The Witchwood

Nights at Newtnose 1: Into the Witchwood

"We can't do this," he said. I felt his breath on my neck. I ran my fingers through his short hair and nibbled his ear.

"I know we can't," I whispered.

We were seated on an ancient stone bench in the middle of the Witchwood. In the center of the bench was a weather worn rune, which when activated by a wand apparently allowed whomever seated on the bench to release and follow their inner desires. Hence how I, a student witch at Newtnose College, was about to fuck my Professor.

He ran his rough but gentle hand through my hair. I saw the conflict in his eyes wash away, felt the conflict in my heart dissolve, and we knew we were as alone as we would ever be.

"It's a lover's rune," he said. He gazed at my collarbone, my neck, my ear and into my eyes. His hard cock twitched against my thigh through our robes as I sat on his lap. He brushed the side of my neck and breathed deeply. "An extremely strong one," and he kissed my neck. I moaned.

"And you're telling me," I asked him, "that you didn't know what it would do?" I pressed myself into his chest and ran my hands over his broad shoulders.

His deep laugh reverberated in my chest. "Fairy runes can have a hundred different interpretations. The felled tree beside us--"

I pressed my thumb into his mouth, dragged it across his lips and kissed him. I felt an incredible emptiness between my legs.

He ran his hands over the front of my robes and spread them open. I gasped as my breasts fell forth from my bra. He kneaded them greedily and our tongues intertwined. I felt his hot breath on my face and my head swam.

He picked me up easily and laid me down on the bench. I dragged my wand over the rune once more and our eyes widened and we both gasped. I smelled forest pine, moss, dry dirt; I smelled his sweat and tasted his spit. He spread my legs, pulled my robes upwards and pushed my panties aside. I moaned again and grabbed his cock through his trousers.

"You're a naughty little thing," he said, "aren't you?"

I arched my back and rubbed my wand against the rune once more. His cock throbbed against my hand and he growled--I shivered, dropped my wand and rubbed my clit with my other hand. He kissed me deeply while I massaged myself. He looked me in my fluttering eyes as I hurriedly rubbed us both.

"I'm going to

fuck

you, Charlotte Nolet."

I put my fingers to his lips and he licked my juices off of them. He massaged my palm and moaned, his voice vibrating my fingertips.

"And I'm going to fuck

you

, Professor Stanton."

*****

It was my first term at Newtnose, and the conspicuous lack of men in my life was going to drive me insane. Why did the Parliament of Magics and Oddities believe it was a good idea to separate wizards and witches once they had earned their robes? I hadn't a clue, personally. It was briefly explained during orientation, and just as briefly had I dismissed it as nonsense.

Headmistress Deware stood before us upon a large granite stage, behind a dark, glossy podium. Flanking her were two Administrator tables at which sat our Professors. Innumerable chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, chained to wooden flying buttresses as if from the ribs of some great beast, glowed green from green-fire candles. That strange light fell over all of us who sat at the long dining tables before her.

"Surely in the goings of your primary education," she said, "you've made many friends with other witches and wizards. However, you're now attending Newtnose College, wands and robes honestly and deservedly earned, and at such an institution we require your full focus. You'd not have been admitted if you weren't capable of such hard work; you'd not have been admitted if you didn't have our complete trust. You may find such academic isolation, with us being located in the middle of the Witchwood and away from the wonderful wizards of Bentbrows, to be initially difficult. I promise you, however, that you will develop such a friendship with your fellow witches, and find so much knowledge in the best Professors that the realm can provide, that you'll come to prefer the particular educational atmosphere we have cultivated."

A girl giggled next to me. Her name was Violet Willowind, and I had met her on the train.

"Worthwhile should be right," she said, nudging me with her elbow. "Check

him

out."

At the center of the Administrator's table stood Headmistress Deware, and just to her right sat the man to whom Violet was referring.

He had short black hair and a jaw cut from marble shadowed by dark stubble. He leaned against the back of his chair with an air of complete ease.

"Keeping with tradition," continued the Headmistress, "our most junior Professor will give us a few parting words. Professor Stanton, if you will," and she gestured to him.

