”

The Duke chuckled, setting his goblet down with a heavy thud. “Comfortable? My dear, it’s a stroke of brilliance. The Grand Enlightenress, raised in our house?”

Emma dipped her head. “I’m pretty sure that’s a made-up title. Like, do I have a political office? Or a real military rank?”

“Oh, it’s absolutely fabricated, but you have something even more important than anything that can be handed to you by any establishment: influence,” said the Duke. “Your triumph over Draeven has elevated you to a position of immense power. Even if that power only exists in the public’s eye, it exists, nevertheless. And, as fate would have it, that power is now tied—publicly, inextricably—to the Luxford name.”

The Duchess reached across the table to pat Emma’s hand, her rings glinting. “What my husband is trying to say is, you’re family now, dear. As far as magical society is concerned, you are a Lady Starhaven. It would be foolish of us not to embrace such a wonderful narrative.”

Emma swallowed, uncertain how much of that statement was genuine sentiment and how much was cold strategy. Perhaps it was both. The Luxfords were nothing if not adept at turning circumstances to their advantage.

“I just don’t want to be… a liability,” she murmured. “People know that I’m an enemy of Draeven…he might be gone, but what if his sympathizers come back to power?”

“Nonsense,” said the Duke. “You’re an asset. The brightest jewel in the Luxford crown. Besides, our family has too long walked a tightrope, never declaring a true stance…however, the time has never been more appropriate to declare allegiances, thanks, all, to you.”

“But what’s, like, my job description?” asked Emma. “What does a ‘Grand Enlightenress’ do?”

“Well, it’s simple,” explained the Duchess. “You’re an influencer of public opinion. Now that Draeven is gone and you remain standing, it’ll be up to you to tell the people what to think.”

She didn’t know if she was ready for that–it almost sounded to her that she was just the new Dark Lord, but rebranded under a shiny new label. At least she and her lovers would get to get away for a while…

“No more talk of politics!” Seraphina declared all of the sudden. “Mother? Father? You’re crowding my friends, and if we don’t get our suitcases the rest of the way packed, we’re going to miss our…what was that thing called, again, Emma?”

“Plane,” said Emma.