Bound (The Curse Trilogy Book 2)

by Nicole Marsh

  My dormant nerves flare back to life and my pencil slides around in my now clammy hand. I don’t remember going over these types of facts. I quickly review all the information I remember about berries. From what I recall, at least half the berries I studied were toxic. But half isn’t very close to ninety percent. I take a gamble and circle false.

  After the berry question, the test returns back to the expected material. I fly through the remainder of the booklet, keeping my eyes on my work. I never look up at the clock, not wanting anxiety to choke me up, if my pace isn’t quick enough.

  With a deep breath, I finally close the last page of the test booklet. I look up at the clock and notice half the other witches that were taking the exam are already gone. Some fast test takers, I guess. The clock reads 00:05. I finished just in time.

  A loud buzzing noise sounds and the numbers pulse 00:00 before disappearing from the chalkboard. “Pencils down,” our Proctor calls out.

  She calls us up one by one, grading each test individually while the rest of us wait. I can’t see exactly how the grading is accomplished from my spot near the back, but it happens rather quickly.

  After five minutes of waiting, the proctor calls out my name, “Mirabella Love.”

  I’m third, behind two witches that failed the exam. With a pit of dread in my stomach, I timidly make my way to the desk and plop my test booklet in front of the Proctor for review. She pours a silvery liquid onto the test and majority of the pages disappear. The Proctor flips through the remaining three pages before her and I see red markings on a few of the questions. “Eighty-Nine percent. You Pass. Please wait outside for the next portion of the exam.”

  I leave the room on shaky legs. I passed!

  My group is waiting just outside the door. My parents seem like they’re holding their breath. The second I’m fully in the waiting area, I yell, “I passed!”

  A round of cheers breaks out from my crew, but one of the parents in the room quickly shushes us, while consoling a crying witch I’m guessing didn’t pass. Everyone quiets drastically, but chatter continues as everyone states their opinions—"they’re so proud”, “they knew I could do it, “I’m going to kill the next exam”, etc. I stand in my circle of family and friends, feeling alone despite the crowd. Suddenly, I’m consumed by an intense yearning that takes my breath away. I want Vlad to be here, celebrating my victory.

  Leif seems to notice my stillness straight-away. He ambles over and slings an arm around my shoulder. For the first time, I lean into his comforting touch and watch my entourage animatedly talk to one another from his side.

  The wooden door opens, and the Proctor returns to the waiting area. Leif turns us slightly in her direction, to better hear what she has to say. “Alright, four of you passed the written exam. Next, we will conduct the brewing portion. This is an individually conducted exam. You will be called in alphabetically to take your exam. Family and friends may access the viewing platform from the door, there.” She points to an unmarked door. The proctor strides across the room to another wooden door and opens it “Maximus Kire, you are first.”

  “At least you’re probably next,” Leif whispers into my ear as an equally nervous-looking guy makes his way to the open door.

  “That’s true,” I say back quietly, appreciating his support.

  My cluster of family and friends wander over to the benches lining the wall. I sit with them occasionally interjecting comments, but for the most part, I’m distracted. My palms are sweaty and my brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. Time appears to slow as I wait for the boy ahead of me to complete his test.

  When the boy returns and my name is finally called, I feel as if I’m treading water, attempting to stay afloat in a sea of anxiety.

  My family smiles encouragingly as they begin to file through the door that allows them to access the platform and observe my test. Slowly, my legs carry me across the room, past Maximus Kire, silently weeping. I avert my gaze and force my spine to straighten and my knees to lift as I head into the room.

  The Proctor consults a scroll in front of her as I step up to the entryway. “Mirabella Love?” She asks in a calm, but stern voice.

  I nod. I couldn’t respond even if I wanted to, my throat is dry and my mouth feels stuffed full of cotton.

  “Follow me, then.” She says with a curt dip of her head. Her black robes swish as she turns and heads into the chamber. We walk into a large, square room with a vaulted ceiling. Looking up I can see a row of what appears to be mirrors on the wall above us. Although I can’t see through to the other side, I give a quick wave knowing my family and friends are up there watching.