He stood well over six feet tall. His broad frame cast his black Professor's robe into a masculine figure that transformed his flowing garments. His tanned hands lightly gripped the lectern's edges as he stood and turned to speak, his sleeves rolled and fastened at the elbow. Drumming his fingers calmly, his exposed forearms rippled and relaxed. He surveyed the room with bright eyes which could have been gray or blue or silver.

"That's Professor Stanton," I said to nobody in particular. I'd read about him in the Quarterly; he was the youngest wizard in three centuries to take a full Professorship at Newtnose. A prodigy in Runery and Transfiguration, he had first appeared in the papers for his research on bottled Banshee screams and icelandic poppies-he had transformed magical medicine overnight through their blood clotting properties. According to the Whodunnits Wizardly, though, he'd also engaged in a, "...dark rite with a succubus, whatever that really meant. And slept with several vampires.

"Thank you, Headmistress Deware." His voice rolled through the large hall, clear and deep. "I'd like to welcome all of our newest students--our bright and hopeful first terms--to the beginning of an incredible education here at the finest magical college in the world. I'd also like to welcome our returning students--our brilliant and hardworking second, third, and fourth terms--to another wonderful year. I and the other Professors are very excited to continue your instruction."

From the roll of his voice I didn't parse much of what he said: his deep tones vibrated in my chest and tingled my ears. My face grew hot and I wondered if it was just the acoustics of the hall. It was the kind of voice I wanted whispering in my ear as I nuzzled myself into his arms.

At some point he finished his speech. I blinked a few times to clear my head and we clapped, which was apparently the custom: Violet and I only joined in once we saw older students doing so.

When the hall quieted, Headmistress Deware stood and raised two large wooden spoons. She was tall, thin, and in her early forties or so. She had short cropped red hair and intelligent green eyes. She wore form-fitted green robes, more like a skirt and blouse than the billowing robes the faculty wore.

She clapped the two wooden spoons together which vanished into a ball of smoke, and spirals of crackling fire spun towards the ceiling before burning out. At that sound, a large procession of trolls wearing aprons and short chef's hats brought bowls of Irish stew, plates of fried chicken, tins of pumpkin pies and a dozen other dishes. One walked by with a silver platter of turkey pies, and leaned over me to set it deftly upon the table. He tipped his puffy hat to Violet, stood and walked away. The creases of his bleach-white apron were starched and sharp, the cadence of his step exact.

"What's your name?" asked a girl next to me.

I looked away from the troll. "Charlotte," I replied. "And you?"

Her head was mostly hidden by a smoked turkey leg. I reached for and chomped on a hot roast beef sandwich.

She swallowed."I'm Erica Liggett," she said.

"And I'm Avery Liggett," said a girl next to her. Erica lowered the leg: the two were both brown haired and brown eyed, with fuzzy eyebrows like caterpillars.

"Charlotte Nolet," I said. "Nice to meet you both. Did you believe what the Headmistress said about why we're separated from wizards? Newtnose hasn't always been witch only, of course, and neither has Bentbrows been wizard only."

"Yeah, something happened here about twenty years ago," said Violet. "Oh, I'm Violet by the way. Pleasure to meet you two. Charlotte and I met on the train." Violet was a kind girl with long, curling blonde hair and shimmering purple eyes. She had a petite face and a small nose the kind of which you'd want to pinch and wriggle.

Erica and Avery smiled and nodded. "I heard one of the male students started some dark shit," said Erica. "But it was covered up."

"Dark shit," said Avery.

"So, all males were excluded?" I asked. "And it's just been, er, skipped over? I never heard that."

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't fully," said Violet as she nibbled a thick slab of toast. "Skipped over, I mean. Investigate anything with enough thoroughness and you'll find traces of truth."

"Investigatory, are we?" asked Avery jokingly.

"It's an interesting world," and Violet licked her lips. "Need more butter."

"Speaking of exploring," said Erica as she nodded towards the Administrator's table. "I mean, c'mon."

Avery laughed. "Someone's gotta have fucked him, right."

"He's been a Professor for years," I said. "Read it in the Quarterly."

"Cool," said Violet. She dipped her toast in Au jus. "Not the fucking. Or not the... not fucking. Whatever. Anyway, what's your schedule tomorrow, Charlotte?"

"Runery first thing," I said. "You?"

