The scrape of the red Sharpie against my 'puppy of the month' calendar fills me with dread. I'm one month closer to my impending birthday, but no closer to a solution. Birthdays are meant to be a time of celebration and rejoice over your self-growth. Instead, mine will be the single most important day of my life and witching career. 

So, No pressure or anything. 

Am I being a tad bit overdramatic? Maybe. Do I care? Not nearly enough.

This isn't any regular birthday bash. (Even a mortal girl would be expected to be nervous for her sweet sixteenth, nonetheless a day that will determine the rest of her life )

I huff out a frustrated sigh as I throw on my flannel and shove my sneakers in my bag. After two more minutes of mental preparation and straining my ears to hear into the hallway, I swing open the purple door to my bedroom as quietly as possible. Glancing up and down the narrow passage before quietly sprinting down the uncarpeted stairs on sock-covered feet. 

I peek into the living room, scouring past the furniture for any signs of dark-haired women lurking in the shadows. I’m pleasantly surprised when I find none, hastily shoving my shoes on and flinging myself out the front door.  The cold Tuesday morning air greets me like a loving slap to the face (Still better than my mother's 'criticism' over my 'scandalous' choker chain).

Thoughts of toxic relationships stalk me down the street as I slowly make my way to school, lurking like some mischievous cat in an alleyway about to pounce on their next easy meal. I decided to take a detour through the woods branching off the opposite side of the road, needing to kill time that would usually just be spent reading in a cold corner until the bell rings. 

I think about my birthday as I walk the gravel road. About the near-empty hourglass, pouring sand onto my proverbial grave. Only five more months to find the perfect person - and/or being - for the ritual. 

Short strands of purple-tipped hair flutter across my face as I step out of the thining line of trees and onto the half-dead, professionally cut grass. A thin layer of frost sheets the entire sports field, shining silver in the weak morning sun. The early risers and bus kids have already started to congregate. Loitering around the oversized rugby posts and gossiping behind the tennis court fences.

I holler to a few of the recognizable faces, my own flushing at the rejection as the quiet chatter turns to harsh snickers.

 Being the only witch my age in a school full of mortals will have that effect. 

Beads of sweat have started to collect by the time my homeroom class comes into view. I'm relieved when I finally approach the old brick building, quickly replaced with fear as the bell rings just as I reach the stairs to the second floor. I curse myself for taking that detour as I bound up the rickety stairwell. I don't know how I managed to make it to the landing without face-planting, but I'm glad for the lack of a concussion.

Despite my rushing, I'm the last to enter the class, just in time to earn a look from Mrs. Skew as she closes and locks the door behind me. The class is so rowdy, at first, I don't even notice the difference. The subtle change in the energy of the room. It feels warmer, even though the oil heaters haven't worked for a couple of decades. Like the steam wafting from a warm hot chocolate.

I tilt my head slightly, sniffing the air to get a better whiff of the strange feeling. The distraction causes me to crash into some guy (I don't know which one, they all look the same to me). I snarl and make a mental note to curse him when I get home.

Mrs. Skew yells something over the noise and everyone shuffles to their seat. The strange vibe is temporarily forgotten, while the older women call it the roll. She's just making her way through the 'G's when I notice her. The new kid everyone's been babbling about. Dark, long, and wavey hair is parted to one side, revealing the undercut that tappers out into long black-brown hair. Light green cargo pants bunch and collect around her bent legs, wrapped around the frame of the chair.

That would explain the new animation about the room, even though it's a lot stronger than the usual brand of essence you would expect from a human.

The usual culprits surround the stranger. Mirrisa, Larissa, Jenessa and Clarissa have taken up a post at either end of the compass, trapping the interloper in a chamber of their ceaseless questioning. (Despite the teen movie names, they're surprisingly nice, if not a bit too clicky and pick-me for my liking).

I prop my chin on my folded hands, settling in for my daily dose of drama adjacent. The older girls badger her with the expected Inquisition;

'Where are you from?', ' What school did you go to'?, 'Were there any cute guys?' 'Girls?'.

The object of their curiosity remains silently bent over a notebook, slowly scribbling something out. Apparently, the rejection isn't enough of a signal to shut up. The girls bulldoze onwards, restlessly inquiring and complementing in the futile hopes of a conversation. The surrounding evse droppers turn their attentions elsewhere once realising their attempts were futile, murmuring frustrated snickers over the blatant rudeness.

My attention stays firmly fixed on the newcomer, though, intrigued by the simple display of social suicide. One thing's for sure, whatever she is, she defiantly isn't human.

I wicked grin splits across my face at the prospects of mischief I'm about to sow. It's been so long since I've gotten to play with a new toy.

xXx

The rest of the day continues with its usual monotony. First-period maths is as boring as you'd expect it to be. Science is only a little better, having a teacher with at least one ounce of dwindling motivation. English sits at the end of the academic day, a beacon of hope against droning educators and scraping chalkboards. It also happens to be the only other class I share with the angsty drifter. She's the first through the door as the bell rings, head tucked into the collar of her bomber jacket and speed walking through the threshold.

I push off the wall I had been patiently observing from, quick on her tail. She makes a B-line for the back row of desks, rushing to fill the last one not occupied by 'the lunch kids'. I easily weave through the scattered seats, whispering a low chant for speed manipulation. The little burst of power sputters in my chest and I smoothly redirect the current into the deeper chakral centre points in my feet. I reach the chair just as she slides it from under the tabletop, her bag's strap slinging down from one shoulder in preparation.