  We cross the stone floor to stop in front of a large, pewter cauldron settled onto a sturdy table made of dark wood. The gray stone on the ground nearby is charred, the deep black color forming a perfect circle as if an inferno recently occurred, concentrated in a singular area. About a foot to the left is a table with rows upon rows of potion ingredients, arranged in a mishmash, much like the one Leif created in my parent’s witching chamber. Not for the first time, I’m grateful that Leif used the techniques that he did in order to prepare me for my exams today.

  My proctor quickly runs through the structure of the exam, adding one last step that Leif hadn’t gone over. When the potion is completed, the vials must be placed on the small, square, wooden table in the center of the room. This signifies I’m finished with the potion and stops the timer. “Are you ready, Miss Love?”

  “Yes.” I respond, positioning myself on the far side of the cauldron, in front of the open potions manual.

  “Your time begins, now.” Her words are annunciated with a click that displays a large 20:00 that begins counting down on the far wall.

  I drag my eyes away as the time hits 19:48 and glance down at the potion instructions before me reading the ingredients quickly. I repeat the words in my head: blancara leaves, devil’s root, moon dust.

  Over and over I say the words as I skim over the ingredients on the table nearby. My eyes immediately hit the blancara leaves, I confirm with the label on the vial, and do an internal fist pump. Moving the vial near my cauldron, I continue to repeat the other ingredients as I search the table: devil’s root, moon dust.

  Moon dust is a sparkling blue-white powder. The distinct substance catches my eye next and I retrieve it, adding the vial near the blancara leaves by the cauldron.

  Letting out a long exhale, I search for the last and most difficult to find ingredient: devil’s root. Devil’s root is a plain, light-brown root, one that looks similar to at least ten other roots. My eyes flit from each root reading the labels until they hit the last one, finally reading “devil’s root”. I pick up the vial, but instead of feeling victorious, I feel like somethings wrong. I study the root and the label for a solid thirty seconds before putting it back down.

  My hand is immediately drawn to another vial containing a root. I pick it up and see the label says “dog root”. The color is the exact same, but for some reason this vial feels “right” when the other one, the one with the correct label did not.

  Do I go with my gut and use the ingredient that feels right? Or use the one that feels wrong? Glancing at the clock, I see the timer is at 16:23. Not wanting to waste any more time, I decide to go with my gut and grab the vial labeled with the “wrong” ingredient.

  If the potion doesn’t brew the way it’s supposed to, I have two more attempts. If I pass both, I can still pass.

  Decision made; I hurry to the far side of my cauldron and start brewing. I pour in the water from the bucket off to the side and bring the liquid to a boil. While the cauldron heats, I read the potion three more times until I can recite the measurements by heart. I stir the water three times, then remove three leaves from the vial, crushing them in my hand before throwing them into the bubbling water. The cauldron hisses as the leaves hit the bottom.

  Next, I take the “dog root” and cut off three one-inch pieces. Stirring the contents of the cauldron again,
I throw in the pieces of root. A large cracking noise echoes across the room, like the sound a tree would make if struck by lightning. The noise makes me flinch and causes me to take a half-step back.

  I quickly recover. Wiping my slightly clammy hands down my pants, wicking off all the moisture, I stir the cauldron one time, then reach into the moon dust and pull out one pinch adding it to my concoction. The cauldron emits a puff of smoke as the last ingredient hits the mixture.

  Taking a deep breath and sending a small prayer, I stir counterclockwise seven times as denoted in the instructions. I glance up at the clock 12:52. When the mixture stops swirling in the cauldron, I ladle a scoop of the potion, pouring some into two vials.

  With an outward calm I don’t feel, I walk to the center of the room and place the completed potion onto the table. The timer immediately stops counting down, a large, red 9:43 remains projected onto the wall.