"Charms. Can't wait."

"Charmer huh? I've always preferred Runery and Transmography."

"Those are fun too. I can't decide on a subject though, I'm interested in a hundred different things."

And that was when I learned Violet was never more likely to be found in one place or another-library, dungeons, catacombs, anywhere at all. Eventually, and over the years of knowing her, I'd learn to find her sprouting up like a mushroom in the most unexpected places.

The rest of our first dinner as Newtnose witches was relaxing: it turned out the Liggetts both played soccer and were hobbyist carpet fliers, and that Violet had spent a summer in Algeria digging up Ammonite fossils to render into vanishing powder for her family's pharmacy. I felt lame in comparison: I couldn't afford things like that, and neither could my parents. So like usual, I had simply read and day dreamed.

Greenfire flickered over us, marking a playful visual rhythm to the night in shadows across the great hall. The trolls eventually returned to remove our plates and serve us ice creams, cakes and aperitifs. Soon afterward Deware bid us good night, and we followed the older students to our dormitories: two beds to each room, red and black velvet comforters, flickering candelabras as night lights, a large window overlooking the grounds and a perpetual fire in the fireplace. Dark wood paneling adorned with gold motifs of cassowaries, lions and lampreys quieted the crackle of coal which was already so soft in the soft room. One of the lions walked along the wall, before walking in a circle and laying down in a curl atop a particularly worn-looking run of wainscot. It laid it's head on it's large, shimmering paws and slept.

Tired from all the food and conversation, I was happy to pull back the curtain of my bed and sleep, the fire twinkling and some light rain tinkling against the window. Violet was my roommate, and snored lightly. I dreamed of my first Runery class the next morning.

*****

I woke late. I tossed my covers away and grabbed last night's robe which was in a pile at the foot of my bed. Bra, panties-that day-after underwear feel wasn't how I wanted to start my day. I didn't have time to fix my hair or makeup, though what was the bother? My teacher for first period was a bird, and although I wanted to look my best, I'd rather be on time. I'd love to have taken the time for myself and look my best, simply to do so, and take in finally arriving at Newtnose. Oh well.

I arrived at my classroom to find it empty. I checked the placard in the hallway what felt like six times before relenting and just sitting down. Five minutes passed, then ten.

In front of me was the teacher's wooden lectern. A carved snake wound its way from the bottom to the top of it, and where a Professor would lay his or her notes was instead a bird's perch. Massive parchment scrolls were pinned to crimson dragon leather boards fastened to the stone walls, reading various medicinal runes, curses, enchantments (one of which would give you webbed feet and hands, like a kelpie). The windows slowly rolled, or, the stones rolled, within the south-facing wall to my left, seemingly by the rustle of the wind. The hypnotic, slow tumble of warm morning light and cold shadow shimmered in shafts through the room as if I was under water.

"I think you're in the wrong room," said a voice from the door.

Startled, I turned in my seat to face

him

.

He seemed far taller within a few feet of me than before in the grand hall; as he walked into the room, a waft of--what was it?--oiled leather and pine followed him. He strode to the center of the room and stood next to the lectern. His large, rough-looking right hand settled softly upon it. He looked at me, and I fell into what I discovered to be icy blue eyes.

"You're Miss Nolet," he said.

The way he told me my name made me nervous. I wasn't a timid person, but there was a contradictory, almost relaxed intensity to his tone.

"Yes, Professor."

"You haven't waited long, surely," and his fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the lectern, just like at dinner. He looked away from me and out the dew-misted windows overlooking the school grounds. "I love these windows," he said.

I wasn't sure if he wanted me to answer his question. Instead I just blurted out the first thing on my mind: "They're nice."

He looked at me and smiled lightly, holding my gaze. My face grew hot and I glanced away again.

"Er," I continued, "no, I haven't. Been waiting long, that is."

"It's interesting," he said and he laughed. "For all the magic in the world, they can't get the messenger rats your missives. I take it you didn't know Profesor Quip would be only tending to common classes, and that I'd be your primary Professor for Runes, instead. Hence, why you didn't come to my office."

I was shocked, and apparently my face gave it away.

