Snow Witching White by Allie Burton

Author:Allie Burton [Allie Burton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alice Fairbanks-Burton
Published: 2022-06-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter thirteen

“Everyone, grab a broom.” Miss Hunt held a broom with colorful feathers tied near the end. She wore leather pants and a jacket. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

I couldn’t believe that with the technology available and the fact that witches could apparate to wherever they wanted, they were still flying on broomsticks. It reinforced the stereotypical image of witches in children’s tales.

The group of about twenty students hurried to the brooms on a rack. We’d changed out of uniforms and into shorts and T-shirts. The training was held on the field surrounded by bleachers carved from stone where some type of sport was played. Possibly wand dueling in which Raven was the champion.

“The witch who got trapped in the net is here.” A warlock pointed his chin at me.

“She can fly without a broom!” A witch snickered. “What’s she doing in this class?”

“I heard she almost killed Lavender,” another witch added.

I tried to ignore their taunts. With shaking legs, I slinked to get my broom. I refused to do anything else to embarrass myself on the first day. The witches, warlocks, and teachers probably thought I was the worst student ever.

Reaching out, I grabbed the top of the last broomstick. Acute pain lanced through my hand. I winced, trying not to make a bigger reaction. The broomstick had mangled my palm. Blood dripped from my hand and the skin throbbed.

“Destiny cut herself on the stibnite crystal,” Raven tattled on my mistake.

Ashamed, I’d planned to hide the injury. Everyone would believe it was another thing I’d done wrong. None of them had sliced their skin. I scowled at the broom. A black crystalized rock had been fastened to the end of the broomstick. The rest of the handle was wooden.

The teacher examined my dripping hand. “Never touch the stibnite crystal end. It’s sharp.”

No kidding. “I didn’t know.” I was tired of saying the same thing over and over. I dropped the broomstick.

“Did you know the sweeping part of the broom is made of feathers from the Brimstone bird?”

I didn’t know if she was kidding. I’d never heard of a Brimstone bird. The feathers at the end of the broom came in an array of blue, green, and gold.

Staring at the ground, watching my blood fall onto the grass, I shook my head.

She plucked a feather from the broom. “Hold out your hand.”

Was I going to get my wounded hand slapped? Was this another way to embarrass me?

I held out my hand. A long red line with a deep slash and rough edges went through the center of my palm. She gripped my wrist and brushed the feather across my skin. It tickled and something more.

Murmuring what must be a spell, she crossed the feather across my palm again and again. The tickling became hot tingling. My body tensed. I wanted to yank my hand away. But Miss Hunt wouldn’t harm me in front of the other students. My fingers curled on their own. I wanted to squirm and shift my feet.

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