  My proctor steps forward, her black robes swirling around her feet with each step. She pulls one of the vials from the table and tips it towards the floor. Instead of allowing the glass to shatter, like I’ve been doing at home, she allows five drops of the liquid to hit the floor before returning the vial to the table. Before the glass completely touches the wood surface, a small snow flurry begins to fall on us.

  I look up in awe. I made it snow. Inside!

  “Very good, Miss Love.” My proctor states in her stern tone. “You will have five minutes before your next potion. We’ll clean your cauldron while you wait.” As she speaks, she pulls a vial out of her robes and drips five droplets onto the ground in the exact place she poured my potion. The liquid sizzles and the flurry of snow immediately ceases.

  A few additional adults, also clad in black robes, join us in the room and disappear with the cauldron. Presumably to empty it. I stand to the side, trying to stay out of the way but fascinated by seeing witches at work. Even though I know magic exists, it’s still not a regular part of my life yet. Every time I see it happen; I get giddy like the day I learned it exists.

  The five-minute respite passes by faster than a normal forty-five second period.

  “Are you ready, Miss Love?” My proctor asks when the timer on the wall hits 0:00.

  With a deep inhale, I return to my cauldron and round the table.

  After my nod, the timer is reset back to 20:00.

  14

  The Celebration

  Mirabella

  Three potions in an hour and fifteen minutes, or in my case a little less, may not sound brutal, but it is. When I leave the exam room my entire body is drained and I have a pounding headache from concentrating on scrawling text and bubbling liquids.

  Despite feeling exhausted, I also feel warm and happier than I have in weeks.

  I, Mira Love, am a licensed witch.

  My family and friends swarm around me. “Did you pass?”

  “Did she pass?”

  “It looked like she passed.”

  “Mira, Dear, are you okay?”

  “Why does she look so pale?”

  “Probably too much magic all at once she’s not used to it.”

  “Should we ask the Proctor?”

  I finally interrupt everyone talking over each other to announce, “I passed!”

  A few cheers sound out, before we’re once again shushed. My mom giggles before addressing the group in a quiet whisper, “Let’s get out of this place before they forcibly remove us. You’re all invited to come over and celebrate!”

  Somehow, my car was the last to make it out of the parking lot. I drive my Prius up our steep driveway and park behind all the other cars. Leif, Sylvia, and I clamber out to join the adults at my impromptu party. Sylvia opens the front door to the house and strides through. Before I’m able to cross the threshold, Leif catches my upper arm.

  “Hey, hold on for a second.” He sticks his hand into his pocket and retrieves a small, square, red velvet box. “I bought you a small gift, for passing your witches exams.”

  “You didn’t even know I was going to pass!” I exclaim.

  “I have faith in you, Mira Love. There was no doubt in my mind you would pass. I’m confident in your magical abilities, even if you aren’t.” He takes my hand and forces my palm open, placing the small box inside it.

  Once he releases me, I give him a look. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”

  “But I did anyway. Just open it. Then we can get to your party.” He gestures at the box in my hand impatiently.

  I relent and slowly open the box, gasping when the contents are revealed. Nestled inside the box is a small pewter cauldron on a delicate chain. Inside the cauldron is some type of smoky stone. Moving the box from left to right, the stone refracts the light and appears to be bubbling. “Wow, Leif this is so beautiful. Thank you.”

  Dragging my eyes from the necklace to meet his gaze, I see a slightly vulnerable expression on his face. “Can I put it on you?” he asks shyly.

  Turning around in response, I face away from Leif gathering my long blonde hair into a ponytail with my hand. He gingerly fastens the clasp and I turn to face him again. I gently stroke the necklace twice meeting his muddy brown eyes with mine and ask, “How does it look?”

  “Beautiful,” he comments, keeping his eyes locked on mine.

  “Hey Leif,” I start hesitantly.

  “Yes, Mira Love,” He replies in the silence following my half-sentence.