"Ah," he said. He shifted his weight, and his polished brown boots shimmered against the cobalt blue of his tapered slacks. He wore a thick black button-up, tailored and partially untucked, and it seemed suitable for either a nice dinner or a dig site.

A shaft of light from the windows caught the rim of his dull-gold watch in a diffuse sparkle. "I'm Professor Stanton," he said.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "I'm Charlotte."

At first, I couldn't figure out the way he looked at me: it was intense, like he was looking through the 'me' I was in public to the 'me' I was when alone. But it was soft, too, powerful without being demanding, and his gaze made me want to both look away immediately and to never let go of it. After a second, I realized: he looked at me as if I were the only thing in the room-he simply

saw

me. The pure attentiveness of it was intoxicating.

"A pleasure," he said. "Now regarding your private lessons, what all do you know about how this is all done?"

I shifted in my seat. It wasn't discussed in orientation, though I had read plenty of theses from those who had completed their robes here at Newtnose. "Honestly," I said, "It hasn't been addressed in our admissions material. I've read plenty to get a better idea, but I don't have much idea regarding the logistics of it."

He laughed. "So not much, I take it."

I didn't know if I should be embarrassed or not. "No, not really."

"Well," he said, "I don't either. It mostly depends on you."

My eyebrow pricked up. "What do you mean?"

He walked from the lectern and paced slowly in front of the line of desks between himself and I. "You've learned the basics of standard magics from your primary education; you've earned your red novitiate's robes, you've earned your blank wand, and you've arrived here." He stopped and faced me: there was a delicate shimmer in his eyes that contrasted with his tanned skin and broad shoulders. "And so, we've a more specialized track in your education ahead of us."

I could grasp each word from the air and warm them in my hands. I was suddenly aware of how I was sitting. I sat straighter--he waved his hands through the air and his sleeves slipped to his elbows, exposing his forearms which looked to be covered in several silver scars.

"If we're to proceed well, I'll need as much honesty from you as you're willing to bear. We'll have six sessions for your first year, which will last as long as they must--a full day, several if necessary, overnight in certain cases. It's an independent study program where your interests are explored, using, essentially, my experience to guide you in the field.

Overnight? My face grew hot. That was the last thing I needed.

He leaned against the lectern. "That is, I assure you, wholly dependent upon your ability to elucidate your thoughts and convey your desires. It's my job to recognize your academic needs from those desires, and is a task which I find particular pride in." His voice was smooth but biting like firewhiskey, and I couldn't look away from the alluring chill behind his eyes.

"And so, I'll ask you: what do you like most about runes?"

My classmates at my previous schools despised them; the magical community in general saw Runery as rather archaic, preferring the free-flowing art of Charmery and Cursery, or the wild and tactile subject of Transmography. But I really enjoyed the methodical process of approximating my intent, articulating my meaning into an alphabet, drawing it out and seeing how well whatever I had written actually expressed itself when imbued with magic. With proper learning and desire, one could quite literally write a blooming flower, pen candlelight by which to read, and listen to a song just quilled. It was an extraordinarily difficult and intricate task, and though that seemed to drive away many of my peers, it attracted me.

"Well," I said, "it's nice to see them work."

He laughed. "I completely agree."

I wanted to jump out the window. He must have noticed me glance towards it and smiled, and said, "Believe me, I have something here which will interest you more than soggy grass and trippy glass: I read your Secondary provings; you stood out to me immediately. You chose Runery! Nobody really does that, anymore."

My mingled mix of embarrassment and annoying attraction was whisked away by confusion. We tested out of our elementary magical education at the age of 22 to earn our red novitiate robes and blank wands. We chose a subject in which to develop our Proving, and of course I picked Runery. I never thought anyone except the testing committee would actually bother to read what I had produced, though: I crafted a rune which would produce itself as a duplicate, and that duplicate would produce another duplicate, and so on, until either ink or parchment ran dry.

Excitement crept into his voice. "Absolutely brilliant stuff, that. I have no idea why a bigger fuss wasn't made about a novitiate proving out with a metamagical rune. Many blackrobes can't even be bothered to try." He sat on the desk just in front of me, and I was way too aware again of my hands, my feet, my hair. Why had I slept in and not brushed it, again? I felt so small but so obvious. My heart raced and I tucked a stray bang behind my ear.