My ass hits the chair the same time her bag hits the floor. I look up into dark eyes and a deathly snarl and smile my most innocent sneer. "Thanks for the chair. The chivalry was appreciated too," my voice is so gushy it sounds sarcastic to even my ears. My only response is a low growl and an eye-roll. I never thought one could plop into a chair with the same aggressiveness of an agitated pit bull, but apparently, the little menace is full of surprises.

Finally sat in my favourite position and the best view in the class - directly behind my target - I spend the rest of the lesson focusing in and out of the writing task, my concentration drifting to the barely contained ball of rage in front of me.

The final bell chimes through the intercom and by the time I've yanked on my pride-pin decked bag, she's already out the door, long hair flapping through the wind. No sooner am I bolting past the lined-up students, ignoring shouts of protest at my back as I attempt to track the evader before she can make it out of the school building. I search the crowded hallways for any signs of tall, dark-haired and brooding women in vain.

I grumble a frustrated sigh before opening my body to the sensations of the stuffy passage. It's hard at first, the mixing and mashing of different auras and energy overwhelming my overly attuned senses. But with an essence like hers, it only takes a few more moments of close attention before I find it. The coffee brown trail that is her psychic footprint, is tinged slightly auburn from frustration, I even catch a few specks of anxious grey, but the fading earth brown to opaque tea granules makes it hard to tell.

My Converse sneakers feel like slippers as I slide down the hallways, bumping into lockers and trash cans as I follow the imprint, it's disappearing faster and faster, almost as though someone were masking it. The possibility that this might be a fellow magic user turns through my mind before quickly being discarded. My intuition would have been far more specific than a few blobs of colour and stray emotions If she were. Her own power would have called to mine like a secret language only we could speak.

But, no. All I got was that she was on the more female side of the gender spectrum, her scent marker and a spiritual heft about her that even a mortal-born witch couldn't manage.

I burst through a pair of double doors and realize I've been spit out at the back of the school, right back onto the sports fields where I started my day. The floating ribbon of her scent has almost completely evaporated now, so I choose the only other path available. I take off at a sprint into the skeletal forest, hoping my earth magic skills can help me trace the older girl better than my empathetic abilities have.

I run through the underbrush, kicking up damp leaves and snapping sticks as I gracelessly tramp through the short pass to the old, overgrown path. I immediately crouch down and place my palm on the beaten earth. I've been walking this road since I was a child, We've known each other for a long time, so it's easy to harmonize our energies.

I start with hasty pleasantries, exchanging our usual warm greetings before asking them to guide me through the necessary crossroads. (Usually, I'd just embody my patron goddess for that, but I'm short on offerings and time). I slip off my shoes and socks for a better connection before setting off at a run once more. None of my games have ever included this much cardio.

By the second turn, my lungs are burning and I have a stitch so large I think one might have fallen out while I was dry heaving. I stop for a second, bending over my knees, panting while I attempt to wipe away the endless waterfall of sweat from my forehead before straightening and continuing on the long trail (At a much slower pace). By the time the road stops vibrating beneath my feet, I've managed to regain a semblance of composure, before realising I've stopped in the middle of the pass.

Only trees and withered bushes surround the crumbling path as I glance around for any signs of dark-luscious hair. When I find none I pivot on my heel and consult the trees.

After a few moments of heated debate between a spruce and an oak, I hop into the wintery forest with perhaps too much enthusiasm. My vigour depletes the longer I tiptoe around shrubbery and the more branches that wack me across the face. I've been exploring these woods since I could walk, but even I haven't been this deep. I'm unfamiliar with these spirits and it shows.

And then, I see her. Well, I see her bomber jacket and backpack lying on a rock on the other side of a clearing, and make the assumption. I'm just about to confront the source of my unnecessary exercise when a pair of cargo pants hits the ground. I stop in my tracks, halting as I'm about to breach the ring of trees.

Oh. Oh, this is turning out better than I could have hoped.

A decent citizen would probably turn around now and leave the stranger her privacy. So, of course, I begin climbing a helpful elder tree to get a better view.

I barely catch a glimpse of wide, beautiful caramel-brown shoulders before she hits the ground, hard. My eyes widen at the sight, but any previous dirty thought is pushed from my mind as the figure begins...changing. Bones slip out of sockets without so much as a pop, muscles bunch, and laxen, and Black-brown hair crests over her body like a majestic rip tide.

I'm not gonna lie, at first, I was slightly terrified by the sight, but after a few moments of mental referencing to old witchy textbooks, I think I've narrowed down the cause for this sudden metamorphosis.

My first guess would be Werewolf, but the lack of a full moon or animal carcass suggests otherwise- And then the energy hits me and I know exactly what kind of creature this is. She must have been masking better than I had thought because the same warm, earth-brown aura I had been sensing before blooms into a deeper, richer red-burgundy feeling. The potency of it knocks me from the tree branch I'd been saddled on.

Branches swipe at my face and leaves embed themselves in my scalp as I make a full swinging rotation on the thankfully sturdy bough. The wolf shifter's green and blue eyes snap to mine, holding intense contact. Only broken when my protection charm slips from my pocket and hits the earth with a dull thud.

Crap.