  Unsure of how to continue, I waffle for a second before just blurting the words out, “When you were taking the brewing portion of your witches exams, were some of the ingredients mislabeled? Like as a trick or part of the test.”

  Leif’s eyes widen, then his brow furrows. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting my question to be about the exams. “No. As far as I’m aware, a coven would never mix up the ingredients for novice witches to test with. It’s not a true test of knowledge if they provide misleading information. Not to mention its extremely dangerous to mix random ingredients.”

  I nod. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Then why did you ask?” Leif prods.

  Twisting my lips, I consider whether I’m comfortable telling Leif my suspicions when I’m not exactly sure what happened. After a quick consideration of everything he’s helped me with, I decide he’s probably a good sounding board for my thoughts. “When I was taking the test, ingredients were mislabeled…. It felt almost like sabotage.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, for each potion I was asked to brew, at least one ingredient was mislabeled. And the ingredient inside the vial was very similar in appearance to the one that I needed to use.”

  “How did you know which ingredient was the correct ingredient, if they were mislabeled?” He asks, pinning me with his intense gaze, his brow still furrowed.

  I think back to the exam and the feeling of intuition that led me to choose different vials. “I just had a… hunch they weren’t the right ingredients.”

  Leif’s eyebrows jump upwards. “A hunch?”

  “Yeah, like an intuition that they weren’t the ingredients that I needed. Then a gut feeling that helped me to find the correct ingredients.”

  “Hmm,” Leif says, reminding me momentarily of Sylvia. “Well, I’ve never heard of the Coven sabotaging a witch during their witches exams or a witch relying on intuition to find the proper ingredients for their potions.”

  I open my mouth to retort, but Leif continues speaking over me. “Honestly there are a few possibilities. The witch before you didn’t pass. It’s possible he was very distraught and helped to clean up ingredients and placed them into the wrong vials accidentally. Did you use the ingredients in the vials with the correct labels?”

  I shake my head no.

  “Well, it’s possible that they put the same ingredients in multiple vials, if the real ingredients looked alike. That would keep witches from failing if they just quickly grabbed something without reading the label.” He pauses and rubs a hand over his chin and averts his eyes, as if deep in tho
ught. “It’s hard to say what happened, but I doubt you were sabotaged, Mira Love.” His eyes lock back onto mine.

  I nod in response, keeping my lips sealed tight. I don’t know what to think at this point. I guess both of his explanations make sense, and there is no real reason I can think of that anyone in the coven would want to sabotage me. I need to talk to my grandma about this later, but I table the topic for now. Instead, I smile at Leif and point to the door. “Should we head inside?”

  Leif shakes his head. “Just a second. Before we join the party, I wanted to ask if you’ve thought anymore about my suggestion that you return to the Canadian coven with me?”

  A pang of guilt hits. Leif has turned out to be different than I expected. He’s actually quite sweet. I appreciate his thoughtful gestures, but he feels more like my big brother than someone I’m interested in dating or living with for that matter.

  “Leif,” I start on a sigh. “I appreciate all your help, I truly do. I don’t think I could have passed my witches exams without you, but my life is here. Thank you for offering, but I feel I need to decline. If anything changes in the future, I’ll let you know. At this time, my heart and life is in Florence.”

  Leif’s eyes harden and his lips flatten from his typical smirk, but he just dips his head in silent acknowledgement.

  “Why don’t we go inside and enjoy my party?”

  He lets out a deep exhale. The movement seems to help evacuate some of his anger and his signature smirk reappears. “This may be the last time we see each other, Mira Love. Let’s make it count.”

  “I’ll see you when I’m in Canada to visit your coven!” I exclaim, happy he dropped the moving subject so easily.

  Leif ignores my statement and holds his hand out, wordlessly, making the universal go-ahead motion.

  As I step through the doorway, I let out another gasp. My mom must have had Jacob decorating the house the entire time we were gone. In the entryway, surrounded by a dozen balloons hangs a huge banner that reads “Congratulations Mira!” There are also streamers lining the hall leading into the kitchen.